Shot on Goal

by Jami Davenport

  He’d railed on Drew, calling him a bad teammate with no try and a waste of talent. He heaped on the guilt by pointing out how David had lived for moments like this and how it was up to Drew to carry the family sword into battle.

  No shit. Those had been his father’s exact words.

  He’d taken the verbal abuse stoically without a word in response, while ignoring the curious and pitying stares of his teammates as they filed past him into the locker room. At least Stafford had kept his voice down and paused to smile at the guys and tell them good luck. He saved his anger for his only remaining son.

  To make matters worse, Marina witnessed the worst of his father’s tirade. She’d stood in a doorway, hesitant to walk by and draw Stafford’s attention and ire.

  She’d waited until Stafford had walked away to join one of his cronies who’d just arrived then she’d quickly skirted by Drew and into the coach’s room, never once glancing his direction.

  He didn’t blame her. Her life might be fucked up by a very public mistake, but his life would be forever held hostage by his dead brother and controlling father. At the thought of his brother, he felt shamed to be such a selfish ass. David would’ve loved everything about the playoffs. He’d have been all over it. The least Drew could do was honor his brother’s memory by putting every bit of effort he had into his game.

  He owed David that much.

  “Are you ready for this?” Jasper “Caveman” Flint asked him as he took a seat on the bench next to Drew.

  Drew glanced up and managed a smile. “Yeah, sure. We train all our lives for opportunities like this. And you?” His response came across as rehearsed and insincere, probably because it was both.

  Cave narrowed his eyes and studied Drew for a long time without comment. “Sounds like the company line, not coming from your gut.”

  Drew shrugged. He had zero interest getting into a discussion about his feelings, and Cave was the last person he’d expected to start said discussion with him.

  “Your dad’s a bit of a hardass.”

  “That’s an understatement.”

  “I wish my dad cared enough to be a hardass.” Cave’s voice was oddly wistful, and his expression was sad, almost melancholy. “He likes the bottle more than his wife or kids.”

  Drew knew that story, too, but he rarely said anything about his father. Most of his teammates had once idolized the man until they’d seen him chewing Drew’s ass one too many times after a game. He’d watched their admiration switch to shock and dislike, but he didn’t need anyone to defend him. He could handle his dad. It was the guilt he couldn’t handle, and Stafford knew how to use it.

  Coach walked into the locker room, and Coop stood beside him. They gave the usual speeches, and the guys did the usual cheering. Drew faked it, acting as if he cared. He wished he cared as deeply as his teammates. Only he couldn’t find his mojo no matter how deeply he dug. The best time he’d had on skates in years had been doing figure skating drills for Marina. Now how fucking pathetic was that?

  A few minutes later, they walked down the narrow corridor. The place was a madhouse. Even though the L.A. fans were booing the Sockeyes, but Drew let their enthusiasm fuel his desire as he stepped on the ice for warm-ups.

  He took that little bit of excitement curling in his gut and used it for motivation. He glided around the ice, slow at first and building speed. Coop pulled even with him on his left and shot him a sideways glance.

  “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Drew shot back, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He resented the captain checking on his mental state.

  “Coach wanted to move Cave up to the first line tonight. I went to bat for you.”

  Drew swallowed. Well, shit. He hadn’t expected he might be removed from the first line. His father would shit a brick. But this wasn’t about his father, this was about him, and his lack of try.

  “Don’t let me down.”

  Drew nodded.

  “You’re a damn good player, and I’m grateful you’re on my team.”

  Drew stumbled a stride and caught his balance. Coop rarely said anything remotely touchy-feely. He was all business all the time.

  “Thanks,” he said simply.

  “Ice had the father from hell. It might help to talk. Don’t let your dad destroy your love for the game.”

  Too late. That’d already happened.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Both Drew and Coop knew he’d never say a thing. Coop nodded curtly and skated off.

  The entire team knew Ice’s father was in prison for murdering his wife, among other things. Comparing Drew’s father and Ice’s was like apple and oranges. There wasn’t a comparison. Stafford might be an asshole at times, but he wasn’t physically abusive, and he’d never been in jail. If Drew weren’t carrying a ghost everywhere he went, he’d handle his father’s criticism and use it to do better. As Stafford continued to remind him, he was the less serious brother, the one who’d partied his way through the minors, the unambitious one. Nothing like his older sibling had been. Dave would’ve been eating this up right now, reveling in the excitement and itching to get the game started.

  Drew was just itching to get it over with. How fucked up was that? Dave was probably shaking his head from heaven and wondering why he was the one who had to die.

  Because he was the brave one, and Drew had been too stupid to shut his big mouth.

  Drew skidded to a stop by the bench and swigged down a sports drink from a bottle the trainer handed him. Marina stood nearby, watching the skaters with intense interest. He allowed himself a moment to admire her. She was classically beautiful with a perfect profile, flushed cheeks, and a trim little body clad in a form-fitting business suit with a knee-length skirt that hugged her fine ass.

  He needed to dump water over his head before he got a hard-on watching her. Shoving away from the boards, he skated past her. She caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up. He gave it back. A slow smile crossed his face. His heart raced a little faster, and he was filled with the urge to impress her, make her see what a star he was.

  He joined the forwards and wings near the net to practice shots, while Brick practiced preventing their goals. Coop sent a quick pass to him, and he slapped it between Brick’s legs.

  “Yeah!” he shouted and pumped his fist in the air.

  Brick mouthed fuck you, and Drew laughed.

  He glanced toward the bench. Marina was watching him and smiling.

  Her smile lifted a weight off his shoulders, gave him wings, gave him hope. He was no longer playing for the ghost of his dead brother. He was playing for her.

  He felt good. He felt ready. He could do this. It didn’t matter if his motivation was suspect. Whatever worked. Marina made him feel stuff he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt, even with Stacy, and he’d thought he’d been in love with her, even though they’d only dated a few months, the majority of it long distance.

  His attraction to Marina was most likely tied up in his desire to rebel and do as he pleased, but whatever it was, he’d go with it. Her presence gave him the incentive to play this game, which was a huge improvement.

  * * * *

  Coop bent low, stick across his thighs, and waited for the puck to drop. Drew stood a few feet behind him, holding his breath. Coop slashed the puck to a waiting Smooth, and the game was on. The game was orchestrated, graceful chaos combined with brute strength. The defensemen could skate backward as well as they could forward. Brick, the goalie, had flexibility to rival any gymnast. The center and wings, of which Drew was one, played as if they could read each other’s minds. They’d played together so long as a line, they were reading each other’s bodies, if nothing else.

  Drew sped toward the net and snagged the perfect pass from Smooth, hitting it toward the goal. It soared toward L.A.’s goalie and careened off his shoulder pads. Coop snatched it from a defenseman’s stick and leveled another shot at the net. This one went in and lit the lamp. The Sockeyes fans in the stand
s were incredibly loud and made their presence known. Coop skated around the ice accepting his teammates stick taps and congratulations before heading to the bench.

  As the game wore on, Drew’s renewed excitement waned to dread as the minutes then seconds ticked down in the third period. Despite the good start, the team fell apart. Nothing Coop, Smooth, and Matt did could keep them from imploding. The coaches were scratching their heads in surprise. They’d handled this L.A. team easily in the regular season, now L.A. was getting their revenge, and Drew only added to the mess. They lost five to one, and it could’ve been worse were it not for the outstanding play of his linemates, but two guys couldn’t hold it together on their own.

  For a game that started out so well, it didn’t end well.

  With a few minutes left in the third period, Drew climbed over the boards and took a seat next to Ice, who was guzzling Gatorade.

  All during the game, he’d been hyperaware of Marina standing in the area behind the bench with the other coaches. Her presence bothered him more than the presence of his father but in a different way. He dragged his attention back to the puck, his concentration shot to hell.

  Ice wiped his face with a sleeve. “Tough luck. Any other goalie, and that shot would’ve gone in.”

  Drew shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We scored.”

  Ice arched a brow and glanced to his left. Without looking, Drew knew who he was looking at. Stafford always sat next to the bench. Sometimes he’d even pound on the glass to get Drew’s attention. Next to Stafford sat his mother. Cassandra beamed at him and gave him a thumbs-up, while his father glowered.

  “You’re valuable. Don’t let anyone convince you differently.”

  Drew nodded. He wasn’t comfortable with this renewed attention from his usually gruff teammate. He’d rather they chewed his ass than offer sympathy. The final buzzer sounded, saving him from any kind of a response.

  The Sockeyes had lost Game 1.

  * * * *

  Marina had been well aware of Cassandra Delacorte sitting on the glass with her husband. She dreaded a confrontation and just wanted to get it over with.

  When the game ended, she stood and watched the guys file down the tunnel. She glanced over her shoulder to find Cassandra and Stafford gone. Breathing a sigh of relief, she followed the coaches and trainers to the locker room. She wasn’t comfortable in this male-dominated space yet, but she had to show she could handle it. Her gaze strayed more than once to Drew, sweaty and bare from the waist up, his Sockeyes tattoo clearly visible on one arm and another one above his heart that she couldn’t make out.

  He stood next to his stall, hands crossed over his chest, and looking angry enough to fight a grizzly bear or Jasper Flint—aptly called Caveman by the guys. She was glad to see his anger, rather than the surly indifference she’d seen in the past. Anger meant something. Anger was passionate. Anger she could work with, maybe funnel those raw emotions into something positive.

  Or something else entirely. Something forbidden, yet she couldn’t stop her brain or her body from going there once again. The guys were incredible physical specimens, but Drew was the only one who inspired her, and she seemed powerless to stop her fantasies, even resigned to them. As long as they stayed fantasies, no harm done. She couldn’t be fired for her private thoughts or what she did alone behind closed doors.

  After Gorst’s positive we’ll-get-’em-next-time speech, as the guys called them, she boarded the bus to go over her notes on the guys and study things to work on before the next game.

  The bus ride was short and quiet. Drew sat in the back and didn’t glance once at her when he walked by. She tamped down her disappointment. His disinterest was a good thing, especially since she couldn’t seem to control herself. One of them had to.

  Upon arrival, Marina walked through the hotel and stopped cold when she saw the elegant woman standing near the bank of elevators. She glanced around, hoping Drew was on her heels to deflect any problems, only he was on the other side of the lobby, back toward her, in deep conversation with Ice and Coop.

  She squared her shoulders and smiled as the woman turned, glanced at her, and did a double take.

  “Marina, how nice to see you.” Cassandra’s voice wasn’t exactly cold, but not inviting, either. More like the greeting one would give a casual acquaintance.

  “Cassandra. It’s been a long time.”

  “So it has.” The elevator doors opened, but Cassandra made no move toward them. Marina plotted her escape route, but before she could act, the door swished shut.

  “I’m happy to see you’ve landed on your feet. These past few years had to have been tough.”

  Marina eyed her former coach for signs of sarcasm or insincerity and found none. Leave it to Cassandra to be kind and gracious when Marina deserved anything but.

  “I’ve managed. When you’ve been through what I have, you learn to be strong.”

  Cassandra nodded but made no further comment. She turned back to the elevator and pressed the button. The doors opened immediately, and she walked inside.

  Marina froze in place long after the doors had closed, unable to fathom what had taken place.

  * * * *

  Game 2 brought another loss and another lackluster performance by Drew. He longed to escape to the locker room and stand under a long, warm shower, not that any amount of water would wash away the pain of losing their second playoff games so soundly.

  The final seconds ticked off the clock.

  His gaze strayed to Marina. She was gripping a tablet PC and watching the players file off the ice. When their eyes met, she smiled sympathetically. He gave her a quick nod, hoping no one noticed, and hurried down the tunnel.

  Escaping his father wasn’t so easy. Instead of lurking outside the locker room to rip him a new one, the man was waiting at the airport when they disembarked the bus. With a jerk of his chin, he gestured for Drew to follow him.

  Drew shook his head. “Sorry, Dad. Catch up with you later. I have to get on the team plane.”

  “We need to talk. I can help you with your game if you’d only listen.” His father’s eyes narrowed, revealing his annoyance. He opened his mouth to say something else then shut it when he noticed Ethan approaching.

  “Problem?” Ethan asked coolly. The edge of steel in his voice gave testament to his legendary ability as a ruthless businessman.

  “Just wanting to review my boy’s game with him. He looks forward to our talks.”

  “That’s why we have coaches.” Ethan cocked a brow toward Drew. “You’d best get on the plane.”

  “Bye, Dad.” Drew kept his back straight and head up as he strolled toward the waiting private plane. At the top of the stairs, he glanced over his shoulder to see Ethan and his father face to face in a confrontational stance. His dad might be a bully, but Drew would put his money on Ethan any day of the week.

  Before he could turn back around, he walked into someone and put out his hands to steady the person he’d almost run over.

  Marina stared up at him with shocked brown eyes. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and she splayed her fingers on his chest. As if in a trance, they stared at each other, not moving or saying a word.

  “I—uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

  “That’s OK.” She must have realized her hands were resting on his chest, because she jerked them away, holding them to her sides. Her face flared in a brilliant red, which he found attractive. But then, he found everything about her attractive. If she were barefoot, he’d probably think her toes were sexy.

  He should ask her out.

  What the fuck? Where did that idea come from? He couldn’t ask her out. She was his coach. And there was his mother to consider. She deserved his loyalty, not Marina.

  Shaking his head, he backed up a few steps and jammed his heel down on Ice’s instep.

  “What the fuck?” Ice cursed. “If you two are going to flirt, at least do it somewhere other than the doorway of the plane.”

  No
w it was Drew’s turn to turn bright red.

  Marina gaped at Ice, horrified. “We weren’t—” She couldn’t seem to find the words.

  Ice rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m not an idiot. I know what I see.” Annoyed, Ice pushed past Drew none too gently and skirted around Marina.

  “Sorry,” Drew said.

  “We need to take our seats.” Marina’s hands fluttered in the air, as if she didn’t know what to do with them. Finally, she wrapped her fingers around her purse and gripped it tightly. Her purse wouldn’t be escaping anytime soon if it survived the strangulation.

  “Yeah,” he agreed, wishing he could ask her to sit with him, but the guys would never let him live that down. Not to mention, such an action would seriously damage Marina’s rep with the other coaches, a rep she was trying to build back up. Oh, and he didn’t like her anyway.

  She turned her back on him and walked stiffly down the aisle to a set of seats with the staff and coaches. Drew swallowed hard as he watched her sweet ass. Smooth walked by and clapped him on the back.

  “Put your tongue back in.” He snorted with laughter. “You’re not fooling any of us.”

  Drew’s face was flaming. Heat spread from his neck to his hair follicles. He did a quick glance around to see who had witnessed his infatuation with Marina. Ethan was making his way up the stairs. Beyond Ethan, near the private terminal, Stafford stood with his hands on his hips and his angry glare easily visible.

  Drew would stay at a hotel tonight rather than go home.

  He couldn’t tolerate a guilt-laden lecture from his father about his performance, his brother, or Marina.

  Chapter 6—Using All the Edges

  The plane landed in Seattle after midnight, and the bus took them back to the practice facility.

  Drew looked for Marina, but she’d managed to duck out as soon as the bus rolled to a stop, which was probably for the best.

  He was making tracks to the parking garage when one of the trainers motioned for him to go into Coach’s office.