Goaltending: Seattle Sockeyes Hockey (Game On in Seattle Book 8)

by Jami Davenport

Standing, he motioned for her to follow him down a hallway. “This is it.” He opened the door to a large bedroom. It, too, was a mess. A small pink suitcase lay open on the floor, and clothes were scattered about. The bed wasn’t made. More clothes and towels littered the adjoining bathroom’s floor.

  Amelia nodded, suddenly glad she only had to deal with a few weeks of this. Something wasn’t adding up here. “Where do I sleep?”

  “I have another guest bedroom here, but it only has a futon.” He opened the door to the one neat and tidy room in the house. Most likely because no one used it. A futon couch sat against one wall and a dark wood dresser on the other. This room, too, had an adjoining bathroom.

  “This’ll do fine.”

  “You could always sleep in my bedroom, keep it warm until I get back.” He raised his brows and smirked, back in form.

  “I could, but you won’t be in it when I do.”

  “Honey, you’re destroying my ego.” He held his hands to his heart.

  “I doubt that’s possible.”

  He chuckled. “Maybe I’m a sensitive kind of guy.”

  She laughed this time. “Maybe you’re not.”

  “Maybe you’d like to find out how sensitive and sensual I can be.” He leaned forward and whispered the last few words in her ear. She put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Her traitorous body wanted to take him up on his offer right here and now.

  “You okay?” He ran a finger down the side of her jaw to her lips. Her legs wobbled, and her knees threatened to buckle. He stepped closer, pinning her against the wall, his hands on either side of her head. Her body was all in, falling once more for a charming bad boy like Darrell.

  The reminder of Darrell slapped her to her senses. She ducked under Brick’s arm and hurried back to the living room. He was hot on her heels. She whipped around and almost ran into his hard body.

  “I’d love to stand around and trade barbs with you all night, but I’m sure we both have better things to do.”

  “I never have something better to do when a gorgeous female graces my presence. We could trade something better than barbs.”

  “I’ve heard all about you, Mr. Bricker, and I have no interest in being another filly in your extensive stable.” Oh, yeah, she’d done her research today at the day care while the kids slept. He was a man-slut if there ever was one. She’d found pictures of him partying in just about every major city in the US and Canada.

  Her rejection didn’t discourage him. The heat flared in his eyes, as if she’d issued a challenge, and he’d accepted.

  She turned away from his royal hotness. “Good night, Macy. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Macy waved a hand over her head but never turned her attention from the TV.

  Amelia fled to the door and into the relative safety of the rainy Seattle night.

  * * * *

  Brick was so anxious to get out of town, he was the first guy on the plane instead of the last. He settled into his seat on the team’s jet and breathed a sigh of relief. Cranking up the air to max, he closed his eyes and shut out the world. Only the world refused to be shut out.

  This road trip hadn’t come fast enough for him. He had no idea what to do with a heartbroken adult, let alone a child. Ever since his parents’ contentious divorce, he’d learned to bury his feelings deep and adopt a who-gives-a-fuck-let’s-party attitude. He didn’t deal with emotions. He dealt with fun. Having a child abandoned on his doorstep wasn’t fun. Being responsible for someone other than himself—no matter how temporary—was scary as shit and threw him off-balance. He hated being off-balance.

  Before heading to the airport, he’d dropped Macy off at day care, slightly disappointed Amelia wasn’t there. Ruby was, but the woman wore a ring and didn’t interest him nearly as much as Amelia. Besides, she was a five, where Amelia was a ten-plus.

  Once he’d told Macy she’d be going to day care and staying with a nanny while he was out of town, she did a one-eighty. All chattering ceased, and she’d eyed him suspiciously as she sipped her milk and barely touched her cereal. He should’ve welcomed the silence.

  If he had to guess, she probably thought he was never coming back. How many times had an adult disappeared on her? Now he was abandoning her. It gave him a sick feeling inside, as if he were a coward running away from his problems. He had to go. This was his job. Yet knowing that didn’t make him feel any better.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it. He had a reprieve. A road trip. A chance to pretend none of this had happened. For ten nights, he could party with the guys as if he were still the same man he’d been three nights ago.

  Only he wasn’t.

  Yet.

  Things would go back to normal once the DNA test came back. She couldn’t be his. He’d been too careful. He didn’t have unprotected sex. He’d make sure she was well taken care of to ease his conscience, but that was all he could do.

  He refused to consider what might happen if he was her father. Irresponsible party boys had no business raising children.

  Shit.

  Fuck.

  Double fuck.

  Brick pushed all thoughts of his alleged daughter out of his mind and concentrated on the road trip. Hockey healed all wounds, even hangovers and reluctant fathers.

  “Vhat iz your problem?” His buddy Alexander “Rush” Markov slid into the seat next to him on the plane.

  “I don’t have a problem.” Brick forced lightness into his voice.

  Rush wasn’t buying it. “I say bullsheet.”

  “Bullshit,” Brick corrected automatically. The young Russian’s English was much better than it’d been his rookie year, but he still struggled at times.

  “I say my way. You say yours. Ladies love my accent and wrong words.”

  Brick rolled his eyes. “Ladies love your schlong.”

  Rush’s brows knit together. “Sch-what, dude?”

  “Dick. Cock.”

  Rush grinned. “Ah, yes, they love it. Vhat iz your problem?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Try me.” Rush cocked his head and studied him with more seriousness than he’d shown before, making Brick wonder if the troubles weighing him down were so transparent.

  He searched for an answer that would prevent Rush from asking more questions and came up with the obvious one. “I need to get laid.”

  “Then get laid. Plenty of girls on road trip.”

  Yeah, there would be. There always were. But he didn’t want to get laid by just anyone, but by a nanny who looked like his movie-star fantasy. The hot nanny who’d appeared in his dreams last night, dreams so real he’d woken up with a raging hard-on and reached for her only to grasp air.

  He smiled to himself. He always got what he wanted.

  Amelia Stacey might not realize it yet, but she’d met her match.

  * * * *

  Kids loved Amelia. She never had to work to gain their trust and affection. They gravitated to her.

  Until now.

  Macy was proving to be an exception to the rule. She sat by herself in a corner most of the day and refused to join any of the activities. The only talking she did was to her doll, Simone.

  Amelia left her alone. She needed time to acclimate. Once Macy had a few days, she’d pressure her to get involved in activities and make friends. There was one other girl in the day care who was Macy’s age, but she was in morning kindergarten until noon.

  As soon as they arrived back at Brick’s condo for the evening, Macy grabbed her doll and ran down the hallway to her room. A second later, Amelia heard a door slam. She didn’t go after her.

  Things didn’t add up. Brick wasn’t at all comfortable with her. He was a father who didn’t appear to want her and had been more than happy to dump her on a relative stranger. And where was her mother in all this?

  She glanced once again around the house, which was not childproofed. The place looked like a messy bachelor pad, not a family home. She pondered the inconsistencies as she gave Macy s
ome time to sort things out before she invaded her space.

  Brick texted her asking if everything was okay. The text lacked any actual caring and seemed obligatory. She wanted to strangle him for being such a douche. The man showed more interest in getting in Amelia’s pants, and his disinterest in his daughter triggered her own déjà vu.

  Her father didn’t like kids—even his own. She hadn’t seen the man in years. In some ways, his disappearance relieved the stress, as her mother hated the man and couldn’t stop railing on him every chance she got. Amelia was the only person in her family who didn’t embrace a daily dose of drama with open arms. To make matters worse, her brother, Dean, had married Ruby, a drama queen who cranked Amelia’s mother up even further.

  Amelia steered clear of the family drama, which wasn’t easy. The easiest option would’ve been to extricate herself from the entire gene pool of relatives. She didn’t want to do that. Bad relatives were better than no relatives. She didn’t wish that on anyone. Despite her family’s faults, they did love one another in their own dysfunctional way. She’d never been abused. She’d never gone without the essentials, even if they couldn’t afford designer clothes or a fancy house. She’d still grown up in a house in a decent neighborhood and felt safe and loved for the most part.

  With a resigned sigh, Amelia stood, grabbed one of the children’s books she’d brought, and walked down the hall. She rapped on the door.

  “Go away.”

  “Not happening. Open this door.”

  “It’s late. I want to sleep.”

  No kid wanted to go to bed unless forced.

  “Open the door, please.” She tried the doorknob. Either Macy hadn’t locked it or the door didn’t have a lock. She swung it open and glanced around.

  The little girl’s room needed to be decorated for a little girl, giving the impression Macy hadn’t lived there long. The entire room was dark wood floors, white walls, black dresser, white comforter, and black headboard. Most likely some designer’s idea of a modern minimalist room. Perfect for guests, impersonal for a child. If this had been a more permanent gig, she’d ask Brick for the money to redecorate, but she didn’t see the point right now, nor did she want to get the child excited if this situation was only temporary.

  A lump lay underneath the impersonal white comforter and sheets. Amelia’s heart ached for what she’d lost and what she could never have. She fought the urge to get involved in what appeared to be a sticky situation. She couldn’t save them all. Hell, she hadn’t been able to save her own child.

  Be professional. Don’t get too close. Don’t fall prey to a handsome man and his troubled daughter. Keep your distance.

  She’d never been good at keeping her distance, but every fiber of her being warned her this was the time to do that.

  Amelia crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “I thought I’d read a bedtime story to you.”

  The lump didn’t move.

  “What do you think of Charlotte’s Web?”

  Silence.

  Charlotte’s Web might a little advanced for a five-year-old, but Amelia believed in expanding horizons, and it was one of her favorite children’s books.

  “My mom read it to me when I was about your age.”

  Macy didn’t react, so Amelia started reading. About two pages in, she noticed a pair of eyes peeking out from the top of the covers. Three pages in, a nose appeared. Then a chin. Five pages, and the little girl listened with rapt attention, her big eyes glued to the book.

  Toward the end of the first chapter, Macy’s lids drooped until they closed. She fell asleep hugging the doll to her.

  Amelia smiled and bent down to tuck the covers tight around her. She was a beautiful child with all that gorgeous dark hair. Those huge brown eyes made her look like a doll rather than a little girl, but she was a flesh-and-blood child who was obviously confused and hurting.

  Amelia promised herself she’d be a ray of sunshine in this child’s life as long as she was in it.

  So much for not getting involved.

  Chapter 4—Top Shelf

  A goalie whose head wasn’t in the game wasn’t a goalie at all. He was a sieve.

  Brick lasted one period and three goals by the other team before the coach pulled him, while backup goalie and veteran Jacques played lights-out.

  They were three games into a six-game road trip with one win and one loss. Through sheer strength of will and some lucky shots, the team managed to make up the deficit and win four to three thanks to the sharp shooting of Coop, Cedric, and Drew.

  His life had developed vertigo, and he struggled to get his equilibrium back. It was a sucky night, and he wanted nothing more than to drink his sorrows into blissful oblivion. But first he should check on Macy and Amelia because that’s what a guy did, right?

  Everything okay?

  Amelia: Wonderful.

  Good.

  He suspected sarcasm in her response but decided to take it at face value. Shoving his phone in his pocket, he looked at the guys milling around the lobby. “So, who’s in? Let’s celebrate our win.”

  “I am.” Rush grinned. Of course he was. Brick could always count on Rush.

  “What about you guys?” Brick pointed to some of the veterans.

  “Sorry, can’t. I have to call Izzy,” Coop said with a shake of his dark head.

  Isaac waved them off and headed for the elevator. “Can’t.”

  Brick turned to Cedric, the guy who’d not so long ago taken the lead when it came to partying. He shook his head as he pointed to the phone to his ear. “What are you wearing, Bells?”

  Brick rolled his eyes. “Shit, Smooth, if you’re going to have phone sex, do it in your room.”

  Cedric wagged his eyebrows. “Heading there now.” He pivoted and streaked for the elevators faster than he streaked for the net, which was saying a lot about one of the fastest guys in the NHL.

  Brick frowned. The guys were dropping like flies, as if they’d succumbed to a highly contagious virus. First, team captain and once-confirmed-bachelor Cooper Black fell for Izzy. Then, Blake Daniels fell twice for the same woman and retired to some remote Washington island with her. Then Ice, their baddest of the bad defenseman, fell for Avery. The shock of all shocks came when fellow bad-boy partier Cedric got hooked up with Bella. That one hurt. Brick felt betrayed. He’d aspired to be Cedric, Mr. Love ’Em and Leave ’Em. Life had been one big party for Cedric as he drank and slept his way across the US and Canada. Now he was as big of a whack job as the rest of Brick’s married, engaged, and otherwise off-the-market teammates.

  Poor fuckers.

  Brick wanted no part of their particular affliction. What man in his right mind would limit himself to vanilla ice cream when he could have more flavors than Baskin-Robbins, with any topping he desired?

  “Let ’em go, poor suckers,” said Drew Delacorte, one of the team’s top scorers on the ice, but not so much off the ice. He drank like a fish and flirted outrageously, yet never seemed to hook up with anyone. There were rumors he was gay, but Brick was certain something else was going on. By the hints Drew had dropped, it was something as asinine as still carrying a torch for his high-school sweetheart.

  “What about you, Rod? Or are you going to have phone sex, too?”

  At the end of last season, Jared “Hot Rod” Roderick had fallen prey to one particularly aggressive female fan, aka puck bunny, with obscenely huge boobs. After a month of hot sex, the dumbshit married her. He’d been miserable ever since, more proof to Brick that being tied to one woman led to nothing but complete and absolute destruction. His father’s unhappy marriage to that nasty woman being a good example. Brick wasn’t overly fond of his stepmother.

  Hot Rod glanced up from his phone, his mouth drawn downward in a firm line of displeasure and frustration. “I can’t get in touch with her. So yeah, I’m in. I could use a drink.”

  Brick said nothing, but he’d heard the rumors. Hot Rod’s bitch of a wife was running thro
ugh his money like an Olympic sprinter racing for the finish line. She flirted shamelessly with Hot Rod’s teammates when they were all out together. What she did while Hot Rod was on road trips was anyone’s guess.

  “I’ll babysit,” Matt LaRue, one of the alternate captains, volunteered. “Just to keep you ladies out of trouble.” Matt was a good guy and a great player, and was going through a bad divorce. When the once–Gainesville Giants had been sold to Seattle billionaire Ethan Parker, Matt’s wife refused to leave Florida. Matt and his two young boys traded sun for rain, while she traded her hockey player husband for a triple-A baseball player. Matt could probably use a few drinks.

  Brick led the way down the street to the Irish pub he’d spotted earlier. There weren’t any dance clubs nearby, nor would there be much action on a Tuesday night in Ottawa. Tonight would be for drinking and hanging out with the guys. If he ever needed to get wasted, this was the night.

  They pulled a few tables together in the relatively empty bar. Matt ordered pitchers all around and the drinking commenced, starting with good-natured ribbing about screw-ups during the night’s game and the usual bragging.

  Brick guzzled one glass of beer and poured another, sitting back to watch and listen, knowing he wouldn’t be able to dodge criticism for long. No one would hold back to spare his feelings. They were hockey players, and they went for the jugular.

  Drew grinned and turned to Brick. He braced himself. Here it came. “Good thing the first line was hot tonight. You put us in a hole.”

  “Yeah. Just testing your resilience,” Brick shot back.

  “Or the coach’s patience,” Rush added, and Drew held up his glass to clink it with Rush’s.

  “Thanks, buddy, throw me under the bus.”

  Rush grinned. “Why vould I throw you under bus?”

  Several guys chuckled. Brick rolled his eyes. “Never mind.”

  They harassed Brick for a while, then moved on to their next victim. Brick poured his fourth beer. So far, drinking hadn’t lessened the brutal pain of playing like crap. He sat back in his chair and faked having fun, something he usually didn’t have to do, but then he’d just had an epically bad game. Only his morose attitude didn’t stem from only the game. He had other shit dragging him down. He should’ve talked to Amelia and Macy, not sent an impersonal text, but why give the kid false hope? He wasn’t her daddy.