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

by Jami Davenport

  Chapter 6—Empty Net

  Brick played the helpless-man-when-it-comes-to-kids card and convinced Amelia to stay long enough to put Macy to bed. He stood in the doorway, leaning on the frame, and watched as Amelia read a story. She was only three pages in when Macy’s eyes fluttered shut.

  The scene was oddly comforting, yet disturbingly domestic, especially to a man once dedicated to partying his life away.

  Once?

  Brick shuddered. He wouldn’t know who he was without the women and the parties. He’d built his lifestyle around being that man. Most troubling of all, he feared he’d already started to change. And he knew who was responsible.

  His attention swung back to Amelia and Macy.

  With a smile, she kissed the little girl on her forehead, tucked the covers around her, and walked toward Brick. He swallowed hard, struggling with a tremor of tenderness welling in his throat and threatening his equilibrium.

  “You’re good with kids,” he said huskily as they walked from the room.

  She arched a brow that seemed to say you just figured that out?

  “Thanks for all your help.”

  “You’re welcome. She’s a wonderful little girl. I’d be proud to have her as a daughter.” Her critical gaze measured him and found him lacking, but he saw through her, right down to a soul-wrenching pain she hid from the world. He wanted to know what that pain was, wanted to take some of it on himself, and he’d never felt that way before.

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Of course I’m okay. I just want you to treat your daughter like she’s your child.”

  “I don’t know if she is. The DNA test will be back in a few days to prove that once and for all.”

  “You’re in denial.” Amelia’s skepticism was planted firmly on the set of her lips. “You know the truth.”

  He played dumb, one of those skills he’d honed to a knife-sharp edge with women over the years. “Sure you don’t want to stay? I’d make it a memorable evening.” As usual, he used sex to deflect any difficult conversation.

  Amelia hesitated, almost as if she might be considering his invitation and giving him false hope. Finally, she shook her head, grabbed her purse and suitcase by the door. He rushed forward to help her into her coat, grasping at any chance to touch her, which was unusually pathetic for him.

  Brick took the coat and held it out. She shrugged into it and reached up to pull her hair from underneath the collar. Brick was faster. He filled his hands with the silky strands, allowing his fingers to trail along the bare skin of her neck. Her hair felt as soft and luxurious as it looked. He was a sucker for long hair on a woman, loved feeling it caress his naked chest as he drove into her.

  A shiver vibrated through her body straight to his dick. He was getting hard. He wanted to bury himself deep and not stop until they were both spent and satisfied. He bent to take a taste of her neck. She jerked away from him and spun around. Accusation flashed in her eyes, as if he’d done something horribly wrong.

  In his book, he hadn’t.

  Had he?

  Fuck, he was so used to women throwing themselves at him, maybe he was a little rusty picking up on signals from a woman who required a little more work or, horror of horrors, didn’t want him at all.

  “Sorry,” he said contritely, holding his hands out, palms up.

  He shouldn’t have touched her. Touching her was like touching an angel, one who could send him straight to heaven and a moment later catapult him to the depths of hell. She was becoming his drug, and he hadn’t even had a taste of her yet. It was insane. He barely knew her and had only spent a few short hours with her.

  “It’s okay. I don’t like men I don’t know touching me.”

  “You do know me.” He couldn’t help but argue.

  “No, I really don’t. In fact, I don’t think you know yourself.”

  She wasn’t making sense, but he didn’t want to get into some kind of deep philosophical discussion with her. He’d always lived by one philosophy. Life is short. Live it to the fullest. Why dine on the same thing every night when you have an entire buffet?

  And why let someone grab hold of your heart when they’ll just squeeze the life out of it?

  Whoa, where did that thought come from?

  “I need to go.” Amelia didn’t give him time to open the door. She and her suitcase were gone faster than a Zamboni exiting the rink at the end of the intermission.

  Brick watched as she got into her older-model car and drove off. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it.

  His world had become entirely too complicated, and Brick did not do complications. He liked things simple and clean, no messy emotions or entanglements. These two females suddenly thrust into his life were making everything messy and unpredictable. He didn’t like either.

  A few more days, maybe a week of this, he told himself, and it’d all be over. He’d have his life back. Things would be the way they were.

  * * * *

  The next day which was Saturday, Amelia came to the house in the afternoon since Brick had a home game that night. She fed the little girl and worked on her alphabet and numbers. She should be in kindergarten, but a few more days wouldn’t hurt. By then, Brick would have positive proof the child was his, and he’d have to come to terms with being a father.

  Now she understood the sadness lurking behind Macy’s big brown eyes. Her heart ached for the poor little girl, and she’d do everything she could to help her, even beat some sense into Macy’s stubborn father.

  With a heavy heart, Amelia settled onto the couch and flipped the channels on the TV, stopping at the Sockeyes hockey game. She’d never been a huge hockey fan, but she casually followed the Seattle pro sports teams.

  She should be studying, but she wasn’t in the mood. After Macy went to bed, she’d study. Keeping one eye on the game and one on Macy, she settled back against the couch cushions.

  Macy sat on the floor with her horse farm. She jabbered to the horses and galloped them around the big plush rug. “Meel?” she said. She’d taken to calling Amelia “Meel,” which Amelia found adorably endearing.

  “What, honey?”

  “My horses need riders.” Macy sat back on the floor, sucked her lower lip into her mouth, and surveyed her small farm with the seriousness of a seasoned farmer.

  “They do,” Amelia agreed with a smile. She’d be giving Brick’s credit card another workout, not that he seemed to notice.

  “And the riders will need a house.”

  Amelia could see where this was heading. One of Macy’s little friends at day care had been bragging about her new Barbie house.

  “Your daddy’s on TV.” She pointed to the game. Brick crouched down in front of the net in his bulky pads. She’d never understand how goalies could move in those pads fast enough to stop a puck, but he did. As she watched, he snatched a puck out of thin air with one thick glove much the way a stalking cat grabs a mouse.

  “He’s not my daddy.” Macy’s entire attitude changed. She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “Who told you that?”

  “I heard Mr. Brick tell you last night. He’s sending me away.” A tear trickled down her cheek.

  Amelia’s mind raced as she tried to come up with comforting words to reassure Macy without giving her false hope.

  “Honey, that’s not necessarily true.” She was lying, and Macy knew it. She got up from the couch and knelt beside her.

  The little girl studied her with a skepticism too old for her years. “He doesn’t like me.”

  “He doesn’t know you.”

  “I want my mommy.” Her lower lip quivered. Her little face scrunched up and turned a blotchy red. The dam broke, and tears ran down her cheeks. Amelia folded Macy in her arms. At first Macy stiffened, but after a few seconds, she burrowed into Amelia’s arms while sobs racked her little body. Amelia murmured words of comfort, not sure Macy understood but hoping her gentle tone helped calm the lit
tle girl. She fought her anger at Brick’s stubbornness, but she suspected the man was guarding his heart as much as she was hers.

  Macy wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked up at Amelia. She brushed Macy’s hair from her eyes and blotted the tears on her face with the bottom of her T-shirt.

  “I want my mommy,” she said again, sniffling.

  “Your mommy is in heaven. She’s watching over you, like a guardian angel.”

  “Why can’t I go there and live with her?” Her face was starting to turn scarlet, as if she was working herself up for another good cry. Amelia rubbed her back in a circular motion, hoping to calm her.

  “You have to stay here, but she’s watching over you. So is your grandma.”

  “I want to be with them. I don’t want to be here.” She let loose with more heartbreaking sobs and threw herself on the floor, burying her head in Simone’s rag-doll body. Amelia pulled her into her arms. Macy came willingly, crawling onto her lap and clinging to her as if she were a life raft on a stormy sea.

  Finally, Macy looked up, sniffing and hiccupping. “Are you going to leave me, too?”

  Amelia hesitated. She couldn’t lie to this child. She’d been through so much. “I’m here as long as Brick needs me.”

  “But I need you.”

  Oh God, this child was breaking her heart. “Let’s get you a bath and put you to bed. Tomorrow, we’ll go shopping for those dolls and dollhouse.”

  Macy managed a shaky smile. “A big dollhouse?”

  “As big as we can find.”

  “Painted pink?”

  “If we can find a pink one, we’ll buy it.”

  “Okay.” Macy’s tears dried, and her smile grew broader. Amelia marveled at how amazingly resilient kids were.

  An hour and a few storybook pages later, Amelia crept from the bedroom where Macy slept. As she reached the door, Macy’s voice caused her to turn.

  “Meel?”

  “Yes?”

  “Will you have Mr. Brick wake me up to say good-night when he gets home?”

  “Sure, honey, I’ll do that.” She wasn’t sure if she’d have Brick wake up Macy, but she’d at least make sure Mr. Playboy checked on his daughter.

  Against her better judgment, Amelia returned to the hockey game as the third period was starting. She was irritated with Brick and his indifference toward Macy. She’d get through to him somehow. He couldn’t be a completely selfish bastard. She’d seen glimpses of the man under the glib words and crystal smile. He felt some guilt, and she could work with that.

  Every time the camera focused on the goalie, she leaned forward, watching him, unable to help herself. His athleticism and flexibility in those big pads mesmerized her. The man was sex on a hockey stick. Even through the thick padding, she could see hints of his powerful body. His high-def TV allowed her to see his eyes even through his helmet. The helmet itself fascinated her. When he bent his head, she could see it was a fish head in blue and green, the Sockeyes’ team mascot. She’d never considered a salmon especially intimidating, but this particular one was. The fish even had a black eye. Nice touch.

  The Sockeyes barely won their game, thanks to a few timely saves by Brick; even a novice fan like her could see how incredible he was. And if she hadn’t seen it, the local announcers certainly sang his praises enough.

  She fell asleep on the couch with her textbook on her lap and woke up much later to the door opening. She checked the time. It was three thirty, and Brick was just rolling in. Indignant and pissed, she shot to her feet, ignoring the book that crashed to the floor. At the sound, Brick’s head swiveled in her direction.

  “Where have you been?” She stalked toward him, ready to do battle.

  “I went out with the guys for a few drinks.” He shrugged as if it were no big deal. She didn’t need to get too close before she could smell the alcohol on his breath. His face was ruddy and his eyes not focused. She was going to kill him.

  “You what?” Amelia bristled. First of all, he was a father now. Second of all, their deal wasn’t for her to stay the night when he was in town.

  “I went out.”

  “You went out?” Her voice bordered on murderous, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “So what? I’ll pay overtime.”

  “This isn’t about me. It’s about Macy.”

  He squinted at her as if his eyes wouldn’t focus. “She’s in bed.”

  “She wanted to see you tonight.”

  “Oh.” He seemed confused. “Why?”

  “Because you’re her father.” She spat the words at him, bullet after bullet, but the alcohol seemed to have formed a bulletproof vest. He opened his mouth to argue, and she cut him off at the knees.

  “You’re all she has right now, and until that changes you need to step up and be a real man.” Amelia growled, exasperated. “Think of someone other than yourself for once.”

  Amelia wanted to throw something at him. Glancing around, she saw a half-empty glass of water on the coffee table. She grabbed her coat and purse, going back for the water. He watched her, unsuspecting.

  As she walked past him toward the door, she splashed the water in his face and stomped out the door, glancing behind her. He stood in stunned silence with droplets of water dripping down his hair, nose, and chin.

  As she slammed the door she could’ve sworn she heard him say, “I’m sorry.”

  Chapter 7—Minding the Net

  Brick rolled over in bed, feeling groggy. His head pounded so hard he swore his skull was being used as a drum in a heavy metal band. His eyelids scraped over his eyes like sandpaper on wood. He squinted at the clock on the nightstand.

  Six fucking a.m.?

  Blinking into the light some idiot had turned on, he tried to make sense of what the hell was going on. He forced one eye open. Several seconds passed before his foggy brain put two and two together. A little girl stared at him with wide eyes. She held a raggedy doll clutched to her chest. Oh, yeah. He remembered.

  Macy.

  “Hey,” he managed groggily, trying his best not to sound grumpy.

  “I’m hungry.”

  “Okay. I’m sure there’s cereal.” He started to roll over and go back to sleep. Normally he didn’t need much sleep, but these past few weeks had been tough on him.

  “I want Meel to cook me something.”

  Ignoring the throbbing in his head and rolling of his stomach, he swung his legs out of bed and onto the floor, holding the sheet to his waist. Self-consciously, he yanked it up to his neck. He liked to be naked. This kid was screwing with his lifestyle.

  “Let me get dressed. I’ll figure out something.”

  Her lips quivered and her eyes filled with tears. “I want Meel.”

  “Meel?”

  “Yeah, she’s my only friend.” She sniffed and glared at him as if he were the biggest ogre in the world. Perhaps he was.

  “Amelia,” he said out loud, finally getting it.

  “Yes,” she wailed, working up to a good cry. “You don’t like me. You’re going to send me away.” Sobbing, she streaked from the room. A second later her door slammed.

  Brick rubbed his eyes.

  Fuck.

  He had not signed up for this.

  But neither had she.

  He was a selfish dickhead, and he was at a loss as to how to handle her. His experience with little kids was limited to signing autographs and working with them at hockey camps, and those kids idolized him. This one did not.

  With a deep sigh, he tugged on a T-shirt and some sweats and padded down the hall to Macy’s room, stopping to turn up the heat, even though it’d kill him. He rapped on the door, didn’t wait for an answer, and turned the doorknob. Macy lay on her stomach on her bed. Her face was buried in the pillow, and one arm was around the doll.

  “Hey, how about we go to the House of Pancakes?” he offered lamely, not knowing what the hell else to do. Kids didn’t come with a manual, not that he would’ve read it anyway.

  “No,” c
ame the muffled response.

  “I could make breakfast.”

  “No, I want Meel.”

  “She’s not here.”

  “I want her.”

  “It’s her day off.” Brick sighed. Reasoning with a five-year-old was proving more difficult than keeping Rush out of the penalty box.

  “I want her. You don’t like me.” Macy’s sobs echoed throughout the room.

  Well, crap. Despite his hangover, her accusation cut deep to his core, leaving him with a sick feeling inside. Not that he didn’t deserve it—he did—but he sure as fuck didn’t know how to undo what he’d done or explain why he’d done it.

  Brick shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, mentally weighing his options. He chose two words he’d been using a lot lately. “I’m sorry.”

  Macy leaped off the bed and stomped over to him. Propping her little hands on her hips, she jutted out her chin and glared up at him, confronting him with such courage, he felt like a coward. “I want my mommy.”

  Ah, crap.

  She chewed on her lower lip, regarding him with a mixture of defiance and hope, as if he had the power to bring back the dead and had chosen not to. As if this were his fault. Then he recalled her grandmother’s note. At least one person had blamed him, but Macy had never voiced any such thoughts.

  Brick knelt on one knee so he’d be at her level. “I can’t bring your mommy back.” He spoke gently, walking on an emotional minefield with no idea which step would set off a bomb.

  “I want her. Now. I want her.” Her voice rose to a fever pitch as another tantrum built to detonation.

  “I can get Amelia here. Give me a few minutes.”

  “I want— You can?” She blinked several times and managed a smile.

  “Yeah. I can do that.” He hurried from the room, desperate to fix this and willing to offer Amelia anything she wanted if she’d take the heat off him. He sucked at this fathering stuff. Really, really sucked. Did all new fathers feel so inadequate and helpless? Or was he the idiot of the bunch? Most likely the latter.