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

by Jami Davenport

  The waitress hustled over. “Is everything okay, Brick?”

  He mustered a smile for her. His bad mood wasn’t her fault. “Yeah, great, sorry.”

  “Can I get you something else to drink?”

  “Nah, I’ve had enough. So has my buddy here.”

  Rush scowled at him. Brick just shrugged.

  “You not my mother.”

  “I fucking hope not.” Brick barked out a harsh laugh and rubbed his forehead. He didn’t feel so great.

  Rush stood, still pissed, and grabbed his beer. “Later. You’re boring.” Without another word, Rush joined a group of ladies who’d been giving him the eye. One of them, a stacked redhead, crooked her finger at Brick. He shook his head. She stuck out her lower lip and pouted. Rush said something to her. She cast one more longing look in Brick’s direction and turned her back on him.

  He sighed, debated on which was lonelier—going home to an empty house or sitting in this bar by himself, alone in a sea of bodies and nameless faces. He’d have never given it a thought a few months ago. He’d be assessing his choices for the evening, trying to determine his mood and which female or females would satisfy his appetite.

  Tonight, his usually hearty sexual appetite refused to emerge, not even for the various delectable morsels who’d been eyeing him with obvious carnal intent. Every time a particular woman caught his eye all he could see were Amelia’s big blue eyes staring back, accusing him of being a coward.

  He wasn’t a coward. It took balls to do the right thing.

  Didn’t it?

  His head pounded to the beat of the music, chanting the same message over and over:

  You didn’t do the right thing. You didn’t do the right thing. You didn’t do the right thing.

  He needed space. Standing, he walked to the door and tossed a hundred at the waitress on his way out.

  A misty rain hung over everything, enveloping the nearby buildings in a gloom that matched his mood. He walked aimlessly down a couple streets to the waterfront. His legs carried him to the end of one of the docks. The rain fell harder, running down his back and plastering his shirt to his body. He stared at the empty, darkened houseboat—the one he’d secretly bought right after he’d seen it with Macy and Amelia. He’d planned on surprising them. Now it sat empty, a testament to his stupidity and stubborn pride.

  Fishing his keys from his pocket, he unlocked the door and entered. The place smelled musty, unlived-in, unloved. Not bothering with the lights, he shuffled around the empty rooms, imagining them as they could be instead as they were.

  He came to a standstill in the living room. Macy’s beloved horse barn and dollhouse occupied a corner. He’d had them moved over here after the house had closed. He couldn’t bear looking at them every day. He should’ve shipped them to Vancouver, but something held him back.

  Hope?

  He sighed.

  Finding a lone folding chair, he pulled it outside to the covered porch and lowered his big body into it. Even though he was protected from the rain, his eyes brimmed with moisture. He swiped at his face with the back of his hand. The liquid streaming down his cheeks wasn’t cold, like raindrops, but warm like tears.

  He was an idiot. He let the two best things that’d ever happened to him get away. He’d let those negative voices from the past infiltrate his brain until he believed them, became them, and given the chance to break the mold, he’d refused. And for what reason?

  He didn’t want his old life back. He wanted his new one. The one he’d been building.

  And he wanted Amelia and Macy.

  With the swiftness of a summer lightning strike, the truth hit him. He slipped from the chair onto his knees and covered his face with his hands as shuddering sobs shook his body.

  He loved them. He loved his daughter and he loved Amelia.

  His life was nothing without them. They were his family. He needed them, and they needed him. He lifted his head. The rain had stopped, and a brilliant moon peeked through the clouds. A slow smile erased the lines of sorrow.

  Brick shot to his feet, the determination of a professional athlete replacing the despair of a few moments ago. He would fight to win, because losing was not an option.

  He was going to get them back.

  * * * *

  Amelia adored Joey and Andy, Matt’s two boys, but she missed Macy. That little girl had drilled a hole in her heart and filled it with love. But now the hole was empty, and so was Amelia.

  She rolled a puzzle piece around in her hand as she tried to figure where it would go. The boys didn’t take that kind of time. They tried their pieces everywhere.

  “That doesn’t go there,” Joey, the oldest, gloated with superiority and removed the piece.

  “Yes, it does.” Andy snatched it from Joey’s hand, and the arguing rose a decibel.

  Amelia sighed. “That’s enough.” She took the piece, turned it over in her hand, and compared it with the available spots.

  Both boys rolled their eyes.

  “You take too long,” said Andy.

  “She does,” agreed Joey.

  Amelia grinned, and they returned to hunting for the next piece.

  She directed her attention to the kitchen, where another argument had begun between the adults in the house. Or so they were supposed to be adults. She wasn’t so sure about that. Vi and Matt had developed an odd love-hate relationship Amelia didn’t bother to dissect. Vi loved to debate anything and everything, and Matt couldn’t seem to let well enough alone. She could only conclude they were enjoying themselves at some level—whatever that level might be.

  She’d started working for Matt a few days after she moved out of Brick’s condo. He’d called her and asked her if she’d like another nanny job. Since both boys were in school during the day, she had the flexibility to go to her classes.

  She’d been on the job for a few short weeks. The rambunctious boys took her mind off her losses, and Matt was the perfect gentleman.

  Right now Amelia was nursing a broken heart and had sworn off men for the foreseeable future. When she’d first moved out, Brick called multiple times; this past week, nothing. She couldn’t blame him for giving up, since she hadn’t answered one call. He’d probably slid back into his old life and forgotten all about her.

  Amelia shook off thoughts of Brick and decided wine would help her feeling of melancholy. Wine healed all, at least for a moment. She paused, puzzled, and listened. The arguing in the kitchen had faded. In fact, she didn’t hear a thing. Knowing Vi, she’d gotten pissed and stomped out.

  Amelia looked around the corner into the kitchen and sucked in a shocked breath, holding it. Vi had Matt in a lip-lock, and he wasn’t complaining. Her fingers were buried in his hair, and his hands were clutching her ass.

  Amelia retreated before they saw her and returned to the boys. They glanced up at her briefly and continued with their mission to find the aft end of the starship.

  Vi and Matt?

  But they hated each other.

  Obviously not.

  Then again, it was probably just sex. Vi was going through a dry spell, and Matt’s mother had been living with him. That didn’t exactly encourage much of a love life. The two of them were merely horny and reacting to some volatile chemistry.

  Amelia stepped outside onto Matt’s wide front porch and listened to the rain pattering on the roof. She leaned on the railing and stared at the large cedar tree in his expansive front yard. Her chest constricted, causing her heart to ache and breathing to be difficult. She forced air into her lungs.

  In. Out. In. Out.

  But nothing helped the gut-wrenching pain of loss. Nothing filled the gaping empty spots. Nothing healed the weary loneliness. Loneliness had always been numbing, but this wasn’t. It was far worse. Numbness wasn’t painful. What she was feeling was fucking painful.

  The emptiness throbbed through her bloodstream, exhausting her, paralyzing her. It dragged her down, attempting to pull her into a dark abyss.

&n
bsp; She buried her face in her hands, calling forth an inner strength. She would get through this. She would survive and be tougher for it.

  Brick didn’t want her. She couldn’t do anything about that. And Macy wasn’t hers to want.

  She had to move on and learn her lesson once and for all.

  Stay away from men with good looks and big egos.

  Chapter 20—In the Crease

  Close to noon, Brick pulled to the curb across the road from his childhood home near Vancouver, British Columbia. He sat in the car and stared at the door for several minutes. His heart thudded in his chest, beating a rapid rhythm of fear and uncertainty. He wiped his clammy hands on his jeans for the tenth time and swiped at his sweaty brow despite the chilly temperature of his car.

  His mom and stepdad knew he was coming, but he was early, and no one ever expected him to be early. He’d prepared himself for an argument when he’d called them two nights ago and hadn’t gotten one, which shocked the crap out of him. Neither of his parents had ever missed an opportunity to lecture him. His stepfather had merely said, “I’m proud of you, son,” while his mother had burst into tears. He’d apologized profusely for being such an ass, but she’d started laughing. They’d been tears of joy that he’d made the right decision. But they’d both warned him Macy may not be easy to convince of his good intentions.

  Facing his daughter scared the snot out of him more than a team of enforcers. His fucking hands were even shaking.

  This adulting shit was tough. It was taking every ounce of courage he had to go inside to beg for his little girl’s forgiveness. Coach had given him special permission to miss the day’s practice, and he hoped to God one day would be enough.

  With one last rub of his towel to his brow, he opened the car door and got out. He trudged across the rain-splattered street and up the sidewalk, and knocked on the door, rather than barging inside as he normally would.

  No one came to the door.

  He knocked again.

  Nothing.

  His heart sank to his knees, and he reached for the back of a nearby porch bench to steady himself. The doorknob turned. He stood up straight and squared his shoulders, ready to face the firing squad, the gallows, or whatever form of punishment he justly deserved.

  The door opened a crack and a pair of big brown eyes stared up at him.

  “H-hey.” His voice cracked, and his eyes filled with unshed tears. “Can I come in?”

  The door shut in his face. He stared at the wood grain as he heard the first crack in his heart as loud as a pistol shot. He would bleed out if she didn’t come back. He knocked again.

  He waited a lifetime, long enough to run through everything he regretted in his twenty-six years, with Amelia and Macy tied for the top spot on that list.

  The door swung open. He half expected to see his mother or stepfather on the other side. They weren’t. It was Macy. She hugged Simone to her and gazed up at him once again. She wore a little pink princess dress with sparkly pink shoes. Her hair was tied in a ponytail and secured with a matching pink hair tie.

  “Can I come in?”

  She sucked her lower lip into her mouth and considered his question, kicking the doormat with a toe. After a whispered consultation with Simone, she nodded solemnly. He followed her into the living room, where several dolls, including the fish he’d given her, sat around a small table set with miniature teacups. The fact that his parents were nowhere to be found wasn’t lost on him. They weren’t going to run interference or make this any easier. He needed to be a man and take his lumps.

  “Could I join you?” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. Those huge brown eyes regarded him with mistrust, making him feel like all kinds of an ass.

  “I guess so.” She sighed wearily and took her seat in the tallest chair at the table, leaving him to sit on the floor or in a chair about a foot high, which he would surely break.

  He sat down cross-legged and waited for her cue.

  “You have to wear this.” She handed him a glitzy pink crown and donned one herself.

  Without hesitation, he put the damn thing on his head and thanked God his teammates weren’t around or he’d be forever tortured in some manner involving princess crowns. It was too small and dug into his scalp, but that was a minuscule price to pay.

  “I’m Princess Phoebe, you’re Prince Cumberdoodle.” She giggled and a smile lit up her face. He grinned back at her. He’d be Cinder-fucking-ella if that’s what it took.

  “Better than being Princess Cumberdoodle,” he quipped, and was rewarded with another smile.

  She poured imaginary tea into a tiny teacup that wouldn’t have held the shot of whiskey he so desperately needed right now. He followed her lead and pretended to sip from the cup.

  “Not like that. Hold your pinkie out like this.”

  “Okaaay.” He did as instructed, even though he could barely grasp the handle of the teacup with his big fingers.

  She introduced him to every doll and stuffed animal at the table. He shook their hands or paws, which earned him another round of giggles. She gazed up at him with sparkling brown eyes so like his own and rubbed her chin as he often did when deep in thought. She was his daughter, his beautiful, sweet, sometimes shy, sometimes spunky daughter, who skated as though she was born on the ice and made lemonade out of all the lemons life had dealt her.

  His heart leaped from his chest and groveled at her feet. Time for the rest of him to do the same.

  “I bought the houseboat.”

  Macy froze. Her chin set stubbornly. She rearranged her dolls around the table and poured more imaginary tea, not once looking up at him. Brick breathed in slowly and out slowly, attempting to calm himself.

  The moment of truth had come.

  “I thought you might like living there. I moved your dollhouse and stable in already. We could be in there by Christmas.” He held his breath, feeling sicker than he had before his first-ever NHL game, when he’d thrown up in the locker room in front of his teammates.

  She poured another round of tea for the animals and dolls.

  “We could get a big Christmas tree.”

  Macy whispered something to Simone, still not looking at him.

  “Macy,” he said shakily. “I love you, honey. I messed up. I want you to live with me.”

  She raised her head, regarding him with suspicion. “Forever?”

  “As long as you want.”

  “My mommy died in a car accident. We were coming to see you.”

  Oh, fuck. She knew? She’d never said a word. He resisted the urge wrap her in his arms and protect her from life’s harsh realities.

  Not yet. Have patience.

  “Granna said she was in heaven. What if you leave me again, too?”

  “I won’t. I’m here to stay.”

  “What about Meel?” She met his gaze, her eyes luminous with unshed tears.

  “Meel, too.”

  She picked at a chip on one of the cups and said nothing, while he experienced every painful symptom of an impending heart attack without having physical heart issues. He didn’t push her, even though the wait was pure agony.

  Macy lifted Simone to her face and whispered in her ear, then listened and whispered some more. She returned Simone to her spot at the table. His little girl raised her head and met his gaze.

  “Simone wants to live in a houseboat.”

  His breath came out in a rush, but he wasn’t out of the woods yet. “She does? What about you? Do you want to live in a houseboat?”

  “Yeah.”

  He grinned like a man who’d been given the best gift money couldn’t buy. Macy smiled back, then she moved faster than Ice intercepting the puck in the Stanley Cup final. Catching him off guard, she threw herself at him, scattering dolls, stuffed animals, and teacups every direction. Brick caught her in his arms and hugged her tightly to him, as a lone tear escaped down his cheek.

  “I love you, Daddy.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her h
ead in his shoulder.

  “I love you, too, Macy.” Maybe he didn’t deserve her love, but he’d work his ass off to earn it.

  Glancing over her head, he spotted his parents standing in the doorway, beaming with approval.

  He’d won the battle, but he still had a war to win.

  * * * *

  Something was up. Amelia knew a rat when she smelled one. Vi and Matt were up to no good. They’d been whispering to each other all day, rather than arguing, shutting up when she came into the room, and now this. They’d taken the boys and gone bowling, insisting she stay home and get some rest. She didn’t want rest. She wanted to keep her mind occupied and away from a hunky hockey player and his adorable daughter.

  Her cell rang, and she frowned.

  Brick.

  It’d been a long time since he’d called.

  She put the phone down and walked away.

  She would not answer it.

  They were over.

  The phone rang again.

  She froze, willing herself not to turn around, to be strong, to not fall prey to that pretty face and even prettier body.

  The ringing stopped.

  Amelia poured a glass of wine.

  Her phone rang.

  Okay, she couldn’t stand it. She dived for the phone and grabbed the little sucker, pressing the Answer button.

  “WHAT?” she yelled into the phone.

  “Meel?”

  Amelia’s anger fled like a mouse fleeing a hungry alley cat. “Macy?”

  “Yeah.” Macy spoke in a small, scared voice.

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  Amelia’s instincts went on red alert. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Where are you? Where are your grandparents?”

  “They’re gone. I’m at the houseboat.”

  “The houseboat? The one on Lake Union?”

  “Yes. Can you come get me?”

  “Where’s Brick?”

  “He ran to the store, and he’s been gone a long time.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  She grabbed her keys and ran for the door. She was going to kill that man. Kill him. Even better, she’d castrate him or hang him by his balls. She didn’t understand why Macy was back in town, but she’d make sure he never left her alone again.