Luca: A Chicago Blaze Hockey Romance

by Brenda Rothert

  I can’t help my slight smile. “Oh, you’re terminated. Your ten seconds are up.”

  “Fuck you.”

  As I stand up and gather my bag and coat in my arms, I have to force myself not to wince. I’m definitely sore from my night in the sack with Luca. “As you’ll see in the contract, once terminated you aren’t allowed on any property owned by Cypress Lane. I’ll have any personal effects left on job sites returned to you.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Stephen mutters. “I’ve never been fired from a job in my life.”

  “Best of luck to you.” I walk to the door, and Stephen jumps out of his seat.

  He points a finger in my face and says, “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer about this bullshit. You’ve got no grounds for firing me.”

  “Under the terms of the contract, I’m not required to have grounds.”

  “So you admit you’re just doing this to be a bitch?”

  He comes closer to me, scowling, and my body tenses in fear. I want to throw the door open and run, but I’m not giving him the satisfaction. If it was before, I’d cower. Cry. Call my husband to come rescue me.

  But it’s after. For the rest of my life, everything will be after. And there’s nothing Stephen could do to me that would hurt worse than what I’ve already survived.

  I glare at Stephen as I turn the handle to the conference room door and open it.

  “You know what they say about us shrews,” I say as I leave the room. “We can be pretty shrewd.”

  Chapter Six

  Luca

  Victor gives me a shit-eating grin as soon as I roll into the locker room, five minutes later than usual.

  “Good night?” he asks.

  “Great night.” I quickly strip out of my day-old clothes and get into my practice gear. “You?”

  “Fantastic night.”

  “Yeah?” I ask, though I’m not really surprised. Vic has blond hair, blue eyes and a boy-next-door charm that drops panties. “You meet Kristen Moore?”

  He nods. “Met her, got her number, taking her out tonight.”

  “No shit?”

  He holds his hands out in surprise. “You doubt my game, fuckface?”

  “No, but she’s big-time, man. My nieces watch that movie she’s in over and over. And isn’t she a model too?”

  “Uh huh.” His eyes light and his grin widens.

  Anton laughs from a few lockers away. “You’re too broke for her, son.”

  Vic flips him off. I finish changing and sit down with my phone. I had several texts from Cora, but I didn’t have time to check them until now.

  Cora: Uncle Luca, y aren’t u home yet????

  Cora: Are u OK???

  Cora: I’m worried. ☹

  I text her back to let her know I’m okay and will be back home this afternoon, then set my phone in my locker and sigh heavily. I feel so fucking guilty. I shouldn’t have stayed out all night. Even with my parents taking care of the kids at my house, I should’ve known Cora would worry.

  It was a big adjustment going from bachelorhood to, pretty much, single parenthood. I didn’t just have to figure out how to take care of the kids on my own, I also had to help them through the grief of losing their mom soon after losing their dad. We made it through, though. We’ve gotten to a point where there’s laughter in the house. The kids are arguing with each other and whining about how gross vegetables are. Those are the kinds of things I want them doing—not worrying about me dying.

  “You okay, man?” Anton asks me.

  I nod, looking around and realizing that the locker room has mostly cleared out. I get up and head out to the rink with Anton.

  “You’re not okay,” he says as we walk.

  “I will be.”

  “I’m always here.”

  I nod and clap him on the shoulder. Anton and Vic are my closest friends. We’ve liked each other and played well together on our line since Vic’s trade to Chicago. But it was the deaths of my brother and sister-in-law that really cemented our friendship. Those two were there for me in every possible way.

  When I got the news about my brother being killed in action in Afghanistan, Vic cried with me. Anton called every sports reporter for every outlet that covers our team—and there are a lot—and told them if anyone contacted me for an interview about my brother or took photos of me or the kids, their outlet would never get an interview with a Blaze player again.

  Losing my older brother was harder than I could ever put into words. Matt was my hero, and I was so damn proud of his military service. To me, he was invincible. My brother was always stronger and faster than me. He played hockey, too, but it was never his passion. He always wanted to serve in combat. After he did a couple tours, I stopped worrying something could happen to him.

  And then he was gone.

  I can’t focus at practice, because Cora’s texts are on my mind. A couple years ago, I would’ve been thinking about the amazing night I had with Abby. But now, my priorities are different.

  I swore to Danielle on her deathbed that her children would always come first for me. And after her funeral, I went to my brother’s gravesite and promised him I’d do everything in my power to fill the deep void in his children’s lives. I’ll never be half the father he was to them, but I have to be the best uncle I can be.

  “Hey,” Vic says, shoving me. “Wake the fuck up, man. Did you not sleep last night?”

  “Uh…a little.”

  “Well, phone it in a little better.” He lowers his voice. “Easy and Richter are both on your ass.”

  “Richter?” I turn to look at him, confused.

  Easy is a second line winger, doing the same job I do on our team. Richter is a third line winger. And even though it’s very unlikely either of them will get my spot and I’ll get demoted, Vic’s right—I can’t risk it.

  Vic skates off for his drill, and I mentally shake off the cobwebs in my head. I have to focus on practice, no matter how guilty I feel about Cora worrying about me.

  Nothing to really think about, anyway. I fucked up, and it won’t happen again. Spending the night with a woman is too much of a luxury for me now. All my focus has to be on the kids and hockey.

  It’s for the best, anyway, because no matter how great the sex was last night, Abby’s obviously not planning to call me.

  Cora flies into my arms as soon as I walk in the house after practice.

  “I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, squeezing me tight.

  “I’m sorry I worried you. Won’t happen again, buttercup.”

  She looks up at me and grins.

  “He was only gone for one night,” my mom says with a little huff. “Are we really so awful?”

  I give her an admonishing glance to let her know I don’t appreciate the comment.

  “No, Grandma, you’re not awful,” Cora says. “I was just worried.”

  “Uncle Luca, I made a plate!” Emerson says from the living room.

  “You made a plate? Can I see it?”

  She stands up on the sofa and turns around so I can see her. “It has to get heated up first. But then it’s for you.”

  “We went to a pottery painting place earlier,” my mom explains. “They have to fire the things the kids painted and you can pick them up in a week.”

  “That sounds fun.” I look at Cora. “What did you paint?”

  “A mug.”

  “Where’s Jack?” I ask, looking around the open kitchen, dining and living room.

  “Playing his lame video game,” Cora says. “He made a mug, too.”

  “Nice.”

  “How was practice?” my mom asks.

  “Good.” I open the refrigerator and look around.

  “I’m making a roast and veggies for dinner,” Mom says.

  When I was a kid, she would have added, ‘so don’t spoil your dinner,’ but she holds back since I’m twenty-eight and we’re standing in my kitchen.

  I take out some lunch meat and cheese. “I need something now,
I’m starving. I’ll be hungry later, too.”

  “Here, let me make you a sandwich,” she offers. “Why don’t you go get a shower and it’ll be ready when you’re finished?”

  I always shower at the rink after practice, but I came straight home today since I knew Cora was anxious to see me. I’m drenched with sweat.

  “Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Mom.”

  I jog up the stairs and stop by the open door to Jack’s room.

  “Hey, Uncle Luca,” he says, not looking over from the TV screen he’s glued to as he plays his video game.

  “Hey, man, how was your night with Grandma and Grandpa?”

  “Good.”

  I won’t get more that than out of him. I was lucky he even said hi to me. The kid gets so lost in those video games, same as I did when I was a kid.

  I’m about to leave and hit the shower when I do a double take, seeing that not only is my dad sitting next to Jack on his bed, he has a video game controller in his hand, too. He doesn’t even look over at me because he seems so absorbed.

  “You just got killed again, Grandpa,” Jack says.

  “How do I come back?”

  “Just wait for a second, and it’ll bring you back in.”

  I turn away before either of them can see my amused smile. My dad was a banker, and he was always telling us video games would rot our brains when he walked in the door from work and found me and my brother playing them. He never even touched a controller or knew what the games were about.

  But now, things are different. Now Matt’s gone, and my throat tightens a little as I turn on the shower and think about my dad playing video games with Jack. He’s trying to fill a little bit of the void in the kids’ hearts, too.

  Raising three kids is harder than I ever thought it would be. And even though my parents aren’t close enough to be here and help a lot, they do help. Last night was a gift. I’m glad Abby and I screwed seven ways from Sunday, because that was the last night I’ll be spending with a woman for a very long time.

  Chapter Seven

  Abby

  When I walk into the gym at my usual time, Percy’s sitting on a weight bench. Usually she’s standing next to the weight rack, notebook in hand.

  “What’s up?” I ask, setting my bag down.

  She gets up from the bench and smiles. “We’re just gonna walk today.”

  “Walk?”

  I follow her to the quarter-mile track that runs around the perimeter of the gym.

  “Don’t sound so shocked.”

  After a single note of laughter and a shrug, I say, “Well, isn’t it Whoop-ass Wednesday?”

  Percy shrugs back. “I figure I’ll whoop your ass tomorrow.”

  “But then you’ll have to make up Throw-up Thursday.”

  She grins. “Really? You’ve got a name for every day?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “Hit me,” she says, hands on her hips. “What do you call our days together?”

  I fall into step beside her on the track. “Wellll…we start with Murderous Monday.”

  She laughs and I continue. “Then there’s Torturous Tuesday, Whoop-ass Wednesday, Throw-up Thursday and Fuck You Friday.”

  Percy’s smile is so wide I can see most all of her perfect white teeth. “Fuck You Friday?”

  “Hey, you asked.”

  “Just for that, I really might make you throw up tomorrow.”

  “I like that you push me hard.”

  “Good.” She nods in greeting to another walker as we pass.

  “But seriously, why are we walking?”

  “You’re not a very patient person, are you?”

  “Not particularly.”

  After a couple seconds of silence, she says, “My bad cop approach doesn’t seem to be working, so I’m changing it up.”

  I furrow my brow. “What do you mean? I do everything you ask me to.”

  “You do, but that’s not what I mean.”

  “Then what?”

  She gives me a serious look. “Abby, what do you have against sleep?”

  I turn away and look straight ahead. “I never said I have anything against it.”

  “You don’t have to. I can tell by looking at you that you don’t get anywhere near enough sleep. Which makes me wonder if you’re eating well. I don’t want to drop you as a client, Abby. I feel like you need me. But I can’t keep pushing you to work out so hard if you aren’t giving your body the food and rest it needs.”

  “I do eat well. I have breakfast and lunch made for all the employees at my office by a chef every day, and I eat it, too. And I usually have a wrap or a salad delivered for dinner by the deli by my office.”

  Percy gives me a sideways glance. “So you work late every night?”

  “Pretty much.” I sigh softly. “Surely an Olympic athlete doesn’t have an issue with me working hard.”

  “Look, I’m all about hard work if you’re also taking care of yourself.”

  “I’m fine, okay? If I need a counselor, I can get one for way less than I’m paying you.”

  Percy hums with amusement. “Yeah, that’s not gonna work on me anymore, Abby.”

  I turn to ger with a sharp look. “What?”

  “We’ve spent enough time together that I know how you operate. When I hit a nerve, you try to deflect and change the subject, usually with a passive aggressive suggestion that I’m not doing my job or a threat to fire me.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but then close it immediately, because honestly, I’ve got nothing. Percy is right.

  We walk in silence for a minute. Then Percy says, “So I don’t want to talk about how much sleep you do or don’t get anymore.”

  “Perfect.”

  “We both know it’s not much. What I want to know is why.”

  My heart kicks up its pace, but I shrug and try to play it off. “I’m a workaholic, like you said.”

  “Abby…” Percy’s voice trails off as she seems to consider her words. “I used to volunteer at a shelter for abused women. I know a wounded heart when I see one.”

  Her words cut deep.

  “I’ve never been abused,” I fire back.

  She puts her hands up in mock surrender. “I’m not saying you have.”

  I stop and step off to the side of the track, crossing my arms. “Then what? Look, if you’ve got something to say, just say it.”

  “I’m not the enemy, Abby.”

  I stare at her in silence. This is the expression I use in business negotiations. It usually works, making people either back down or get defensive.

  But not on Percy.

  “You’re hurting,” she says softly.

  “I’m f—”

  She cuts in. “Don’t tell me you’re fine. I’m hip to your bullshit, okay? And if I’ve learned anything from a lifetime as an athlete, it’s that health and wellness are always more than just physical. I’ve struggled, too. You’re not alone.”

  My throat tightens and my eyes burn as tears threaten. Oh, hell. It’s been a long time since I’ve cried, and of all times, of all places, here? Now?

  “Let it out,” Percy coaxes. “I won’t judge. I won’t repeat it.”

  “It’s not—” I stop and clear my throat. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I do. It’s that some things are just…too much. I’m functioning, and I need to stay functioning.”

  She nods and leads the way to a vacant bench, nodding for me to sit down. She takes a seat next to me and we sit quietly for a minute.

  “I appreciate you admitting to me that you’re hurting,” she says in a low tone. “Just that is a big thing. And if you’re not ready to say more, that’s okay.”

  I lean my elbows on my thighs and stare at the floor, taking a few deep breaths.

  “I dated a guy who doped once,” Percy says so softly I can hardly hear her. “In college. He was a runner, too. And just knowing he was cheating…I was wrecked over the guilt. I never said a thing, because I thought I loved him.”

&nbs
p; I glance over at her, and her expression tells me these memories are tough for her.

  “And then when he got busted…” Her laugh is humorless. “Everyone assumed I was doing it, too. I was shunned. They put me through every test conceivable because they assumed I was somehow beating their drug tests. The shame I felt…”

  “Even though you did nothing wrong?”

  Percy’s expression is sober. “My boyfriend was offered a reduced penalty if he told them I’d done it, too.”

  “So he lied?”

  “Yep. And I got suspended pending the investigation.”

  “What happened?”

  “I was exonerated. My mom had to take out a second mortgage to pay for the attorney, though. And I felt like…an asshole. I risked everything my mom had sacrificed for me over a man.”

  “You were young.”

  She nods. “And I learned a hard lesson. But when I came back, no one apologized. I was so alone. That whole thing really tested me. I don’t know if it’s relevant to what you’re going through, but I just…wanted to let you know I’m not perfect. Far from it. I stumble and fall. I hurt. I even just got dumped a few months ago and it hurt like a mother.”

  “What kind of a dumbass would dump you?”

  Percy grins and holds out a fist for a bump.

  “Damn right, girl,” she says with a laugh.

  The tension has faded now. Fatigue hits me hard and fast, which tends to happen when I relax. I bury my face in my hands, rubbing my tired eyes.

  When I put my hands back in my lap and sit up, I look at Percy.

  “I had a different life before,” I say, surprising myself with the admission. “Until three years ago.”

  I can’t say more. Not if I want to keep it together—and I do.

  “Are you on the run from memories?” Percy asks softly.

  The question hits home. I nod again.

  Realization dawns on her face. “And dreams. You don’t want to dream about the past, so you don’t sleep.”

  “I do sleep, just…not much.”

  Percy returns the wave of a passing walker.

  “I understand you a lot more now, Abby,” she says. “Thank you for opening up to me.”