She looked back at the clock, tried to tell herself that the last two minutes and forty seconds would fly by. Then she did a double-take because her name was flashing on the giant screen, just below Caleb’s.
Holy shit, they were crediting her with the assist on Caleb’s goal. No fucking way.
She looked around, finally hearing the cheers and applause, noticed people were actually looking at her. Shannon nodded before she could stop herself, realized she probably shouldn’t have done that, then dropped back into position.
Breathe. Focus.
Again and again, her eyes following the puck, blocking each shot every time Pittsburgh made their way into the zone. Thankfully, it wasn’t as often as she first feared because the Banners were playing aggressive hockey now, keeping the puck away from her, forcing Pittsburgh’s goalie to stay in his net and even scoring that second insurance goal.
And then, finally—finally—the loud blare of a horn split the air, signaling the end of the game. Shannon sucked in a deep breath and leaned against the net, muttering a small prayer of thanks.
She’d done it. Her legs were shaking, her stomach was still in knots, and sweat poured from her, covering her from head to toe—but she’d done it.
Except it wasn’t over yet because a tidal wave of blue and white was moving toward her then whoa, holy shit, she was sucked into the middle of it. Hands knocked her on the back, the shoulders. Heads butted against hers, helmets knocking together in congratulations. And then she was falling, buried under a sea of bodies and worried she might actually be crushed because holy hell, they were heavy.
The sea parted and someone was helping her to her feet. Steadying her. Supporting her. She adjusted her helmet, stumbled a little when her eyes met Caleb’s. He opened his mouth, ready to say something, but was pushed to the side as more bodies came toward her.
The players from Pittsburgh. One by one, they skated toward her, stopping long enough to either tap her in the leg with their sticks or tap their helmet against hers. Congratulating her.
Her.
Then they were gone and it was just a few of the Banners and her. She tugged the helmet from her head and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair, sighing in relief. Caleb was still standing next to her, his helmet cradled in the crook of one arm. And he was watching her with that crooked grin, the one that made her weak in the knees.
She dropped her hand and slid back an inch, suddenly self-conscious. “What?”
Caleb slid closer, his smile growing as he snaked an arm around her waist to keep her from skating away. “Awesome game, Wiley.”
“Yeah? You think so?”
“Definitely. And that was a beautiful play. How did you even know to look for me?”
“I didn’t. It was just instinct.” Shannon leaned closer, her own smile growing a little wider. “Because I am that good.”
“Yeah, you definitely are.”
Then he leaned forward, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss that left no doubt about how he felt.
Nearly twenty thousand fans watched from the stands, cheering them on.
Epilogue
Three Years Later
Shannon sat against the boards in her corner of the player’s bench, watching the action come to a stop with the shrill blow of a whistle. She bit back a smile as a Caleb started arguing with one of the officials. It didn’t matter, Caleb was being sent to the sin bin for the blatant slash against Colorado’s goalie.
She had to force herself not to chuckle—Coach Donovan would tear her a new one if he caught her. Not to mention that it wouldn’t look good if any of the cameras happened to be focused on her while she was laughing.
It still took more effort than it should have to keep the chuckle from breaking free. She couldn’t help it, not when her husband had a really bad tendency to get pissed off whenever a goalie blocked his shot.
She should know: he still did it to her every once in a while. In practice. When they were simply playing around on the ice for fun.
And during the annual charity game between the Banners and the Blades.
So much had happened these last three years. The Blades were still around. In fact, the league had gained enough in popularity that they had expanded to eight teams instead of the original four. The money had gotten a little better—but not good enough that any of them actually made a living from playing.
Most of the original Blades were still with the team, too, though the dynamics had changed just a bit. Taylor and Chuckie were married now, with a little girl who wasn’t quite two-years old. It wouldn’t be long before the little squirt was on the ice, learning everything she needed to know from her mom and all her aunts.
Shannon was the permanent EBUG for the Banners now, had been since that fluke of a game three years ago. She was sitting on the bench tonight because Corbin Gauthier left during the first period—apparently his wife had gone into labor unexpectantly so Shannon had been pulled into action for the rest of the game. Not that she expected to actually play—she’d only made it on the ice that one time. But at least she had her very own Banners jersey now: WILEY, number seventy-three.
Would she ever have a permanent position with the Banners? Not as EBUG, but as an actual paid player? Would there ever be a real contract with the Banners—or with any other team? She had hoped. Had thought that maybe, just maybe, things would have changed these last three years.
But not yet.
That didn’t mean she stopped hoping. And if not for her, then maybe in plenty of time for Taylor’s daughter.
Was it enough? Not really, but it was more than she had hoped for when she first started playing hockey all those years ago. When her best friend had turned on her and told her girls couldn’t play; when he told her she scared all the boys.
Her gaze darted across the ice, stopped to rest on Caleb. And damn if he wasn’t looking at her—she could feel the heat in his gaze, feel the love. The pride.
She wondered where Russell was now. If he still played hockey, or if he even followed the sport. She hoped he did. She hoped he could see her out here now, see all of them, and know how wrong he was.
And if she ever accidentally ran into him again, she’d look him straight in the eye and laugh in his face and tell him how wrong he’d been.
Maybe some boys were scared of her. Intimidated and threated.
But there was one man who believed in her. Who didn’t run scared. Who loved her for who she was.
And that was abso-fucking-lutely the best feeling in the world.
###
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GAME MISCONDUCT
The Baltimore Banners Book 11
Corbin Gauthier never expected to play with the Baltimore Banners again, not when he’d been traded away in the league expansion eight years ago. Yet here he was, three teams and a lifetime later, back where he started as the hockey team’s goalie. And back to the one woman he’s never been able to forget—the one woman who is completely off-limits.
Lori Evans isn’t the same young girl she’d been all those years ago when she first met the shy goalie. She’s older now, more mature and confident, with her feet planted firmly on the ground. Or so she thinks until Corbin shows back up. He’s not the same young man she’s dreamt of all these years: a little harder, more jaded, more cynical…and more tempting than ever. And he’s just as off-limits as before, maybe even more since her uncle is now the head coach for the Baltimore Banners.
At least, he’s supposed to be off-limits. Lori has other ideas—and she knows exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid to go after it. All she has to do is convince the straight-laced goalie that some things are worth drawing a penalty for—even if it means risking a chance of getting ejected from the biggest game of all.
Turn the page for a preview of GAME MISCONDUCT, the newest title in the bestselling Baltimore Banners series, now available.
The memory hit him from out of nowhere, the pain as sharp and biting as taking a puck to the throat. He struggled to draw breath, raised his hand and clawed at the flesh of his neck as a dozen fragmented curses fell from his lips.
The woman standing several feet away blinked then slowly, carefully, raised her sculpted brows. In amusement? In silent question? He didn’t know, didn’t care, not when he was in danger of passing out from lack of oxygen.
Lori Evans. Was he imagining her? Was she nothing more than a hazy vision brought about from the sudden memory? No, it was her, the same girl he remembered from all those years ago.
The same, yet different. Not a girl—a woman. Her hair was a little longer now, the deep shades of honey blonde accented with lighter streaks that framed her smooth face. Her curves were a little fuller, a little softer where there had been dangerously lean muscle before. Gone were the scuffed leather boots he had always teased her about, replaced with shiny black heels that made her look taller than he remembered. Her mouth was the same, soft and full, the color a little darker thanks to the lipstick she wore. And her eyes…
She’d always had beautiful eyes, an unusual shade of amber that saw everything but could hide nothing. All emotion, all thought, had always been reflected in those deep eyes framed in sinfully long lashes. Those amber eyes watched him now—but he could no longer tell what she was thinking. Had she finally learned to hide her thoughts? Or was it simply because he hadn’t seen her in so long? Because he no longer knew her?
Just as she no longer knew him.
He’d been dreading this moment for the last several weeks, ever since he’d been traded back to the Banners. Dreading it…yet anticipating it at the same time. What kind of masochist did that make him? What did that say about his character, about the man he’d become?
Familiar amber eyes slowly raked him, from the top of his head down to the tips of his expensive black shoes, then back up again. Her gaze finally met his and he thought he saw a flash of regret in their depths. A flash of pain and betrayal. But then she blinked and the emotion was gone, maybe it had never been there, maybe it was nothing more than his imagination or his guilty conscience—
He finally sucked air into his starving lungs, a strangled grunt of relief falling from his lips in the process. Heat filled his face and he wanted to look away, wanted to turn around and dive headfirst into the elevator that would take him back upstairs.
But the doors were already closing behind him, the quiet hiss echoing off the concrete of the floor and ceiling of the parking garage. He cursed again, in French, then bit his tongue as her brows shot up once more.
Had she understood him? No, she couldn’t have. He’d always had to translate for her, and even then—even knowing she didn’t understand—he’d always been careful not to swear around her.
But that was eight years ago. A lot of things happened in eight years. A lot of things changed. People changed. Just because she hadn’t understood the words and phrases back then didn’t mean she didn’t understand them now.
An apology hovered on the tip of his tongue, quickly dying as she moved toward him. Her eyes never left his as one hand reached out, reaching for him—
No, not him. The elevator. Her finger pressed the button then her arm dropped to her side as she took a step back. Still close enough that he could smell the faintest hint of her perfume, something light that reminded him of fresh air and bright sun. Close enough that he could feel the heat of her body through the tailored pantsuit she wore.
Corbin swallowed, his gaze dropping to the fit of the jacket and the way it accented her rounded chest and trim waist. More heat filled his face when he noticed her necklace, a simple silver chain with a four-leaf clover pendant resting oh-so-temptingly in the hint of cleavage peeking out from the bright blue blouse.
Corbin yanked his gaze away and swallowed again, tried to work up enough spit to loosen his tongue from the roof of his mouth. He needed to do something, say something, anything—
The elevator doors hissed open behind him. Lori hesitated, one sculpted brow darting up just a fraction of an inch as she watched him. Disappointment flared in her eyes and she shook her head, stepping around him to enter the elevator.
He should let her go. He hadn’t wanted to see her, he wasn’t ready, not yet. He’d been doing his best to make sure he didn’t run into her—which should have been easy enough, considering she worked in one of the many offices in the building that housed the Banners’ practice rink. How many people worked in that building? Sixty? A hundred? Maybe more, he didn’t know. And he never saw any of them, none of the players did.
And he had never expected to run into her here, at the arena after a game.
In the parking garage of the arena.
If he was smart, he’d let her go. Let her walk away, the same way he’d done that humid morning eight years ago on the sidewalk of his old condo.
The doors started their silent slide closed. Another second, maybe two, and she’d be gone, back on her way upstairs to the arena. Gone, just like that morning—
He spun around and grabbed the door with his hand, pushed it back open with a flick of his wrist then stepped into the elevator. Lori’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second then quickly narrowed as she watched him.
“Forget something?”
“I—” He swallowed, heat filling his face once more under her narrowed gaze. He cleared his throat and looked away, shaking his head. “No.”
She didn’t say anything for a few long seconds that felt like a lifetime. Was that a small chuckle he heard? He wasn’t sure, was afraid to face her to find out, afraid that maybe she was laughing at him. He waited for her to push one of the buttons but she didn’t. The doors closed…but the elevator didn’t move.
Silence wrapped around them, suffocating him in the small space. His lungs seized again, threatening to stop working altogether as the space grew even smaller. Was he suddenly claustrophobic? Small spaces had never bothered him before, so why now?
Because he’d never been trapped with Lori before.
Trapped? No, he wasn’t trapped—he’d followed her on here of his own free will. But why? What did he hope to accomplish? They hadn’t seen each other for eight years, hadn’t even talked in all that time. Yes, there had been a few brief calls when he first moved to Vegas, but they were awkward, strained, filling him with remorse until he simply stopped answering.
Coward.
A fitting word, describing what he’d done. How he’d acted. It was easier to let the friendship die, easier to let his heart shrivel up instead of maintaining long-distance communication when he knew nothing would ever come of it.
When he knew nothing would ever come of them. There was no them—there could never be a them.
Not all those years ago.
And not now, not after the things he’d done. Not after how he had treated her. He was a different man now—and not one the woman beside him would want to know.
“How’s your leg?”
Her quiet question caught him off-guard, pulled him from the suffocating grip of a hundred different regrets. He darted a quick look at her, then glanced down at his leg. “My leg? It’s fine. Why—”
“Must have been a quick recovery then.” One corner of her mouth quirked in a quick smile before she schooled her face into a carefully blank mask.
Corbin frowned then shook his head. “Recovery? I wasn’t hurt—”
He snapped his mouth closed with an audible click, remembering too late. How could he forget? The game had ended less than sixty minutes ago—the game where he had feigned an injury to his leg so their unusual EBUG—emergency back-up goalie—could play. The ruse had worked—even if Coach Donovan had given him a look that clearly said he wasn’t buying the act for a second.
It didn’t matter because Shannon Wiley—the goalie for the Chesapeake Blades—had been put in during the third period. She had stopped all nine shots that Pittsburgh had sent her way while the Banners added two more to the scoreboard, winning the game four-to-one. But he couldn’t admit what he’d done to anyone, especially not to the woman standing so close next to him.
He forced a grimace and reached down to rub his left thigh. “I’ll be fine. Just a minor pull—”
“It was your other leg.” She didn’t hide her smile this time as she pointed to his right leg. “Nice try, though. And I’m impressed. By what you did, I mean.”
Corbin straightened with a sigh, his gaze not quite meeting hers. “I did nothing. It was just a pull, eh? Nothing more—”
“We both know you’re lying so don’t deny it. What you did—” She tilted her head to the side, her thick hair falling over her shoulder with the movement. “That was really sweet of you. Honorable.”
Corbin stiffened, her words slicing through him and leaving him chilled. He looked away, each word clipped when he spoke. “There is nothing sweet or honorable about me.”
Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3) Page 22
