One Man Rush

by Joanne Rock

  It was a new beginning. She didn’t know enough about him, but she looked forward to learning everything.

  All on her own, she’d found her perfect match.

  12

  “GO! GO! GO!” MARISSA shouted like a madwoman, leaping to her feet when Kyle got the puck late in the third period.

  Eyes glued to the Phantoms’ leading scorer and the sexiest man she’d ever met, she fisted her hands and willed him on as he flew down the ice. She might be leaving tomorrow, but she planned to root him on tonight.

  Jammed into a sold-out arena among the home crowd rooting mostly for the other team, she held her breath as Kyle powered past the other players. She’d seen it throughout the game when he was on the ice. He was unbelievably fast. More than that, he could keep the puck under control as if he had glue on his stick. They called him the Playmaker with good reason.

  Now, he drew back his stick for a breakaway shot. She could almost see the panic in the opposing goalie’s eyes.

  An opponent’s stick came hurtling down out of nowhere, tomahawk-chopping Kyle’s before he got the shot off. The home crowd roared in approval. The breakaway play died and the refs blew their whistles.

  “Cheap shot!” Marissa called, hands cupped around her mouth as if that would megaphone the message to the offender. “You oversize goon! Did you see that?” she turned to the people seated nearby. “The other guy couldn’t keep up so he flung his stick in the way.”

  Some Pittsburgh fans nearby chuckled at her, clearly proud of their team’s goon. Kyle had explained to her before the game that some defenders resorted to cheap tactics to stop a goal, but she hadn’t expected such violence. She’d never seen a live hockey game. The game riveted her. Or maybe it was just Kyle who fascinated her. She hadn’t realized his incredible level of talent until tonight, seeing him compared to the rest of the players. He stood taller than all of them except his foster brother, his skills above and beyond the others on the ice.

  “What’s happening now?” she asked the fans around her, seeing the hockey rink erupt with tension. Players circled the refs, shouting at them and one another.

  “Your guys aren’t content with a hooking penalty,” a helpful older woman explained to her from the seat to the right.

  Kyle pulled off his gloves and threw them on the ice. From her position a few rows above rink-side she could see his expression and his body language—flexing jaw, lowered eyebrows, tense body. His power and strength were undeniable even as she feared what would come next.

  The crowd was going wild now—stomping and banging their seats. Cheering on…what? Anger?

  She was totally unprepared when the first fist flew. Even more unprepared to comprehend that it was Kyle doing the swinging. He’d gone after the defenseman who’d whacked his stick on the shot attempt. In the blink of an eye, Kyle’s foster brother hit someone else, and soon it seemed as though the whole rink erupted in a brawl.

  “Oh, no.” She sank to her seat, hands pressed to her mouth.

  Kyle had his opponent’s jersey fisted in one hand while he used the other to hit. But since the defenseman outweighed him by about fifty pounds, the fight seemed bound to end badly for Kyle. Sure enough, a right-hand punch by the big man connected with Kyle’s face, sending his head back and sending Marissa right out of her seat.

  “Excuse me.” Edging down the row past other fans’ knees and cardboard trays of beers, Marissa reached the aisle.

  Eyes glued to the ice, she watched as the refs finally pulled the fighters apart. Thank God.

  Except instead of sending Kyle to the E.R. or even the locker room to tend to his head, they sent him to a little plastic cage they called the penalty box. Apparently in this game, you went to time-out for bad behavior. Didn’t these refs have any idea what kind of damage a blow to the head could inflict? Thoughts of her mother’s ordeal made her all the more anxious to make sure Kyle was okay.

  The pressure in her chest told her exactly how scared she was for him. She didn’t want to see him hurt. Didn’t want to lose him. In fact, just thinking about it made her heart beat faster, almost as if…

  She loved him.

  Winding her way through the stands toward the section of seats containing the penalty box, she accidentally stepped on a sticky patch of trampled cotton candy, not looking where she was going. Could she possibly care so deeply about a man she’d just met?

  The squeeze of her heart told her, absolutely yes. Maybe she was drawn to bigger-than-life personalities in spite of herself, her quieter nature responding to the confidence and charm of someone like Kyle. But beneath that bold exterior, Kyle shared her values, donating time to charity and staying out of the spotlight. He believed in hard work and discipline, his lifestyle far closer to hers than her jet-setting mother’s.

  “Can I help you, miss?” a grizzled usher asked her, his red shirt identifying him as staff.

  He stood in front of a rope that closed off the step down to the seating section surrounding the penalty box.

  “Can I get through here?” she asked, squinting to try to see Kyle, but he was hidden from view by fans for the home team shouting at him and knocking on the glass of the box where he sat.

  An announcement about the penalties—one for each team—boomed over the P.A. system, drowning out the security guard’s answer.

  “Excuse me?” She leaned closer to the man, wishing Kyle would turn around and see her ten rows up. She still felt shaky with the realization that she cared for him far more than she ever thought she could feel about someone in such a short space of time.

  Maybe her emotions were just running high after the draining months of taking care of her mom. No wonder her feelings were so close to the surface.

  “Sorry miss, these are reserved seats. Season ticket holders only.” He crossed his arms and resumed watching the action on the ice as play continued.

  “But I’m Kyle’s—” She paused, unsure how to finish that sentence. Girlfriend? Temporary diversion? Decoy mistress for the sake of the gossipmongers of the world?

  What could she possibly be to him in the big scheme of things?

  Stymied, she didn’t know how to convince this sentry to let her pass.

  “Marissa!” a feminine voice called to her over the din.

  She didn’t have to look far to spot the source. Two rows down in the forbidden season ticket-holder zone, Stacy Goodwell stood and waved both arms. Decked out in a fan sweater and a blue miniskirt that matched the base color in the team jersey, Stacy sat beside the man Marissa had researched for her: graphics microchip guru Isaac Reynolds. She recognized him from his pictures. He steadied Stacy during the enthusiastic waving, keeping her from toppling into the next row down with a hand at her waist.

  “Down here!” Stacy cried, grinning ear to ear as Marissa spotted her.

  “My friend really needs me,” Marissa told the usher protecting the section, but he was already stepping aside for her, giving up the fight to keep Marissa out.

  Or maybe the guy recognized Phil Goodwell’s daughter. Goodwell owned the arenas in both Philadelphia and Pittsburgh as well as nearly a dozen others around the country. And for her part, Stacy was highly recognizable, with her asymmetrically cut platinum hair and a face so beautiful she could have graced a magazine cover.

  But as Marissa made her way down the stairs toward Stacy and—more important—the penalty box, a horn blew and signaled the game was over. Instantly, the aisles filled with fans going the other way.

  “I’ll come to you!” Stacy called through the din, her hand waving over the top of the mob’s collective heads. “Just a sec.”

  Marissa couldn’t have argued if she tried. She tucked into the end of one row to get out of the way of people streaming up the stairs.

  “I wanted to see if Kyle is okay,” she explained to Stacy when she and her date reached the spot where Marissa stood. “He was in the penalty box.”

  “Well, he’s out now!” Stacy hugged her, practically bubbling with a happ
iness that glowed. “We won!”

  Had they? The score hardly registered with Marissa since she’d been so intent on seeing Kyle. Isaac moved toward them, sliding a protective arm around Stacy’s waist.

  “Stacy can get you downstairs where the players will be,” Isaac informed her, his dark, serious gaze seeming to assess Marissa’s deeper concern. “I’m Isaac, by the way.”

  “How rude of me,” Stacy exclaimed, frowning. But she was already leading the way through the crowd.

  Following, Marissa introduced herself to the man who’d inspired Stacy to make a huge, wholesale change in her life.

  “Marissa Collins. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She would have extended her hand, but they had to walk single file down a busy thoroughfare to keep up with Stacy’s blond head as she bobbed and weaved through the crowd.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Isaac told her, surprising her. “Although I hope Stacy won’t have a need for your services any longer.”

  He said it so matter-of-factly that it took Marissa a moment to realize why. Isaac was staking claim to Stacy. She almost hadn’t believed the two of them could be right for each other when she’d researched him. He’d sounded like a bit of a techno-geek when she’d read about everything he’d accomplished at such a young age. He held an honorary degree from MIT even though he’d left his studies early to take his first product to market.

  But maybe Stacy’s vibrant personality balanced his. Sometimes people sought partners with strengths they lacked. Isaac could help Stacy channel her talents and give her the direction and backbone she needed with her dad. Stacy would ensure the genius entrepreneur had a life outside his work.

  “You know, a matchmaker can tell you how compatible you will be when you enter a new relationship,” she remarked, already seeing how they’d fit together in the future. It was a service few people used, kind of like couple’s counseling while you were still in the giddy stages of a new romance. She wanted to be certain this relationship would stick since Stacy deserved to be happy. “We can help you avoid common pitfalls and prepare you for—”

  “We’ll call you to set something up. I’m sure that would be helpful.”

  For a moment, Marissa forgot all about her need to get to Kyle. She was shocked that this man who’d only just met Stacy would agree so easily. If anything, women were generally more apt to agree to compatibility counseling. Men usually assumed they would conquer all obstacles as they arose. She halted in her steps to turn again and gauge his expression.

  “Really?” She swayed forward as a woman with a crying toddler shoved past her to reach the exit. Would Kyle ever agree to something like that? Compatibility counseling by a more objective party?

  She wondered if it would help them look beyond the things that kept them apart to the elements that could potentially hold them together.

  “Stacy really respects your opinions.” Isaac was a handsome man in a more unassuming way than Kyle Murphy’s all-out good looks. There was something highly engaging about Isaac’s insightfulness, and his shrewd, knowing gaze was smart without being smug. “I would be grateful if you could warn her what to expect with someone like me. She’s happy now, but sometimes people tire of the very qualities that attract them in the first place.”

  Marissa started forward again, darting around a vendor rolling a pretzel cart, not wanting to lose Stacy in this crowd. And she really did need to see Kyle with her own eyes to assure herself he was okay. But first, the matchmaker in her couldn’t resist finding out more about this intriguing relationship she had no part in crafting.

  “You’re genuinely thinking about a long-term future together, aren’t you?” She didn’t mean to put him on the spot, but it was obvious from the way he spoke about Stacy.

  “In a world full of cynics, Stacy remains sweet and warmhearted. Completely unaffected. And for some unknown reason, she really digs me.” He gave Marissa that quick flash of a grin again, but then he was looking up ahead, seeking out the woman who’d obviously captured his heart. “I know a stroke of good luck when I see it.”

  While Marissa mulled that over, Isaac pointed toward the right.

  “She went this way,” he informed her, making her realize she would have lost Stacy anyhow. “You have to get through security to reach the level with the locker rooms. But since Stacy’s dad owns the joint, it shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “Thank you.” She hastened her step to catch up to Stacy, the crowd thinner here save for a few hard-core fans trying to convince the guards why they needed to be in the secured area.

  It reminded Marissa of the groupies at her mother’s concerts trying to wheedle a VIP backstage pass. As much as she wanted her mother to recover, Marissa realized she didn’t miss the world that had come with touring. She’d personally played the secondary gatekeeper after the security guards for her mom—keeping lovesick fans out of the dressing room and telling pushy guys to take a hike.

  Now that she thought about it, that’s why she’d first bought her fake wedding band. It had been her decoy even then, when she’d been sixteen and guarding the superstar from men who would flirt with her to try to get past her.

  “Isn’t Isaac the greatest?” Stacy asked as Marissa reached her side.

  They were waved through the doors while other fans bemoaned the unfairness of some people being allowed to enter and not others. Isaac stayed behind, telling Stacy he’d pick her up at the east gate whenever she was ready to leave.

  “I like him,” Marissa asserted, confident the guy had Stacy’s best interests in mind. He wanted to make sure she was happy in the future. How thoughtful was that?

  A little corner of her heart wished Kyle would look beyond the next game to think about her that way. She understood his drive and commitment, all the more after seeing him play. But bottom line, he wasn’t at a point in his career where he would settle down.

  “Can you believe I found him myself? I literally tripped on him. Oh, and that was after I tried to break into his van.” Stacy pointed toward a big Phantoms logo on the outside of one of the locker room doors. Apparently the Philly team traveled with a full array of paraphenalia, right down to signage for the visiting-team locker room. “Kyle should be in there. I’ll try to find someone to go in the he-man domain to get him for you.”

  While Stacy disappeared into an office, Marissa felt suddenly unsure. Should she bother him now? She’d been so worried about his head, but surely the team had sports trainers and medical staff who would look him over. Was she treading where she had no business? Amplifying her role in his life when they’d known from the start this was going to be temporary?

  She and Kyle hadn’t talked about compatibility counseling, as Isaac already had for himself and Stacy. When Marissa had reminded Kyle earlier today that neither one of them had wanted a relationship, he hadn’t argued. Obviously, he still felt that way while she…

  She’d fallen for him. For all her wisdom about matchmaking, and her awareness that she had no judgment about men when she was most attracted, she still made the same old mistakes.

  Today, when Kyle had asked her to go on the road with him, at least she’d had the presence of mind not to jump on the offer. Spending more time with him would only dig her in deeper. She couldn’t just leap into Kyle’s world, traveling around the country with another superstar the way she had for so many years with Brandy Collins. She hadn’t cared for that kind of life back then. Why would it be any different now, with a man who hadn’t professed any kind of commitment toward her? She needed to remember she already had a huge commitment back home, to her mother.

  “Harry can help you.” Stacy returned, arm-in-arm with a gray-haired security guard who looked well past retirement age. “He’ll find Kyle in the locker room to let him know you’re here.”

  “Maybe I should just wait for him upstairs,” Marissa demurred, already feeling out of place.

  “Don’t be silly,” Stacy insisted, giving Harry’s arm an urgent squeeze before she half dragg
ed him toward the locker room. “Harry doesn’t mind.”

  Too late to call him back, Marissa watched as the older man plowed through the locker room doors. Briefly, she could hear raised voices and shouting, a celebration inside for sure. That much, at least, gave her heart. They wouldn’t be whooping it up over the play-off spot if one of their own was severely injured, right?

  Still, she couldn’t help but feel as though she’d just shown her hand too soon with Kyle Murphy. Revealed a bit too much about her feelings for him by chasing him down in his domain. But maybe it was just as well she was honest with him about getting in over her head. Because if her feelings for him weren’t returned in some measure, if he wasn’t ready for a more stable life and sense of commitment, she couldn’t afford to indulge herself with the Phantoms’ lauded playmaker anymore.

  * * *

  “JUST TWO MORE STITCHES,” the team doctor assured Kyle as he lay on the gurney, his face half-sheathed in white paper to keep the area sterile while they worked on him.

  “Good deal.” He needed to shower and put in a quick appearance with the team to celebrate clinching their division. Mostly, he wanted to get off the table to see Marissa.

  And wasn’t that unexpected after how hard he’d worked to get here? The regimented training, the year-round discipline, the daily practices—all of it had been aimed at getting him to this moment, poised for the Stanley Cup play-offs. Yet the first thought in his head was the woman he’d just met, the woman who’d been a fixture in his thoughts from the moment he’d seen her.

  And she was walking away from him tomorrow.

  The realization burned more than the doctor’s needle in his skin.

  “Kyle Murphy?” an unfamiliar voice cackled from the doorway while the assisting doc tied off the face embroidery.

  “Right here.” Kyle lifted a hand to assure the old guy he’d found the correct party, his knuckles taped and bandaged since he’d split them open. In his peripheral version, he saw a gray-haired security guard.