"Well?" he asked as he walked past her before turning around on the ball of his black Nike shoe so he faced her. "How did everything go?"
"Sorry about Christopher," she said. She had her arms crossed tightly together and he could sense she seemed slightly embarrassed—or regretful. "He just invited himself along. He wanted to ride with me so I didn't actually have a chance to call and warn you. Thanks for the hot chocolate, by the way."
Xander waved his hand, immediately dismissing her apology. "Christopher cares about you," He said. "That much is obvious. We can't fault him for that. I'd feel the same way."
Isa bit her bottom lip, nodding her head so her hair fell in her face. Xander felt this pull to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her to the best of his abilities, but something caused him to maintain his position by the couch. She needed her space and when she was ready, she would come to him.
"Court sucked," she said. She started pacing but kept her arms across her body as though she needed to continue to protect herself. "The judge didn't renew the restraining order. He let it expire, which means Ben can come and go whenever he pleases. To Orange County, I mean."
"I'm sorry."
Xander felt a swell of emotions grip him and he wasn't quite sure what else to say but the two words he’d already shared. He was angry, worried, protective, and pensive. He wanted to beat the shit out of Ben, argue with the judge, and figure out how to solve Isa's problem of Ben knowing where she lived and possessing the ability to drop by whenever he wanted to.
"You must be..." Xander didn't even know how to properly finish that thought. She must be feeling a lot of different things. He didn't want to insert a feeling there only to have it turn out to not be the case. He didn't want to imply she felt one way when she felt something else entirely.
"I don't even know." Isa let her hands fall and shook her head. More hair fell down as she started to pace back and forth in front of him, biting her bottom lip as she did so. "I don't know how I'm feeling. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm scared. I hate that I'm scared." She clenched her jaw and took a deep breath. "I feel so stupid. Like, should I really be feeling scared of Benjamin? But I am."
"You have every right to be scared, Isa." God, he wanted to pull her in his arms and tell her everything was going to be okay, but he didn't want to minimize her feelings. He didn't want to be condescending or lie to her because he didn't know if it was going to be okay.
"But I don't want to," Isa said, her eyes flashing up into his own. "That's the thing, I want to feel safe in my own house. I shouldn't have to practically beg you to move in with me because I'm scared." She rolled her eyes at herself and walked past him and into the small kitchen. He heard the cabinet doors squeak open and he turned.
"You're doing me a favor too, you know," he pointed out. "You're helping me with Juliette. We have that dinner tomorrow night."
Isa opened her mouth and Xander was sure she was going to say something. Instead, she shut her mouth and looked back at the cabinet, the red box of Cheese Itz in her hands.
"We do," she said, her voice clipped.
Xander wasn't sure how to interpret her tone. Was she upset with him for bringing Juliette up in the first place? Was she upset with the fact that they were lying to Christopher? Or did this have to do with Benjamin and what he got away with in court this morning? Maybe it was a combination of all three things. He had never seen her this upset before where she just shut down. Where she spoke to him with this tone and he wanted to make it better. He just didn't know how.
"Isa—"
"I just...I think I need to be alone for a while. I just need to let this whole thing sink in, if you don't mind. I just—"
"You don't have to explain, Isa. I'm not mad, I understand. Will I see you at the game?"
Isa shrugged as she chewed the salty snack. When she swallowed it, she murmured, "I'm not sure yet. Christopher got Trisha and me tickets so I could get my head away from everything, but I don't know if I'm going to go. We'll see."
Xander nodded. He wanted to tell her he hoped she would go but he didn't want her to do something for him if she didn't want to do it in the first place. He wanted to kiss her goodbye but he didn't know if she was in the mood to be touched.
As Xander walked out that door, he realized as much as he cared about Isa, he really didn't know that much about her in the first place.
It was the second period and Xander had only been on the ice for two shifts. He was antsy. He wanted to get out there. However, he was well-aware that he wasn't needed the way Negan or Ryan or Underwood were. Xander knew he wasn't signed by the Hansons because of his hockey skill. He liked to think that he did possess some hockey ability that would be useful for teams that wanted him.
However, he also knew the one skill teams wanted him for wasn't quick hands or agility. It was because he was good at beating the shit out of people. No one even had to ask him. He could smell a fight before it even started. It was a strange thing to be proud of, but it was true. He was a big believer in energy, in feeling a situation out without words, without anything except for gut feelings. And he was pretty much always right.
Granted, certain teams had known enforcers, guys that were paid to beat people up and regulate the game when on-ice officials did not. He knew they were the ones he had to look out for, no matter what. However, every now and then, a guy—he liked to call them eels because they were sneaky and slimy—he wasn't expecting would instigate, would employ a dirty hit, would talk shit without backing it up. Rarely were they the enforcers. Enforcers all lived by a code. Xander respected all enforcers on the ice—but not the eels. That was when he particularly loved when the gloves came off. It was much more satisfying than fighting with someone simply to get the crowd going.
Xander's eyes went up and down the ice like a ping pong ball. He sat at the edge of the bench, his legs tense just in case Cherney slapped him on the back and told him to get his ass out on the ice. At least the puck wasn't in their zone the majority of the game. At least they didn't leave Brandon Thorpe out to dry.
And then, someone collided with Solis at the blue line. Solis went down. Xander could hear his cry of pain from where he sat. Immediately, he jumped up so he could get a better look at his teammate.
Amazingly enough, the refs had yet to blow the play dead. They were allowing the skating to continue. From his peripheral, he could see the audience jump to their feet. Some were shouting, some gestured at Solis. Xander only noticed that Solis wasn't getting up. He was on his side, writhing in pain.
Finally, finally, the whistle pierced the noisy arena and the play stopped. Two trainers ran out on the ice as best as they could without slipping in order to assess the situation. It felt like forever before they helped Solis up. He couldn't even skate on his own.
"It's the knee," Xander heard Zachary Ryan say. "That little shit went after Solis's knee."
Xander looked up at Cherney. Cherney was already looking at Xander. He nodded once.
That was all Xander needed. He hopped over the boards, looking for one person and one alone. Because the play resulted in a puck drop at center ice, Xander couldn't immediately beeline for the player who took out Solis because he would no doubt get a two-minute penalty for instigating. He needed to ensure the two of them would get five for fighting, which would mean the penalties canceled each other out and neither team would be down someone, giving the advantage to the opposing team.
Part of him didn't give a shit if he took the penalty, but this wasn't about him. This wasn't even about Solis. At the end of the day, it was about the name on the front of his jersey, not the name on the back. Just because Xander thought it didn't matter because defending Solis was more important didn't mean the team did. And the team was his first priority.
He readied his body, placing the stick out in front of himself.
"Wanna go?" he asked gruffly. He didn't even look at the guy, but he didn't have to. He knew it was Marchand. The guy was a dirty prick and he couldn't wa
it to get him back for being a little goddamn prick.
Marchand didn't respond.
Xander could hear Jackman and Morgan behind him, readying themselves behind the forwards. He could swear one of them muttered bitch in reference to Marchand.
"Don't be a bitch," Xander continued. "Drop your gloves and fight like a man."
Marchand still didn't respond.
"I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn’t speaking English. You're used to pussy." He cleared his throat.
The whistle blew. The puck dropped.
Xander threw his gloves and went straight after Marchand. The weasel tried to skate around him. Luckily, Xander had arms like a gorilla. He reached out, grabbed Marchand's jersey, and held him at bay. Xander didn't wear a visor —he had been in the league before they required all players to do so after the new concussion data came out—and Marchand didn't either. So when he brought Marchand to him, Xander punched Marchand's face.
His knuckles exploded. It was good pain. He didn't stop until the refs patted him on the back.
When he glanced up at his bench, he noticed Isa watching him, a small smile on her face.
Chapter 10
To say Isa was thrilled watching Xander fight was an understatement. Her pelvis pulsed as she leaned forward in her seat. Her hands gripped her knees as her eyes locked onto the sight. She was mesmerized. There was a graceful sort of brutality about the way he beat the shit out of Marchand. She could not take her eyes off of him. She even felt a swell of pride as everyone at the Ice Palace jumped from their seat to watch and cheer. Xander was hers.
She swallowed.
For now, anyway.
It felt like someone just dumped cold water on her.
Xander wasn't hers. Not really. She cleared her throat and crossed her legs. It was difficult to do so in the tiny space she was given. She sucked in a deep breath.
When Xander lifted his eyes after the referee finally managed to pull the two apart, Isa felt her breath hitch. There was a problem, and she only realized it at that moment.
Isa had feelings for Xander. That much she knew. She couldn't say whether it was love or a strong affection for him. She couldn't say if she wanted to be with him because of it or if she just had feelings that didn't actually require reciprocation. Maybe she just didn't want to deal with the hassle of dating a hockey player—one that happened to be on her brother's team. Either way, now that she was fully aware of her feelings, she wasn't quite sure what to do with them.
The rest of the game she spent in a haze. She watched Xander as much as she could, but because of the fact that he was an enforcer, he didn't get as much time on the ice as the rest of the players. More than that, she felt like if he caught her watching him now, he might be able to tell there was something different about how he looked at her. He might be able to tell that there was more to it than just friendship and sex. That there was that third element that separated lovers and friends from being partners. Isa didn't want him to know for as long as she could hide it, because if she had feelings for him, everything was ruined.
Isa left the game with everyone else and headed to her apartment. She should have waited for Xander. He had invited her to the game after all. But she didn't want to watch him get hit on by the puck bunnies that waited outside the arena in high heels and tight skirts, holding a sign with some sort of subtle innuendo on it. She didn't want to see him chuckle to himself after he read the sign because he thought it was amusing. She didn't want to see a flare of attraction light up his blue eyes.
They were supposed to be friends, but Isa didn't want to just be his friend. She wanted to be more than that. She wanted to be his lover.
It was raining on the way home, which was typical for April, even in southern California. Big, fat raindrops splashed on the windshield. Isa was so consumed with her thoughts that she could only make out the sound of the wipers in the background. She didn't turn on the radio. It was actually nice just listening to the rain fall.
By the time she got home, she was ready to change into warm pajamas and crawl into bed. She definitely wasn't expecting Benjamin to be pounding on her door. She heard him before she saw him and any thoughts of love and Xander vanished from her mind. Fear had a funny way of scaring even thoughts away.
"Open up, Isa," he said between knocks, his forehead pressed against the door.
Isa managed to hear every word he said from her hiding spot just around the corner. She pressed herself flat against the wall, hoping to ensure Benjamin wouldn't realize she was there. Her heart beat against her chest, trying to propel her body into action. It did nothing of the sort. Instead, she was paralyzed, unable to move. The echo of each knock in her head brought back painful memories of the time he nearly killed her. One punch, then another. The sickening crunch. His yell of outrage when he damaged his fist.
She could not believe he had still been allowed to compete. Even now, despite everything, the Tennis Association still counted him as one of the most charitable, one who donated so much to their organization, who made time to coach children and throw fundraisers. He was a wolf in sheep's clothing. A monster with the smile of a choir boy.
And here she was, hiding, still afraid of him. Afraid of what he might do to her. Would he risk everything just to hurt her?
Isa didn't know. She didn't want to find out. And yet, she could not help but be miffed by his presence at her door. Why was he here?
She cleared her throat. She wouldn't keep doing this to herself anymore. She wouldn't allow her to be afraid anymore. Especially not of Benjamin.
She pushed herself off the wall and turned so she was walking to her door. Anyone could see her now. Benjamin could see her if he turned. There was tension in his hand and, even though he wore a dark hoodie that signified his affiliation with the Tennis Association, there was tension in his back. He was frustrated, that much she knew, but she wasn't sure why. He had won earlier today in court. What more could he possibly want?
"What are you doing here?"
Benjamin stopped what he was doing and turned. He didn't seem at all miffed by her sudden appearance. The thing about Benjamin was that he didn't really seem all that miffed about anything.
"Isa?" Dorothy Cummings, a sweet old lady who lived adjacent to Isa, popped her door open without removing the latch. "Are you all right, dear? This man was causing quite a ruckus. I nearly called the cops."
"I appreciate your concern, Dorothy," Isa said, pulling out her keys. "Ben was just leaving."
"I wasn't," he said. "I need to talk to you. It's important."
Isa put her keys back in her purse without unlocking her door.
"I would rather speak inside," he insisted.
"That's nice," Isa said. "I'm not letting you in my home." She glanced over at Dorothy and gave her a small nod to indicate that she was okay. Dorothy pressed her lips into a thin line, like she didn't seem convinced, but closed the door anyway. Isa knew she was probably pressed up against her door, phone in hand, just in case. It made Isa feel safer, even marginally so. "What do you want?"
"I just want—" He stopped himself, shook his head. "I just want to know we're okay. Like a truce."
"A truce?" Isa didn't bother to hide the ridicule from her voice. "A truce? After everything you did to me? What, is this some kind of joke?"
Benjamin clenched his teeth together so tightly, Isa could see them pop. She felt her mouth go dry. She recognized that look. It was the same look he got when he was ready to beat her. She had only seen it on his face three times. Each one was progressively worse than the time before.
She would not let herself back down from him.
Dorothy is right there, she reminded herself. I could scream and someone would hear me. Someone would call the cops and he would go back to jail and I would get the restraining order reinstated.
"I just—"
"I don't want you here," she insisted. She glared at him. She didn't care if he could see her anger plainly or if he would allow himself to remain
ignorant of how she truly felt. "I want you gone. And if you don't leave, I'm going to call the cops."
"I just thought—"
"I don't want to hear it." She shifted her weight. Each word she said got stronger. Confidence started to build inside of her. She could do this. She could get rid of Benjamin. "I don't want to see you. I don't want to hear you. Just because I don't have a restraining order doesn't mean I have to have you in my life. Now, please, get out of my life and stay away from me."
"If you would just let me talk, I'll leave you alone," Ben said and took a step toward her.
Isa recognized her was trying to intimidate her. She knew he wanted to scare her into complying with what he wanted. She released a shaky breath and forced every single muscle in her body to stay completely still. She would not give him the satisfaction of reacting to his unspoken threat.
"I don't want to talk," she repeated. "I have nothing to say to you, and nothing you say to me matters."
"That's your opinion—"
"Please," she said, her voice on edge. "Leave me alone, Ben. I want nothing to do with you. I'm already—I have a boyfriend. I don't want you in my life anymore. Please."
"Oh, right, right, right. Your boyfriend." He placed his hands on his hips and looked around. "Where is he now?"
"He just finished playing a hockey game where he beat the crap out of Steven Marchand," Isa said. "He's probably talking to the press right now."
"So you're alone," Ben said. "You know what I don't understand, Isa? You give me a hard time because I fight physically, and yet, you're dating a goddamn goon. What does that say about you? Maybe that you're asking for it? I mean, I hit you the first time and you still stayed with me. You knew what you were coming back to."
"You said it wouldn't happen again," Isa said, but then stopped herself. She would not engage with him. He was baiting her and she knew it.
Enticing Enforcers: A Slapshot Novella Page 6
