Bishop

by Sawyer Bennett

  “Erik joined the Vengeance from the Los Angeles Demons. He’s a premier defenseman, one of the toughest enforcers in the league, and we’re lucky to have him.” I glance back at Erik, who is still looking dumbfounded. I give a slight nod of my head toward my girl and tell the lie for the very first time. “This is Brooke Perron. She and I have been dating for a few months.”

  “What the what?” Erik mutters, and then seems to get that he’s not handling this in the most professional way. He sort of shakes his head and then holds his hand out to Brooke. “Pleasure to meet you.”

  “Welcome to the team,” she says back with a smile.

  Erik turns his gaze back to me and gives me a very pointed look that says, Dude…you and I…we have some talking to do.

  Pulling his date along, Erik makes his way in without even bothering to introduce her. This is not strange behavior. Lots of players—myself included at times—have had one-night-only dates. Hot, gorgeous women you show a good time with a bunch of famous people, then you bang their brains out and go on your way. There’s no sense in really making introductions because she won’t be around for the next event, so why even bother.

  The fact that I just introduced Brooke to Erik as a woman I’ve been dating a few months will send a message to the team that she’s not just arm candy.

  Chapter 8

  Bishop

  “I still can’t fucking believe it,” Legend mutters as he looks from me to Brooke—who is standing across the room—and then back to me again. I also cut my gaze to Brooke, but hold my eyes there a moment, watching as she talks to Erik’s arm-candy date, whose name I still have no clue about.

  We’ve finished dinner, which was a two-and-a-half-hour affair, and now some of us have gathered in the spacious bar area of the restaurant, while others are still lingering over dessert in the dining room.

  “How in the hell could you keep quiet about dating the coach’s daughter?” Erik asks me, his tone as disbelieving of the situation as Legend’s just was. “I mean, you dated her while you played for the Vipers and while Perron coached the Phantoms. And you never told anyone about it?”

  Dax laughs and claps Erik on the back. “I knew about it. But I’m just as good as Bishop about keeping secrets.”

  I have to grin at that. Dax has appointed himself as a character in our hoax upon Coach Perron and the team. The first time tonight someone questioned me about the secrecy of my relationship, Dax jumped right in and loudly told everyone listening that he knew from the get-go.

  In fact, he went on to start feeding the fake details of the story of how we met. Luckily, I had recounted with pretty great specificity what we’d told Coach Perron, and Dax picked right back up there.

  “We were at Club Zero,” he told the group that made up our table of eight. We had purposely sat down with some of the players we didn’t know very well in an effort to start getting to know them. “And there were so many people there, because this is like a really hot space to party. At any rate, Bishop saw Brooke on the dance floor and he became like a zombie. Sort of creepy the way he stared at her with his tongue all hanging out. He only got the guts to go talk to her after I plied him with a few mixed drinks and gave him about ten pep talks. Yeah…you could say their entire relationship is all my doing, as Bishop was too much of a pussy to approach her otherwise.”

  I wanted to cheerfully strangle him and Brooke was giggling from behind her hand. The other players were highly amused, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do to correct him. The story went on from there, Brooke and I adding to it, making up shit on the fly. We revealed the secrecy in that we just didn’t want to complicate things with her dad, but he found out and so we’re coming clean to everyone. We left that very vague, preferring that no one know that Coach Perron actually caught me in a compromising situation with his daughter in her office.

  “What’s Coach Perron really like when he’s not riding our asses at practice?” Legend asks, jolting me back to the present.

  I shrug as I turn to look at him. “He’s cool. Still a little gruff, and he’s overprotective of Brooke, but he just wants what’s best for her.”

  I had determined the first night I agreed to enter into this deception that I was going to paint Coach in as good a light as he’d let me. I figured it was going to go a long way in keeping our relationship stable when Brooke and I “broke up.”

  “You know you’re fucked if this thing with her doesn’t go the distance,” Legend returns to me.

  He wouldn’t be wrong about that.

  “Is it going to go the distance?” Erik asks casually.

  “It’s serious,” is all I’m willing to say. We have not perpetuated the engagement that Brooke told her father about. We figured he isn’t really going to say anything publicly about it until it’s done formally with a ring, and I’m not about to do that, so for now, Brooke and I are just dating and I’ve confirmed it’s serious. Between the guys at dinner, and Dax, Erik, and Legend, word is going to get around probably before the night ends that Brooke and I are a serious couple.

  I look back over at Brooke. I have to admit, she held herself together well during dinner. Both of us kept light on details, but when she spoke about me it was with warmth and affection. She was also attentive to the other people at the table, and it was a good opportunity for me to actually observe her for the very first time without the pressure of our duplicity hanging over us or without us being preoccupied with sex. I found out tonight that just watching someone interact with others will tell you a lot about them.

  I learned that Brooke is a good listener. She’s funny, in an understated kind of way. By the end of dinner, I could tell Brooke didn’t have an arrogant bone in her body, and as I watch her talking to Erik’s date, it’s even more evident. She’s nonjudgmental too. All the other wives and girlfriends have steered clear of the woman Erik brought, but there Brooke stands listening to whatever the woman says with immense interest.

  Bottom line…she’s just nice like that.

  The guys move onto another subject, the upcoming game we have in San Francisco. I’ve been pleasantly surprised this week during training camp that this group of guys now known as the Vengeance have some pretty good mojo on the ice. When you get traded to a new team, it takes a little bit of time for you to acclimate. Imagine bringing in thirty guys from the expansion draft, all with different playing styles and who have been coached differently, and throwing them all together on the ice.

  Well, I’d pretty much expected disaster.

  Instead, and for whatever reason, our lines came together quickly and we just sort of have an intuition out there that seems to be working for a bunch of guys that are essentially strangers. Hopefully that will continue for upcoming games and into the regular season.

  Even Tacker—and my eyes slide over to where he sits alone at the bar—has integrated somewhat. He’s quiet and won’t seek out conversation, but will politely engage if you make the first move. But out on the ice, he’s a different person. He’s subtly commanding and exerts such confidence that he’s almost a comfort to the other players. It’s like if Tacker thinks we can do it, we can do it. It helps that he’s one of the best players the league has ever seen, and even at thirty years of age, he can outskate most of the rookies and beat almost any goalie in a one-on-one situation.

  “I’ll be back in a minute,” I say out of the side of my mouth to whoever might be listening. Erik’s going on and on about a great topless bar in San Francisco he wished we had time to hit after the game, but he’s lamenting that sadly we’ll have to go straight to the team plane to head to Los Angeles.

  Brooke’s eyes catch me from across the room as I head over to the bar. She gives me a sweet smile and I wink back at her. Miming with my hands, I mouth the words, Want another drink?

  She shakes her head and I shoot her a thumbs-up.

  At the bar, I t
ake an empty stool to Tacker’s right, although there’s one on his left too. He doesn’t give off the most welcoming vibes and he’s currently hunched over what looks to be a glass of bourbon on the rocks.

  “What’s up, man?” I say as I sit down beside him.

  “Not much,” he mutters, hunching further around his drink. I get the guy is sort of antisocial, but why even bother hanging around after the dinner was over?

  I mean, I’m sure I know the answer. It’s all tied into the devastating loss of his fiancée. I certainly can understand being withdrawn, but I’m not going to let that thwart me. Besides, Coach put Tacker and me on the first line together at the beginning of training camp and it hasn’t changed. As right wing and center, we need to trust and anticipate each other. Sometimes it’s done with communication.

  Other times it has to come from knowing your man and what he’s going to do.

  “Monday night,” I say to get his attention, and he turns to look at me. Monday night we’ll be on the ice playing the San Francisco Bay Brawlers. “If they have Bronson in goal, he’s always down in the butterfly stance. It’s like once he starts, he can’t stop, so be on the lookout for that.”

  I know this well, because Bronson played with the Vipers for two seasons as our backup before he went to San Francisco to be their primary.

  “So what’s the best play?” Tacker asks me, his expression now relaxed and interested. I’ve figured him out. As long as you talk about hockey with him and keep it impersonal, he’ll actually engage openly.

  “When I have the puck behind the net if I have some space, sneak into the corner pie,” I tell him. The corner pie is a quarter of the faceoff circle that sits closest to the blue line and the center of the ice. It’s a center’s dream to shoot from. “I’ll find you.”

  Tacker gives me a half smile and nods. “I’ll go high, stick side.”

  “Exactly.” I look over my shoulder at Brooke, not wanting to leave her alone for too long. She’s still engaged with Erik’s date, and she’s actually talking animatedly to her using hand gestures. I’m dying to know what they could possibly have in common.

  “We make a good team out there,” Tacker says gruffly, and because it’s shocking to hear him initiate a conversation, my head swings quickly back his way.

  I give him an agreeable smile. “I think so.”

  In fact, we’re pretty fucking fluid out there with each other. The left-wing position is still a little up in the air, and I’m sure Coach won’t make a final decision until after the preseason games are concluded, but Dax is in the running for the first line. Hell, my place on first line’s not even set in stone. Just because I played there all week with Tacker doesn’t mean I’ll stay there. A lot is riding on these first few games.

  Movement on the other side of Tacker catches my attention and my eyes flare slightly as I see Coach Perron come up to stand on his left. Tacker swings his head that way.

  Coach doesn’t take a seat but just nods in greeting first at Tacker, then at me. “Glad to catch you two for a moment.”

  It’s the first time he and I have talked away from the practice sessions. I’d been dreading the day he’d pull me aside and want to start talking engagement and wedding shit, but so far, he’s kept that tucked away.

  Thank fuck!

  “Can I get you a drink, Coach?” I ask him, trying to show some casualness that one might expect from the man dating the coach’s daughter but still not out of the bounds of propriety if I hadn’t been dating her.

  “I’m good,” he says in a low, rough voice. “Listen…I’m naming you, Hall, as captain for this season, and Scott, you’ll be one of the assistant captains.”

  The first thing that strikes me about his words is that he just addressed Tacker and me by our last names. This isn’t odd, but it’s not always the norm either. It really depends the level of casualness a coach brings, and clearly, even at a party event, Coach doesn’t feel comfortable enough to address us by our first names.

  No matter. Doesn’t mean anything to me, but the fact he just made me assistant captain is incredibly shocking as well as exciting.

  Coach turns his gaze to Tacker. “You’re my most seasoned player as well as the most skilled. You have everything to offer the young guys as far as guidance and direction. I expect you to proactively give that.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. It doesn’t take an idiot to figure out those last words were an order to Tacker to step out of his shell. Tacker as captain makes sense on paper. He’s a long-standing veteran and highly accomplished. He’s one of the leaders in the league. I do wonder, though, if Coach is putting him in the captain’s position to force him to open up. If so, I have to say my respect for the man has just increased tenfold.

  The coach slides his eyes to mine. “Scott…you’ve clearly got the talent, but I’ve been impressed with your leadership on the ice as well as the positive reinforcement you give. It’s a nice balance to my hard-ass ways.”

  There’s no helping the fact the man has just rendered me mute. A true compliment coming from a man that I thought wanted to tear me apart a few days ago. I just blink at him dumbly.

  “As you both know,” Coach Perron continues on as if he hadn’t just blindsided me. “My style isn’t very hands on. I’ll tell you what’s wrong. I’ll do it in an efficient manner. I’ll expect you to correct it just as efficiently. It’s not lost on me that sometimes players need more, and that’s where both of you will help me tremendously by offering positive feedback to your teammates.”

  “Like a good cop, bad cop type of thing,” I say with a lopsided grin.

  The coach doesn’t smile back and I let my smile fade away. He straightens up, offers a hand to each of us to shake, which we do. “Congrats to you both. Your maturity and leadership has been noted. Now…I’m off to go talk to Bay. He’s getting the other assistant captain nod.”

  I watch Coach amble off and bring my eyes back over to Tacker. He doesn’t look at me, but lifts his glass to his mouth, tips his head back and it disappears in three swallows. When he sits it back down, his neck twists so he looks at me. “Congratulations, Bishop. That was well deserved.”

  “You too, man,” I reply.

  I get a curt nod and Tacker pushes up off his bar stool and heads for the exit of the restaurant. He doesn’t say goodbye to anyone.

  Chapter 9

  Brooke

  Erik’s date is nice enough. Her name is Sarah Kinecky, but I keep wanting to call her Pamela. Because she looks exactly like a younger Pamela Anderson. She has the windblown blond hair and perfect body. She even sports those same pouty, full lips that Miss Anderson does, and she’s slightly on the ditzy side, which I’ve never been one to attribute to hair color.

  None of that, though, changes the fact that she’s actually a nice woman. She and Erik sat at another table during dinner, but I noticed that no one really talked to her. She would sometimes insert herself into the conversation, but was often glossed over. She got looks of veiled disgust from the women sitting at their table, and it was clear that they were snubbing her and probably only because she was so overtly sexy.

  Therefore, after dinner, I suggested Bishop go hang out with some of the players to help calm down the tide of swirling rumors that were sure to be circulating after we showed up hand in hand. I immediately sought out Sarah, who was standing by herself in the bar area. She looked visibly relieved when I approached her.

  Turns out that she just moved to the area from Detroit and loves it here. She was a huge fan of their hockey team, the Cardinals. Sarah’s actually quite knowledgeable about the sport, and we’ve been talking about it. Occasionally I glance at Bishop as he hangs with a group of players. His eyes sometimes wander over to me and it makes my belly flutter when he smiles at me.

  Eventually Bishop breaks away from the group and heads to the bar. I’m surprised when he makes h
is way over to Tacker, who is sitting by himself.

  I know all about Tacker Hall. Because I’m not into professional hockey in a deeply vested way but rather as more of an exuberant fan of my father’s team, he and I don’t talk a lot about his job. But since coming to Phoenix, he has opened up to me somewhat about his concerns about Tacker’s place on this team. I think my father feels Tacker’s sadness keenly, since he’s feeling much the same way after we lost my mom seven months ago.

  While my father had some input into the players they chose in the expansion draft, his concerns about Tacker joining the team—mainly about him fitting into a competitive dynamic—were not heeded by the management.

  This was ultimately okay, because by the end of training camp this week, my father saw real potential in Tacker to actually be a leader. His emotionally withdrawn demeanor apparently does not play out on the ice. The man is clearly still tortured about losing his fiancée, and that’s evidenced by the way he closes himself off, seeking solitude rather than socialization.

  But my dad had disclosed confidentially to me today that he was going to name Tacker as the captain. Like my father, I’m hopeful that this will help to continue to draw him out so he can start truly living life again.

  Not wanting to ignore Sarah, I turn back to her and ask, “How did you meet Erik?”

  Her eyes light up with excitement, twinkling orbs of blue as she gushes, “I met him at a bar last night. And well, the attraction was instantaneous.”

  Her cheeks get a little pink and I can see slight embarrassment in her expression, but it doesn’t stop her from admitting to me, “Actually…we sort of had sex in the bathroom. Sorry if that sounds whorish, but I’d never met a hockey star before.”

  I smile at her in understanding. “Hey, it’s cool by me. Sex is great as long as it’s safe.”

  I wasn’t about to tell her that we actually have quite a bit in common, since I slept with Bishop the first night I met him. Clearly I’m not opposed to one-night stands, but I think I will keep that information to myself.