by V. K. Sykes
Billie heard her sister’s derisive snort as she’d headed out into the cool, crisp evening and even though it shouldn’t matter, it did. Some of her oomph left as she’d slipped into her car and turned the key, though the warmth in her belly stirred as she thought of Logan.
She thought of how much she’d wanted to kiss him again in his shop. She thought of the way he smelled and his dark, sexy eyes. She thought of his lean, hard body and a butt made for a woman’s hand.
His full sensual mouth.
The words that had fallen from said, full sensual mouth. “I think you’re wrong, kid.”
What the hell did that mean? Wasn’t he still with Sabrina?
Billie pushed all thoughts Logan aside. She cleared her mind of any excess garbage that could ruin her game and parked her shiny, red Honda near the entrance— underneath the biggest, brightest security light she could find. She’d lucked out, someone was just leaving.
She heaved her bag over her shoulder and paused as a rusted out, silver Chevy rolled past. The driver’s window was down, and she earned one hell of a scowl as Ed Cronkwright searched for a spot to pull his truck into. He mumbled something as he passed and though she couldn’t hear his words, she sure as hell got the drift.
She watched him pull into a spot farther along and thought, screw you.
This was hockey—nothing more—and she wanted to play. Billie wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from her. Not Seth Longwood, or Ed Cronkwright, or her sister. Not the bastards who’d vandalized her car, or even the thought of being so damn close to Logan Forest.
She heard Ed’s door slam and flipped him a mental bird. Scowl all you want, asshole. I need this.
All week she’d been on pins and needles. Bobbi was pissed. And, sure, Billie was big enough to admit that maybe some of it was deserved—Bobbi obviously believed she was sleeping with Shane—but still, it didn’t mean that every single person who orbited Bobbi-Jo Barker’s circle deserved to be as miserable as her sister was.
As far as Billie was concerned, her sister loved to wallow in darkness. Why else would she hook up with someone like Gerald Dooley and pretend to be something she wasn’t?
Frustrated, Billie entered the arena and pushed all thoughts of her family aside. She’d think about them later. Right now, she had a game to concentrate on.
“Hey, Billie.”
She glanced up. Kendall McKallister waved from across the lobby. The teenager lived two doors down from the Barkers and was an avid hockey player. At the moment she was surrounded by her teammates. They all wore their hockey jerseys, the bold maroon and gold was pretty hard to miss. They must have a game on the second ice pad.
She smiled, waved back and thought that maybe she’d catch the rest of their game when she was done. That sounded more her speed than hanging with ‘Angry Pirates’ at The Grill. Besides, it’s not likely Logan Forest would stay to watch a bunch of teenage girls play hockey, and Billie was more than okay with that. The further she stayed away from the man the better. Her brain tended to malfunction when he was around and she couldn’t afford anymore lapses.
One kiss was enough.
“Have a good one,” Kendall shouted. “Give them hell.”
Surprised, Billie smiled. “You too.”
She disappeared below and quickly found her room designation, hoping there wouldn’t be a surprise waiting on the other side. Gingerly, she pushed the door open and heaved a sigh of relief when she found it empty.
Ten minutes later she was lacing up her skates when a knock sounded.
“Billie, you decent?”
“Yeah,” her heart sped up and then slowed down when she realized it was Shane, not Logan.
Gallagher pushed the door open and peeked inside. “Hey, Cronkwright is filling in for The Whalers goalie. Duggen’s wife went into labor.”
Billie grabbed her bright yellow jersey and pulled it over her head, tossing a long, thick braid behind her back. She reached for her helmet and arched a brow.
“And I care because…”
Shane grinned and for a moment she saw the young man he used to be. Wow, he kinda took her breath away. He was still dangerous—still had that edge that made men take a step back while their women plowed forward—but there was something soft there too. She totally saw the man her sister had fallen in love with.
What the hell had happened between them?
“Look, I know you held back last week. Christ, we could have won by twenty goals instead of eight. I also know Ed hated every single one you put behind his ass and in the net.”
Good.
Billie grabbed her stick and mouth guard. “This going anywhere?”
“Ed made you walk home from the shop, asshole that he is.”
Her natural hockey high was slowly diminishing as the realities of her life filtered through. She frowned.
“Shane…a point to your rambling would be good right about now.”
Shane tapped his stick on the edge of his skate. “He also fucked with me a few years back.”
That got her attention. “Really. You gonna share the details?”
“Nope,” he replied softly, and something in his eyes made Billie pause. It was that edge…that dark edge.
“I think it’s time we taught that bastard a lesson. His ex-wife is remarried to Bart Strombley.”
“Bart? My winger?” Bart Strombley was a quiet, gentle giant and though he’d not said a word to her either way the Friday before, he’d played a solid hour of hockey with not one cheap shot thrown her way.
Shane nodded. “Yep, and she’s here to watch the game. It would be a shame for Ed if he lost, especially since I saw his new girlfriend here too.” His grin widened even more. “Seth Longwood is their hotshot center man.”
Billie grabbed her spare stick from its resting place on the bench, a tingle of excitement making her nerve endings shiver and her gut tighten. The other team was filing out behind Shane and she heard some of the insults hurtled her way.
She settled her gaze on him. “You want me to blow them out of the water.”
Shane stood back and gave her room to walk by. “Yeah, I do.”
As the fresh air from the rink hit her in the face, Billie grinned, feeling light and invincible for the first time in a long time. Logan was already on the ice with the rest of her team warming up. She saw his tall body glide by, his strokes even and sure. She glanced back at Shane and secured the strap beneath her helmet.
“Well what are we waiting for?”
And then she stepped out on the ice.
Chapter Eleven
Billie skated a couple of laps on their side of the ice, nodding to the guys on her team as she slowly circled. The air was filled with energy—competitive energy—the kind she thrived on. She inhaled the intoxicating scent as she wove her way among the players.
She caught sight of Kendall and her teammates. They sat behind the player’s bench and for a moment she faltered, realizing they didn’t have a game but had come out to watch her play.
Logan skated past and glanced behind her. “See you brought some fans out tonight.”
Billie didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing, grabbed the puck off him and took a shot at their goalie. The team circled and took shots until the referee’s whistle blew and they retreated to their bench.
“All right, let’s have a good game, guys.” Paul Leadbetter cracked his stick on the ice. “I mean, and uh, girls…or girl…Billie, too.”
Billie smiled as Paul blushed and swept by her onto their bench. She’d known him since middle school.
The whistle went once more and Shane shouted,” You’re up, Barker.”
The rest of the guys filed onto the bench, leaving Billie, her two wingers, one of whom was Strombley, and the defensive line which boasted both Shane and Logan.
She skated to center ice and took a moment to eye the stands once more. Jackie Everett sat with her husband Duke, which made her feel better because she certainly didn’t like the idea that she’d bee
n responsible Duke and Jackie arguing. Beside Jackie were Billie’s friends, Tracy and Lana. And just behind them, a flash of white caught her eye. Grandpa Barker.
Herschel touched his cap and settled into his seat, a bag of popcorn in his hands, a proud expression on his face. For a moment she panicked…who was with dad? But then she realized Bobbi was home. All was good. Or at least as good as it was going to get.
“You ready, princess, or are you too busy staring at your fan club?”
The referee, Bill Squires, scowled and glanced around, his large jowl or rather, second chin, jiggling as he did so. The man weighed at least three hundred pounds, which at several inches below six feet didn’t exactly make him an advertisement for Men’s Health magazine. Dressed in black and white stripes, his impressive girth wasn’t a great sight to behold either, especially the two inches or so that stuck out just above his belt. His helmet looked two sizes too small and his beady eyes glared at her like she was a piece of dirt…or a bug he’d like to crush.
Great. Always a good sign when the referee openly hated you.
“I’m ready,” Billie answered and watched as Seth Longwood skated to a stop on the opposite side of the faceoff circle. The Whalers logo was blue and orange—a massive whale crashing into a sea of orange. She eyed it and then bent low, elbows up, legs spread, stick at the ready. And as her eyes concentrated on the prize in the referee’s hands, which for the next hour was a small black puck, everything else faded away.
She didn’t hear Seth’s derogatory words or the referee’s instructions. She didn’t hear the shouts of encouragement from the stands—or the ones that weren’t so nice. She didn’t see Kendall’s team jumping around like crazy people, or her teammates take their positions—though she was keenly aware of where they were.
Billie inhaled a shot of fresh cold air and felt the thrum of energy that skirted along the ice and traveled up her body.
She set her stick down and exhaled. This was her element. This was where she was king. Billie’s hand-eye coordination, her innate ability to anticipate and strike, was what had made her legendary in the faceoff circle.
She waited. She heard the breath pull through her lungs. Felt the beat of her heart.
Then the puck dropped and she exploded into action.
With lightening quick reflexes Billie jabbed her stick, won the draw, and passed it back to Logan. The Angry Pirates were off, skating forward, while Seth swore like a trucker and circled behind her, trying to play catch up from the get-go.
Billie tore down the ice and drifted to the right, easily maneuvering around a Whaler defenseman as she slowed down to wait for the puck. Logan passed it to her winger, Strombley, just as she neared the blue line and he passed it up. She scooped the puck, aware the Whaler forwards were skating like hell to get back to her. The defenseman in front of her skated backward trying to block her shot, his stick in the air, his eyes on the puck.
That was his mistake. His eyes should have been on her body. With a burst of speed, she skated to the side and when he glanced up it was too late. She nudged the puck behind him and was there before he could turn around to stop her.
Cronkwright faced her, eyes glaring through his cage as he moved forward in his crease. He was big and bulky in all his gear, but with a much practiced wrist shot, Billie hit the top shelf over his left shoulder.
Score one for the Angry Pirates seven seconds in.
Longwood skated past Billie and glided around the net, as Cronkwright slammed his stick on the ice and fished the puck from behind him.
Shane gave a fist pump while Logan headed toward the bench. Along the side, maroon and gold jumped up and down, crazily waving their arms as if this was a real game or something. A game that mattered. Not a Friday beer league kind of game, but something more.
The whistle blew and she sat down, moving over as Logan slid in beside her. She grabbed her Gatorade and took a big gulp.
“Kinda weird tonight,” he said casually.
Plumes of air blew out his nostrils as he looked onto the ice. His profile was as yummy as the rest of him, and Billie followed his gaze toward center ice where the referee was about to drop the puck for the second time.
“Yeah,” she muttered softly. “I’m not sure what’s going on.”
Seth Longwood had stayed out for the second shift, and he shot daggers her way as he bent low and prepared to draw for the puck.
“Give ‘em hell, Billie.” Someone shouted behind her.
Logan glanced at her, his expression serious. “These guys are out to get you…you know that right? Especially if you chip away at their pride for the entire game.”
“They can try,” she said carefully, not sure where this was going. “But I’m not worried. It’s no contact.”
“You think guys don’t get hurt? There’s a lot of shoving out there especially when the game gets intense.” He motioned toward the other bench. “It’s gonna get intense.”
“I think that I have more of a chance of getting hurt walking down the street than I do playing in this league.”
“What about your concussion?”
“What about it?” she replied belligerently. The word alone was enough to sting and it sure as hell wasn’t something she wanted to discuss with him. “I’m fine. My doctors say I’m fine.”
I should be in Sweden.
For a moment Logan said nothing and eventually she looked away. There was a scramble in front of their net, with Seth at the center of it. For a guy who’d packed on more than a few pounds, he moved surprisingly quick and his hands were still really good.
He snapped off a quick shot but the Angry Pirates goalie, Pete Tortolini, made the glove save and the whistle blew. It was time for another shift change.
Billie stood and Logan followed suit. He leaned close just as they were about to exit the bench and a shiver rolled down her spine. “I’ve got your back, Billie, but play smart.”
“I won’t change the way I play for these guys.”
She then stepped out onto the ice and proceeded to ignore Logan’s advice for the entire game. She pointedly ignored Logan’s glare, until he gave up and switched shifts halfway through the third period.
She didn’t even notice, not at first—she was in the zone and every time she looked at Cronkwright, or skated past Longwood, she tried even harder to excel. Something dark twisted inside her.
Was it sportsmanlike to make fools of the other team? To stick handle the puck around grown men and make them look like hacks? Hell no, but in the heat of the moment, with so many of them hurtling insults at her—ones that would make a sailor squirm—she didn’t give a rat’s ass.
Billie never thought about the consequences—not even when she got caught in the corners, with no back-up and Seth Longwood breathing down her neck. The Whalers fore-checking had worked and they had her where they wanted her. No longer was this a lighthearted Friday night game—if it ever was.
The puck was between her toe and the boards, while she was boxed in on all sides by three Whalers. They poked with their sticks, trying to get at the puck and she hissed in pain as the sharp end of one stick found its way to the unprotected area on her calves.
“Not so peppy now, are ya’ darling?” She didn’t know who spoke, but used her stick as leverage to keep from being pushed into the boards. She ignored the jaunts, wondering where the hell her teammates were, when another jab on her calf brought a yelp, but it was nothing compared to the pain she felt when someone shoved their stick up her jersey, and a ragged piece of blade caught the soft skin under her arm.
“Jesus Christ,” she swore as she tried to grab her side, the puck forgotten.
“Move the fuck away,” Logan yelled, just as Seth Longwood’s voice echoed in her ear.
“Go play somewhere else, bitch. You don’t belong here.”
Suddenly, the whistle blew signaling the play to stop, but she wasn’t free until there were several more long moments of swearing and maneuvering behind her.
&nb
sp; Once she was able, Billie whirled around, eyes blazing, adrenaline pumping and itching to nail someone in the nose. She needed to hit something—anyone would do as long as they were blue and orange. She spied Longwood.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
For his part, Seth lowered his eyes. “Shit, Barker, I didn’t mean…”
“You’re an asshole.” She dropped her gloves, chest heaving and then realized the guys were staring at her in silence.
In fact, the entire arena was silent.
She groaned as she shifted her weight and frowned as pain rolled down her side. Logan had hold of Seth’s jersey, and both of them stared down at the ice—something in their eyes pulled her gaze down as well.
“Fuck,” she muttered hoarsely.
She was standing in a circle of blood.
Yeah, Billie-Jo Barker didn’t do blood real well.
Chapter Twelve
Logan wasn’t sure how he didn’t pound Seth Longwood into the ice. He sure as hell thought about it. Visualized it. The need was there. The strength. The determination. The fucking anger.
He thought of Seth and his blood boiled once more. The asshole was the only guy in the league who still played with a wooden stick. Everyone else had graphite. He was betting Longwood was more than aware his stick needed tape, and that the edge was ruined.
Logan had just cleared the ice after finishing the third period—Billie had insisted on that—and he glanced toward the Whalers dressing room as he stalked by, his hands fisted, his expression fierce. He’d deal with Seth later, but at the moment, he had to be sure Billie was all right.
Dammit, why the hell had he left her alone on the ice?
Because she gets under my skin and I hate that she doesn’t listen to me.
“You check on Billie, I’m gonna have a few words with the Whalers.” Shane’s voice was deadly and the look in his eyes more so. Strombley and Danvers were just behind him, as well as—surprise, surprise—Mike Dearling.
All of the men looked pissed as hell. Logan nodded, “Will do.” Heck, his first priority was Barker, so if the men wanted to take care of business, he was more than fine with it.
