Sloan’s eyes narrowed for a split second. Then his lips slanted and he stood. “Right away, Sir.”
“Oh my God, what did you do to him?” Oriana laughed, a hint of nervousness in her tone.
Max spoke close to her ear. “Not a thing, pet. We’re both here to give you what you need. I’m thinkin’ he’s just as eager as I am to do just that.”
* * * *
Joining his brother in the coach’s office, Dean Richter inclined his head as Tim offered him the chair behind the desk. Some might question Tim giving up his chair to his older brother, but Dean knew Tim. His submissive urges sometimes came out when he was uncertain. He needed Dean to take the lead.
Dean didn’t waste any time before stating what he saw as the obvious. “You don’t think I should have taken Perron back.”
Not a question. Dean didn’t see anything else bothering Tim this much. Especially since the man in question was waiting outside the door to speak to them after taking a red-eye flight.
But Tim shook his head. “It’s not that. I’m glad to have him. We need him. But . . . damn it, I’m not sure how to present this to the men.”
Dean looked his brother over, still seeing the boy who’d worn his first suit at nine years old on the way to a hockey game. He remembered fixing Tim’s tie and assuring him that, yes, he did look stupid in a suit. Their mother had cuffed Dean upside the head and pinched Tim’s cheek, telling him not to listen to his nasty big brother.
They’d had a great childhood, but Tim was still a little OCD. About his appearance. About the team’s schedule. About what the men would think about things they should just deal with.
At least Dean could help him with this little issue. “They want to make the playoffs. Perron can help them do so. Very simple.”
Tim stared at him as though Dean had just informed him he really could train a donkey to skate. Then he burst out laughing. “Dean, you should go back up to your office. Deal with the paperwork. Not sure you get anything that has a pulse—besides Silver and Bower, which is surprising. How’s your man anyway?”
“You know how he is. He skated with the team yesterday.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“That better be what you mean.” Dean’s tone sharpened. “You are overly invested in your players’ love lives. I suggest you don’t do the same with mine.”
“Understood. Your love life with one of my players is none of my business.” Tim grinned, calling out before Dean could reply. “Come in, Perron!”
Perron stepped into the office, still in his sharp, dark blue suit since he’d been asked not to go to the locker room yet. His long, dirty-blond hair was pulled away from his face in a slicked-back ponytail. Dean had seen him earlier that morning to sign his contract with the agent the man had chosen at the last minute to represent him. Everything had happened much faster than Dean liked, but with little time to close the gap to a playoff spot, there were no other options. Every game counted.
“Please take a seat.” Easing back into the chair, Dean studied Perron, taking note of his easy smile and relaxed posture. The man didn’t seem at all uncertain about returning. If anything, between his words earlier and the barely restrained excitement that lit his eyes, he was eager to leave the office and get out on the ice. Very good. “You haven’t played for a while due to your injury, so it may take a few days before we put you in the lineup.”
“Or not.” Tim arched a brow at Dean’s frown. “He’ll skate with the team as soon as the doctor takes a look at him. I’ll meet with the doctor and the trainers after practice to decide whether he’s ready for the game on Thursday. I see no reason for him not to play on Saturday, latest.”
“Perhaps. Let’s see what the doctor has to say first.” Dean wasn’t sure what to make of his brother’s sudden shift from concern over the team’s reaction to wanting to shove Perron down their throats so quickly. “Mrs. Pearce has scheduled a press conference for later today. I’ll brief you both before we get in front of the cameras. If there’s nothing else, I will—”
“Just one thing before you go.” Tim smiled, but there was something in his eyes Dean didn’t much like. His question pissed Dean off even more. “Perron has a three-year contract with a no-trade clause?”
“Yes. That is what I told you.”
“Just making sure you weren’t getting anything for him from Calgary if he signed with them.” Tim shrugged, moving to take his chair back as Dean stood. “The trade deadline isn’t that far off.”
Dean stepped up to his brother, speaking low even though there was no way to prevent Perron from hearing every word. And no point in asking him to step out now. “Do you honestly believe I’d sign him just to see what kind of deal I could get shipping him off to another team?”
Tim’s smile never wavered. He met Dean’s eyes, his tone cold. “I believe you’re a businessman, Dean. You always go for the best deal. This contract means you don’t think you’ll get a better deal on another player. I needed to know where we stand. Now I do.” He paused. “Maybe my team should simply accept that Perron can help us reach the playoffs, but there’s more involved and we both know it.” He glanced over at Perron, who hadn’t moved, but now looked tense instead of eager. “I’m going to be straight with you, Perron. I want to see you on the ice sooner rather than later because there are some issues to work out, and I don’t want them ruining whatever chances we have left. We could get away with losing a couple of games and still skid into 8 spot. Hopefully we can get through the ‘honeymoon’ period by then.”
Perron nodded slowly. “I got you, Coach, but I think you’re wrong. The game comes first for all of us. I ain’t seeing there being a whole lotta issues.”
“The game does come first; I agree.” Tim ignored the chair Dean had vacated and rested his hip on the edge of the desk. “But what you’re missing is that there is no ‘us.’ Not anymore.” The softening of Tim’s tone and the understanding in his eyes as Perron frowned lessened the harshness of what he was saying. He straightened and nodded as though pleased to see Perron understood. “We’ll work on getting back there though, all right? If anyone can help us get there, it’s you.”
“Right.” Perron stood, rubbing his hands on his pants before holding one out to shake Dean’s hand, then Tim’s over the desk. “I appreciate being given another shot, Coach. I’ll go see Doc, then suit up.” He cleared his throat before Dean could excuse himself. “Sir, did you happen to speak to Dominik?”
Dean’s brow furrowed. “No. Why would I?”
“He called last night. I didn’t want to mention nothin’ in front of my agent—that’s why I didn’t tell you before,” Perron said. “Ford’s in the hospital—got a bad beating. Has something to do with his father. Not too sure on the details.”
“I see. Thank you for letting me know.” Dean ran his tongue over his teeth, thinking fast as he strode out of his brother’s office and headed up to his own. He and Landon had kept a lot from Silver because of her heart condition—it had become something of a habit. At this point, all she knew was that the team had a big investor who had helped bring the franchise out of the black. She still didn’t know Lorenzo Keane was running the team. He and Landon had planned to break it to her—very carefully—sometime this week. Before the meeting he’d scheduled among the investors. Ford had stood in by proxy for Silver during every other meeting, but Silver wanted to get more involved.
“She wouldn’t if not for your brilliant plan. I told you we didn’t need a nanny.” Landon had just left the nursery, where Silver was rocking Amia to sleep. He spoke in a hushed voice even after they’d gone to their bedroom and closed the door. “Silver loves staying home with our daughter. Things are going well. Why mess with a good thing?”
Shaking his head, Dean had squeezed Landon’s shoulder. “I know you love how devoted she’s become to our baby. So do I. But it’s also a good thing that she wants to get back into the flow of her life. She’s getting just as bad as you are with hovering
over Amia. We all need to find some kind of balance.”
“I don’t want someone else raising my daughter.” Landon tried to jerk away from him, but Dean tightened his grip. The flash of challenge in Landon’s eyes stirred his blood.
Dean moved closer, his tone rough. “Neither do I. The nanny is here to help Silver. You’ll be back on the ice soon. Feeling stuck won’t improve the situation for our woman.”
Landon glared at Dean’s hand. Spoke through partially gritted teeth. “Careful, Dean.”
“Careful of what?”
“You’re not the only dominant one in this relationship. If you want balance . . .” Landon firmly pulled Dean’s hand off his shoulder. “I suggest you don’t try to exert your control over me. You and Silver overruled me on the nanny thing. Fine. But from this point on, I expect to be treated as an equal. Whether it comes to our woman, our daughter, or—”
“Or?” Dean waited, having a feeling he knew what Landon meant. Landon wanted to be an equal in their relationship, but he wouldn’t say that because he didn’t know what kind of relationship they had. Hell, Dean wasn’t sure what to make of how things had changed between them. Not that either of them would ever act on it, but there was a tension that hadn’t been there before.
“Or nothing.” Landon scowled and took a big step back. He held up his hand, making a cutting motion before Dean could speak. “Leave it alone. This is about Silver. I don’t care if I’m on the road or whatever. We make decisions together.”
“Agreed,” Dean said, perfectly fine leaving “it” alone. Things were complicated enough.
And were about to get even more complicated. Silver had to be told about Keane, about her brother, and, Dean had to admit, Landon might have some good ideas on how to bring up both without Silver getting too agitated.
Either way, they had a lot to discuss. Landon was skating with the team, but Tim wouldn’t mind letting him come up to talk to Dean about something this important.
Shortly after, Landon was sitting behind Dean’s desk, raking his nails through the sweat-soaked spikes of his short brown hair. His face was red from the exertion of training, and water marks stained the front of his gold practice jersey. Landon hadn’t moved since Dean had finished explaining the situation.
But he finally spoke. “What do you suggest?”
“Does she know Oriana’s back?” Dean wasn’t too concerned about Oriana saying anything just yet. She was a smart woman, and she’d consult Dean and Landon—and perhaps Silver’s doctor—before she’d risk upsetting her little sister.
Landon let his hand fall to the arm of the chair and nodded. “Yeah. She called Oriana this morning to show her pictures of Amia sitting up on her own.” All the strain left Landon’s features. He sat up straight and grinned at Dean. “I wish you’d been there. Amia was so proud of herself.”
Dean smiled, finding his hand in his pocket before he realized he’d left his phone on his desk. Silver had likely sent him photos as well. He hated missing moments like this, but at least he knew either Landon or Silver would record everything for him to see later. He found his phone under a pile of files his assistant had left for him.
“God, she’s beautiful.” Dean glanced over as Landon stood beside him. “She has your eyes.”
“Yeah, but check out the look on her face. So focused.” Landon nudged Dean’s side with his elbow. “She gets that from you.”
“You’re quite focused yourself, Landon.”
“Not like that. Here—” Landon pulled out his own phone and played a short video of Silver sitting in the center of their king-sized bed, holding Amia’s hands as their daughter pulled herself up. Amia’s big gray eyes were wide, her tiny nose wrinkling as she released Silver’s hands. She swayed a little, then righted herself.
“Look at Mommy, Amia! Smile for Daddy D!” Silver was calling out as she shifted away a few inches, holding up her phone to take some pictures. “Landon, try to get her to look at you.”
“Where’s my girl? Amia . . .” Landon was laughing as Amia held out her arms, refusing to look at either of them, concentrating so hard on staying upright. “She doesn’t want to get distracted. Oh, watch out, she’s gonna tip over.”
“I’ve got her.” Silver smiled toward the camera as she swooped Amia up in her arms. “Such a big girl. Wave to Daddy D.” She moved Amia’s hand in a wave. “Say ‘Miss you, Daddy!’”
His grin even bigger, Dean gave Landon a one-armed hug as he turned off the video. “Thank you for that. I wish I hadn’t left so early, but this helps.”
Landon reached around Dean, curving his hand over Dean’s shoulder. “Not a problem. You’ll do the same for me when I’m on the road.”
“I will.” Dean rubbed Landon’s arm, thinking back on the original problem. “We should tell Silver tonight. If not sooner.”
“I agree. There’s no point in putting it off any longer.” Landon idly tapped his fingers on Dean’s shoulder. “We can make sure she’s very relaxed before we bring it up.”
“I’ve no doubt we can.” Dean pretended not to notice the way Landon stiffened at a knock at the door. He moved away from Landon and took his seat behind the desk. “Come in.”
Oriana slipped into the office, then cast a curious look over at them. A glance at Landon made it clear why. He had the expression of someone caught doing something either immoral or illegal. He’d worn that same expression when his father had come into the room to find them sleeping “a little too close.”
Another subject not to be discussed. Dean’s lips slanted wryly. He gestured for Oriana to take a seat. “I take it you’ve come to discuss Silver?”
Oriana toyed with the end of her long, smooth, bronze ponytail as she perched at the very edge of the seat. Then she shook her head. “No. I trust you both to tell her the right way.” She took a deep breath. “I’m here to discuss Max.”
“Are you really?” Landon placed his hands flat on the table, his tone taking on a dangerous edge. Dean managed not to laugh at the nervous glance Oriana shot his way as Landon continued. “Does your Master know you’ve come behind his back to speak on his behalf?”
“No, but—” Oriana started to rise.
Dean arched a brow at her. “You haven’t been excused. You were saying?”
Her eyes narrowed. She sat forward, her knuckles white as she clung to her tiny black purse. “Don’t do that! I need to know Max is going to be okay.” She turned pleading eyes to Landon. “The men respect you. You’re their goalie and you made your way into the inner circle faster than anyone. You can—”
“I think your husband would prefer to deal with the men his own way.” Landon straightened and folded his arms over his chest. “I know I would in his position. And I wouldn’t appreciate my fiancée trying to make things easier for me.”
“And Silver knows better,” Dean added, amused because he knew very well Silver wouldn’t have quietly come to speak to one player on Landon’s behalf. She’d likely confront the entire locker room if she thought a single man would mistreat one of the men she loved.
But Landon went along with it. He inclined his head. “That she does. However, since I consider you family, I won’t say a word about your misjudgement. Though I expect you’ll tell your Master yourself.”
“Max?” Oriana had paled slightly, but a pretty pink blush stained her cheeks. An interesting contrast. Silver had the same way of being scared and . . . well, something else all at once.
Dean didn’t want to think about his love’s sister being aroused by the slight taste of dominance he and Landon couldn’t help exerting. So he smirked. “No. Actually, I believe Callahan would come up with a much more suitable punishment.”
Oriana’s lips parted. She sidled up and out of her chair. Stopped. Moved as though to sit back down. Groaning, she crossed her arms over her chest. “May I go, Sirs?”
“You may.” Dean waited until she’d reached the door. Then cleared his throat. She froze. “Will you be joining us for dinner tonight?
”
“Ah . . .” Oriana glanced back at him. Swallowed at his hard look. “I’ll ask Max.”
“See that you do.”
After she disappeared into the hall, Landon punched his shoulder playfully. “That was mean.”
“It was.” Dean inclined his head, chuckling. “I expect a thank you from Mr. Perron sometime this evening.”
“Yeah, well, you know I’ll back him anyway, right?” Landon sighed, meeting Dean’s eyes. “You brought him back into the fold. Despite everything else, I will respect that.”
“Which I appreciate.”
“Really?” Humor lightened Landon’s tone. “How much?”
Damn the man. Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. He’d keep his comments to himself. The younger man didn’t mean anything by his teasing. Months ago, Dean wouldn’t even have considered anything implied beyond perhaps chores being taken over in appreciation. Which was likely exactly what Landon was implying.
“I’ll take over the shoveling for the week.” Dean opened one of his folders, needing the distraction of work. And not the other man. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some calls to make and—”
“Like I’ll let you shovel, old man,” Landon said, the affection in his tone the only thing that kept Dean from taking his “old man” cane and cracking the cocky goalie with it. Landon put his hand over the papers in front of Dean, his lips tightening slightly around the edges. “That’s not what I meant.”
Dean gave Landon a hard look. Leave it alone, my ass. “What exactly did you mean then?”
Landon shook his head. Shrugged. Then laughed as he backed toward the door. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out myself.”
* * * *
Gasping and laughing, Akira ran down the last steps between the bottom rows of the Forum seats around the ice, collapsing into a chair, smiling back at her girls as they took the opportunity to do the same. Sahara dropped into the chair beside her, groaning.
“I need to stop drinking. My head is pounding and you’re insane!” Sahara fixed her bun, then fell back into the chair dramatically. “I’m getting too old for this.”
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 6
