On her way to the dressing room, she flashed Sahara a broad grin, happy that the other girl returned it without question. She’d have to be careful not to act too excited whenever the mailman stopped at their apartment. Neither Jami or Sahara knew how desperate she was to have some kind of contact with her parents. How often she wondered if she’d been forgotten as they carried on their lives across the country with all the children they cared for.
She wasn’t jealous. But she needed to know she still mattered.
That all the wrongs she’d done in the past, all the shame she’d brought to her family, didn’t overshadow what she’d finally done right.
Chapter Ten
Max stretched his neck, back to front, side to side. He looked up from where he sat hunched in his stall as Carter passed, not all that surprised that the younger man never even glanced his way. Some would say Carter, Demyan, Vanek—and hell, some of the less vocal players—were being unprofessional by giving him the cold shoulder, but Max was starting to get it. During the video coaching session a few hours earlier, he’d felt the tension in the room as sloppy plays were dissected. Shortly after, there had been a lot of grumbling as the lines were drawn up on the whiteboard in the locker room. He was being played on the left wing and, Dexter Tousignant had been sent back down to the minors. There was something unspoken going on here.
Almost as though the coaches were saying the team couldn’t manage without him. Not just him—there was plenty of underlying excitement about Bower being back—but in his case, it was almost as though the players agreed.
Which explained why their young backup goalie, Hunt, looked so damn miserable.
An enthusiastic shout from one of the assistant coaches got all the men to their feet. White stood by the door, giving each player a mock check as they walked by. Max nodded to White when the gritty forward didn’t check him, wanting to make sure the man knew that Max got he had to earn his way back into the team’s tight inner circle.
He barked out a laugh when White grabbed him from behind, giving him a hug that lifted Max clear off his skates.
“Fuck those whiny bitches, Perron.” White cracked his helmet against Max’s. “You were the first one to have my back after I got suspended. I missed you, man.”
“Right back atcha, bruiser.” Max grinned at White, slapping the other man’s shoulder as they both made their way down the hall to the rink. “Still thinkin’ it was a clean hit.”
“Hey, I’ll admit it was questionable. Hit the guy in the numbers. Glad he just lost a couple of teeth to the boards.”
To most, losing teeth would be no small thing, but White’s broad smile showed the upper incisor he’d lost. He never tried to hide it—somehow it gave his smile more boyish charm. The two molars that had shattered from a vicious cross-check had given him more trouble, but he’d finally gotten those fixed after the pain started interfering with his love of medium-rare steaks.
“You planning to keep your gloves on tonight?” Max chuckled at White’s snort. They were playing the Broad Street Bullies. Might as well ask White if he’d try vegan for a day.
“If it helps, I’ll wait for Tim’s go-ahead.” White cocked his head as they reached the end of the bench. Tim looked up from his clipboard, inclining his head at them both before fixing White with a warning stare. White took it in stride. “Uh . . . maybe.”
Max nudged White toward the ice for the warm-up skate. “Go with your gut, pal. Usually works for you.”
White skated backward, giving him a sharp salute with his gloved hand. “Best advice ever.”
On the ice, Max did a few quick laps to get his blood pumping, then fired several shots toward Bower, wincing at the ring of the pipes. He hadn’t let himself go physically, but it would take more than one practice to get him as sharp as he had been. Unfortunately, he didn’t have the liberty of slowly readjusting to the game. The team, the fans, would be watching his every move. The fans might hate him one day, then love him the next, but the players . . . they needed a good reason for his being back in the lineup after leaving them and taking the place of someone who’d been there through the worst.
“Hey, Perron!” Bower called before Max could skate away. Bower pushed his mask off his face as Max skated up to his side. “Just a heads up since you’re on the second line. Demyan and Vanek can’t read each other all that well. Not sure why Tim put them together—you three had one good play during practice. Might want to keep an eye out for wild passes.”
“Got it.” Max leaned against the side of the net, watching Demyan and Vanek as they stood side by side near the benches. Demyan was saying something as he brought his water bottle to his mouth. His laughter could be heard clear across the ice.
Probably teasing Vanek. Trying to loosen him up before puck drop.
From Vanek’s scowl, he didn’t find whatever Demyan had said all that funny.
“They hang out off the ice?” Few would think it mattered, but Max knew how to read plays by knowing his teammates. He didn’t know Demyan very well, but he did know Vanek. The kid could take teasing from a teammate that was little more than an acquaintance much better than he could from someone who had actual dirt on him.
Bower arched a brow. “They used to. They were roommates for a while.”
“What happened?” Max flashed Bower an apologetic smile. “Feel free to tell me it ain’t my business.”
Shrugging, Bower nodded to the stands behind the team’s benches. Chicklet sat close to the glass with her girlfriend, Laura. “Don’t know details, but I heard Chicklet showed Demyan the curb.”
“Got it.”
“I think they’re still friends, though.” Bower’s brow furrowed. “Seems day-to-day.”
This could be interesting. Vanek was still young enough to let personal garbage affect his play. But as the game started, he paid attention to Demyan’s comments and observed how Vanek’s face grew red with agitation.
Demyan smacked the boards, surprising all the players sitting close to him. “Now I remember! The slogan was ‘Do it like Zovko.’ Gotta admit, he looked pretty hot in that white silk shirt and those tight boxers.”
A few feet away, Zach Pearce looked over at Demyan and shook his head. “Funny. Didn’t think you liked silk, Scott.”
Wiggling his eye brows, Demyan gave Pearce a hooded look. “I like it on you.”
“Head in the game, boys,” Tim said, his tone sharp.
“Zovko is an amazing player. Does everything have to be about sex with you, Demyan?” Vanek ignored Tim’s warning glare and sat up, facing Demyan. “Fuck, I can’t tell you anything.”
“Sure, you can. I think it’s cute, that’s all. You got all excited when you found out he was available.” Demyan turned his attention back to the play when Tim put a hand on his shoulder. “Head up, Richards! Fuck!”
“Available for a trade, you sick freak!” Vanek shouted before hopping over the boards for a shift change. He missed a pass from Mason, still too wound up from the argument to focus on the game.
Max retrieved the puck, then dodged a Philly forward, cruising across the neutral zone, mentally mapping out potential plays as Demyan and Vanek reached the blue line a step behind him. He met Vanek’s eyes a split second before snapping the puck to him.
Vanek cupped the pass and took three long strides toward the net. Cut the puck across the goal crease to Demyan.
Who tucked the puck straight between the goalie’s pads.
“Nice set up.” Demyan’s tone held some grudging respect as Max and Vanek slammed into him to congratulate him for the goal. “Good to see you haven’t lost your touch.”
“Don’t give him all the credit.” Vanek kept pace with Demyan, not looking at Max. “Sweet goal, Demyan.”
The game progressed with another goal from their line and two from Carter and the first line. Bower made some awesome saves, but his expression didn’t change as he kept glancing at the clock like he couldn’t wait for the game to be over. Tim called a time-out afte
r one save had Bower down for a few seconds longer than usual. He spoke at length with Bower, glancing down at Bower’s legs as the goalie shifted his weight.
“I’d tell you if I wasn’t okay, Coach.” Bower gave Tim a tight smile. “Little twinge in the muscle. I’m good.”
“All right.” Tim looked over the team, nodding slowly, clearly not having much to say since they were leading 4-0. He glanced at the Jumbotron which showed they were in the last five minutes of the final period. “We got two days before we’re on the road. Let’s finish up and enjoy our time off.”
“Best idea I’ve heard all night.” Bower skated away from the rest of the team, taking a solid stance between the pipes before striking each with his stick.
Max took a deep breath, shaking his head as he lowered to the bench. If this was how Bower acted during an at home game, how would he handle being on the road?
Last year, Max would have talked to Sloan about it. Or Dominik. But Dominik seemed distant and distracted despite his welcoming behavior at practice, and he’d likely tell Max that Bower was fine anyway.
So long as he stops the puck, who cares how anxious he is to leave?
That’s exactly what Dominik would say, but Max could see Tim watching their goalie with the same concern he felt. If Bower couldn’t maintain his passion, his focus, how long would it be before he couldn’t stop the puck?
“I get this in, top shelf, and you’re buying me a beer, Demyan!” Vanek called out as he leaped over the boards to join the play.
Demyan gave Vanek a thumbs-up with his gloved hand, then looked over at Carter. “You still coming?”
“Yeah, Jami and Seb are driving up to Montreal to see some musical tomorrow.” Carter grinned. “I got out of it by reminding them that I got Seb all to myself for a few weeks this summer. I’m gonna take Jami to play laser tag next time we get some time off. Not Seb’s thing.”
Max smiled, thinking how he and Sloan split time with Oriana in the exact same way. Oriana had recently developed an interest in opera, which Sloan couldn’t stand, so Max would bring her. The music wasn’t much to Max’s taste either, but he loved watching her while she let the long, pure notes, the emotion, pull her in. Her whiskey eyes shone with tears as the drama played out onstage and she would hold his hand so tight, as though needing to feel him close during the tragic death scenes. As though she relived her own losses and needed to know he was still with her.
Back in Calgary, Oriana had school and him and Sloan, but he’d sensed that she was lonely. She didn’t make friends easily, and those she did make had very different lives. Sometimes he wondered if she’d never been invited to their houses because her married friends couldn’t come to grips with the fact that she was living with two men.
Here, she had her sister. And all her friends in Montreal that had known her long enough to accept her no matter how she chose to live her life. She’d mentioned staying over at Silver’s tonight so she could spend some time with her niece.
Leaving him without much to do. Unless . . .
“So Ford asked you to check on the bar?” Carter leaned close to Demyan, his brow furrowing slightly. “That’s weird. With Cort back, you’d figure Ford wouldn’t be worried about it.”
“Yeah, guess you haven’t heard.” Demyan lowered his voice, the two men looking like schoolgirls exchanging gossip. All that was missing was the giggling. “Akira’s dating Cort.”
“Oh, fuck.” Carter’s eyes widened. He glanced across the bench at Dominik. “But I thought—”
“Mason’s playing with other subs now. Him and Akira were never really a thing.”
“This could get interesting.”
Inhaling slowly, Max forced his attention back to the ice. A brief thought of how things would go with Dominik single and Oriana being back weighed on his mind, but he pushed it aside. One problem at a time. He needed a way to get back into the team—and not just with his name on the roster.
“I haven’t gotten a chance to see Ford’s new bar.” Max chuckled as both Carter and Demyan lifted their heads, staring at him as though they’d forgotten he was sitting so close. “I could go for a beer. First round’s on me.”
Demyan ran his tongue over his teeth, nodding slowly. Then he shrugged. “I never say no to free beer.”
“You never say no.” Carter snorted, bumping Demyan with his shoulder as he stood for a line change. He cocked his head, looking back at Max as he climbed over the boards. “Make it first round and fifth and I’m in.”
Fifth? The young man was going to get plastered. And if he knew Carter as well as he thought he did, that meant a very loose tongue. By the third beer he’d tell Max exactly why he was so pissed about Max coming back. So Max inclined his head. “You got it.”
The Cobras finished the game, 5-1, Bower losing his shutout in the last seconds of the game on a softie. He was the first one out of the locker room—no surprise there. Demyan and Carter told Vanek Max was coming with them to the bar, which got them nothing but a blank look. Vanek told them to wait for him while he went to let Chicklet know he’d be out late.
A bit of ribbing about being pussy whipped and they let him go. Meanwhile, Ramos came to Max’s stall, speaking to him while several of the players jostled at the other side of the room, celebrating the win.
“Luke says you are joining them at the bar?”
“Yeah.” Max gave Ramos a slanted smile as he shoved his helmet onto his shelf. “Those three ain’t my biggest fans. I’m thinkin’ we all should have a chat.”
“Good. I dislike seeing him bitter and angry. But . . .” Ramos shook his head and laughed. “No, I would ask you to keep him out of trouble, but I’m not certain that’s possible.”
Barking out a laugh, Max reached over and squeezed Ramos’s shoulder. “Can’t make you no promises, but I’ll do my best.”
Right then, a Whoop! came from the player’s lounge and Max went to the door, letting out a deep sigh as Carter roughly hugged Vanek with one arm while holding up a flask.
“To Chicklet for letting you off your leash!”
“Keep it out of the locker room, Carter!” Tim slid past Max, his arms crossed, expression firm, but his tone making it clear he was trying not to laugh. “No practice tomorrow, boys, so have fun!”
“To Coach!” Demyan grabbed Carter’s flask before the younger man could take a swig. “For letting us all off our leashes!”
All the men laughed and Tim gave Demyan a mock punch in the gut. The energy in the room buzzed through Max’s veins, giving him a rush like how he felt on the back of a bucking bronco, like how he felt when he made love to Oriana. Like he’d always felt in this very room after a win.
It was fucking good to be home.
* * * *
In between periods, Silver had taken Akira and Sahara to her office to hear what they had to say about Ms. Plant. The way Silver’s eyes had flashed with rage made Akira confident that the situation would be handled.
But she hadn’t expected Silver to ask her and Sahara to be present when she called Ms. Plant in to meet with her after the game. Cort remained by her side as they headed up to the offices, taking the stairs so Akira could rid herself of some of her nervous energy.
Before leaving her in the hall to continue to Ford’s office, Cort put his arm over her shoulder and whispered in her ear, “Soon as you’re done, come to the office.”
A little chill ran up her spine even as heat descended between her thighs. There was no mistaking the hunger in Cort’s tone, but the idea of doing anything in an office . . . she swallowed, forcing a smile as she peered up at him. “Okay.”
“Wait.” Cort’s eyes studied hers. He frowned. “Are you afraid to be alone with me?”
“No! Not at all!” Akira flushed as Sahara glanced back at her, one hand on the door knob. Akira waved Sahara on, lowering her voice as the other girl opened the door to Silver’s office. “It’s just . . . what happened to me . . . they brought me to an office and—” She cut herself off as
his gaze hardened with understanding, grateful that she didn’t have to say any more about the rape. She took a deep breath. “I’m just afraid I’ll have flashbacks or something. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “We can go to your place to watch a movie if you want.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Sahara’s having a few girls over.” Her cheeks flushed as she pressed against him, and for a split second she was wondering if the words in her mind were too bold. But feeling Cort’s hard body against hers made it impossible to hold anything back. “There’s always your car. The backseat looks comfy.”
His body shook with laughter. He kissed her again, longer, slower, then spoke against her lips. “It’s very comfortable. I’ll meet you here and then we can go for a ride.”
“A long ride?” She took a few steps back, biting her lip before giving him a mischievous smile. “Are you all right driving with distractions? I can’t promise to keep my hands to myself.”
He grinned, smacking her butt as she spun around. “Get going before Silver starts thinking I kidnapped you.”
“I think I’d enjoy being kidnapped by you.”
His hooded look had the flush of her cheeks spreading all over her body. The hallway was cool, but she felt like she was standing in a sauna whenever he was near. As though water poured over her skin would evaporate like it did on the heated stones.
He winked, moving away like it took an effort to do so. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Sure her face was beet red, she took a minute to compose herself before going into Silver’s office. Ms. Plant was already seated in the chair in front of Silver’s desk. Sahara had taken one of the two chairs set off to the side near the window and Silver stood beside her, looking every inch the businesswoman in her pale gray slacks and jacket, her hair pulled back in a sleek updo.
Silver nodded for Akira to sit beside Sahara. Then she turned to Ms. Plant.
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 17
