Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Oriana gaped at him. “That’s something you would do. Don’t give Sloan any ideas.”

  “I don’t need to. He’s quite creative. If he thinks you want to play with Pischlar, he might let the man use some toys.” Max cocked his head, recalling the last scene he’d seen Pischlar do. “Or volunteer you for a chemical play demo.”

  The color left Oriana’s cheeks. “I don’t like doing demos.”

  “I know.”

  “And I don’t want to play with Pischlar.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive.” She gave him a look so full of lust he instantly hardened in his own jock. “Besides, I prefer a little more meat on my men’s butts.”

  His blood had abandoned his brain. He checked the clock on the wall. Hell, there was no time to enjoy his wife being the one exception to the locker room rule. He grabbed a nearby bottle of water and dumped it over his head.

  Better. Not much, but he could make it through the first period. He swiped the water from his face and laughed at Oriana’s little smirk. “Behave yourself, darlin’. What can I do you for?”

  She opened her mouth, then shook her head and giggled. “Too easy. I got a call from Sloan. He wanted to tell us both something. Not sure there’s enough time to—”

  Apparently, Sloan had managed to play whatever it was off as something that could wait. But Max knew Sloan a bit better than Oriana. He’d call before a game for only two reasons. Either to wish Max luck, or because he needed to talk. The Flames had a game tonight too, so . . .

  Shit. Max stood and held out his hand. “Got your phone, sugar?”

  “Yeah.” Oriana pulled her phone out of her purse, but hesitated before handing it over. “He said everything was okay. He wouldn’t lie to me.”

  “Not saying he did.” But Sloan’s definition of “okay” was damn vague. Max gestured for Oriana to follow as the phone rang. He went straight to Tim’s office.

  Tim met his eyes and let them in, closing the door behind them.

  “If you’re trying to call Callahan, I doubt you’ll get an answer.” Tim gestured to the small flat-screen TV on the wall by his desk. “They just announced that he was fired. He’s popular, so he’ll be getting offers from across the league.”

  “Are the Cobras making an offer?” Oriana pressed against Max’s side, her question little more than a whisper. She likely felt guilty because this was what they’d been hoping for—and yet, Sloan losing his job as assistant coach after less than a year couldn’t feel good. And neither she nor Max had really considered the possibility of Sloan going anywhere besides Dartmouth.

  “As soon as we can get through.” Tim grinned. “Hey, I want him back almost as much as you two. And it so happens that one of my assistant coaches is looking to retire. Keane and his people will have Callahan here by the end of the week. Don’t worry.”

  “Thanks, Coach.” Max hugged Oriana, catching Tim’s pointed look. “Reckon I’ll go get warmed up.”

  “Reckon you should.” Tim chuckled as he followed them out of the office, a playful southern drawl added to his tone. But his whole demeanor changed as he entered the locker room.

  Max looked over at their rookie goalie who was starting tonight even though Bower was back in the lineup. He caught the back end of the conversation Hunt was having with their eighteen-year-old forward.

  “Twins, man. Remember how you were saying like three people have bought your jersey? Well, the one in the thigh-high boots looked like she wasn’t wearing anything but your jersey! Told her to wait for us after the game.”

  “You . . . you mean it? But I thought you were with someone?” Richards’s eyes were wide as he stared up at the man he seemed to idolize even though Hunt was only two years older than him. “She’s okay with—”

  Hunt snorted. “One thing you gotta learn, kid. These bunnies lose interest real quick. I thought she was—doesn’t matter. I’m a single man. So are you. You in?”

  “Yeah. Of course I am!” Richards jumped as Tim cleared his throat. “Sorry, Coach.”

  “No, please don’t let me interrupt. Ask Demyan, this kinda stuff does great things for your reputation.” Tim’s gaze fell on Demyan, who seemed to find inspecting the tape on his stick blade suddenly imperative. Max snorted, covering with a cough as Tim squeezed Richards’s shoulder. Tim patted Hunt’s arm, studying the young goalie for a moment. “Your head in this, sport?”

  “Where else would it be?” Hunt shrugged Tim’s hand away and stormed across the room to grab a can of Red Bull. He ignored Doc’s narrowed eye stare.

  “All right, let’s do this!” Tim shouted. He stood by the door, slapping the men’s backs, stalling Bower before he could go out to the ice and speaking quietly to him. Bower nodded to whatever Tim said.

  Max went out last, not all that surprised when Tim stopped him a few feet from the benches.

  “Richards steers clear of Hunt from now on. Got it?”

  “I’ll take care of it, Coach.” Max watched Hunt skate back and forth along the goal line, his jaw hardening as the young man ignored Dominik’s encouraging tap with his stick. “You sure he’s gonna be all right?”

  “Hard to say. I’ve never seen him like this.” Tim shook his head, his jaw hard as he stared across the ice. “He’s a pro. Let’s see if he can act like one.”

  By the end of the second period, the Cobras were down 5-1. And Hunt was losing it. The crowd was booing . . . no, Max winced as he realized what they were doing was so much worse.

  They were chanting. ‘Bower! Bower! Bower!’

  Hunt drew a penalty by slashing one of the opponent’s forwards after letting in the sixth goal, seconds after the period ended. He made it to the hall toward the locker room before he cracked his stick into the wall.

  The men spoke low amongst themselves as they converged on the locker room, but Max didn’t join them. He headed straight to Tim’s office, ducking just in time to avoid getting clocked by the water bottle Tim threw.

  “Coach, he’s a pro.” Max slammed the door behind him, not really giving a shit that this was none of his business. Hunt didn’t want anyone’s help. But he was gonna get it anyway. “He’s not made of fucking stone. You heard them.”

  “Yeah, I heard them. Probably before you did.” Tim let out a sharp laugh. “After the first goddamn goal, and it just got louder. I should have pulled him sooner, but I didn’t want him to feel like I blamed him. Three of those goals were bad defense. Bower wouldn’t have been able to stop them.”

  “You can’t put Hunt back out there.”

  “I know that. But it’s going to tear him apart to sit on the bench and listen to them howling for Bower.”

  “You ain’t got a choice, Coach.”

  “I could dress you. Too bad this ain’t the OHL.” Tim rubbed his hands over his face, groaning. “Team therapist is gonna need a raise.”

  “Naw, you’ve got me.” Max punched Tim’s shoulder, tempted to tell the man he loved him again just to make him laugh for real. But taking care of Hunt would be the next best thing. “I’ll talk to him. Remind him that some of the best goalies in the league have gone through this.”

  “You do that.” Tim stepped out of his office, looking around the locker room and groaning again. “Just kill me now. Where the fuck is Bower?”

  * * * *

  “Defense, Silver.”

  “You always want defense! Look at this kid’s stats!”

  “I agree, he has potential, but if we get a good draft pick, I want to strengthen the blue line.” Dean’s lip quirked as Silver’s brow furrowed, ready for her to give him hell for using terms she didn’t understand. “I’m sorry, dragonfly, what I mean is—”

  “Same thing you started on. Defense, blue line, got it.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Nice try, smart-ass. Now, from what I’ve seen looking over last year’s draft picks, we might get lucky and get him in the second round. Can we grab him then?”

  “Absolutely.” He dragged her from her perch on the
edge of his desk, laughing as she fussed about how he’d wrinkle her suit. And his. Sitting her on his lap, he carefully straightened her pale blue jacket, then wrapped his arms around her, kissing her throat until she melted into his arms. “You’ve come a long way from signing men because they look hot in a magazine spread.”

  “Perhaps, but it was still a good decision. I give you full creds for Zovko, though.” She toyed with his lapel, a mischievous smile on her lips. “Can’t say you didn’t choose him for the same reason. He’s pretty hot.”

  Dean snorted as he slid his hand under her jacket to palm her breast. “My tastes lean toward the softer sex, pet.”

  A firm knock and his office door opened. Seeing it was Landon, Dean kept his hand where it was.

  Silver’s lips slid across his cheek, brushing his ear as she whispered, “Liar.”

  The hairs on the back of Dean’s neck stood on end. The word didn’t sound like an accusation. If anything, her tone was pure temptation.

  But that could be wishful thinking, so he let it slide as he focused on Landon. “Does Tim know you’re here? He’ll have a fit if he—”

  Landon held out his hand and pulled Silver to her feet. He kissed her hard, holding her head in his hands as he looked into her eyes. “I love you. It didn’t take therapy to know that, but I haven’t shown you it for a long time. Not really. You gave me and Dean our beautiful daughter, and I’ve been acting like she’s just mine. But she’s ours.”

  “She is.” Silver wrapped her arms around Landon’s neck, staring up at him. “You’ve said this before. I know why you were having a hard time. We’re better.”

  “We are.” Landon nodded and finally let her go. “I just . . . I’m ready to get back out there. For real this time. I just needed to see you first.” He turned to Dean, something in his eyes causing Dean’s heart to beat like he’d just raced up four flights of stairs. “I needed to see both of you.”

  Nothing’s changed. We’re all better. And he needs to get on the ice. Dean stood and gave Landon a curt nod. “You’ve seen us. And now the team needs you.”

  “They can wait.” Landon shifted away from Silver, looking from Dean to her, then back. “I said things and I didn’t mean a fucking word.”

  Not now. Dean could only guess, but if he was right, this wasn’t the time. Or the place. Landon had to focus on the game, and Silver . . . Silver was happy. Truly happy for the first time in much too long. Anything Landon had to say about what he “hadn’t meant” could ruin it.

  “Understood.” Dean shoved his hands in his pockets, jerking his chin at the door. “We’ll discuss this later.”

  “We’ll discuss it now.” Landon inched closer, and Dean could see the war being waged within in his eyes. And he could tell which side won as Landon latched on to the front of his shirt. “Right fucking now.”

  There was no discussion, only Landon’s lips on his in a brutal kiss, as though Landon felt he had to fight Dean himself to take it. Dean shoved Landon against his desk, his hands fisted in Landon’s jersey. He held Landon in place, forcing him to accept a gentler response. Looked into Landon’s eyes as the lips beneath his softened. He’d never really considered how things would be if they came together, but part of him had prepared for a struggle for dominance. Instead, he found Landon meeting him as an equal. Not submitting, not taking control. Simply giving everything he took.

  Until Landon became aware of everything. Aware of Silver, watching them with an unreadable expression on her face. Landon dropped his hands to his sides. “Silver, I didn’t mean—”

  “Stop.” Silver approached them, at first like she wasn’t sure she should, then like nothing could stop her. She put her hand on Landon’s cheek. “Don’t spoil it to try to make me feel better. What you have with Dean is . . . beautiful. It scares me less when you’re not trying to hide it.”

  “I wasn’t, it’s just . . . I’m not . . .” Landon glared at the floor. “Hell, I don’t care what my father thinks. This is us. It feels right.”

  Dean couldn’t agree more. He took Silver’s hand, then framed Landon’s jaw with his hand, kissing him again just to prove to himself that this was real. That he could do so without damaging the man in some way. “This is right. And your father doesn’t need any more details about this than he does about how often you spank your fiancée.”

  “Yeah, that would freak him out too.” Landon leaned into the next kiss, then turned his head to claim Silver’s lips before whispering. “I don’t want this to hurt you.”

  “It doesn’t. So long as you two don’t forget about me . . .” She rubbed against Dean as she shoved Landon toward the door. “I should thank you. It’s hard to distract him, and you did a very good job of it. You go out and play while I take care of him.” She blew Landon a kiss as he chuckled, reluctantly backing out of the office. “I’ll let you do it next time.”

  “I’m taking you up on that.” Landon gave Dean a hooded look, hesitating with his hand on the doorknob. “I’ll make you a deal, old man. I win this game, I top you. If I lose . . .”

  Dean held up his hand. These two are going to kill me. “Damn it, one kiss and you want to fuck?”

  “Dean, I’ve wanted this for a long time.” Landon’s lips quirked up at the edges. “But if you want to be crude about it, yes. I’m still young. I rarely think about anything else.”

  “I believe it.” Dean snorted, but thinking of the game and what the team had to lose made him frown. “Focus on the game, Landon.”

  “I always do when I’m on the ice.” He glanced at the digital clock on Dean’s wall that showed both the time and counted down to the next period. “Five minutes until we start. Twenty minutes for the last period—closer to forty if you count commercial breaks. Longer if there’s penalties and—”

  “Go before I tell my brother he doesn’t have a goalie to put in! You’re worse than she is!” Dean pushed Landon out into the hall and shut the door in his face. He bowed his head, hiding his smile as he heard Silver giggle again. She really was okay with this. He turned to her, his expression as stern as possible as he crossed the room. “What were you saying about taking care of me, pet?”

  “Oh, did I say that?” She curved into him, nipping his throat even as he combed his fingers through her hair. Her fingers tugged at his belt. “Do you know why I’m not threatened by him anymore?”

  “Because you know we both love you?”

  “There’s that.” She dropped to her knees, forcing him to loosen his hold on her hair. “And he’s got a lot to learn.” Her nimble fingers curved around his dick. Her hot mouth slid over him once before she tipped her head back to give him a taunting smile. “I can’t wait to teach him. To teach you both. It’s going to be fucking hot to see him just like this.”

  Dean should have been embarrassed by how quickly he came, deep in her throat, but he wasn’t. Silver had found a way to feel included in the next step he and Landon took together. And there was no better way to express how it felt than what Landon had said.

  It feels right.

  * * * *

  The loss wasn’t a surprise, but Max found it hard to set aside as he joined Demyan in Tim’s office. He could tell Tim had already put this game behind them.

  “I’ll only say one thing about tonight. 6-4 isn’t bad. Landon gave us a shot to come back, but it’s gonna be one hell of a battle to get to the playoffs.” Tim pointed to the calendar on his desk. “That aside, you’ve both heard about the charity events coming up. Both are for a good cause, but I understand why most of the men signed up for the charity ball. It’s close to Valentine’s Day. The thing is, you’re both at the top of the list for the mentorship program. Most of the Ice Girls are going, and I need to show the team is committed to these girls. They come from underprivileged homes. Yeah, they’re cheerleaders on ice, but they love the Cobras. Some are just Ice Girls for their high school hockey team because they only allow guys to play. I have pamphlets for a local girls’ team, one we’re sponsoring, but it
doesn’t get much attention . . .” Tim scowled at the glossy pamphlets he set before them. “I’ve set up funding for equipment, travel—most calls are from kids. Only one parent. Doesn’t feel like I’m doing enough . . .”

  “I’ll be there.” Max picked up half the pamphlets, exchanging a look with Demyan, happy to see the same determination in the other man’s eyes. “It’s something, Coach. These girls don’t have much, but they’re given a way to get on the ice. If they want to play the game, if it’s in their blood, we’ll help them.”

  “Is that a yes?” Tim asked, as though he hadn’t been sure about asking in the first place. “Hell, I know any one of the guys would do this if I told them to, but the ball is important too. The money we’ll raise will go to victims of domestic abuse. Scott . . .” Tim’s use of Demyan’s first name showed his reluctance. “It’s your cause. I wouldn’t have asked if so many of the girls hadn’t put down your name.”

  “The rest of the guys can dress up and dance and bring in the money. I know where these girls come from. I want to be there for them. Where I can really make a difference.” Demyan grabbed the rest of the pamphlets. “Give me a time and place, Coach.”

  “Friday. Around four. They’ll all meet up after school. The ball is from five to eight. You might be able to—”

  “Zach will be there for Becky. I’m not rushing this.” Demyan grinned. “You know there’ll be fans swamping the place. We can’t ignore them, but I won’t give them a second of my time until I’ve talked to all the girls. Like . . . to encourage them. Nothing bad.” His grin shifted to a scowl. “Damn, maybe I shouldn’t go. Teenage girls . . . people might think—”

  “The last headline you were featured under had a ‘Daddies of the Year’ over it. With you, Pearce, and Casey. People don’t see you as the playboy anymore. You didn’t just come out as bisexual, you came out as a man who went through hell as a child. You’ve given kids someone to look up to.” Tim went over to Scott, who was staring at the floor, and gave him a little push. “Head up, man. You should be proud.”