“My brother—” Dean’s tone hitched. He took a deep breath, pressing on. “My brother loved this team. Each and every one of you meant so much to him, and he was never happier than when he was watching you on the ice, putting your blood, sweat, and tears into the game. I-I wasn’t sure I could come here today. Wasn’t sure I could look at you—but I’m glad I did. My brother didn’t have any children, but you guys, you are his legacy. He’s not really gone because everything he taught you, how hard he worked to make you the very best, is still here.”
Everyone went still, as though absorbing that statement. As though they’d all just realized there was still a reason to go on. They wouldn’t be playing the game without Tim. They’d be playing it for him.
Akira looked over at Sahara as the other woman took her hand. Her vision was a little blurry, but she could easily read Sahara’s smile. The Ice Girls would do the same for Madeline. She’d been an unofficial part of their own team, but integral. Always looking out for them, always around to offer a kind word or a shoulder when they needed it. Even when Akira or the trainers had to be hard on the girls, Madeline was there with a wink and a little smile that said “you can do it.”
And Dean hadn’t forgotten her. “Not all the Ice Girls are here, but Madeline would understand. Hell, she’d have made sure I understood if some of the players hadn’t shown up. I hope you’re here because you’re finding some comfort in each other. It’s going to be hard for a while. Madeline. Tim. They were the heart and soul of this team. No one can replace them, but they both gave us so much, I believe the best thing we can do to honor their memory is to keep their dreams alive.”
“By playing the game?” Tyler didn’t meet Dean’s eyes, but his tone made it clear he didn’t think that was enough. “I’m sorry, I just—”
Blinking fast, Dean observed Tyler for a bit, nodding to himself before he spoke again. “Don’t be sorry. I understand the game might not seem all that important now. But as a team, we’re in a position to do a lot of good things. My family is setting up a charity in their name in partnership with The Rose Campaign, the charity Scott Demyan is a spokesman for.” He inclined his head in Scott’s direction, his throat working as Scott looked up at him, letting his tears fall freely. “The Rowe Foundation will both provide education toward preventing domestic violence and contribute toward giving victims a fresh start. While my brother and his wife were working with several charities, they found many abused women returned to their abuser because they were afraid they couldn’t make it on their own. Some children who are mistreated their whole lives stay with their parents for the same reason. We want to make sure they know they have other options.”
The men seemed to like that. They talked quietly amongst themselves as Dean spoke to Landon and Silver. His shoulders sank as he nodded, then shook his head. He looked like he’d hefted up a boulder and was determined to carry it alone, but Landon and Silver wouldn’t let him.
Akira leaned over as Sahara whispered to her, “Do you think he’s all right?”
“No.” Akira watched Dean lower to his chair as Silver stood. He clearly didn’t have the strength to carry on with the professional front. There was more to be said, but he was letting Silver take over. Which was good. Maybe part of him had needed to come this far, to show the team he was still standing, still moving forward. But no one expected him to do so with even strides. And he had people who would make sure he took the time to heal. “But I think he will be.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Dean closed the front door of his house and leaned against it. He could hear his mother and Jami in the living room, playing with Amia, his mother’s laughter soft, but genuine. He’d seen her fall apart, then pull herself back together, one piece at a time over the past couple of days. Sometimes she would leave family gatherings abruptly, and after giving her a few minutes because they knew her well, his father and Tim’s would go to her.
Landon and Silver did the same with Dean. So many times, he found himself alone, not even sure when he’d walked out. He’d be outside without a coat, but he couldn’t feel the cold. All he could do was stare at the snow, seeing Tim as a boy, picking up handfuls to throw at him. He actually saw his brother. Sometimes he wondered if he was losing his mind. But then Silver would be there, her arm around his waist, her head on his chest. She wouldn’t say anything until he spoke. It was almost as though she didn’t want to disturb those memories.
And he knew that’s what they were. Memories of his brother, so real, his own way of hanging on to Tim, just a little longer. He mentioned it to Silver once.
“When I first moved here, middle of winter, there was a snowstorm. The power went out for a couple of days. Jami was fourteen and bored and I didn’t know what to do with her.” He let out a bitter laugh. “I had brought some work home, and she wouldn’t stop complaining. Tim came over to see how we were doing. He made lunch on the barbeque and then got Jami to come outside. Tried to get her to play in the snow like we did when she was little, but she acted like she was too cool. So he just started building a snow fort. I heard her laughing, and when I came out, they were having a war game.”
“He was great with her.” Silver hugged his arm and looked up at him. “She was lucky to have him. She’s hanging on to that as much as you are.”
“I know, but . . . damn, I remember standing right here, and it just hit me that his smile hadn’t changed. Something about him was exactly the same as when we were kids. So full of li . . .” His voice broke. But he got the word out. “Life.”
“He was. He didn’t waste a single moment, Dean. I don’t think he had any regrets. He could still have done so much more, but the time he was here counted for something. In my life, Jami’s, yours, and so many others’.”
Damn it, most people tried not to talk about Tim too much, like they were afraid bringing him up would hurt, but Silver—and Landon—didn’t make discussing Tim seem unnatural. He almost smiled as he glanced over at Silver. “I see him. Usually as a boy, but sometimes as a man. He’s always grinning, or laughing. I’m sure a therapist would be able to explain it.”
“Do you need an explanation? Your brother is still with you in some way. And I think that’s good.” She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “I had a hard time when my mother died because I kept seeing all the bad things. But one night, I could swear I felt her with me. Tucking me in and singing to me. I don’t remember her ever doing that, but the . . . vision, or whatever it was, helped me keep a part of her with me. A good part.”
“That’s all I remember with Tim. The good times.”
“And you can hang on to them, Dean. Always.”
Every day seemed so long, as though he couldn’t quite grasp that he was still here and Tim wasn’t. Bringing his thoughts to the present, he went over all the things he’d read about grief in an attempt to help Jami. He’d seen his daughter sliding back and forth between several stages, but if he was to apply it to himself . . . he’d skipped several. He remembered the denial. The anger. The guilt. But acceptance had come too quickly.
Without even realizing it, he’d walked right through the house, not a word to anyone, to stand in the backyard once again. Tim’s funeral was tomorrow, but part of Dean felt like he’d already laid his brother to rest. He’d found himself thinking about the game. About the rest of the season, the playoffs, the draft this summer. Part of him was ready to go on living, and he hated himself for it. But at the same time, he couldn’t hate himself for long. Because Tim would have wanted him to live. He would have wanted Dean to realize that in an instant, all he planned, all he loved, could be gone.
Footsteps crunched in the snow and without looking, Dean sensed it was Landon. They stood there for a while, neither speaking, just watching the darkening sky. Landon’s presence, calming in the evening stillness, made everything so peaceful. For a few breaths, the pain inside lessened. When Landon brought his hand to the back of Dean’s neck, light pressure in his fingertips soothing tense muscles,
Dean let his eyes drift shut. Focused on the sensation like he told Silver to when they scened to relieve some stress.
“Jami’s going back to the hotel with your mom,” Landon said, stroking the side of Dean’s neck with his thumb. “They won’t leave until you come back in, but it looked like you needed a few minutes.”
“I did. Thank you.” He didn’t want to move, because doing so would bring everything back. But what else could he do? He had to keep moving. Keep breathing and keep watching the days pass. These moments though, moments when time stood still, were a relief. They were rare, but they made it a little easier to face a world carrying on as though nothing had changed.
An hour after Jami and his mother had left, Dean lay in bed with Landon, Amia fast asleep between them. The pain had returned, like a huge shard of glass deep in his chest, cutting a little more of his insides out every time he breathed. But then he looked down at his daughter, a dreamy little smile on her lips, and warmth replaced the pain. Not completely, but enough to enjoy this time with her. He knew Jami had coped so far by doing the same, spending some time with him, his mother, Amia, her men, and her friends. As though being alone was unbearable.
He lifted his head, looking at Landon now, who stilled as Dean’s gaze went over his face. He seemed to hold his breath as Dean brought a hand to his scruff-shadowed jaw. Smoothed a thumb over his lips.
The door opened, but Dean left his hand where it was as Silver came in. He met her eyes as she came around the bed, relieved to see there was no bitterness. Actually, she smiled as she leaned down to kiss him.
She carefully lifted Amia without waking her, then cradled their daughter in her arms and glanced over at Landon. Cooed softly as their baby stirred in her sleep. “I just want to hold her for a little while. I hope you’re not upset that I’m taking her away from you?”
“Not at all. I’ve done the same.” Landon wrapped his hand around Dean’s wrist and pressed his lips to Dean’s palm. “It helps to find all the little ways to feel alive. Every moment just seems that much more precious.”
Silver nodded. There was a tenderness in her eyes as she looked at them. She opened her mouth as though she wanted to say more, but then simply blew Landon a kiss and slipped out of the room.
Dean wasn’t sure what to make of that little exchange. Suddenly, all he wanted was to be closer to Landon. His pulse pounded under Landon’s lips, beating hard through the tightness in his chest. He jerked Landon closer, slamming their lips together. The air that was sometimes so hard to draw in burst into his lungs as he rose up to tear off Landon’s T-shirt.
Landon’s muscles rippled as he leaned up to undo the buttons of Dean’s shirt. A woman’s softness had always been the most alluring thing to Dean, but something about Landon’s strength, about the way his every rough touch matched Dean’s bruising grip on him . . . gentleness would have Dean thinking. Carefully exerting his control over himself and his lover. But he didn’t need that control now. Didn’t want it.
He needed to lose himself for a little while. Breaking things and lashing out didn’t feel natural, but this, this raw, brutal passion, gave him an outlet for the anger he’d fought not to express.
His fingers dug into Landon’s jaw as they moved against one another. Their clothes, the comforter, and most of the sheets were on the floor. His dick was hard and the sensation of it grinding down on Landon’s throbbing length was almost painful. Dean pressed his eyes shut when Landon shoved him up to wrap a hand around their erect cocks.
“Fuck.” Dean let out a low growl as he slid his hand under Landon’s head, bringing him close enough to claim his mouth. Part of him had known this might happen. Eventually. But not like this. He turned his head. “This is wrong. I can’t be careful enough to—I might hurt you.”
Landon let out a low laugh, the sound a little strained, as though he hadn’t laughed in a very long time and had forgotten how. “That’s why I’m here instead of Silver. I can take it, Dean. I want to. Do whatever feels right.”
Control returned, but just enough for Dean to get the supplies he needed. He still fucking loved this man. He didn’t want their first time to be something either of them would regret. But he couldn’t consider anything beyond that. He wasn’t a sadist, but there was a grim satisfaction within as he stared down at Landon, watching his jaw clench as Landon took that first, slow penetration.
“Don’t stop.” Landon groaned as Dean eased out almost all the way. “Damn you, don’t stop.”
“I’m not sure I can.” Dean bit Landon’s bottom lip, one hand still on the back of Landon’s head, the other on Landon’s shoulder as he slammed in. “Not sure I want to. But you need to know I’m using you. To breathe, to feel something other than pain.”
“Good.” Landon swallowed hard. Blinked fast. “Because I’m using you too. I need to know we can still do that.”
Dean pressed his hand to Landon’s face, forcing Landon to look at him. “Do what?”
“Feel more than how much it hurts inside.” Landon’s hips bucked, and he shuddered as Dean made his thrusts fast and shallow. “I’m not a masochist, but I need the pain to be physical—which probably sounds stupid because it’s so much worse for you.”
“Not stupid.” Sweat beaded over Dean’s upper lip. He licked it away before leaning down for another kiss. “I can do that for you. Just don’t hate me after.”
“I can’t. I love you too fucking much.”
“Say that again.” Dean brought his hands down to Landon’s hips, keeping up a vicious rhythm he wouldn’t have dared with someone softer, someone delicate. With Landon, he couldn’t hold back. Didn’t even bother to try. “When I’m done.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Cort ignored the amused look from his cellmate as he washed the blood from the cuts in his knuckles. His jaw ached from the broom that had been broken across the side of his face, tearing open skin that had been taped together by the resident medic. In the polished metal mirror above the sink, he checked out the crusted crimson mess of his cheek.
This was a message from Roy, warning him not to talk.
Like he was that fucking stupid. Thankfully, some new guy had been brought in for a “random” holdup on a liquor store and had grabbed the guy before he could jab the broken end of the broom into Cort’s stomach. The new guy, Adam, had a message for him too.
“Sutter knows what went down. He’s got your back.”
That was good, but Cort knew his stepfather could only do so much. Dad still had to make nice with Roy—he was too tangled in the man’s business to make an obvious move against him. And that bit of support would disappear if Cort went against the twisted biker codes. Sutter might still have his back if Cort decided to go after Roy himself. He’d find somewhere to bury the body. But not if Cort tried to handle this with legal shit.
Which made Cort more than a little worried about Ford. Sutter wasn’t one of Ford’s biggest fans. Not that Ford had many. Sutter wouldn’t go after Ford if he found out what Ford was doing, out of respect for Cort, but he might turn a blind eye if one of his men decided they wanted a bit of extra cash to do the job.
Cort had used his one phone call to get in touch with Ramos for the lawyer, but he wished he’d thought of all this sooner and had just called Ford. Told the kid he should make a deal without having to testify. Give information or something. If Ford took a public stand against his father, Cort wasn’t sure he could protect him. Unless . . . well, there was still the option of disappearing if he got approved for bail. And could stomach screwing Ramos over.
But he didn’t want that life for Akira. And the more he thought about it, the harder it was picturing life without her.
How fucked up was that? Wanting to leave her behind to move on without him had been one of the noblest things he’d ever considered. He’d had it all figured out. But then he’d poked holes in his own plan. Akira might try to find them. Either he or Ford might break down and contact her to make sure she was okay. Which would be more
dangerous than sticking around and keeping things on the down low.
Not what he wanted for her either. If Ford pulled this off, at least he could be there for Akira. She wouldn’t be alone. Like she was now.
Cort didn’t try to fool himself. Dominik was a temporary fix. He couldn’t see Akira letting him hold her at night. See her trying to make a life with Dominik as her man.
Or maybe he just didn’t want to see it. Which made him a selfish bastard. Dominik could give her normal. Stable.
But he didn’t love Akira, not like Cort. Or Ford.
What must she be thinking now? Was she angry? Was she wondering if their time together had meant anything? He ambled over to his bottom bunk in the cell and dropped hard onto the thin mattress. Rubbed his face with his hands, wincing as his fingers brushed over damaged flesh. If he recalled the team schedule right, there should be a game coming up soon. Maybe that would distract her for a bit.
Keep her from hating him too much for leaving her behind with no warning. So long as nothing else went wrong.
* * * *
Ford’s hands shook as he pressed ignore on his phone. He’d been avoiding his father’s calls since getting his bond release. Which his father had paid after the lawyer pulled some strings with a judge on Kingsley’s payroll. A “thank you” wouldn’t do any good, so he hadn’t bothered. He had the perfect excuse—Kingsley wanted results, didn’t he?
Only, Ford knew he was treading on dangerous ground. His father expected a devil-may-care attitude from him, but with how unstable Kingsley was, he might not take this well.
I don’t got no choice. Ford flipped open the Ice Girls’ files he’d abandoned when he’d gotten arrested. Flipped them closed again. Nothing in them couldn’t wait. In a few hours the Cobras would hit the ice for the first time since Tim’s death. There had been a debate on whether or not the Ice Girls should perform.
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 41
