by RJ Scott
So she gave the most unladylike answer she could, channeling months of working with firefighters of all genders.
“Whatever, dick breath.”
He chuckled, and the journey was too short to talk much more. All she thought as they left the wealthy environs of Burlington and drove into the edges of the city was that she was a weird combination of nervous and excited about seeing Alex again.
The text arrived when she was in the car, saying he’d pick her up at her place, asking for her address, and followed by a winky face. Nothing too heavy, and she could stand to have a couple of hours in Alex’s company. She sensed there was more to him than hockey, or the captaincy, or his injury, and he intrigued her.
She could still feel the perfect kiss they’d had; his hold, and strength, and the contradiction of his hard body and soft lips.
And she probably always would.
Chapter 7
Before seven a.m., Alex found himself attempting to put out several fires. His first call was to Coach Barton, who answered like he’d actually managed to get coffee, which was more than Alex had achieved. Alex’s coffee was still sixty seconds out.
“Simba?”
“We have a situation,” Alex went straight for the meat of it. “Gooly heard a rumor about Vasiliev. It’s on the ’net. Are the Dragons trading Vasiliev into the team?”
Coach left a very big pause, and in that single moment, Alex felt his stomach sink.
“You are fucking kidding me, Coach,” Alex snapped.
“Alex, think about this rationally. The management team are concerned we have a hole in the wing.”
“Then they shouldn’t have traded Jacobs. He was—”
“This isn’t up for discussion, Alex.”
“They’re putting Vasiliev on the same team as Gooly. Can’t you see that’s fucked? Why did no one talk to me about this?”
Too many decisions made up high made Alex’s job of keeping the team cohesive so much harder.
“Animosity and rivalry is always good for ratings.”
“Between teams, but not on the same team.”
“Gooly will get over it; he’s a professional.”
“You don’t win if you don’t have team chemistry,” Alex snapped. “Do I need to explain that?” He knew he was sailing close to the edge; Coach was the person Alex should take this to, but since they’d traded Rafferty in and swapped out the next big hope in the shape of Jacobs, he’d been feeling like dry tinder. One spark and he would lose his temper. Part of his job was to smooth the path between coach and team, or management and team, but it seemed to him that the guys claiming to run the team were forgetting the guys on the ground playing the damn game.
“The team look to you—”
“The more chemistry and leadership we have in the room, the better chance we have.” He was coming over as disrespectful, and he knew it, but hell, no one was listening to him.
“The team is strong,” Coach insisted.
“We’ve already had one closed-door session.” Why couldn’t he grasp what Alex could see happening?
“I’ll take it all under consideration,” Coach said. “How’s the arm?”
Frustration snapped inside Alex. “The arm is good, but that doesn’t stop me worrying that management are undermining—”
“That’s enough, Alex, seriously. You’re not seeing the bigger picture—”
“Fuck that,” Alex snapped. “You’re leaving us to deal with this at grass roots level; we’re the ones who have to make this work. Please, Coach.” he added, calling on his long relationship with the man. “You know as well as I do management shouldn’t make sweeping additions to roster without talking to me. To both of us.”
Coach was silent for a moment, and Alex almost believed that he would actually agree with him that the shuffling of players was to the detriment of the team. Surely he could see that bringing in Vasiliev was a bad move?
“I’ve made a note of your concerns,” Coach finally said. “I’ll catch up with you at physio.”
Jesus Christ on a crutch. Alex stared at the phone for a moment after the call disconnected. That was the end of the conversation, and Alex had yet another issue to add to the mess in his head of what it meant to be captain. He’d already built something from nothing after he’d joined the new team, but all that had been teamwork. What the hell was going on now that meant he was being left out in the dark?
He made a mental list. Talk to Gooly before there was a chance this was happening for real, and well before it was made public. Hell, as part of that, he needed to find out what had Gooly and Vasiliev hating each other as much as they did.
Warring Russians on my team. Great.
The second call was to his manager, Warren Miller, updating him on his arm.
“We need to talk endorsements,” Warren said immediately when the call connected; there were never any real pleasantries between them. Warren was all business, but he always got the best for Alex, so Alex didn’t ever call him on his bedside manner.
“Okay, but I wanted to talk about—”
“I have a shortlist. A couple are big payouts—seems like rescuing babies from burning cars is bankable. Good call on that, by the way, hero.”
Alex ignored that part, because Warren saw Alex as a set of numbers at the end of the day. When Alex had first met him, as a green prospect, they’d clicked immediately, Warren had been just as new, the son of an agent who was well known in the business. They’d grown together, and it was Warren who’d worked out Alex’s latest contract for the obscene amounts that sat mostly in his bank; well, apart from the investment in his house and his Ferrari.
“So the list of five—can we talk about them? Bottom line is that for three of them we’d need availability that would clash with your camp for the kids in July.”
“That’s a no, then.”
“They suggested they might be able to move dates.”
“Suggested? Might? If they wanted me that bad, they would have checked times for the camp first.” He wasn’t ready to move anything he’d committed to for something as needless as promo. “I’m putting you on speakerphone.”
He poured his third cup of coffee, then pulled together everything he needed for an omelet; hell, he was finally functioning like a human being. The whole time, Warren went on about the options, before stopping and waiting for an answer.
“I’ll do the clothing line,” Alex said. That was the only one that had caught his attention.
“Jesus, Alex, you’re killing me. Did you not hear the part where that will earn you less than a third of the other ones? Are you even listening to me?”
“It’s a new company with an ethical stand, with a percentage of profits going to children’s charities. It’s a no-brainer,” Alex said.
“So you were listening to me then,” Warren muttered. “Selective hearing when it comes to dollars.”
“Yes, I was listening, and yes, that’s the only one I’ll do.”
Warren sighed dramatically, muttered something under his breath about bottom lines, which Alex ignored, and then sighed again. “One last thing. We need to set up a photoshoot.”
“I thought I was done with all those for this season.” He hated them, all the posing and posturing and being asked to pout.
He was a bad-ass hockey player; he did not pout.
“No, the one with the baby, the one you saved.”
“Hell, no. That family have been pestered enough.”
“Hell, yes,” Warren insisted. “The dad is still in the hospital, so it’s a good human interest story.”
“I said I wanted a private visit and you agreed to organize it.” He looked over at the small box of baby gear he’d taken from the arena and the adult-sized shirts to go with it. He didn’t want any more fuss, and he’d bet the family didn’t either.
“The team—”
“No. I’m not parading that poor family for publicity.”
“Alex—”
“No.”
> He could be as assertive as Warren, and that was one thing he was winning hands down.
Warren cursed. “Okay, I’ll pass that up, as long as you’re sure, because you know the team will send the family tickets, and then you’ll be stuck meeting them for the first time at the arena instead of a place that I can control.”
“Bye, Warren,” Alex said, and ended the call before his agent thought of anything else to say. At least the call gave him focus; he had four hours to kill before meeting up with Jo, and he knew exactly what he was going to do. Before everything was fucked up.
They let him onto the ward, but only because there were two Dragons’ fans who knew exactly who he was and why he was there. He’d brought extra jerseys, and used them liberally to get back to where he wanted to be. Hospital management said he needed security to go with him, but that was cool. Anyway, the guard was a Dragons’ fan as well.
“Emmet,” he introduced himself. “Big fan; seen every single game.”
“Nice to meet you, Emmet.”
“Hope you don’t mind me saying, but you’re kind of weak on the wing as a whole,” Emmet said. Everyone was a critic, but he was only saying what Alex already knew. “That Loki, though, he’s fast. Sometimes he looks too fast for you.”
Alex nodded and smiled, his usual way of dealing with any and all advice he received from fans. He knew he was slower than Loki. Hell, Nic was one of the fastest in the league, he didn’t need to be told.
Which led him to consider the thorny issue of yet another fiery Russian like Vasiliev being added to the team. Yes, they needed the improvements on their wing, but he was stuck between loyalty and the chance to win more games.
Too much to think about.
“Is it true you’re looking at that Vasiliev guy? He’s good—bit erratic, but good.”
In answer, Alex shrugged, and Emmet kept talking.
“Anyway, I think that closed room thing was good. Since then, I honestly think you’ve got every chance of getting to the playoffs this year. First time I ever said that.” Emmet offered a fist bump, which Alex met. He’d never heard something like that from a fan with as much confidence before. That was no empty hope. That was a man who’d watched them play and thought they had the skills and heart to make it all the way to post-season.
“Thank you,” Alex said.
Emmet nodded, and in reflex, Alex offered him tickets for the next game.
He looked affronted. “Season ticket holder,” he announced as the door to the elevator opened onto the fifth floor. “This way.” Emmet led him to a waiting area and encouraged him to sit down. He vanished through the door, and then just as quickly he was back and sitting down opposite Alex. “Won’t be long.”
Alex pulled out his cell and thumbed to his texts, looking at the very simple Okay that Jo had sent back to his suggestion of a time to pick her up for lunch. He began typing out a message, but his cell buzzed with a call. Gooly’s name came up on the screen, and he dismissed the call and pocketed his cell when it hit him he shouldn’t be using his phone in a hospital.
Emmet didn’t say anything; he was engrossed in an old Nat Geo magazine and had clearly said all he was going to say about the Dragons’ wing situation.
When the door opened, it startled Alex, and he stood immediately like he’d been discovered somewhere he shouldn’t be. Then again, he wasn’t supposed to be there; maybe he should have waited for the proper meet-up sanctioned by the team and hospital.
“Mr. Simard,” the woman said. She was small—he dwarfed her—and she was crying. Not sobbing, but her eyes were wet, and she had a hand to her mouth. “Come with me.” She held out a hand, and he took it with his injured one because he needed to grab the box of baby gear with the other. Then she gently eased him out of the door and further down the corridor he’d come in on, ending at room twenty-one. She went straight in, no hesitation, and only when they were inside did she release his hand.
In the bed was the man he recognized from the accident, in his arms was a tiny baby, and sitting at his side was a young boy who looked maybe six or so. The boy looked at Alex curiously, then stared outright at him. Alex smiled, but the kid blushed and dropped his gaze.
“This is him,” the woman said, and tugged at his shirt to bring him closer. “This is Alexander Simard, the man who…” She pressed a hand to her lips again, and tears ran freely from her eyes. Then she looked up at Alex. “Mr. Simard, this is my husband, Derek, our son, Mikey, and our baby, Izzy.”
Derek smiled at Alex, but his eyes were damp. He looked regretful, and nodded at his right arm swathed in bandages and his left holding Izzy. “I would shake your hand…” he murmured.
Alex wasn’t sure what to say and decided maybe humor would lessen the tension in the room. He indicated the box in one arm and the cast on the other, “Snap.”
That was enough to make Derek smile. “Abby, can you take Izzy for me?”
Abby took the baby and perched on the side of her husband’s bed. “We don’t know how to thank you. Where to even start to thank you. Would you like to hold her?”
She held out Izzy, and Alex immediately put the box of things on the table next to the bed and reached for her. Being the older brother to two sisters meant he at least had experience with babies. He took Izzy and cradled her head.
“You put yourself at risk,” Derek said, and his voice cracked a little. “You got Izzy out. You didn’t need to go back for me, but you did.”
Alex still couldn’t form words, staring down at tiny Izzy. “How old is she?”
I should know this. I should know her name, and her parents, and that Izzy had an older brother, and we all have a connection that will never leave.
“Three months,” Abby murmured. “You were her guardian angel.”
That he couldn’t handle, and he smiled down at Izzy as she clutched his finger and blew a raspberry at him.
“How is she?”
“Like it never happened,” Abby said, and Alex looked up with a smile on his face to catch the look that passed between Abby and Derek.
“What? Is something wrong with her?”
“Nothing,” Derek said, even as Abby was going to say something.
Alex wanted to know, but Derek and Abby were quiet, and the tension in the room returned. So he changed the subject. “I have some things in the box, from the Dragons’ shop.”
Abby opened the box, pulling out the tiniest T-shirt and holding it up. It was team red with a baby dragon on the front.
“It’s the new logo for the little teams,” Alex explained, and felt the blush rising. “That’s Roary the baby dragon.” He glanced down at Izzy, “It’s going to be way too big for her.”
“Some of the things she’s had passed down from my sister’s children swamp her, and she’ll grow into it,” Abby said, and pulled out several tiny items of clothing—a hat, a jacket, some little high-top slippers, even a plastic hockey stick and foam puck. It was a big box.
Alex cleared his throat. “Obviously I have friends on other teams, if you don’t follow the Dragons…”
“We’re from Burlington—of course we follow the Dragons,” Derek said loyally.
“My brother played college hockey,” Abby said. “He teaches the little ones now, but not for the baby dragons, a few towns over. He’s coaching Mikey as well.”
“Uncle Jim’s mean,” Mikey interrupted, “He shouts a lot.”
Mikey looked like he needed reassurance. “Lots of coaches shout,” Alex said, although why a coach for little ones would shout was something else altogether. Still, Alex had seen a lot of pushy parents and focused coaches in his years in hockey.
“I like the Dragons. I want to play for them one day,” Mikey said with a slight lisp. Alex could work with missing teeth. “I lost a tooth and asked the fairy for a hockey stick, but all I got was a dollar.”
Alex caught Abby’s grimace.
“Tooth fairies don’t bring sticks,” Alex said when he saw Abby floundering. “Even though I as
ked all the time.”
“Oh,” Mikey said, and blinked at him like something coming from him about the tooth fairy made absolute sense. “Look, I drew a dragon.”
“Wow,” Alex said, and crouched down at Mikey’s side. He’d clambered off the bed and was at a small coloring table with pens everywhere.
Mikey gave a gap-toothed grin. “I can draw dragons,” he said, and proceeded to draw something with the red crayon, adding lines in black.
Alex was suitably impressed. “That’s awesome. Can I take that for the dressing room?”
“Really?” Mikey said, and he looked suspicious. “Will you show Ryan Flynn? He’s my favorite player.”
“Is he? Hey, tell you what, you keep it, and you bring your family down, and we’ll hang it together, maybe after the next matinee game, and you can meet Ryan. And before that, another day, if you bring your skates we could do a few laps on the ice at the practice rink.”
“Can we?” He wasn’t talking to Alex; he was focused entirely on his dad.
Derek looked at Alex, who nodded it was okay. “Of course, if Mr. Simard says it’s okay.”
“Call me Alex, please. And I’ll get you some of your own Dragons’ stuff, because we don’t just have things for babies, but big boys as well,” Alex reassured Mikey.
Alex stayed and chatted for a while, listening to the fact that Izzy hadn’t been sleeping and that driving her around helped her sleep, much as it had done with Mikey when he was a baby.
“What will you replace your car with?” Alex said, because he liked cars, a lot, and that was a safe conversation.
Derek shrugged. “Not thought about it,” he said. “Not sure what the um…thing is,” he finished lamely, and changed the subject to talking about how the press kept trying to get in to interview them. That was enough for Alex to stop asking about the car, but he didn’t forget. He had calls to make when he got out.
Derek clearly wanted to change the subject. “Do you think that the Dragons need some help on the right wing in the second and third lines?”
