The Heart (Ice Dragons Hockey Book 2)

by RJ Scott

  Alex wanted to follow Gooly. He was torn, because he also wanted to follow Vaz. He decided Gooly could do with a time-out for a while to cool down, and that left Vaz as his point of focus. “Vaz? You okay?” he asked, and followed Vaz as he went through the front door.

  “He tell you?” Vaz asked, then rounded on Alex. “I know he did, you’re his captain.”

  “And his friend,” Alex said. “But I need to see both sides if I can do anything about it.”

  Vaz hunched in his jacket and pushed his hands into the pockets. “Nothing to tell. I didn’t listen to him, we were driving, we crashed the car, Kristina died, and I will never forgive myself. I don’t deserve for him to forgive me.”

  “Alexey…” That single murmur of his name was so many questions and statements he wanted to ask and make that he couldn’t seem to put into words.

  Vaz smiled then, nothing that reached his eyes, a dead smile. “Let’s just play hockey,” he said, then he took the front steps two at a time and hurried down the long driveway to the gate. Alex watched him go until he vanished through the main gate and walked to the right. Alex had no idea where he was going, and abruptly the cold he’d been ignoring began to curl and poke around his bones.

  Back inside, the party had gone back to normal; well, at least on the surface. Seemed to Alex like everyone went out of their way not to mention the Gooly and Vaz thing. Instead, the focus was on the two wins on the road. And how freaking fantastic it was to be actually winning.

  He checked his watch. Eight forty-five. Three hours and six minutes to midnight, and Jo was out there somewhere, dealing with New Year call-outs, fireworks, drunken parties that had gone wrong; hell he didn’t really know what she had to deal with.

  He made a mental note to ask her every detail of what had happened tonight, and he wished she was there so he could kiss her at midnight.

  And then he used the excuse of finding more beer to hide in the kitchen. He just had a couple of things he wanted to say to Jo, and he had to word the text perfectly.

  Chapter 13

  Jo’s night started off quieter than any other New Year she’d ever experienced. As a kid there had been family parties, and at college it had been a night of no sleep. Tonight had been one call after another, but for nothing more serious than firework-related accidents and the general mess of parties spilling out of houses.

  The first text was waiting for her when she got back from assisting in cutting a kid from some railings. How the hell the toddler had managed to get his head through the tight space, she didn’t know; children and their ability to mess things up were quite endearing at times. She was the one who comforted the kid, telling him stories about rescuing cats and puppies. He didn’t seem too traumatized, and when they got back to the firehouse, they actually had a few minutes to themselves before the next call came in, a less serious situation involving a non-fatal fender bender with a car stuck upside down on the median.

  In those three minutes, she checked her cell, thinking maybe she’d send an update on what she’d seen so far to Alex. He’d beaten her to it.

  Fun here, had to split up two angry Russians, don’t ask. There was a smiley face and the usual x, and then the text continued. I miss you. Is it just me who thinks this is something real? Am I the only one feeling this way? x

  That was an easy text to answer. Being in work mode, she hadn’t had time to miss Alex, or indeed a party, but there was a big part of her that craved being in Alex’s space. Call it sexual, or emotional, but no, he wasn’t the only one who was feeling out of sorts about everything. She couldn’t wait until the end of shift, to step into his arms, and kiss him, and love on him, and fall asleep with him.

  “Is that Alex?” Kat asked with a knowing smile. She was sprawled on the sofa, her own cell balanced on her chest. Ryan was at Gooly’s party, and she’d seen Kat send off a couple of texts.

  Clutching her phone protectively to her chest, she nodded and looked back to see who might be listening. The only one close enough was Dennison, and he had his own issues, tapping away at a PC and scowling at it.

  “I don’t know what to say back. Or I do know, but I don’t know…” She stopped talking when she realized she sounded like a madwoman.

  “Start again,” Kat said, and grinned at her. Ally, the other paramedic, joined them, juggling three coffees, and placing them on the table in front of the sofa.

  “Wassup?” she asked, and kicked at Kat’s feet so she could slump on the sofa.

  “Jo got a text from Alex.”

  Ally grinned. “Oh. And?”

  “We’re at that point,” Jo said.

  “The I-want-to-bang-you point, or the I-love-you point?” Ally asked, never one to hold back on saying exactly what she wanted to say.

  “No, it’s in between those.” Her girlfriends nodded. “The whole do-we-feel-the-same-way point.”

  Kat let out a soft whistle. “And? Do you? Feel the same way, I mean.”

  Alex had laid it out there in that text. He hadn’t said how he actually felt, but he’d asked if she had the same feelings. How did she answer that? Kat and Ally stared at her, and then in a flurry of texting, she sent an answer. No, I feel the same. I’ll see you in the morning x

  “What did you say?” Kat asked, curiously.

  Jo didn’t have time to tell her. The alarm sounded, calling for engine and ambulance, and then they were away from the firehouse and heading toward Sweetings Arena and the Coles Park area. Getting there was frustrated by traffic, a combination of New Year volume and the world of idiots who clearly only came out after dark on December thirty-first.

  By the time they got to the scene, they landed in chaos, flashing blues from cop cars and squads arriving at the same time, fresh from another call. Dennison was down and out of the engine as soon as they stopped, liaising with the cops and finding out what the hell was going on. There was a general milling around of humanity, no one quite sure where to stand or what to do, and at first it wasn’t obvious what was going on. Then the news filtered through the crowd, and the cops at the rear of the New Year’s Eve crowd passed on intel.

  “Fairground ride, people locked in,” the nearest cop said. “On the lakeside.”

  “Clear us a route,” Dennison ordered, and they cautiously walked through the crowd as it parted, heading toward the lights of the traveling carnival that was there for the New Year celebrations. The party in Coles Park was historic, dating back decades, and was full of old-fashioned rides, including an old carousel with painted horses and a tall Ferris wheel.

  The incident concerned the Ferris wheel. Half of the structure was buckled, like some giant had used his fist to punch a huge hole in one side.

  “Okay, we have people trapped up on top, and no way of them getting down. We need ladders, and to assess any compromises on structure.” Dennison split them into teams, and she ended up working with him on the structural integrity side. He evaluated the situation with a keen eye, crouching at the base of where most of the destruction had happened.

  “I don’t like this,” he said. Standing up, he gestured to the cops corralling the party-goers. Jo stood just behind him as he briefly discussed the situation.

  “We need to empty the park,” he said to the nearest cop in charge.

  “It’s New Year’s,” the cop said back, like that was the most important thing.

  Dennison stepped closer, and Jo strained to hear.

  “And this could be a terrorist attack, with one bomb bringing first responders to the scene, drawing a crowd of observers, and a second bomb detonating immediately after.”

  The cop’s eyes widened. He couldn’t have been more than early twenties, and he looked like it had never crossed his mind there was the potential for terrorism in Burlington.

  “I’m on it,” he said, drawing his shoulders back. Then he turned and hurried over to the command center. Cops scattered, and slowly but surely the word spread that the event was being shut down. No one ran from the area in a panic;
there was an orderly retreat. Jo caught sight of a booth with the Dragons logo and several big men with assorted wives and girlfriends hurrying children away from it. That must be the hockey families Alex had mentioned.

  “Fuck, this is a mess,” Dennison muttered as he, Jo, Mitch, and two others wedged in the appropriate shoring against the groaning structure. There was urgency and chaos, and then just behind them, there was absolute silence. The crowd was diminishing and there was no one left in the radius of where the structure might collapse.

  Jo couldn’t think about a second device being placed near them to take out crowds and first responders; she was trained to focus on what she had in front of her, which was a mess of twisted metal.

  The first of the riders from the top seats were being helped down, a couple crying in fear, and she couldn’t listen to any of it because she had to focus.

  “Sitrep?” a voice asked to the side. Jo glanced up to see Swanson peering down at them; clearly his house had been called to the event as well.

  Great.

  “Possible device,” Dennison said.

  Swanson turned his back to them and barked out some orders to his teams, then crouched down by the metal that had been ripped apart.

  “We thinking a secondary device?” he asked.

  “Possibility.”

  Metal snapped ominously, and the whole structure moved a good foot toward the lake. The screaming was louder.

  “If this overbalances…” a voice shouted from where the squad was helping people down.

  “That is not going to happen.” Dennison grimaced and pushed hard against the last shoring. “We need to look at the other side.”

  Swanson indicated that one of his crew should look, but Jo was there first, the space small, and she exchanged a glance with Dennison. I got this, she telegraphed with a nod. If she went into that space and the whole thing shifted, then she was trapped, or worse. He scowled and nodded his assent, and she crawled into the space, turning around and reaching for the shoring, pushing it into place, then dragging in the pneumatic support, shoving hard, catching her glove.

  She cursed and pulled off the glove, wriggling deeper and pushing with her bare hand in the cavity. She felt the cut but dismissed the stab of pain. One last push and the shoring was in place, and she wriggled out backward, slipping her glove back on. Mitch grabbed her and helped her out, both of them tumbling back on their asses, grinning at each other. Between them, they started the machine that pumped air, and slowly the structure became more stable.

  “Good work,” Swanson said, and hell if there wasn’t a small amount of respect in his voice. Jo would take that as a win for women firefighters everywhere.

  The last of the passengers were helped off, Kat and Ally not the only paramedics on site to deal with any injuries, and Jo made a promise to see them before they finished. The entire team gathered around the area where the structure had been rent in two.

  “What else, other than an explosion, could cause that kind of damage?” Mitch asked curiously. “Structural stress, imbalance, what?”

  Jo saw Dennison exchange a look with a very serious Askett, and then he crouched back down to examine the scene. “I’m not an expert,” he said, just loud enough for the team to hear.

  “Good work guys,” Askett said. “Let’s clear the scene and work with the cops to get a permanent perimeter. Also, we need to assist the bomb squad. Eyes open at all times. Got it?”

  Swanson had corralled his team a while back, and the bomb squad were on site and dealing with the situation.

  A chorus of sirs, and the teams dispersed to do their work.

  “And Glievens? Get that hand looked at,” Askett said, and pointed at Jo’s hand.

  “Sir?”

  “I wasn’t born yesterday—you’re cradling it like a newborn kitten. Get it looked at.”

  “Sir.” Jo didn’t argue, just headed straight for the ambulance.

  “What happened?” Kat asked as soon as Jo stepped inside the rig.

  “We don’t know for sure. Were there any injuries among the Ferris wheel passengers?”

  “Couple broken bones, walking wounded sent with the other teams. We stayed back for you guys when they advised there was potential for a secondary device.”

  They exchanged looks. Kat would no more abandon a scene than Jo would, not if people could get hurt and need her. In that single moment, Jo allowed the sickly weight of fear inside her, and then she let it go. Fear wasn’t a luxury that any first responder could allow to take over.

  Jo slipped off her glove, the material sticking to her hand. There was blood, but the cut was in the fleshy part of her palm.

  “Shit, what did you do?”

  “Had to remove the glove for access.”

  Kat dealt with the wound efficiently. It actually wasn’t too deep, didn’t need stitches, but she placed a small bandage over it, then sent Jo back to the team.

  The bomb squad were in deep talks with Askett and Swanson, and Jo hovered just outside the ring of senior officers.

  “Do they think it was a bomb?” she asked Mitch under her breath.

  He looked at her with resignation in his expression. “From the way bomb squad are looking at it, yeah.”

  A bomb. In Burlington. Terrorism? Jo couldn’t get her head around that at all.

  It was four a.m. before they made it back to the firehouse, their shift over, and Jo ached from head to toe, as well as feeling exhausted. The rest of her shift all looked the same as her, all happy to be going home. She climbed into her car, and even though she wanted to see Alex, he wouldn’t want her exhausted mess anywhere near him.

  She sent a quick text: Going home, talk later.

  The reaction was instant, her cell ringing, his name on the screen, and she connected the call as she yawned.

  “Hey,” he said, “Happy New Year.”

  “Happy New Year,” she murmured.

  “You’re going back to your place?”

  “I’m so tired.”

  “It’s cool, I’ll come to you.”

  “M’okay,” she said without too much thought. Her place. At a later time. Not now.

  He ended the call with a soft “bye”, and for the longest time, she simply held the cell to her chest. She cranked open the window, letting winter air and the hint of more snow breeze across her face; enough to wake her up. She made it home on the quiet roads in less than a few minutes, and parked and locked the car.

  That was when she saw his car pull into the same area, and she realized he’d meant he’d see her at her home now. She wanted to be pissed, but that wasn’t the feeling she held close. She was tired, but the sight of him—tall, broad, sexy, his long hair shoved back under a Dragons cap—was enough to have her smiling.

  And god, he didn’t talk, and she loved him for that. He simply held her hand up the stairs and hugged her close when they closed the door behind them.

  “I need a shower,” she murmured into the hold, and he didn’t hesitate to help her. He ran the water until it was the right temperature, he helped her strip, he murmured a curse over the bandage on her hand, and left to find a plastic bag to cover the injury. He didn’t ask questions, or comment, or talk at all, he just helped her into the shower. Then he stripped himself, and she didn’t argue, because he had a body built in her dreams; strong and sexy, and all hers.

  He washed her gently, the lemony fragrance of the body wash a cloud around them, and he even lathered shampoo into her hair, carefully, with conditioner after. He had the tender loving thing down to a T. She leaned her head on his shoulder, fingers tracing the tattoo of the Dragons logo on his chest. She’d seen the one Ryan had on his arm.

  “Do all the team have these tattoos?” she murmured; not really a question, more an observation.

  “Mostly, yeah.” That was all he said, and it was perfect, because she didn’t need him to say any more.

  He rinsed off the conditioner, wrapped them in towels.

  “Are you hungry?”
>
  “Just tired,” she admitted. “Busy shift.”

  He walked her to the bedroom, which let’s face it wasn’t easy to miss in her two-room apartment, then he cuddled up close to her under the covers. All she thought was that she was happy she’d at least made the bed that afternoon when she’d woken up.

  Wrapped in his arms like that, even with her hair still damp, she slept.

  She woke a bit at a time. First there was the delicious warmth of Alex holding her tight. Waking up to that was something every woman should experience. Second was the fact that he was hard against her ass, which was something only she ever wanted to experience with Alex. The other women could stop at just sleeping.

  Then there were the kisses he was pressing to the top of her spine, and that right there was the one thing that had her waking up. She pressed back against the kisses.

  “Good morning,” he whispered. “Afternoon,” he amended.

  His hand was on her waist, holding her steady, and she wriggled a hand out from under her hair and grasped his hand, guiding it over her chest, sighing when he cupped the weight then ran fingers over her nipples.

  “Good morning-afternoon,” she whispered. What he was doing to her nipples was hardwired to arousal and desire, making her want more than just his hands on her nipples. But she didn’t want to move, couldn’t bring herself to break away from this delicious hold where she couldn’t move and Alex was teasing her. He moved his hand from her nipple to her belly, and she felt the rasp of his stubble on the sensitive skin behind her ear.

  “Play with your nipples,” he said, so softly she had to strain to hear. Meanwhile, his hand came to rest on her thigh, and he tugged so she bent her knee a little to give him access. Then he was stroking a finger over her folds, right in the heat of her. “You’re so wet,” he murmured, spreading the dampness around her, then focusing on thumbing her clit. The tease of it was delicious as she teetered on the edge of something, and she pulled harder on the nipple she was playing with. There was nothing like a lover playing with her nipples and pulling her to orgasm at the same time, but this was up to her. She knew how far to push the delicious edge of pain, twisting and murmuring praise for what he was doing between her legs. He shifted slightly, and his hard cock slid into the space between her cheeks, but he didn’t rut or push or force anything; he simply stayed absolutely still, and then he pressed fingers inside her, too wide, too much, and oh so fucking perfect. Like that, she was coming apart in his hands.