by Anna Sugden
“So that’s not a puck in your pocket?” She brushed her fingertips gently across his forehead. “What about your face? It must hurt.”
Jake wanted to deny it, but mentioning his gashed cheek made his face pulse with pain. He gave a disgruntled shrug.
“It doesn’t have to be tonight,” Maggie soothed.
“But starting tomorrow we play three games in four nights, then head back out on the road for a week.”
“It’ll be worth the wait.”
“For sure.” But he didn’t want to wait.
“You’re pouting again, Jake.”
“I don’t pout.”
“Of course not.” Damn woman was making fun of him.
“When do you get back?”
“The twentieth.”
“Then it looks like we have an extra-special date on the twenty-first.”
The most important date of his life.
* * *
“TONIGHT’S HEADLINES AGAIN...AUTHORITIES raided the Arkansas pharmacy allegedly behind an internet steroid ring. It’s believed a number of big-name athletes from football, basketball and hockey will be implicated.”
Jake set aside his paperback thriller and frowned at the TV in his hotel room. No matter how many times they said it, he couldn’t believe any player he knew would take performance-enhancing drugs. Hell, most of them refused to take cold meds and painkillers.
As the anchor signed off, Jake realized that the end of the news meant it was almost midnight. If his roommate—a sophomore defenseman called Taylor “Mad Dog” Madden—wasn’t here soon, he’d be in big trouble.
The team had flown into Tampa yesterday to prepare for tomorrow night’s game against the Lightning, the last on their road trip. With a strict midnight curfew, most veteran players had opted for a quiet night. But the younger guys had headed out for a little excitement.
A familiar double knock sounded on his door. He rose and answered.
“We’ve got a problem.” Tru strode into the room. “Blake’s not back yet.”
“Neither’s Mad Dog. This isn’t like him. He’s a good kid.”
“Blake, too. I have a bad feeling about this.”
Jake did, too. “Were they both with JB?”
“Yeah. Your warning to Larocque to cool it didn’t work.”
Damn know-it-all rookie. “They miss curfew and Coach will bench them.”
His friend paced the room. “Do you know where they went?”
Before Jake could reply, Tru’s cell rang.
He answered. “Where the hell are you, Blake?” Tru’s expression turned grim as he listened. “We’re on our way. Hang tight until we get there.” He hung up. “Damn Larocque.”
“What the hell has JB done?” Jake put on his Timberland boots, grabbed his leather jacket and followed Tru out.
“Mouthed off at some girl’s boyfriend. Got into a fight.”
Jake swore as he jabbed the elevator button. “The Cats will suspend him. Worse, if the League finds out.”
“The nightclub manager’s threatened to call the cops. If he does, the media will be all over it. Let’s hope no one’s tweeted it yet or put a video on Facebook.”
“It’ll take some sharp skating to get this to go away quietly. Despite his dumb-ass behavior, the team needs Larocque.”
Luckily, there was a cab waiting and traffic was light. On the way to the trendy nightclub, they hammered out an action plan and checked out the social-media sites. Nothing had shown up yet, but it was only a matter of time.
There was no sign of the media when they arrived. The security guy recognized them and opened the door.
“I hustled them out of there and upstairs to the manager’s office as soon as the trouble started. Didn’t want a YouTube video of the kid’s behavior going viral. Hope you can get this done—I’ve got money on the Cats for the Cup.” The heavyset man lowered his voice. “The other guy’s an ass.”
They thanked him for his help and promised him tickets for the game.
The scene in the manager’s office was tense. Too much drink. Too much testosterone. Mad Dog and Blake had JB pinned to a chair.
“What’s the problem here?” Jake asked pleasantly.
An overweight man in a Rangers shirt said, “I’ve got no beef with you, Bad Boy.”
The guy had recognized him. At least Jake’s reputation was good for something.
Jake jerked his head toward JB. “His problems are my problems.”
“He made a pass at my wife,” the man blustered.
“Yeah.” A skinny bleached blonde stood. She smoothed her painted-on jeans and adjusted her low-cut top deliberately to give him a prime view of her spray-tanned cleavage. “He called me a bitch when I said no.”
Her husband grunted. “He kept saying the Blue Shirts sucked.” He sounded more insulted by JB dissing his team than hitting on his woman.
“Don’t you love crosstown rivalry?” Jake ignored the woman and focused on her husband, keeping his tone casual. “It’s what makes hockey a great sport—loyal supporters like...” He waited for the guy to give his name.
“Frank.”
“Bet Frank’s been a fan since way back when, huh?”
“Damn straight, Bad Boy. Haven’t missed a game in twenty years. I was at the Garden when we raised the Cup in ’94.” The barrel chest puffed up with pride, like he’d been on the ice himself.
“See, Jean-Baptiste, this is the type of loyal fan hockey needs to nurture.” Mad Dog’s hand clamped over JB’s mouth. “I’m sure, as lovers of the great game, we can make this go away. Right, Frank?”
The guy was caught. If he disagreed, he’d look stupid. “Out of respect for you, Bad Boy, I’ll make a deal. But you gotta teach the kid manners.”
“Don’t worry, we will.” Jake heard JB struggling. “We feel bad about your good lady, so we’ll treat you both to dinner.” He pulled out a card. “What’s your favorite restaurant, ma’am?” At her response, he scribbled on the back, then handed her the card. “You give this to the owner and tell him the tab’s on me.”
The blonde was instantly soothed. “Now, hon, isn’t that nice?”
“Frank, how about on-the-glass seats for the next Rangers game here?”
The man agreed readily.
Now the hard part. Even though it would cost him personally, Jake had to keep Larocque’s name out of this. The kid should suffer the consequences of his mistake, but Jake had to consider the good of the team. Adam’s face flashed through his mind, strengthening his resolve.
“I need a favor, Frank.” Jake smiled. “If anyone asks about tonight, the only name you mention is mine.”
“But...”
“We’re both older guys, Frank. We know about youthful mistakes.” He sent him a knowing look. “We don’t want JB to swing for a stupid, drunken move, do we?”
Reluctantly, Frank agreed, in return for pictures taken with Jake. He also promised not to post anything to the internet until after the game tomorrow night.
“What about my damages?” the manager whined.
Tru stepped in, wallet ready.
By the time Mad Dog and Blake had bundled JB into the back of a cab, it was almost 1:00 a.m. They threatened Larocque with duct tape if he spoke before they got back to the hotel.
Once there, they hurried up to Jake’s room.
Sobered up with strong coffee, JB apologized. “I’ve been a total jerk. I’d have been sent back to the minors forever if I’d ended up in jail.”
“Worse, you’d have been branded trouble.” Jake didn’t pull his punches. The kid had to learn his lesson fast. “One more misstep and you’d have been cut loose. We’re not saying you can’t have fun, but this kind of crap ends careers.”
“And mine has
barely started.” Jean-Baptiste hung his head. “I know I’ve made things bad for Mad Dog and Blake when all you guys were doing was trying to keep me out of trouble. I’ll shoulder the blame with Max for you missing curfew.”
Looked like there was a good streak beneath the arrogance.
“We won’t say a word, for their sakes,” Tru said solemnly. “For the team’s sake. It’s just between us, on one condition.”
Relief filled JB’s dark eyes. “Name it.”
Jake inhaled deeply. This was a big commitment. The best plan, but a huge responsibility. Did he have what it took?
If he could prevent Jean-Baptiste from making the same mistakes as he had, the angst would be worth it. His resolve hardened. “For the rest of the season, you’re living with me.”
* * *
CHILDREN PLAYED HOCKEY like seagulls diving for food.
Maggie bit back a smile as the knot of masked and padded skaters swarmed around the puck. She shifted her bum on the cold bench and let her mind wander to tomorrow night.
The twenty-first.
As Tracy was on a date, Maggie had arranged for Emily to stay the night at Amy’s, so there’d be no need to rush her time with Jake.
Somehow she didn’t think he’d want to rush. Her smile broke free.
The coach blew his whistle for the end of the session, interrupting her heated thoughts.
She rose and headed to the gate to wait for Emily to come off the ice.
“Bad Boy is up to his old tricks.”
Maggie started at the comment from the clique of too-rich, too-skinny women who sat near the glass. Her stomach roiled.
“I saw the headlines,” another voice said.
What headlines?
A third voice. “He can park his skates under my bed anytime.”
What bloody headlines?
“Did you see the piece of trash he fought over?” The first woman again. “A model? Who for? Trailer Park Monthly?”
Shrill laughter, like witches’ cackles, set Maggie’s teeth on edge.
Woman? Fight? Two words that sounded like history repeating itself.
A chill ran through her.
“I almost got a goal.” Emily came off the ice bubbling, unaware of her mother’s shock.
“Well done, Em.” Dazed, she helped her daughter with her skates.
“I’m starving. Is it lunchtime? Can we go to McDonald’s?”
“Okay,” she mumbled, desperate to get away from the rink.
“You’re the best mum ever.”
Lunch passed in a blur. Thankfully, Emily didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Still, Maggie was relieved to pull into the driveway of Tracy’s Victorian, so she could get some space to think.
“Is that Jenny’s car?” Emily pointed at the red convertible.
“Yes.” Jenny must have heard the news, too.
“It’s really cool. When I’m a famous hockey player, like Mr. Jake, I want a car like that.”
What if the story was true? Emily was already attached to Jake. What would it do to her daughter to discover he wasn’t the hero she’d thought?
What it would do to Maggie didn’t bear thinking about.
“Don’t forget to spray Lysol in your gloves,” she called as Emily rushed inside.
Maggie followed slowly, her bones aching with a familiar gloomy weariness, and headed for the kitchen.
Jenny and Tracy sat at the table, their heads bent over a laptop. Her friend’s calm contrasted with her sister’s disgusted expression.
“Is the story about Jake that bad?” Maggie leaned against the door frame.
Tracy stood and put the kettle on. “I think so.”
“We should hear Jake’s side. There’s more to this than what’s on a gossip site.” Jenny turned the laptop toward Maggie. “You know him. Do you believe a word of this?”
“What’s not to believe?” Tracy sniffed. “The woman? The nightclub? The fight?”
Common sense began to replace the panicked fog in Maggie’s brain.
Jenny was right—she did know Jake. “We can’t condemn him because of his past.” She slipped into a seat. “Let’s see what this says.”
“Fine. But you’ll be disappointed.”
Her sister’s vehemence surprised her. “Why the about-face? You were his biggest fan.”
“I thought he’d changed. That he’d be good for you. I didn’t realize he’s as bad as your jerk ex-husband.”
Tracy’s comment chased away the last of the fuzziness. “Whatever that story says, Jake’s nothing like Lee. Not even close.”
If she hadn’t been sure of that, she’d never have agreed to take their relationship to the next stage. She certainly wouldn’t have trusted him to be around Emily. Jake wasn’t violent or obsessively controlling. He accepted when he was wrong and he apologized. Not because it was expected, but because he meant it. More importantly, he treated her with respect.
True, he could be stubborn and overbearing when he believed he was right. He wasn’t perfect, but who was?
Jake deserved a fair hearing.
Her heart thumped heavily as she read the on-screen article and saw the grainy cell-phone pictures. “It looks pretty damning.”
“You don’t believe that trash, do you?” Jenny looked disappointed. “It’s a slow news week with Lindsay Lohan in rehab again and Jennifer Aniston finally married, so they’ve latched onto something that’s nothing.”
“I know how the media can take a hint of a story and turn it into a full-length novel.” Maggie shook her head. “The whole thing just doesn’t add up. What has Jake said?”
“Neither he nor the team have made a public statement. They won’t want to give the media more fuel for their fire.”
Tracy threw up her hands. “There’d be no story at all unless something happened.”
“No one’s denying something happened,” Jenny shot back. “Just not what the media are making out. Even if Jake was interested, which he isn’t—” she gave Maggie a pointed look “—he could have any woman he wanted. He sure as hell wouldn’t go after one like that, especially as she’s married.”
“And the fight?” Tracy arched an eyebrow.
Maggie thought for a minute. Then it struck her. The Code. Jake was a “white hat.” “If there was an altercation, Jake was defending or protecting someone. A friend. A teammate.”
“Okay,” Tracy acquiesced. The conviction in Maggie’s voice must have got through to her sister. “But I still say there’s some truth behind the story.”
Though Maggie knew in her heart the story couldn’t be true, a tiny part of her—the part honed by too many lies—worried her sister might be right.
There wasn’t smoke without fire. She hoped whatever the fire was, Jake had a really good explanation for it. Otherwise, she’d put her trust, and her heart, in the hands of the wrong kind of bad boy all over again. This time, she didn’t think either would recover.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“SCORE A GOAL for us next time.”
Ike’s disgust made Jake pedal harder on the stationary bike.
The postgame cooldown was no haven tonight. They’d lost and he’d played the worst game of his career. It was his own fault. His mind hadn’t been on the ice but back in New Jersey, worrying about what would happen when Maggie saw the story of last night’s mess.
Tru intervened. “We all have bad games.”
“I don’t.” Jake cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, guys. Coach.”
“Wouldn’t be linked to these headlines, would it?” Max shoved his iPad onto the handlebars. “I don’t mean the crap about some NHL star using steroids. Drugs sure as hell haven’t enhanced your performance.”
The story was all over the hockey w
ebsites. Damn. Frank had already begun bragging.
“Uh, Coach...”
Jake cut JB off with a glare. He hadn’t protected the kid to have him blow it apart. “The guy was a jerk.” He tried to sound cocky. “No way I’d hit on his wife. Look at her.”
The coach wasn’t fooled. “This little party must have broken curfew.”
He couldn’t deny that. “It won’t happen again.”
“Veterans like you should set a good example, not break the rules.”
Hell. Was he going to be benched? It was one thing to ride the pine when your play sucked—there was no denying his had tonight—but it was something different when you were taking the blame for someone else’s idiocy.
Worse, he hated seeing the coach’s disappointment in him. He respected Max. They all did. He’d been a hell of a defenseman in his day and had earned his stripes behind the bench with two Stanley Cup rings to his credit.
Max crooked a finger at Jake and Tru. “You two. Outside. Now.”
They exchanged uneasy glances as the coach stalked out.
“Bad Boy?” Concern was etched on Jean-Baptiste’s face.
“It’ll be cool. His bark’s worse than his bite,” he reassured the kid. “Never again, right?”
JB nodded. This was a good lesson for the rookie. One that had better stick.
Max stood by the laundry room. “Inside.”
Once he’d closed the door, the coach grunted, “You gonna tell me what happened?”
“What do you mean?” Tru asked cautiously.
“I’m not an idiot,” Max growled. “This is a bunch of crap. You know why?”
Jake shook his head.
“I checked you out before I agreed to bring you into the Cats. Wanted to be sure you wouldn’t be a problem, given all the press. Know what I found out?”
Unsure how to answer, Jake shook his head again.
“First, you don’t break curfew. Never have.” The coach jabbed his finger in Jake’s chest. “Second, you don’t fight off-ice. On top of that, I know that you ordered room service at eight and made a phone call at eleven-thirty. Do I need to continue?”
Stunned, Jake shook his head for a third time, feeling like a damn bobblehead doll.
