“Blow me, LeClaire.”
“You first, chicken shit.” He shot the puck along the al ey to Daniel and took off toward the red line. The whistle blew, and the ref cal ed offside. He glanced at Conner and Autumn. His son waved a foam finger at him, and his heart swel ed. The shadow of Autumn’s cap hid her eyes and touched the bow of her lips. He was grateful that, despite her obvious dislike of him and hockey, she’d brought Conner. He circled back to the goal line and checked the tape on his stick. He real y couldn’t ask for a better mother for his son, and as he passed Kesler, he bumped him with his shoulder. “My bal s dangle better than you,” he said.
“Your bal s dangle ’cause you’re an old man.”
Sam smiled. He remembered when he’d been twenty-five and cocky. Hel , he was stil a little cocky sometimes. “Watch yourself, dipshit. The season is young, and the ice is slick.”
He stood near the goal line, shutting down firing lanes and waited. The puck dropped, Hendrik fed it back to Kesler, and from his right, Sam took a hard hit from Shane O’Brien that knocked him on his ass. He slid across the ice. His right shoulder slammed into the boards, and he heard the snap a split second before pain shot across his shoulder and down his arm. “Fuck.”
He tried to sit up and rol ed onto his right side. Stars flashed in front of his eyes, and the whistles blew. He shook off his glove and gritted his teeth.
“Son of a bitch!” The pain took his breath away, and he lay on his back and looked up at steel girders. This isn’t good, he thought. The arena was fil ed with the yel ing of thousands of Chinook fans, and through it al , the pain and shock and the noise, he heard Conner. He heard his son’s fearful wail, but that was impossible. The roar of the crowd was too loud. Then Daniel’s and Vlad’s faces crowded his vision, fol owed shortly by Bressler and head trainer, Scott Silverman.
“Where are you hurt?” Scott asked.
“Shoulder. My clavicle. I heard the snap.”
“Can you move your hands and feet?”
“Yeah.” He’d broken enough bones that he recognized the signs, and he wondered how long this break would keep him on the injured list. How long before he would meet with O’Brien on the ice and kick his ass. “Help me up.”
Mark knelt beside him on one knee. “Just keep stil and let Scott do his job.”
Sam shook his head and gritted his teeth against the pain of that simple act. “My kid’s here. I don’t want him to see me laid out on the ice.” And there was no way he’d let the bastards see how bad he was hurt. “Scott can do his job in the trainer’s room.” With his right hand, he pushed himself into sitting position. It hurt more than he let on. The last thing he wanted was to be taken out on the stretcher. Scott wedged his shoulder beneath Sam’s right arm, and he was able to rise to his knees.
Fuck! Shit! Goddamn!
“You okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah.” Son of a bitch! He rose to his feet, and the arena went crazy with applause. Slowly, he skated toward the bench, his left arm tight against his chest. He was in so much pain, it crowded the corners of his vision. But more than the pain, he was pissed. Pissed that a piss-headed pissant had blindsided him. Pissed that he was going to miss a month—if he was lucky. Pissed that it had happened in front of his son.
Chapter Ten
Any Man of Mine:
Doesn’t Have Other Girlfriends
(especially skinny girlfriends)
Conner dropped Autumn’s fingers and pushed the elevator button. In his free hand, he held a little box with a cupcake inside. A brown cupcake with gummy worms and chocolate sprinkles that they’d made that morning and Conner had decorated himself. The door slid shut, and the two rode the elevator to the loft on the tenth floor. It was a little after ten in the morning. Normal y, Conner would be in school, but after last night, he needed to see his father.
It had been wel after one in the morning before he’d final y cried himself to sleep. He’d been so sure that Sam was dying. “They took him away in the amb-amb-lance,” he’d sobbed.
“That’s just because it’s more comfortable,” she’d lied in an effort to soothe him. Shortly after Sam had skated from the ice, someone from the Chinooks’ organization had found Autumn and Conner and told them that Sam was being transported to Harborview for tests and X-rays.
“I don’t thi-ink so, Mom.”
Conner was getting older and harder to trick, and those moments as they’d watched Sam laid out on the ice had been horrific for Conner. He’d burst into panicky tears, and Autumn had to admit that, even though she’d wished Sam harm on many occasions, the reality had given her a knot in her stomach.
“I want to go see my da-ad.”
“I’l take you to see him in the morning,” she’d promised, even though hanging out at Sam’s was about the last thing she wanted to do. The elevator opened, and they walked down a short hal . “Remember that we’re not staying long. Just long enough for you to see that your dad’s okay.” Conner rang the doorbel , and within a few short moments, Faith Savage answered, looking tal and gorgeous and pregnant. Autumn didn’t know who was more surprised. Her or the owner of the Chinooks.
“Wel , hel o, Autumn. You know Sam?”
“Yes. We have a son together.”
“I didn’t know that.” She lowered her gaze to Conner’s blond hair.
“Not many people do.” She put her hand on her son’s head. “Say hel o to Mrs. Savage.”
“Hi.” Conner leaned to the left for a better peek into the loft. “How are you?”
Faith smiled. “I’m wel . Thank you.” She stepped to one side, and Conner shot past her.
“Dad!”
Autumn moved into the entry and shut the door behind her. “How is Sam?”
“Cranky.” Faith looked over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Obviously, she didn’t know her and Sam’s relationship. “How are you feeling?” she asked Faith, as they moved into a living room fil ed with overstuffed leather furniture, a huge entertainment center, and a wal of windows looking out onto the city. The whole space was open and fil ed with expensive furnishings and art. Just the sort of bachelor pad she would expect of Sam.
“Good now. The first three months were a little rough. I just can’t imagine how horrible it must be for those poor women who are sick the entire nine months.”
Autumn laughed and raised her hand. “I was one of those women, and it was horrible.” She unzipped her black fleece jacket as the two moved to the open kitchen, where Sam and Conner stood at the counter. “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”
“Not yet. We’ve only had the first ultrasound.”
“Oh. I remember that one. Conner looked like a chicken nugget.” She laughed. “That’s why we cal him Nugget.”
Sam looked up from the cupcake on the marble countertop. On the outside of his white T-shirt, he wore a figure-of-eight splint over his shoulders, and his left arm was in a sling held tight against his chest. The right side of the shirt was tucked into a pair of nylon running pants, while the left side hung down his hips. His hair was messed, and dark blond stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin. “I thought you cal ed him Nugget ’cause he was conceived in Las Vegas.”
She glanced at Faith out of the corners of her eyes and shook her head. The night Conner was conceived in Vegas wasn’t something she wanted even to think about, let alone discuss. She and Sam had never talked about that time, and she didn’t want to start now. Especial y in front of Faith Savage.
“I’l let you enjoy time with your son,” Faith said as she moved toward a barstool and gathered her red wool coat and Hermès handbag. “Sam, you let me know if there is anything you need.”
“Thanks for coming by. I’l see you out.” He moved toward her, but she held up a hand. “I can find my way. You rest.” She smiled at Autumn. “It was nice to see you again.”
“You, too.”
And then Faith was gone, leaving behind the scent of expensive perfume. The door c
losed behind her, and Autumn was alone with Sam. In his loft. On his turf.
“Can you move your arm?” Conner asked his dad.
“Yeah,” Sam reassured Conner. “I broke my clavicle.” He pointed to his col arbone. “I’m just wearing the sling to keep my arm stil .”
Conner looked up at his father and shook his head. “I saw that man hurt you.”
“This is nothing compared to the time I busted up my ankle. At least I can walk around this time.”
She put her Hèrmes knockoff from Target on the barstool with Conner’s Old Navy hoodie. She left her own jacket on because she wouldn’t be staying long enough to get comfy. “But should you be walking around?” Autumn much preferred being around Sam in her house. Where she felt some semblance of control. Although with Sam, control had always been an il usion.
“Yeah. But I’m about to sit down.” He pointed to the cupcake. “I’l eat the red worm. You have the green one.”
“Okay.” Conner grabbed a worm and stuffed it into his mouth.
“Later though.” He shut the top of the cupcake box as if the sight of worms coming out of a dirty-looking cupcake made him a bit queasy. “I’m not sure a worm wil agree with al the medicine I just took.” Slowly, he moved past her, and Conner trailed behind. Maybe she should leave. Come back in an hour. She didn’t belong there. In Sam’s bachelor pad.
“Autumn, could you grab a bag of peas out of the freezer?”
“Sure.” She moved across the stone floor to a stainless-steel side-by-side and opened the door. The first breath of chil ed air hit her face and the hol ow of her throat as she looked inside at frozen juice, a box of Toaster Sticks, and about ten bags of frozen peas. She grabbed the one on top and walked from the kitchen. Sam sat on a leather sofa, Conner by his side. With his arm trussed up and the straps of his splint around his shoulder, he looked almost helpless. Wel , as helpless as a six-two, two-hundred-plus wal of solid muscle could look. She handed him the bag of peas. “Should I cal Natalie for you?”
“Why?” He put the peas on his shoulder and sucked in a breath.
“Isn’t she your ‘assistant’? Maybe she should assist you.”
“Mostly she’s Conner’s babysitter. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Seeing him in pain, he not only looked helpless, but he real y didn’t fit her image of him. The image she’d had over the years of a man with multiple girlfriends and even more sexual partners. He looked like a regular guy. Wel , kind of. A regular guy with a scruffy five o’clock shadow on his movie-star jaw. “Do you need anything else?”
“No.” He shook his head and looked up at her through sleepy blue eyes. She didn’t know if he was tired or doped up. Probably both. She glanced at the watch on the inside of her wrist. Five more minutes.
“Dad, what does conceived mean?”
Both Autumn and Sam looked at Conner, then at each other.
“What?”
“You said I was conceived. What does that mean?”
“Wel ahh…” Sam stammered, and slid his gaze to his son. “It means that when two people… It means that…” He shifted the peas on his shoulder. For a guy who’d had a lot of practice at conceiving, he sure was having a hard time explaining it. Not that she wanted to give it a try. Especial y not in front of Sam. When she had “the talk,” she didn’t want an audience. “Wel , it’s when…” He winced as if he was in sudden and excruciating pain and couldn’t possibly think. “Ouch. My shoulder hurts. Ask your mother.”
“Me?”
He pointed to his col arbone. “Cut me some slack. I’m in a lot of pain here.”
Which wasn’t an excuse. “Fine.” She could probably answer the question better than Sam anyway. Her answer would be safer, at any rate. She sat on the sofa and turned to face Conner. “It means made.” There, that was easy.
“Oh.” He stared up at her though blue eyes so much like his father’s it was crazy. “I was made in Las Vegas?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.” He swal owed, and she could practical y see the wheels turning in his little brain. “How?”
She’d always known that someday she’d have to answer this question. She was prepared. She’d gone over it in her head several times, but never in her imaginings had Sam been sitting two feet away, a bag of peas on his shoulder, looking like he wanted to know the answer, too. “Wel , when two people make love, they sometimes make a baby.”
“Oh.” Autumn held her breath, waiting for the next “how.” The questions were only going to get harder. He turned and faced Sam. “Can I have your gummy worm?”
“Go for it.”
Conner jumped up and ran into the kitchen as fast as his little sneakers could carry him.
A sigh of relief escaped her lungs as she scrubbed her face with her hands. “I feel like I just dodged a bul et.”
“I was kind of interested in how you were going to answer the questions working their way through his brain.”
She frowned and dropped her hands. “You were no help.” She leaned forward to make sure Conner was stil in the kitchen before she said, “He asked you, and you certainly know what conceived means. Good God, you’re the biggest perv on the planet.”
He laughed, not at al ashamed. Of course not. He was Sam. “Not the biggest.”
“You’re right up there.”
“Which is why I probably shouldn’t answer such delicate questions.”
Conner returned, munching on a red gummy worm. The little wheels in his head were stil turning. Just because he’d taken a worm break didn’t mean he was ready to let the subject go.
“Okay.” Autumn jumped to her feet before Conner could get his questions out. “We better get going now.”
“We just got here.”
“We talked about this, Conner. You knew we weren’t going to stay long. Your dad needs to rest.”
“What I need is a shower.”
She started toward the kitchen. “Let’s get your hoodie.”
“I need your help.”
That stopped her, and she slowly turned to face Sam. He was looking at her. “Me? You need me to help you take a shower?”
He chuckled and used his good hand to push himself up. “No. Not unless you insist.” He tossed the peas on the coffee table and pointed to his sling.
“Somebody hooked this thing up in the back, and I can’t get it off.” He moved past her, just natural y assuming she’d help him out. “I’m not so sure I need it anyway.”
“Can I have your cupcake, Dad?”
“Knock yourself out, but just make sure you eat at the bar. I can’t break out the DustBuster after you leave today.” He looked back at Autumn over his shoulder. “Come on.” When she didn’t move, he stopped and turned to look at her. “I’m not trying to push you around. I just need a little help.”
That wasn’t the reason her feet were glued to his carpet. Helping him out of his sling felt a little too intimate. A little too close. As if he read her mind, he asked, “Do you think I’m going to try something on you?”
He made it sound so ridiculous that there was only one thing left for her to do. She shook her head and shrugged out of her fleece jacket. She tossed it on top of her purse and fol owed Sam. “Of course I don’t think that.” They moved down a curved hal and passed a room that could only be Conner’s.
“That’s good, because I’m in no condition to start something that I can’t finish,” he said over his shoulder. “No matter how pretty you beg.”
If he hadn’t already been hurt and moving kind of slow, she might have been tempted to hit him. Instead, she kept her attention focused on the dark blue figure-eight splint across the back of his white T-shirt and the beige strap of his sling. He was right. The figure-of-eight and sling were Velcroed in back.
She fol owed him into the large master bedroom with a spectacular view of El iott Bay. The bed itself was stil unmade and rumpled from the night before, and a pair of hockey shorts, socks, and big pads had been kicked to one side. The walk
-in closet was as big as her bathroom at home and the bathroom as big as her kitchen. Only fancier. A lot fancier.
He flipped on a switch with his good hand and a brushed-nickel chandelier and rows of canned lights shone down onto white-and-black marble. The shower stal could comfortably seat a family of six and was enclosed in glass and black granite with tiny silver flecks. He stopped in the center of a zebra-skin rug. She was fairly sure it was a cowhide dyed to look like a zebra, but it was stil mildly disconcerting. He turned to face her. “What?”
She ran her gaze up his legs, past his waist, over the arm pinned to his chest, to his face. “That rug is a whole cowhide.”
“Yeah?”
She shook her head. “Aren’t you disturbed by it?”
“No more disturbed by it than by your leather sneakers.”
To her, it wasn’t real y the same. Her shoes served a worthy purpose, and she thought animal skins used for nothing more than decorations were creepy. Like skul s and heads and antlers. Yuck. Her feelings didn’t have to make sense to anyone but her. She moved around behind him and reached for the buckle just above his right shoulder blade. “Has Conner seen it?”
“Yeah.”
Her knuckles brushed the warm cotton of his T-shirt. “Did he cry?”
“No, but he doesn’t like to walk on it.”
That was her boy. “He has a kind heart. He doesn’t like to hurt people or animals.” Which brought her to a subject she’d wanted to talk to him about.
“Last night, he total y lost it when he saw you.” She rose onto the bal s of her feet and tried to touch him as little as possible. She lightly put one palm in the center of his back for support as she pushed a strap over his shoulder. “It real y upset him.”
“I know, but getting hurt is a risk that I take every time I step on the ice.” She moved around him as he slowly lowered his arm. “Last night was a freak accident.”
She careful y pul ed the beige sling from his arm, sliding it past his elbow. She wanted Conner to take a break from hockey games, but she supposed the subject was moot for a while. At least until Sam returned to the ice. “From where I sat, it looked on purpose to me.” She glanced up into the grimace bracketing the corners of his mouth. She was so close, she could pick out every whisker on his stubbly chin.
Any Man Of Mine hs-6 Page 13
