Bear Meets Girl

by Shelly Laurenston

  MacRyrie snorted next to her. “He must be new.”

  The opposing team was called out and the wolf made sure to stare at her until he hit the ice.

  “Cella,” and she could hear the warning in Van Holtz’s voice. His “captain” voice, she called it. It was different from his “owner” voice and his “goalie” voice.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Just make sure you don’t.”

  “I’m only here to play the game.”

  Traditional bagpipe music began playing over the loudspeaker—it was New York, after all—and the announcer called out the Carvnivores, each first-string player announced individually and skating out onto the ice, spotlights directly on them.

  Cella patiently waited her turn, glancing back and winking at Jai, who stood with her med team. Her best friend grinned and gave her a thumbs-up.

  Then she gave her the finger.

  Yep. Best friend ever!

  Cella heard it. “Number 29, Marcella ‘Bare Knuckles’ Malone!”

  Grinning, she skated out onto the ice, raising her free hand to wave at the crowd. She heard a lot of female cheers, which made sense since she had a lot of female predator fans. But it was when the announcer called out Novikov’s name that the crowd lost its collective mind. Cella didn’t blame them, though. He might be an obsessive-compulsive borderline sociopath, but damn if the man wasn’t the best hockey player she’d ever known ... next to her dad, of course. At least ... that’s what she told her dad.

  “Then for about three years,” Nice Guy continued, “I was a leg breaker for a couple of bookies who worked for the O’Malley boys. I was really good at it, too.”

  The O’Malley boys? Crush closed his eyes. Good God. “And how old were you when you—”

  “Thirteen.”

  “Thir ... thirteen?”

  “Tigers don’t have growth spurts like you guys. I was always big. Always looked way older than I was. And when I was working for bookies, I thought about robbing banks. But that’s a federal crime and I decided not to bother. Ya know?”

  “Um ... uh ... uh-huh.” Crush closed his eyes again. “You just broke legs, right? You’ve never actually ... uh ... um ...”

  “Killed someone? Nah. Of course not.” Nice Guy glanced at the ceiling. “Wait, on the ice ... ?”

  And Crush gritted his teeth.

  “No, no. That guy survived. Soooo ... no. All clear there.”

  All Crush could do was shrug. “Okay.”

  Cella slammed her body into the wolf who’d winked at her, making sure to ram her elbow under his helmet and into his throat. He fell to his knees and she dropped her gloves, slapped his helmet off, and proceeded to pummel his face raw before her teammates managed to drag her away from him.

  With a snarl from the ref, she hit the box for a two-minute penalty.

  Pulling out her fang guard, she glanced over at the black bear sitting next to her.

  “Hi, Bert.”

  “Hey, Cella.”

  “How’s the wife?”

  “Good. Good. Your daughter?”

  “Great. Turning eighteen this weekend.”

  Bert winced. “Uh-oh. I wish you luck.”

  “Yep.” Cella spit out blood, and wiped blood off her knuckles. “You coming to the Ice Party this year?” she asked.

  “Probably not. You know me. Not much of a partier.” Bert nodded. “Okay. I’m back in. See ya, Cella.”

  “See ya, Bert.”

  Cella spit out more blood, removed her helmet, and shook out her hair. She was seriously considering getting her hair cut. Maybe a mani-pedi, too. Oooh! Maybe she could drag Lady Dour of the Clan Dour, aka Meghan, to go with her. Honestly, was all that studying necessary? And constant thinking? The girl needed to relax! She was a Malone, wasn’t she? And the Malones knew how to relax. It was time her daughter got on the train with the rest of them.

  So yeah. Haircuts and mani-pedis, hopefully with a mother-daughter discount. And the kid would just have to suck it up.

  Her time in the box up, Cella stood, pulled on her helmet, popped her fang guard back in, and hit the ice.

  And the first thing she did was slam her body into that same Alabama wolf, drop her gloves, and pummel his face....

  “So,” Crush felt the need to ask, “what made you give up your ... uh ... leg-breaking ways? Hockey?”

  Nice Guy chuckled. “Nah. Hockey just made me a better leg breaker. Playing hockey was something that I did naturally. Like breathing. And most of what I did was to get money for equipment. So, no. It’s not why. It was Barb.” When Crush frowned, “My wife. Cella’s mother. We’d known each other since grade school, but unlike the Malones, Barb’s father became rich and moved the family uptown. Then my high school was playing football against Trinity Parochial, and I locked on her as soon as I saw her again. But she wouldn’t have anything to do with me.”

  “Because you were breaking people’s legs at thirteen?”

  “No, that didn’t bother her. Besides. They weren’t people. They were degenerate gamblers. But I did beat up her kid brother for his lunch money. That kind of pissed her off.”

  “Yeah. I can see a girl holding that against you.”

  “Didn’t stop me from trying, though. Malones, we don’t back away from a challenge. Gifts for her. Flowers, candy. A cool car for me ... stolen, of course.”

  “I didn’t need to know that.”

  “The latest clothes. Everything I figured a girl would want. Then she finally said it. ‘You’re a lowlife and I wouldn’t date you if you were the last tiger on the planet.’ ” He tapped his chest. “That one hurt. Right here. So I figured if I was gonna get her, I had to stop breaking legs, stealing cars, throwing degenerate gamblers off rooftops—”

  “Again ... that I didn’t need to know.”

  “That’s when I realized hockey wasn’t just that thing I did, but a way I could get legit. Get on the right team, become the best player—I could get a girl like her.”

  “And you can get your equipment legally.”

  “Didn’t really care about that.”

  “Of course, you didn’t.”

  “Before I knew it, I was considered the best in the league and I had the She-tiger of my dreams.”

  “Except for the extreme illegal activity during your important developmental years—that was a surprisingly sweet story.”

  “Mhmm.” Nice Guy suddenly looked him over, eyes narrowing. “What do you know about my daughter?”

  “Apparently nothing,” he muttered, but when Nice Guy tensed, Crush quickly added, “I knew about Bare Knuckles Malone.” Who didn’t? She had one of the worst reputations in the league next to The Marauder and was one of the first female enforcers for a pro-team who wasn’t a She-bear. “But I didn’t know the woman I was talking to was Bare Knuckles. Her face is impossible to see from my usual seats and any time they show her on the big screen, she’s wearing a helmet.”

  “Yeah. She does that for safety reasons.” What safety reasons? But before Crush could get into it, Nice Guy asked, “And how long have you two been dating?”

  “Dating?”

  “She said you were her boyfriend.”

  “Uh ...”

  Gold eyes narrowed. “You’re not just using my little girl, are you?”

  “No. No, no. It’s just—”

  “Just what?” And that came from “Mac Truck” Lewis, a wolf and one-time goalie who used to play with Nice Guy. It suddenly occurred to Crush that every man here was not only friends with Nice Guy, but like a father to Nice Guy’s daughter. That was the beauty of hockey, it transcended breed or species, because it was all about whether a player could skate backward while keeping an eye out for a little black puck.

  These men were like Bare Knuckles Malone’s godfathers. And he was the nonplaying idiot they thought was dating her. Hell, they thought he was her boyfriend. A status he’d rather chew rocks than be cursed with. But he wasn’t about to say that to a bunch o
f his heroes who adored her.

  Besides, he hadn’t felt this unsafe since he was alone in the middle of a three a.m. Hells Angels beach party.

  “It’s just ...” Crush cleared his throat and scrambled for a satisfactory lie. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of her. I worry about that.”

  The men relaxed, smiled, and Nice Guy patted Crush’s shoulder. It felt like he was being beaten with a baseball bat.

  “Don’t worry about that. My girl has good instincts. Just like her mother.” When Crush only stared at him. “Hey, I haven’t broken a guy’s leg for money—and hockey doesn’t count—since I was sixteen. See? She knew I had potential.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  One of the Slammers cut across the ice, heading right for Novikov. Cella shoved past the winger in her way and went after him, but she didn’t think she’d reach him in time.

  “Reed!” she called out. “Move!”

  As a canine, the hillbilly took orders pretty well, and shot in front of the player, blocking him from getting near Novikov.

  She reached her teammate and blocked another player, ramming him into the glass by using her legs to launch her body at the guy. They both hit the glass and then dropped to the ice. She was ready to pull off her gloves and take the guy on since he was calling her all sorts of things she found insulting, but the crowd roared, signaling a successful goal, and the end buzzer went off.

  Cella got to her feet and skated away from the other player, but kept her eyes on him as she did.

  “Bitch,” the maned wolf sneered.

  “Loser,” Cella shot back, laughing as one of her teammates picked her up around the waist and carried her off the ice before she started another all-team brawl.

  She kind of had a reputation for doing that.

  Once off the ice, her teammate—Bert!—let her go, shaking his head and chuckling.

  They all marched back to their respective locker rooms and Cella slapped hands and laughed with her female teammates before jumping in the shower and washing off all the blood from the game. When she headed back to her locker, she found Jai waiting for her.

  Cella grabbed a dry towel. “Hey. What’s up?”

  “How’s your knee?” Jai asked.

  “Fine.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “No. It’s fine. See?” She pointed to her weak left knee before going back to towel-drying her hair. Thankfully, the swelling hadn’t started yet, although it would swell. It always did after a game.

  “Put some ice on it anyway.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

  “Don’t yeah, yeah, yeah me. Just do as I tell you.” Jai checked her clipboard. “I gotta go. I’ve got some artery repair to deal with. I swear”—she shook her head and held her clipboard to her chest—“Novikov is so mean. Got a guy bleeding out in surgery.”

  Cella stood up straight, flipping her hair off her face. “Then maybe you should ... you know ... take care of him?”

  Jai rolled her eyes. “He’s just a coyote.”

  “Jai!” God, the mountain lions ... such bigots when it came to the canines, especially the coyotes and wolves.

  “I’m going, I’m going. Had to check on you first, right?”

  “Cella!” someone called out. “Your dad is outside. Along with some polar bear. Said they’re waiting for you.”

  “Tell them I’ll be out in a bit.”

  “Polar bear?” Jai asked, still letting that coyote bleed out in her surgery.

  “Yeah. He’s that guy I woke up naked with at MacDermot’s house.”

  The other females stopped dressing and focused on Cella.

  “I didn’t fuck him,” Cella added. Then she grinned. “At least not yet.”

  “Oh, that’s classy,” Jai chastised.

  “Man. Bleeding. Needs surgery.”

  Jai sighed. “Well, if you’re going to get pushy about it ...”

  Cella shook her head and grabbed her cell phone from inside her locker. She speed-dialed her daughter’s number and waited for the brat to answer.

  “Hi, Ma.”

  “Hey, baby. You all right?” She made sure to check in on Meghan after every game. Although, she didn’t know why she bothered. The kid always seemed so put out.

  “I’m fine.” Then Cella mouthed along with her daughter’s next word, “Studying.”

  Of course, she was. “Well, I shouldn’t be too late tonight.”

  “And that affects me how?”

  “Could you at least pretend to care if I come home? Would it kill you?”

  “It’s not that I don’t care. I’m just at the college library with Josie. It’s open late. Uncle Tommy’s picking us up when we’re done and then Josie and I are spending the night at Aunt Kathleen’s.”

  “Why?”

  “Babysitting some cousins. Now, did you kill anyone tonight or did you allow them all to make it out alive?”

  “No, smart-ass. I didn’t kill anyone.” With the phone caught between her raised shoulder and ear, Cella pulled on a pair of panties and then a pair of grey sweatpants.

  “Then just your usual mayhem?”

  “Can’t disappoint the fans.” She reached for a bra. “Hey, I was thinking—”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Okay. Finish.”

  “I thought we could go and get a mani-pedi and our hair—”

  “No.”

  “Again, you didn’t let me finish and why not?”

  “I’ve got too much to do.”

  “You’re seventeen, not forty working for a Fortune 500 company. Get over yourself.” Cella tugged her bra until it fit perfectly, then said, “I don’t know where you got this haughty, superior, ‘I’m better than everyone’ attitude you’ve draped yourself in but ...” Cella’s words faded away when she realized that her female teammates were hysterically laughing at her.

  “You don’t know?” one sow bellowed over all the laughter. “How could you not know?”

  “Anything else, Ma, or can I leave you to the comedy stylings of your teammates?” Smug and ungrateful. That was the kid Cella had been cursed with.

  “I’ll talk to you in the morning.”

  “Love you.”

  “Love you, too.” Cella disconnected the call and roared at her teammates, but that only made them laugh harder.

  “So when are you coming to the Island to meet the rest of the family?”

  Crush froze. He wanted to scream, “Never!” But he knew that would be a bad idea. They were now in the hallway outside the locker rooms and it was packed with family and friends of the Carnivores and word seemed to have already spread that he was, somehow, the boyfriend of Bare Knuckles. A player he considered kind of reprehensible since she seemed to fight more than skate.

  “Uhhhh ... that’s up to your daughter?”

  “Well, make it soon.” Nice Guy gave a small shrug. “Trust me on this.”

  Not sure what he was talking about and, to be honest, not really caring, Crush said, “Sure. Will do.” It was the same answer he gave his bosses when he didn’t know what they were talking about and didn’t care.

  The Marauder came out of the locker room, his well-known and vicious scowl leading the way. With that expression on his face, you’d think the team had lost. But they hadn’t. Although, they had barely won.

  Still, there seemed to be one thing that could make the Marauder smile no matter what, and she was skating toward him on those skates with four wheels, bruises on her face and drops of blood on her tank top.

  Blayne skated her way through the crowd and threw herself into his arms. Novikov lifted her up, hugging her close.

  “You were the best!” Blayne cheered. Crush noticed that the wolfdog seemed to cheer a lot. Was she a cheerleader in high school?

  “Did you even see the game?” Novikov asked, his smile still there.

  “What does that have to do with anything? You’re always the best.” She hugged the behemoth again and then she s
potted Crush. “Hi, Crush!”

  Although Crush wasn’t much of a smiler, he couldn’t help himself around her. She was just so damn cheerful. “Hiya, Blayne.”

  She smiled, peeking over at Nice Guy, and observed, “I see Malone made it up to you.”

  “Yeah, she did.”

  Blayne leaned in a bit, her arms still around the Marauder, and whispered loudly enough to be heard ten miles away, “You look so good with your haircut! Isn’t Gwenie the best?”

  “Yes, she is.” He motioned to her bruised face. “Fistfight?”

  “Nope. Derby training.”

  “Looks tough.”

  Novikov snorted. “Chicks in shorts. It’s terrifying.”

  “Shut. Up.” Blayne looked back at Crush and asked with all sincerity, “And why didn’t you tell me you’re Cella’s boyfriend?”

  Even though Crush wasn’t and he was definitely freaked out that the rumor had already spread past the hockey players and, it seemed, throughout the Sports Center, the bear in Crush still had to ask, “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would I tell you that?”

  “Because we’re friends!”

  “We are?”

  “Ya are now,” Novikov muttered.

  “Of course, we are. I like you.”

  “You don’t even know me.”

  “Please,” Novikov suddenly cut in, “don’t use bear-logic on her. It’s completely ineffectual and brings on tears when she gets frustrated. Just accept she likes you and go about your day.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “As her father says, ‘There are always bigger battles ahead.’ ”

  “You know,” Blayne snapped, “I am right here listening to both of you.”

  Malone walked out of the women’s locker room. She wore grey sweatpants and a white T-shirt, her hair and body freshly washed, all her wounds and bruises tended. Crush watched Malone go up on her toes and look over the crowd. When she spotted them, she came over.

  “Hey.”

  “You did great, baby.” Her father hugged her.

  “Thanks, Daddy. You going out now?”

  “Just for a few drinks with the boys. Gotta get home to your mom. What about you two?” He smiled. “Big plans?”