The tension had come to a head in the locker room, minutes before Mr. Murphy had barged in. Rachel had been pissed when she learned she was playing third line. And of course her anger had been directed at Taylor, because somehow it was all Taylor's fault. They'd gotten up into each other's faces, had damn near come to blows before Coach Reynolds separated them—
And quietly told Taylor to handle it. She had tried—but it hadn't worked. Rachel had stormed off, shooting dirty looks her way as she huddled with Jordyn and Amanda, no doubt plotting some twisted revenge. Or maybe just wishing death and dismemberment on her.
To make matters worse, the team's play had gone to shit during the first period and Coach had changed the lines around, finally moving Rachel up with Taylor for a few plays.
And now it looked like Rachel was deliberately screwing up. But why? It made no sense.
Taylor ground her teeth together, feeling the mouthpiece give a little under the pressure. Screw it. She couldn't worry about Rachel right now, not when it meant risking a scoring chance. She tapped her stick on the ice, trying to get Dani's attention, then spun around and used her stick to push against the defenseman who kept getting in her way.
She managed to free herself and moved forward two feet when the whistle split the air. Taylor slid to a stop, glancing at the ref in surprise when he pointed at her and clenched both fists, moving them out straight out from his chest.
"Number 67. Two minutes. Cross-checking."
"What? No way." Taylor started to move closer but Sammie skated toward her, stopping her.
"Taylor, don't. You know better."
Taylor hesitated, her eyes narrowing at the official. She bit back the words of argument that wanted to fall from her mouth and headed toward the penalty box. Rachel moved closer, a sneer marring her smooth features.
"Way to go, LeBlanc. Way to screw us over."
"Fuck you. Maybe if you'd get your head in the game—"
Sammie grabbed her elbow and pulled her away, warning flashing in her brown eyes. Taylor nodded once then skated away, wondering what the hell was wrong with her. It wasn't just the penalty—that she could at least understand. Maybe she didn't agree with it. Maybe it was borderline. Maybe it was just a bad call. She could live with that. Mostly.
But to come close to getting into it with her own teammate, right there on the ice? That was inexcusable—even if it was Rachel Woodhouse. She knew better.
She stormed into the penalty box and dropped to the bench, her hands tightening around the stick as she watched the Blades move to the penalty kill. They were down by one point. If Richmond scored on the power play, it would be Taylor's fault.
Her eyes followed the puck down the ice and she held her breath, watching as Richmond shot once, twice. Once more. Shannon caught the puck on the last shot and pulled it into her chest as the whistle split the air, calling the play dead.
Taylor breathed a sigh a of relief then looked around at the scattering of applause coming from the crowd. Except maybe crowd was being too generous. There were a thousand seats in the arena, and less than half were filled.
Hardly a crowd.
Chuckie had told her they'd sold 576 tickets. More than half, even though it didn't look like it. Not bad for their very first game, especially since it was a Saturday afternoon and the Banners had their own opening game in a few hours. At least, that's what everyone kept saying. But Taylor couldn't quite hide the disappointment that filled her every time she looked around, and she knew her teammates felt the same way.
It would be worse if they lost.
They couldn't lose. They just couldn't.
Taylor adjusted the helmet on her face then got to her feet, her eyes moving from the play on the ice to the clock as it counted down the seconds.
Fifteen seconds. Richmond was cycling the puck, looking for an opening.
Ten seconds. They took a shot, only to have Shannon deflect it off to the side.
Five seconds. Another shot, this one wide. Sammie raced for the puck, cradled it against her stick, and looked over at Taylor.
Two seconds. One…
Taylor raced out of the penalty box as Sammie shot the puck toward her. She held her breath, praying it wouldn't bounce, praying it wouldn't skip—
The puck tapped the blade of her stick like a long-lost lover coming home. Taylor twirled and took off toward the net, hearing the shouts and swearing coming from the players behind her.
But they were too far behind her, with no chance of catching her. Richmond's goalie anticipated her move and dropped into position, her left leg dragging to the side as she slid to the right. Taylor stopped, spun around, then darted to the left and flipped the puck into the air. She held her breath, watching as the goalie stretched her arm out to the side, trying to catch it. The puck tipped off her glove and hit the back of the net.
The red light flashed as the horn sounded, signaling the Blades' first official goal. Taylor dropped to one knee and slid across the ice, pumping her fist in celebration as her teammates rushed toward her.
Taylor tapped the top of Sammie's helmet as they headed toward the bench. Coach Reynolds silently watched as Taylor climbed over the boards. She didn't say a word—she didn't have to. Yes, Taylor had scored, but it had been nothing more than perfect timing. It could have easily gone the other way, with Richmond capitalizing on the power play and putting the Blades down by two.
Because Taylor had screwed up and drawn the penalty.
She nodded at the coach, letting the woman know she understood. Then she dropped to the bench and reached for one of the water bottles, her gaze scanning the scattered faces of the crowd.
She found who she was looking for a few rows behind the penalty box, where she knew they'd be. Her family: Mom and Dad, Mia and Cassie. Aunt Emily and Uncle JP and Tristan and the twins. Her mom and Aunt Emily were smiling and her sisters were both giving her the thumbs-up sign. But she saw the carefully blank expression on her father's face—and Uncle JP's as well. Yes, they were happy she scored. But there was no doubt she'd get a lecture from both of them later tonight or tomorrow at dinner.
Oh well. No more than she deserved.
She looked down the ice, her gaze searching for another familiar face. Chuckie was standing with Mr. Murphy and a group of people, a few of them with cameras. The press, such as it was. At least they looked happy. At least, she thought they did.
She took another swig of water then handed the bottle to Sammie before turning her attention back to the ice.
Yes, the Blades were finally on the board. But it was only the second period and they were tied with Richmond. A lot could happen in the next twenty-nine minutes.
They just needed to make sure it happened in their favor.
Chapter Seventeen
"Guys! Enough. Be quiet here. I'm trying to make a damn toast!" Shannon brushed the long blonde hair away from her face with an impatient swipe of one hand and raised her glass of beer. She frowned, belched, then wobbled a little on the chair. Dani laughed and grabbed her leg, holding her steady so she wouldn't fall.
Taylor laughed with everyone else when Shannon swiped at Dani's hand then nearly fell. She let out a little screech that was totally uncharacteristic for her and grabbed the back of the chair, catching herself before she toppled to the floor.
"Oops. Okay. I'm not drunk. I swear." Shannon steadied herself then grinned as she looked around the table. "Not much, anyway."
More laughter erupted around them when Shannon frowned and stared into her glass. "What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Okay. A toast. To the best fucking hockey team around!"
Cheers went up and everyone reached for their drinks. Shannon took a long swallow of the beer, belched again, then raised her glass once more. "And to Jordyn, for the game-winning goal. Which was abso-fucking-lutely beautiful, by the way!"
More cheers and applause as everyone raised their glasses in Jordyn's direction. She smiled and shot a quick glance at Taylor. "Yeah, well. It was a beautiful set-up."<
br />
Taylor simply nodded, too stunned to do more than that. Had Jordyn actually complimented her? Maybe she was reading too much into it. Or maybe it was just the alcohol talking. Yeah, that had to be it.
They'd been at The Ale House—a casual sports bar and nightclub in Timonium—for two hours already, celebrating their first win of the season. It hadn't been an easy one, and it certainly hadn't been pretty, either. But they'd won just the same, thanks to Jordyn's hard shot in the last minute of the game.
They had come here to celebrate, after the coaching staff had said their spiel in the locker room. Yes, they'd won. Yes, they had reason to celebrate. But they still had plenty to work on—all of them.
Taylor hadn't missed the way Coach Reynolds had looked at her and Rachel when she'd said that last part. And Taylor knew she had screwed up, had owned up to it. But she didn't want to dwell on that now. She wanted to celebrate, just like everyone else.
Sammie nudged her leg under the table then leaned in, her voice lowered so only Taylor could hear it. "Holy crappola. Did Jordyn Knott just give you compliment?"
"I think. Talk about miracles, huh?"
"Yup." Sammie nodded, the mop of dark curls bouncing around her face with the motion. She blew one stray curl out of her eyes and glanced around the table. "Too bad Woodhouse wants to kill you, though."
Taylor followed Sammie's gaze, swallowing back a sigh of frustration along with a hefty swig of beer. Rachel sat at the far end of the table, a scowl permanently etched on her face. She hadn't played for the last fifteen minutes of the game, and Taylor had no doubt that she was getting the blame for it.
Part of her was tempted to go over and talk to the other woman. To just…something. Clear the air. Ask her what her problem was. Have it out, once and for all.
Taylor sighed and leaned back in the chair. Talking to Rachel wouldn't help. Not here. Not now, when the other woman was still so obviously pissed off. It wouldn't be a talk, it would be an argument. Probably a loud one. Now wasn't the time for it.
The only problem was, Taylor wasn't sure there would ever be a time for it.
A bout of laughter caught her attention and she turned toward the noise, just in time to see Shannon try to jump from the chair. The move lacked her normal grace and coordination and she stumbled, hitting the edge of the table and nearly upending it. Glasses and bottles clanked as they slid, only to be caught at the last minute by several mad grabs.
"Oopsie shitty." Shannon dropped into her chair with a laugh then stared straight ahead, unblinking for a few long seconds.
Karly Durant, their backup goalie, leaned forward, a crooked smile on her face. "Somebody cut her off before she gets us thrown out."
Shannon grabbed her glass before Dani could take it, holding it close to her chest. "Hey. No. I'm good. I was just thinking."
"Oh shit. That's never good."
"No. Serious." Shannon's expression cleared and she turned toward Karly. "What did you say the number was?"
"What number?"
"People. You know—" Shannon waved her hand around, her fingers wiggling in the air. "People. Watchers. Um—"
"Spectators?" Karly helpfully supplied the word.
"Yeah. That's it. What was the number?"
"Three hundred and ninety-two."
Silence settled around the table for a few long minutes, broken only when Shannon let out a long sigh. "God. That's fucking depressing."
Taylor looked over with a frown. "Are you sure that's right?"
"Yup. I counted. Three times."
"No, that can't be right."
"Wish it wasn't but it is."
"But they sold 576 tickets. Are you sure you didn't miscount?"
"Yup. Positive." Karly tossed back the rest of her soda and put the glass back down with a heavy thud, the sound oddly loud in the silence that surrounded their table.
Sammie broke the silence with a soft question, her voice filled with the disappointment that was clear on everyone's faces. "That's probably not a good thing, is it?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Probably not." Taylor raised her glass then changed her mind and sat it back down. "I mean, it was the first game, right? Nobody can judge the attendance on just one game. I don't think."
"Do they go by ticket sales or actual bodies?"
"I have no idea. Ticket sales, I hope. I mean, the tickets are already paid for, right? That means they have the money. Isn't that what counts?"
"That's probably the only thing Mr. Murphy cares about, anyway." Heads nodded at Dani's words, most of the players in agreement—Taylor included. None of them had a good feel for the owner yet, although the general consensus was that he didn't have a clue about the sport—or the players.
Karly leaned forward, her gaze catching Taylor's. "How do you know how many tickets they sold?"
"Chuckie told me."
Several heads turned in her direction, with expressions ranging from surprise and curiosity to outright gleaming calculation—the last one coming from Rachel. Taylor turned away from the woman's narrowed glare, trying to ignore the odd shiver the look sent through her.
"When he did he tell you that?"
"Yeah. And why would he tell you?" Amanda leaned forward, expectation and something more than simple curiosity on her face.
Sammie nudged Taylor's leg under the table then pasted a bright smile on her face. "He told me, too. Last Saturday after practice."
Taylor knew the exact minute Rachel realized Sammie was lying—she saw it in the way her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed, in the spark of interest that flashed across her face. Rachel and Taylor had been the last ones at practice Saturday, because Coach had made them stay late to do laps. Rachel knew Sammie wasn't there—but Sammie didn't know that.
Taylor made a big show of laughing and nudged Sammie in the side. "You've got your days mixed up. It wasn't Saturday. It was Tuesday."
"It was? Oh. Yeah. Um. Tuesday. Sure." Sammie laughed and tilted her head from side to side like a little kid. "Silly me. You know how confused I get. Always mixing up days and—"
Taylor kicked her under the table before she could say anything else. Sammie's mouth snapped shut and she reached for the glass of wine she had been sipping all night.
"Who cares when he told you. What I want to know is, what are they going to worry about more: the sales, or the bodies?"
Shannon reached across the table for the pitcher of beer and refilled her glass. "Why are we even worrying about this? There's nothing we can do about it and it's too freaking depressing anyway. Let's talk about something else. Like Chuckie's fine ass. That man is certainly sweet on the eyes."
Laughter erupted around the table, dissipating the odd tension that had been hovering over it seconds earlier. Taylor shot the goalie a warning glance, wondering why in the hell Shannon had taken the conversation in that direction. She certainly didn't feel like listening to everyone talk about Chuckie, especially not like that. And not with the way Rachel was suddenly paying close attention to every word.
Sammie must have picked up on her discomfort because she leaned forward, catching Jordyn's attention. "So how did the interview go after the game? Did they ask you any stupid questions?"
"No, not really. I mean, a few of them were kind of stupid but it was mostly good. I guess." Jordyn looked around the table and shrugged. "I've never done an interview before so I'm not sure. Not like it matters, anyway."
"How can you say that? Of course, it matters."
"No, it doesn't. It probably won't even air. Face it—nobody cares about the league or the team."
Silence fell over the table once more, its weight oppressive and smothering. Shannon swore, loud, then pushed away from the table.
"God, this is such bullshit, guys. Come on, we need to stop. We're supposed to be celebrating, right? No more game talk. It is what it is for right now, and there's nothing we can do about it. So let's go celebrate."
Dani reached up and tugged on her arm. "Hey, genius. We are celebrating. S
it down before you get us thrown out or something."
"This isn't a celebration. And we're not going to get thrown out. We need to do something besides sit here. We won, guys! Our first game. That's something to be proud of." Shannon leaned down and grabbed Dani, pulling her to her feet. Then she hurried around the table, grabbing one player after another until everyone was standing—everyone except Rachel and Amanda, who were too busy whispering to each other.
"Wiley, why are we all standing around here?"
"Because we're not standing. We're walking. Come on, let's go. One foot after another—"
"Walking where?"
Shannon pointed to the door leading to the nightclub side. "Right through there. And then we're all going to have a few more drinks and dance until we forget all this depressing bullshit."
"Shannon, it's too early. There's probably nobody over there."
"That just means we'll have the place to ourselves. Come on, guys, get moving."
A soft mix of laughter and groans greeted her commands, yet everyone started moving toward the nightclub. Taylor glanced over her shoulder, not surprised to see Rachel and Amanda still sitting there, deep in heavy conversation, their gazes darting to hers and quickly moving away. Her stomach started to knot as she wondered what they were talking about, then she realized she didn't care.
"Just ignore them. It's not worth worrying about."
Taylor spun around, surprised to see Jordyn standing there. She was even more surprised at her words. Jordyn pushed the dark hair out of her face, the corner of her mouth tilting in something close to a smile. "Rachel's dealing with some…stuff. You know?"
"No, not really. And what does that have to do with me?"
"Nothing, except she needs someone to take it out on."
"Lucky me."
"Yeah, well. It doesn't help that she's jealous of you. And that she doesn't like you."
"Wow. Really? I couldn't tell."
Winning Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 1) Page 12
