Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “He’s not, Dad. But I get it. Let Hallie and her team take a look into this–a quiet look.”

  “We can investigate without Deacon knowing.” Hallie took another sip of her coffee. “It seems to be our specialty. I can handle it myself.”

  “So you’ll call Brooke?” The question earned a sharp look from her granddaughter. No doubt Patty would hear about it after the men left.

  “I’ll go over details with Gage and then decide. It might be faster for us to stay close as a couple.”

  Patty opened her mouth to argue, but snapped it shut again. If she pressed the issue, Hallie would become more suspicious. If necessary, Patty could come clean. But that meant spilling the beans about her special gift…seeing a person’s love arc.

  She wasn’t ready for her grandchildren to know the ability existed or that it was the ulterior motive for Bodyguards in Heels. They’d scatter back to their respective cities and she’d never be able to help them find love.

  They also needed her to learn to cope with their own gifts. Who would teach them?

  “Agreed. But if there’s a dangerous threat, we’ve got to tell him. He might need to curtail his public life at that point.” Gage pointed a finger at his father.

  “Absolutely. By then you’d have answers. I think his team management would force him to be more responsible when it’s not just supposition.” Robert stood to leave. “You’ll begin watching him at the club tonight?”

  Gage mumbled something indistinguishable and covered his face. Patty understood that he wanted his father to treat his younger brother as an adult. She might argue with Robert once she knew him a bit better. But at the moment, it helped her plan to have him over-protective.

  Deacon needed to meet Brooke. They were destined to fall in love. She was more than ready to give them a little nudge in the right direction. What happened after that was entirely up to them.

  3

  Deacon missed the Country Club life as much as a rash on top of a sunburn. He hadn’t missed the tie that symbolized a choking noose around his neck either.

  Crazy, but a tie felt different when traveling with the team. He didn’t mind those at all–or feel chafed. He’d packed light to come home, not intending to stay more than a day or two. Suits had been left at the loft. Yet several were hanging in the guest closet and hoo-freakin’-raw they were his size.

  Like the dutiful son, he’d put on the clothes that matched the life he didn’t want and went to the small dinner. Small–as in no more than a hundred people who knew as little about hockey as his parents.

  He’d done his interviews during the day and should have been partying at night. Celebrating in better ways than at a local country club. But to keep his mother happy, he’d gone with them for the fifth night in a row. His hopes of sneaking away had been shattered each time his mother happily pointed to him. He hadn’t had the heart.

  For once his parents seemed pleasantly accepting. Treating him as a successful child instead of the black sheep.

  Besides, he needed the rest. Cracked ribs, muscle aches, and from people. Since making the conference finals, the team had been bombarded with people. He couldn’t walk into a convenience store without someone clapping him on the back or squealing and asking for a selfie. Even in the country club, some of his father’s friends acted like teenage girls face-to-face with their favorite boyband singer.

  The parental gatherings did have one thing going for them…open bars.

  And a major looker in a slinky red-hot slip of a dress. She was younger than most in the room and didn’t have a TV crew following her around. He raised his eyes after devouring the way the dress clung to her…everything.

  Caught.

  Eyes back in his head, he couldn’t shrug off the knowing look she cast his way. She tipped her glass in his direction. Inviting, tall, hair the color of wheat and a neckline that plunged between two perfect breasts he immediately wanted to explore.

  Puck bunny alert.

  Recognizing the type of young women who tried to hook-up with hockey players was easy. Hanging with bunnies? Not his thing.

  Returning his attention to his empty glass, he kept it there afraid to look at the cool blonde. Then again, her compelling body had him sneaking peeks whenever she turned away.

  Maybe she would be the exception to his bunny rule. He had no idea how she’d broached the hallowed country club set and didn’t exactly care. Empty glass on the bar, he was ready to find out.

  “There you are, Deacon.” His brother’s slap on his shoulder doused his resignation of potential bunny love.

  “How are you getting away with wearing jeans, bro?”

  “Our mother didn’t dress me.” Gage laughed. “What do you think about leaving and raising a ruckus?”

  I was just about to. Just not with my brother.

  “I was thinking along those same lines.” He pulled his tie noose loose while searching for the tall blonde, toying with the idea to extend an invitation. Dammit. Nowhere in sight.

  “Totally out of your league, man.”

  “You know her?”

  “Let’s go somewhere fun.” Gage ushered him out the front door.

  “I thought you were collared, big brother. Doesn’t Hallie have a leash–” His brother’s girlfriend pulled up behind the wheel, driving their older brother’s classic Charger. When the prodigal was away…

  “You were saying?” Gage opened both passenger doors and Hallie gunned it before his butt hit the seat.

  “So where’s the party?” he asked, swallowing hard when she ran the second stop sign.

  He might fly on the ice. Might even drive his car a bit fast occasionally. But Hallie was taking everything from the car it would give. He had to sit back, buckle up and appreciate the woman’s skills.

  Too bad she was already taken.

  “Damn, this car moves.” They zipped out of the city limits in silence until Hallie came to a sliding halt on a small farm road.

  Gage popped out of the car without a word.

  Freakin’ hell.

  Whatever he’d been rescued from at the country club was better than whatever his brother was about to lay on him. He’d been here before. The middle Sanders son seemed to always be the one who was sent with bad news for baby brother.

  “What the hell’s going on, Gage?” More scared than angry, Deacon slammed his door and joined his brother walking away from the car.

  “Dad’s received several letters threatening you and threatening to disrupt your time with the Cup. He didn’t want to tell you about it. We’ve been arguing with him for several days. Stupid to debate it. You need to know.” Gage cleared his throat, clearly nervous. “This is the first time we’ve been able to get you out of Dad’s sight.”

  Relief struck him like a full body check. He physically stumbled backward a couple of steps when he released the air from his lungs.

  “God man, I thought you were going to say Mom was dying or something like Clint was dead.”

  “What? No. What are you laughing at?” Gage asked.

  “This. Secrecy. Getting me away from Dad. Backroads in the prodigal’s car. And threatening letters.”

  “Your team security has notified the Cup’s escort, the city of McKinney, even Dallas PD are on alert.”

  Deacon clapped a hand around his brother’s shoulder. “We get these sorts of threats all the time. They’re no big deal. A fan gets pissed, writes a letter or posts something online and that’s pretty much the end of it.” He lifted the door handle hoping they were done.

  Maybe the chick at the country club was still there. Or maybe–

  Gage shut the door. “You’ve gotta take this seriously. Dammit, don’t prove Dad right.”

  “We get letters like this practically every game. Man, it’s nothing. Back in the minors, I had a fan toss a beer in my face. The team gave him a couple of free tickets.”

  If he was an FBI agent, then he might take things like this literally, too. Like usual, his brother wouldn�
�t shrug it off.

  “Dammit to hell and back, Deacon. This is legit.”

  Leaning against the hood, Deacon pulled his hands from the heated engine. Hot car. Hot engine. Hot conversation. Nothing would cool this down except him giving in.

  And he wasn’t giving in. Not this time. This was his area of expertise. His life. His experience. They all should be listening to him.

  “So I’m the irresponsible baby brother again. Is that it? Can’t I enjoy being a hockey star for five minutes before you and Dad are controlling my movements?”

  “Oh come on!” Gage threw his hands up, dropping one behind his neck before turning to face him again.

  “No. You come on. I’m twenty-six years old, man. Twenty-six. I appreciate what you did to help me get here. But I’m here. This is my time. I’m going to handle things my way.” He opened the front door and waved his brother inside the car like a doorman. “Alone.”

  They got in the car.

  Hallie tapped her nail against the steering wheel. “All by yourself?” she asked in a sweet voice.

  “Just as soon as you take me home.”

  “You can’t leave it like this.”

  Speaking to him or his brother? Didn’t matter. Neither of them responded. She didn’t start the engine. One window down did nothing to help the hot night. He was not–not–going to be the first to say anything.

  Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

  Nothing except sweat on his brow.

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  “Gage.” Hallie’s inflection pleaded with his brother.

  Okay, so she cared. He could get behind her finally hooking up with his brother after all the years they’d known each other. But he couldn’t give in. This was practically his first grand stand. He’d only defied his parents once.

  Okay…once in a major way.

  Clint, he didn’t really know. There were too many years and too much playboy attitude separating them, but he’d hurt his parents by taking his inheritance and traveling the world. And then there was Gage. His solid brother who really worked for a living, taking major bad guys off the street. A kid brother had to admire that.

  But he didn’t have to bend to the man’s every suggestion.

  “At one time, I wanted to be just like you.” Yeah, he’d said the thought out loud. “Until I found hockey.”

  “Then there was nothing else,” Gage answered quietly.

  “Right,” he released as a long syllable. “I know the game.”

  “I know threats.”

  “Yeah, I get that.”

  “You should know that he took up for you with your dad. He claimed you were an adult.” Hallie laughed a little under her hand. “I argued for you, too. Be smart about this, Deacon. Or I might have to change my mind.”

  “Look, If the association knows, I’m covered. The Cup is never without a guard. When I’m with the Cup…I’m never without a guard either. That’s as responsible as I want to get.”

  “Okay.” Hallie revved the engine. “We tried.”

  They took him home instead of back to his dad’s never-ending club party. The blonde was sure to have been long gone from there anyway. To be honest, he needed a change.

  He’d just played the best season of his life. He should be on top of the world, but all he could think about–and what a bummer to realize... The only female he had to share it with was his mother.

  Yeah. He needed a change. And in spite of what his brother thought… In spite of what he might say… He was definitely ready to grow up.

  4

  CUP DAY

  DEACON SANDERS RETURNS HOME.

  Brooke Henderson read the McKinney hometown paper’s headline waiting on the band to pass by. She didn’t need to glance at the screen again. She knew all the details of this case.

  A case. A job. Something to make her feel useful again.

  Useful and little bit giddy. Not that she’d admit the giddy part to anyone. Ever. The man she’d been hired to watch–actually hired–none other than Tripp Sanders.

  Cue the fangirl moment.

  The picture on her phone was a then and now thing. Then–him in high school. Now–him scoring the winning goal of game six. Her personal favorite picture–scoring throughout the season or a pose as a nice-looking hockey star.

  Nope. The one on her laptop screen saver happened before he’d ever touched major league ice. It’s how he’d gotten his team nickname of Tripp. Somehow he looked more human and less perfect flopped on his belly on the locker room floor after having forgotten to tie his laces.

  It was ten in the morning and the noise from the parade crowd was minimal. Thank God this thing was scheduled before the heat of the day could really snatch your breath away. But it was still hot as hell standing in the sun. She’d forgotten just how bad Texas could get.

  Watching the home-town parade was like taking a step back in time. McKinney was actually larger than where she’d gone to grade school. Larger and more populated. Still, the windows were decorated like when she’d been a little girl in Shamrock near Amarillo, taking her back to a simpler time. Before they’d moved to the next town, or the next…or even the next.

  Backs of flatbeds filled with cheerleaders of every age served as simple floats. The local youth hockey association were dressed in gear and must be sweltering The firetruck. A police car. Two marching bands and even two orchestras. Seeing them play a violin as they walked along was something to witness.

  The horse club. The national 4-h club. And then a shiny red convertible with the hero of the day. Tripp Sanders was in his over-sized jersey on the back of the seat. He held the Cup one-handed on this lap, then lifted it with both over his head.

  Fangirl giggle.

  A long-time watcher of hockey, she’d quickly become an admirer of the young New Orleans Rage team. She took a couple of pictures along with the rest of the people behind the barricade.

  The convertible approached slowly, pausing just on the other side of the intersection. Deacon Sanders waved happily, the bright smile hadn’t faded at the end of the parade. This was her chance to stare as long as she wanted without any explanations. She’d be one of the hundreds in the crowd.

  While she applied her evaluation, determining if he was more tan than the last photograph reported, the crowd pushed her a little further into the street. She compared his good looks to all his pictures. Okay, she hadn’t had many doubts since there were an awful lot of pictures of his smile. But while taking her time looking him over, he’d looked up and their eyes met.

  Her first glance... The one that should have gone unnoticed. Should have been inconspicuous for someone flying under the radar. Complete failure.

  No over-sized jersey could hide the athleticism in every muscle. Sandy-brown hair…longer than he wore it in the season. Or maybe it just looked longer without a helmet and hockey mask pushing his flow away from his face. Whatever. She liked it sweaty or jutting out from under a championship ball cap.

  Aristocratic nose...broken twice and carefully straightened. Square chin with three scars from pucks or sticks. And slate-grey eyes that continued to hold her in awe.

  She couldn’t look away from the live version.

  She almost raised her hand to wave back–like many in the crowd. Stopping herself at the last moment, she dropped her arm and tucked her fingertips in her back pockets so it wouldn’t happen again. The last thing she needed was to have him recognize her later on at another event.

  She was supposed to be in stealth mode. Follow without engaging. She did want to stare though. Sunshine bounced off the Cup, forcing her to blink and shade her eyes. When she looked up, Deacon was looking her direction.

  No. Not just in her direction, he looked straight at her, turning to look at her longer. She kept her hand in place, looking back without him knowing. Surely, he’d turn the other direction and wave at the other side of the street.

  But the amazement in his eyes grabbed her, penetrating a place she kept hidden. Her hand fell to her side. The
y were openly gawking at each other.

  The wall her mother and aunt had taught her to quickly erect, punctured. Repair it. Sure. She could do that. No problem.

  So why couldn’t she plug up that hole?

  Problem? Yes. Him. Tripp. Deacon. Hockey player. Gorgeous. Yes. He was the problem.

  A definite problem.

  Deacon’s car continued down Main Street. The last police car passed by and people headed back to their normal day.

  Brooke recognized the looks. Too late she remembered the crack, fissure, hole…whatever anyone with her curse wanted to call it. The pheromones she kept hidden and on shut-down had escaped. Were still escaping from the imaginary fracture that kept everything under control.

  People walked near her like passing through an invisible mist.

  As soon as someone breathed it they were affected. The unseen bubbles popped and were inhaled like a drug. Smiles. Winks. Suggestive nods. Cute little waves. All outward signs that she had to fix this. Fast.

  “Oh, God.”

  The words escaped as a young couple approached and the man put his hat in front of his crotch. That had happened more than once since she’d been a teen.

  Running made it worse, causing the pheromones to escape quicker. She backed up, placing her shoulders against the cool brick of the old downtown building. Closing her eyes, she visualized plugging the hole and covering it with a layer of cement. She hummed the tune her grandmother had insisted on. Then she did it all again.

  She wouldn’t let this haunting curse ruin her chances to work. She was more than ready and up to the challenge. She was damn good at what she did.

  No one paid any attention to her when she brought herself back to the street corner. The parade crowd dispersed, traffic was back to normal and so was she. Proven by the non-sexual, casual glances.

  Her phone vibrated.

  Shoot.

  “Hey, Grammy. What’s up?”

  “I’m checking in for Hallie, dear. She wants to know how the parade went at your end? Any suspicious characters?”

  “No, ma’am.”