by Avery Flynn
“Hallie…”
“Don’t worry. It’s cool and there’s nothing to worry about. You’ll be fine. We’ll both have our spidey senses on alert.”
Alone, she found a parking lot and took a second to reinforce the barriers around her…gift. Building not only imaginary walls, but her confidence.
I can do this.
There’s no reason she couldn’t.
Just no kissing. Or slow dancing. Or touching of any sort.
8
One last look in the mirror and she was ready. She had the dress, the make-up, the heels. Everything was in place to grab Deacon’s attention. She applied her lipstick and dapped her lips against a tissue like her mother had taught her. Old habits were hard to break.
The public celebration was surrounded by cops and private security. She could spot them every few feet. Closer next to the Cup.
This day had been stolen from her love.
Deacon Sanders would pay for stealing it.
She’d warned him. She’d warned them all.
And yet they were here. Rubbing it in her face. In his face. Making her love feel bad. Well, she’d show them. She’d show them all. It didn’t matter how many guards they kept near him or the stupid Cup.
She left the restroom and adjusted the long string of her purse higher on her shoulder. Unclicking the clasp, she slipped her fingers around the handle of the revolver. She knew nothing about guns except to point and shoot. This one had six bullets. Six chances to get the job done.
As long as she got close enough, she could pull the trigger from inside her sequined bag and no one would ever see it.
Oh how she hated him. Number twenty-seven. Deacon “Tripp” Sanders. Twenty-six years old from Dallas, Texas. Attended a private school where he learned to play hockey. Ivy league college that his rich parents paid for. He dropped out to play in the minors and took her love’s spot with the Cajun Rage.
He was a bad person even if he was smiling and taking pictures with every fan who asked.
But that was how she could get close. Her fingers slipped to her phone. The woman assisting would take a picture of the moment she killed him. Then everyone would know and realize why she was forced to take care of him.
“Hey, you wanna dance?” A man cupped her shoulder with his sweaty palm.
“No! Of course not. My heart already belongs to someone.” She backed up until she hit a chair next to the wall.
“Don’t get so loud. I didn’t think you were with anybody. No problem.”
The man threw up his hands like she was pointing the gun at him. She smoothed the metal, assuring herself it was still concealed in her fancy purse.
He made his way to the next woman close to the dance floor.
Deacon Sanders spoke with a couple at a nearby table. Laughing. Smiling–she detested his perfect toothy grin. People came up to a man in a suit, handed the woman their camera or phone and they dropped money in the big silver trophy.
Then Deacon joined them for another photo. Number twenty-seven would shake their hand, move in close and the suit guy said smile.
It would all be over soon. There were only a couple of people before her. Fans dressed in their knock-off Cajun Rage jerseys. Well she had her own very special jersey that had been worn on the ice. No one could take that from her even if Deacon Sanders had stolen her love.
“Attention everybody. Time’s running out to get your picture made with the Cup. Remember it’s a five-dollar donation which is going to the Children’s Hospital in Dallas.”
The announcement sent her into a panic searching through her small purse. Did she have five more dollars? Would all this be for nothing if she couldn’t pay for the stupid picture and get close to Deacon Sanders?
She found her money and had everything back in place with the gun firmly in her grasp. Moving slowly and avoiding eye contact with the security spread throughout the room, she was almost there.
The stupid man barely stopped talking to the couple who acted like they knew him while taking the pictures. He kept looking past them toward the door. Then his face lit up. She’d just thought he’d been smiling before. The joy beaming from his eyes was just like what she felt when she saw her love.
There was one person in front of her. But they stopped.
“Excuse me. I’ll be right back,” he said without looking at his line. He took off toward the door. “She’s with me, fellas. No cover charge.”
She’d seen the woman at the parade. She was hard to miss being so tall and beautiful.
“What’s Brooke doing?” She heard the man who was Deacon’s friend ask.
“She’s the woman he’s been waiting for,” the woman answered.
“How’s she supposed to do her job if she’s his date?” His voice raised in irritation.
Her job? What kind of a job could a beautiful woman do at a party?
“Don’t get upset and just act normal. If you think about it, she’s just about as close as she can be to keep an eye on him.”
“That’s a little too close if you ask me.”
“No one’s asking you, Gage.”
She backed up to a high-top table and scooted onto the chair to get a better look. Yes, the man was right. Deacon and the woman, Brooke, were hip to hip walking back toward his table. His arm was tight around her skinny waist. The joy he felt was very apparent.
She wouldn’t be able to get close to him now.
This Brooke person had ruined everything.
But she recognized the male hunger Deacon exuded. He wanted her. It was in the possessive way he held her next to him.
Maybe she could get close enough. Maybe not here. She’d wait for the perfect opportunity so she wouldn’t miss.
Thank, God, there was more than one bullet.
9
Deacon met his mystery woman at the front door. He’d been pretty certain that his luck wasn’t as good as his mother had predicted. As soon as he saw the dark hair, he began thinking of a way to leave his own party…early.
“Before I introduce you around… Maybe I should know your name.” He liked the way she fit into his side. Not too tall. Not too short. And her legs were everything he’d imagined they’d be. Better even.
“Brooke Henderson.”
“I’m glad you came, Brooke.” He guided her back to Gage and Hallie. And the line of people waiting to have their picture made with the Cup. “The fundraising part of the night should be over in about twenty minutes or so. Then we can have some fun. Sound okay?”
“Sounds great.” Her voice was a little less than enthusiastic.
Of course he didn’t really know her or have anything to judge by, but she did take a deep breath just before he got back to his place.
“Hallie. Gage. This is Brooke Henderson. Be nice to her. I want her to stay around will I take care of the fans.”
The normal pleasantries were exchanged and he took his place again. He genuinely liked interacting with the fans. One by one they came from the front of the line, handed their cell phone to the PR team, and dropped their money in the Cup. Then he’d drop his arm around their shoulder, ask their name, smile and they were done.
The line had grown since the announcement. He greeted each of them as quickly as possible and tried to keep his thoughts on responding and paying attention. But his mind wandered.
Hey, it was his birthday.
A hot woman following him had shown up for this thing.
Okay, she was more than hot. She was melt-the-ice hot. He couldn’t keep his eyes off the way her dress clung to her hips. Or how…
“Tripp? You still here, man?” Harlan said. “Smile.”
Deacon returned his attention to the picture. Fans were hilarious trying to out-do each other with their poses or what they wanted him to sign. The public relations team were taking their own pictures and posting to the team’s social media. They were also sending notifications on how much money they raised.
Armed guards were standing just to the sides
of the Cup to deter any ideas of stealing the money. They also emptied the Cup’s bowl regularly. Whenever they did, fans wanted him to raise it or help them lift it over their heads.
“We’re almost to three thousand dollars, Tripp. That’ll put us over six thou’ whenever your family sends matching funds. You’ve done a great job,” Harlan congratulated. “I know time’s up, but do you think you can hold out for a few more?”
“Sure.”
Waiting on the next fan to pay and hand over his phone, Deacon watched his mystery woman. Or Brooke. He liked thinking of her as a mystery. Possibly a relationship in the future. More than he’d had in a while. Or maybe ever. He wasn’t too good with anything except hockey.
The conversation she was having with his brother seemed to be a little tense. None of them were smiling, certainly not laughing. Weird that none of them had ordered drinks.
The next fan came and went. “Harlan. Send some drinks to my brother’s table, will ya?”
“Ideas?”
“Tequila and beer.”
“You got it, man.”
His next fan looked familiar. Had he seen her before or just passed her earlier tonight. There was some confusion about her phone. She asked if it could be a selfie. He was just about to say it was okay, but Brooke raised her shot toward him.
He knew what she’d taste like when he was done here. Man, did he want to taste her again. He’d steal a kiss as soon as he could call her over for her own fan pic.
“Ladies and gentleman, cowboys and cowgirls, Rajun Cajun and Deacon Sanders fans! Thank you for helping us raise over six thousand dollars for the Dallas Children’s Medical Center. Your fan participation has been awesome tonight.” The announcer paused while the people in the club clapped and cheered. “Did you know that it’s Deacon “Tripp” Sanders’ birthday? Let’s all sing along.”
The music played, the club sang along. Someone pushed a beer into his hands. Another somebody pushed a chair for him to stand in. He waved until the song ended.
“Thanks everybody. On that note, I think I’ll be joining my girl to celebrate.”
Stepping off the chair, he thought he was done for the night. Time for a bit of private celebrating. The Cup would leave the premises along with all the guards and security. He might even grab a dance or two with Brooke. He wanted to explore more of that gorgeousness. His eyes locked with hers.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs. Unexpected. Sucker punched jumped into his head. The ache in his side might have been from the hit to his on-going recovering ribs. The crash into the table took another second to register. Someone was punching his kidneys.
Really punching.
Training kicked in. Hockey defense without dropping his stick or gloves to the ice. He punched back. Rolled. He had no idea who he fought until the acid-dripping words hit his ears.
“You son-of-bitch poser! You stole my slot! That should be my day with the Cup!”
Darrin Lewandoski rolled on top of him and was immediately pulled off by two men the size of professional linebackers. The extra security held the ex-Rage player on the floor. One of them had his knee in the hockey player’s back.
“Is that really necessary guys?” Deacon sat up, holding his side, trying to breath normally.
“Are you okay?” Everybody was asking him.
Cops joined the guards, hauling Darrin to his feet.
This wasn’t good. “I’m not pressing charges.”
“That’s not up to you, Mr. Sanders. We take this very seriously,” someone he’d met earlier said. The guy worked for the club, but Deacon couldn’t remember his name.
“Watch the broken glass, people.”
“Tripp, they’ve got the Cup and are heading out,” Harlan said. “Want us to take you back to the hotel?”
“Naw. My brother’s here. Do they really have to charge him?”
“Let me through, dammit. Deacon,” Gage called. “You know I’m his brother.”
“Sorry, man. Nobody gets over there until–”
“Were good, Paul.” Harlan waved his brother through.
“All clear,” the official keeper of the Cup yelled.
Gage, Hallie and Brooke rushed to his side, kneeling beside him.
“There’s nothing wrong, guys. I’ve been hit harder on the ice.”
“You wear pads during a game. It looked like he hit you in your ribs.” Brooke flashed him a long length of thigh as she tucked the short dress to where it wouldn’t show anything else.
God, his night with the Cup had just been turned into a headline and all he could think about was just how silky that dress might be. Lewandowski must have hit him in the head harder than he realized.
“Come on, let’s get you off the floor, Tripp.”
How Brooke intended to lift him from her position and with those heels, he had no idea. But he definitely wanted her to try. Unfortunately, his brother stepped in, looped his hands under his armpits, and gave him a tug upwards.
“Come on, Tripp,” his brother emphasized the nickname. “Let’s get you cleaned up before more unflattering pictures go viral. “Dad’s going to love this.”
Back on his feet, he waved and shouted to the crowd that he was all right. Gage had been right, he could taste the blood on his lip and needed to get presentable.
“How bad did it look?”
“I’m sure you’ll be able to see most of it online soon. Everybody had their phones out recording your happy birthday moment.”
“Great.”
A look in the mirror confirmed he’d have a bruised cheek for tomorrow’s activities. But it wasn’t bad. The TV stations make-up artist could fix it before he went on the air for his interview. The only outward sign–besides a drop or two of blood on his shirt–was the split lip. He’d received much worse during the championship games.
“That guy was traded when you moved up?”
“Yeah. I thought he was in Arizona.”
“Apparently not.”
“Do you think he’s the one who wrote the letters you and dad were worried about?”
“Are worried about. It’s a current situation that involves more than just me and dad being worried.”
“But he already charged me, disrupted activities. Doesn’t that take care of it?”
“Not even, little brother. You still get round-the-clock protection. They’ll be at the hotel waiting for you when you arrive and will remain as close as a shadow after you leave. Don’t try to talk any of us out of it.”
“I get it.” He shook his brother’s shoulder. “But you and Hallie should have some fun. You’re only here for another couple of days. Right? You fly back to New York. You’ve used a lot of time off because of me.”
“You’re worth it. If I haven’t told you recently, I’m proud of you.” They man hugged, clapping each other on the back. “By the way, happy birthday.”
“Yeah, even with this,” he paused to rub his jaw. “I think it’s been pretty cool. I’ll give mom extra points for scheduling things today.”
Gage did the thing with his mouth he always did when he was deciding whether or not to say something. Mainly unwanted career advice. Couldn’t be that this time.
“Just spit it out, Bro.”
“I was just wondering why you seem so interested in this woman you asked to come tonight. She doesn’t seem like your type.”
“Beautiful isn’t my type?” He had to laugh as they walked into the club’s main room again.
“Intelligent and legal to drink.”
“Now that was a low blow that requires no response.”
“She’s just not your regular puck bunny. That’s all.”
“You’re right about that.” He’d actually ruled that description out. Even after the kiss in the stairwell.
“You okay, Deacon?” Hallie asked as they got back to the table.
“Yes. I hope you weren’t scared off, Brooke.”
“Not at all. I was never a fan of Lewandowski when he was on the Raj
uns. He’s definitely lost any fan loyalty of mine. You didn’t cause him to lose his spot. Not putting the puck in the net did. He’d also lost a lot of his speed over the past two years. He’s much slower out there than in previous seasons.”
“You know about hockey?” Hallie asked as the waitress delivered another round of drinks.
“I’ve been a fan since my teens. It’s the one thing my dad and I did together after my parents split.”
“Cool.” He tipped the bottle, careful to avoid the split on his lip. “I told you she was intelligent.”
“I think I was the one who told you.” Gage clapped him on the back.
The Cup was gone and the fans were respecting his space. He was ready to celebrate his birthday now. The band had started up. He recognized the song and might be able to move to it.
“Feel like dancing?” Brooke asked.
“I do.”
They had a table next to the floor so it wasn’t a long walk, but getting his hands back on Brooke’s body for any amount of time was a pleasure. They danced, moving around like everyone else, then the band changed the pace switching to a slow song. Brooke began to walk away. He caught her hand, twirling her back into his arms.
“You good?” he asked.
“If you’re talking about dancing, I can follow your lead. If you’re talking about the incident, I wasn’t scared. If it weren’t for these dang shoes, I would have been there before security.”
He twirled her again, loving the feel of silk against his fingers. Guiding her in close again, he enjoyed the tension in her body.
The next song started and he kept her next to him. He didn’t care that people had moved a part and were dancing to a faster rock melody. He liked her where she was and didn’t mind the looks from the other dancers around them.
Brooke didn’t seem to mind either. She stayed in his arms, resting her cheek against his shoulder.
