Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  She stabbed him with a warning look that told him he’d be dead if he fucked this up.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Trish did a double-take and just about growled as he helped her out of the box.

  He sat beside Riley and the two of them watched as Trish hightailed it to where he’d stashed his pack.

  “You good?”

  Riley took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And another, and another. “I’m good.”

  “Trish teach you that?”

  “Yeah, so?” Damn, the kid looked like he was about to take Stryker on.

  “Whoa, calm down. She taught me that trick too. And a bunch of other things.”

  That got the kid’s attention. “What kind of tricks?”

  “Tricks to get through school mostly.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “So, you’re what? Dyslexic?”

  “How did you know?”

  “It’s the right left thing. I’ll tell you something if you swear it stays between us—and I’m serious man. Just between you and me.”

  “I swear.”

  “Look at my skates.”

  Riley did. “Yeah, what about them?”

  “See the florescent tape on the laces?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s how I know that’s my right skate. I have a piece on my right glove too. That way I can check to make sure I’m not screwing up.”

  Riley’s eyes just about popped out of his head. “You got it too?”

  “I’m off the charts dyslexic and a few other things. If it wasn’t for Trish, I never would have made it through college. But I did—it was hard as hell, and I’m still dealing with stuff, but it gets better. The thing is, Riley—guys like us aren’t really good at controlling our tempers and that’s the one thing that will sink us. You need to learn to put a lid on it, bud. You’re going to be a great defenseman someday but you’ll never get the chance if you don’t stay in control.”

  “But you get into fights all the time.”

  Which was God’s honest truth. How the hell did he explain it to a kid? “I’m The Enforcer, fighting is part of my job, but even though I might throw my gloves down once in a while, I never lose my temper. I stay in control because a player who loses control is sloppy and dangerous. I’m not that. When I get pissed off, I channel it into my game, I practice harder, skate harder, shoot harder, and check harder—all good things, but I never lose my shit on the ice. Do you get me?”

  “I get you, but he called me a retard.”

  “It’s hard when there are little assholes calling you a retard. But there’s one very important thing you have to remember. They’re not as smart as we are.”

  Riley shot him a look that screamed bullshit.

  “You don’t believe me, I know. I didn’t either for a long time, but it’s the truth. People with learning disabilities like you and me are actually, on average, smarter than assholes like Nick.”

  Riley gave him a look he’d seen more than once on his own face. “Seriously, we have higher than average IQs. Einstein was dyslexic and there’s a bunch of super brilliant people and inventors who were just like you and me. Ask Trish if you don’t believe me. She’ll tell you, hell, she’ll give you a list. Think about it, when Einstein was a kid he probably had little assholes in his class like Nick who told him that he was too stupid to live and called him a retard. When you think about it, it’s kind of funny. Einstein, a dyslexic just like you and me, is known for being a mega genius—probably the smartest dude ever.”

  Stryker smiled, Riley looked like his mind was about to explode, thoughts going in a zillion different directions. Stryker gave Riley’s shoulder a squeeze and waited until he made eye contact. “Listen up, this is important.”

  Riley nodded and focused.

  “The next time Nick gives you a rash of shit, just take that anger out on the puck, man, or picture his face on a punching bag and beat the shit out of it. Channel that energy into more speed. Make all the anger and frustration raging through you from all of the crap you have to go through and put it to work for you. Do you understand?”

  Riley watched him for a few seconds, clearly wondering if Stryker was being square with him. “Yeah, I understand.”

  Stryker let out a relieved breath and looked around for Trish, shocked to find her sitting at the end of the bench hugging his backpack to her chest. “Hey, Trish. Wanna toss me the roll of duct tape in there?”

  “Duct tape?” Damn, she was cute as hell when she was confused. She pawed through his stuff and found what he needed. She tossed it to him and the throw fell so short, he had to scramble to catch it.

  “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” He just smiled at her. She hadn’t been joking about not being able to throw or catch.

  Stryker wrapped the florescent green tape around the lace at the bottom of the tongue on Riley’s right skate, then he tore a piece off for his glove.

  Riley nudged him. “Um… would you sign it, you know, so no one will know? They’ll think I’m wearing it cause you’re awesome.”

  “Sure. Good idea.”

  Trish appeared with a Sharpie and he wondered just how long she’d been sitting there, just how much of his little lecture she’d heard, and just how much trouble he was going to be in when they got home.

  Trish let Stryker drive home from the hospital. She didn’t think she could concentrate with her mind going in a thousand different directions all at the same time.

  Normally Trish would have driven, if only to avoid hearing Stryker complain about her wind-up toy of a car, but today was not a normal day, though, to be honest, she hadn’t had a normal day since Stryker returned to Boise and cannonballed into her peaceful paddling pool.

  Trish was thinking about Stryker at the hospital, his head close to the bald head of a little eight-year-old girl who wore a mask since she was going through chemo. You didn’t need to see her mouth to know she was smiling—it was written all over her eyes.

  When Stryker found out that she was too weak to play Hall Hockey, as Stryker dubbed it, he sat her on his lap in the wheelchair he commandeered, and proceeded to give little McKenzie the ride of her young life. He rolled through the halls, carrying that little girl who could barely hold up her own head. When Stryker took her back to her room, he laid her on her bed, and whispered something before kissing her forehead. Trish didn’t know what he said or even what happened after that. She turned and left the room, not wanting anyone to see her tears. She stood in the bathroom crying for ten minutes before a nurse knocked on the door to check on her and gave her a pat on the shoulder, a box of tissues, and a vial of Visine.

  “Am I in trouble?” Stryker’s voice broke through the mashup of memories she was sorting through.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “Lots of reasons, but if I’m not in trouble, I don’t want to dig my own grave, so to speak.”

  “Believe me, if you were in trouble with me, you’d know it.” She was the one in trouble, and he was the reason she was screwed; but it wasn’t as if he put a gun to her head and forced her to fall in love with him. And she did love him—just the thought of it was enough to make her sick, but then she supposed the nauseated feeling could be car sickness.

  “Are you sure?” He turned and looked at her for a second.

  “Positive. Watch the road, please.”

  “Something’s wrong. Was it the hospital? I know it’s hard to see kids like McKenzie suffering, but for a little while today she had fun. She’ll remember this day for a long time.”

  “No really, nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. I’m just tired I guess.”

  “And you’re a really bad liar. Lucky for you, I’m not in a position to use my skills to drag the truth out of you. That will have to wait until we get home. In the meantime, tell me about Riley. How did you meet him?”

  “I met him a few years ago, I mentor at the middle school a few hours a week, and do some tutoring. Riley is one of the at-risk
kids I work with, and I started tutoring him because he was falling through the cracks.”

  “What do you mean, at risk?”

  “Dropping out of high school. They realized that the first signs a kid is on his way to dropping out show up in middle school. Truancy, discipline problems, and other ways of disconnecting from school.”

  “He’s being bullied by that little fuck Nick.”

  “I know, and the school is aware. They’re working on it. Riley’s an awesome kid. He reminds me a lot of you. As a matter of fact, it’s because of you that I recommended to his parents that he try hockey.”

  “He’s a natural, that’s for sure, and you’re great with him, but there are a few things you need to understand. The reason I asked you to leave was that I saw you were going to comfort him, but if you had, he would have lost his shit and started crying in front of the whole team. It would have been a disaster.”

  “And you know this how?”

  “Because I was him. Twelve years ago. A guy doesn’t forget what that’s like.”

  “You cried in front of your team?”

  “Hell no, I’m not a pussy, but then I didn’t have you there either. No one cared enough to run across the ice in heels looking like she was going to open an industrial size can of whoop-ass on Terry Serpico because he called me a retard, and then tried to wrap her arms around me.”

  “I’m sorry you didn’t have someone to stand up for you.”

  “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me. I’m good. What you need to understand is that when a guy is struggling like that it’s not like he’s sad, it’s like he’s a walking powder keg with a lit fuse.”

  “Riley is a child. He’s twelve years old.”

  “Riley might be twelve, but that just makes him a miniature guy. He’s stuffed every frustration, every dig, every failure, and the pain from every time he’s been hurt in there so tight, the damn thing is bulging, bursting at the seams. And when it gets overfilled, it leaks out and then all it takes is a spark for the whole thing to blow. Since I didn’t give Riley the opportunity to beat the crap out of Nick, the only thing left for him to do was to try to stuff all his shit back in or cry.”

  “Stryker, little boys cry. It’s a release, a healthy one. Stuffing emotions is just the opposite.”

  “I know, and crying is fine in the privacy of your own room, but not in a penalty box, Cher. The thing you need to understand is that if you had touched him, he would have cried like a baby. Hell, I might have even teared up—and then, bam, just like that: both our man cards would have been permanently revoked.”

  “Do you honestly believe that?”

  “It really doesn’t matter what I believe, it’s what Riley believes.”

  “So next time something like this happens, I should do what? Nothing?”

  “Exactly, let the coaches or the teachers handle it. If he needs something from you, he’ll get his hug in private so that way, if he does get choked up, it’ll be embarrassing but not social suicide.”

  She stared at his profile and grinned. “You’re sure about this?”

  “Cher, I’ve spent half my life on the ice with hockey teams, maybe more than half. That’s the only thing I consider myself an expert in.”

  “Okay, I’ll give you that point. Oh, and I caught the fact that you avoided the man card question.”

  “And I know there’s something wrong and you’re not sharing, so it looks like, for now at least, we’re even.”

  She just wanted to go home and crawl into bed and forget everything that happened. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the window. A second later, Stryker took her hand in his. “We’ll work it out, whatever it is.”

  She wished she felt as sure of it as he sounded.

  Stryker left Trish in bed with a smile on her face, and well, there was a smile on his too, but it had nothing to do with the eighteen holes of golf he was scheduled to play, and everything to do with morning activities.

  He pulled into the parking lot and saw the Kincaids—Trapper, Fisher, and Hunter—leaning against a Toyota Sequoia. The three had been several years ahead of him at school, but that didn’t matter. Everyone in the Boise Valley knew them. Every guy interested in Karma feared them, those guys who were smart enough to avoid their little sister wanted to be them, and every straight female wanted to bed them. The Kincaids had a legendary reputation with the women.

  Trapper, the judge who looked more like he should be the front man of a hard rock band, pushed the brim of his cowboy hat up and smiled. “She’s got him driving the Prius.”

  Fisher looked like a California surfer, but was an orthopedist, and from what Stryker heard, a damn good one. Fisher slapped at twenty dollar bill on Trapper’s waiting palm and grumbled. “I can’t believe The Enforcer would drive a Prius—we should put a picture on Instagram and see what it does to his reputation on the ice.”

  Hunter, the quietest of the bunch, owned and ran Castle Rock Ski Resort, and looked like a Grizzly Adams without the beard, grunted. “If they saw the YouTube Video, he won’t have a problem.” He stepped toward Stryker with his hand out and a smile on his face. “We’re the welcoming committee.”

  Fisher grinned, “Yeah, Karma sent us to make sure you don’t get into trouble.”

  Stryker laughed, “It takes three of you?”

  Hunter nodded, “Fisher and I are the muscle and Trapper will make sure we don’t end up in jail. We have a system and it’s worked pretty well so far. We’ve been warned about the problems with the press. We’ve got your back.”

  “The press will be here? On a golf course?”

  Trapper opened the back of the Sequoia and shouldered his clubs, the others did the same.

  “What I want to know,” Fisher said, “is if Trapper is going to play in his cowboy boots.”

  They headed to the clubhouse and Trapper filled him in on the plan and the softball game he was expected to play in later.

  “What about Trish? Does she play?” Stryker was serious.

  The three guys laughed, Fisher took off the baseball cap he’d been wearing backward and spun it around so the bill shaded his eyes. “Trish is the score keeper. She’s pretty hopeless when it comes to softball.”

  “She’s a hell of a skier though,” Hunter said. “Can’t throw for shit but hey, she makes up for it with brains and looks.”

  All of them shot matching death glares at Hunter. “What? I’m married, and believe me, before Toni I still didn’t go there. There’s the whole never-date-your-little-sister’s-BFF rule, but shit, I’m not blind, and I’m certainly not dead. I’ve always had a thing for dark haired beauties.”

  Trapper raised a brow, “It looks like you and Stryker have that in common.”

  Fisher laughed, “Yeah, Jessie already threatened to take him out if he hurts Trish. Has your shoulder fully recovered? I’m calculating my bets for the games today.”

  Stryker gave his shoulder a roll. “It’s fine, but damn, what the hell did she do? If she hadn’t let up after a split second, I would have been on my knees. Seriously, man, that wife of yours is scary as shit.”

  Fisher shrugged, “Yeah, I kind of love that about her. It comes in handy when she’s walking through locker rooms filled with half-naked athletes. There’s a bundle of nerves in the shoulder, all corded together, one good punch, chop, kick, or hell, a well placed thumb will completely incapacitate the entire arm and cause serious pain. You’re lucky you only got the thumb.”

  Trapper shot him a look, “Trish is like a sister to us. She’s been a fixture at our house since she was about seven. She skipped a couple grades and Karma and Mary Claire took her under their wings, we provided the backup.”

  He didn’t know Trish had skipped grades—he shouldn’t have been surprised. “I didn’t realize she was younger.”

  “We threw her a seventeenth birthday party right before we moved the girls to college. My mom was a worried mess. She thought Trish was way too young to be out on her own, but she was abl
e to get the three of them into a suite, so she’d at least have Mary Claire and Karma looking after her.”

  “It didn’t hurt that she dressed like a homeless person.” Hunter said, “I guess she didn’t want to be confused with her sister.”

  “Trish has a sister?”

  Trapper nodded, “Sarah Reynolds, she would have graduated with me, but she got knocked up and took off with the baby-daddy, a long-distance trucker in his forties. I don’t think they keep in touch. She and Trish could be twins, physically at least, both built like brick shit-houses, but instead of going Sarah’s route, Trish went the opposite way.”

  Fisher cut in, “I think she was voted most likely to become a nun.”

  Trapper nodded, “I, for one, was relieved. Between having to keep our eyes on Karma and Mary Claire, I was happy that Trish was more circumspect when it came to dating. I had no idea what she was hiding under all those baggy clothes until mom made us all go to Lucky Peak for a picnic, and insisted Trish put on a bathing suit and go swimming. That certainly was an eye-opener.”

  Fisher rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, I remember that day too. I guess I can understand her not wanting to follow in her big sister’s footsteps, Easy Sleazy Sarah Reynolds, but she definitely went a little overboard with the whole nun routine.”

  Hunter shrugged, “Trish told me she wanted to be noticed for her mind, and not her body. She was content to wait for the one guy who was smart enough to see past the window dressing to the real her.”

  Trapper and Fisher stopped and stared at Hunter.

  “What? Trish talks to me. We we’ve always been close. It probably helps that I wasn’t always running off at the mouth like Fisher, or coming across like a freakin’ hall monitor-turned-bodyguard like Trapper. I was nonthreatening because of the whole never-date-your-little-sister’s-BFF thing, and I was always honest with her.” He turned to Stryker. “So, if you hurt her, you don’t have to worry about Jessie breaking your shoulder, she’ll have to get in line behind me. I’m not as nice.”