by Avery Flynn
Arielle wandered the gym with Jacob until they found Ben. Ben glanced over her shoulder. "Have you seen him?"
"If you mean Matt, no. And you can't go after him here, not with the people from the paper and the TV station. If you hurt him, you'll hurt your business."
"Still…"
She smiled. "But I appreciate you wanting to beat him up for me."
Jacob grabbed Ben's hand. "Dad, I'm thirsty. Please, can we get a drink?"
"You can wait until we get in the car."
"But they have machines over there." He pointed to the vending machines in the hallway. "Please?"
"He is asking nicely." Arielle smiled, then dug in her pocket and pressed some bills into Ben's hand. "My treat."
"Thanks. Want anything?"
"Nope. There's a little line there, so I'll go wait with Kelsey until you're done."
Ben and Jacob headed off to the vending machines and Arielle strolled in the opposite direction, weaving around small clusters of people.
Matt stepped in front of her. "So you're with Rod now?"
"I'm not sharing my personal life with you. What's wrong—you couldn't find a puck bunny to take my place tonight?" Shaking her head, she moved to her right, intent on stepping around him.
He smirked and blocked her path. "You think he's any different than me? Do you have any idea how many women throw themselves at top-level players, not to mention a Cup-winner? I'll give you a hint—it's a lot more than I get. And I get a lot."
"Matt. Leave me alone. We're not having a conversation." Rod wasn't Matt. Rod wouldn't cheat.
He continued to move with her. "I may not be on a team with him, but I still follow what he's up to. You think Mister New Hobby of the Week is really going to be content with you when he's constantly being bombarded with new varieties of women and new opportunities? You're not that special, Ari."
Each word annoyed her more and more. "If you feel that way about me, then why would you even suggest that you and I get together tonight?"
"A warm body is a warm body." He shrugged. "And you always were a decent lay."
"Get out of my way." She elbowed him in the stomach, hard enough to make him grunt, then pushed her way through the crowd. Rod wouldn't cheat. He'd said so, and she believed him. But he really did like trying new things, and his track record for keeping hobbies or interests wasn't great.
Mind whirling, she plowed right into Mr. Giorgio's back. The older man grunted, stumbled two steps to the side, and then fell to the floor.
Arielle's stomach dropped. Shock, disbelief, and regret coursed through her as she squatted beside him. "I'm so sorry. Here, let me help you up."
The people he'd been speaking with all stooped as well, and between the four of them, they helped him to stand.
She reached out and then dropped her hands. "I really am sorry, Mr. Giorgio. I—"
"Yes, well." He rubbed his elbow and winced when he took a step forward. "I think I may need a chair."
"I'll go look for one." She turned, scanning the room for a folding chair.
"You've done enough." His voice could have cut wire. A dismissive frown darkened his features and his eyes hardened.
Get away.
The message was clear.
"Again, I'm sorry. I'll just…go." Embarrassment pounded with every beat of her heart. She lowered her gaze to the floor and walked away.
Oh shit. She'd made quite the impression now. She pushed her way through the crowd. Toward her brother and nephew. Toward Rod and the Cup. Toward the exit. And freedom.
A reporter from the television station thrust a microphone in her face. "Would you care to say a few words to our viewers at home?"
The camera came into focus, and then all of the people staring at her.
Staring.
Staring.
Staring.
She dropped her gaze to the floor and fought the flames of heat burning her cheeks, her mind whirling with Matt's words. What to say? What to say? What to—
"Ari." Rod's hand touched her back, and then his solid frame leaned into hers. Relief wrapped around her like a warm shield.
The reporter tossed her gleaming red hair over her shoulder and turned her stunning, smiling face to Rod. "We're all curious to know your plans for next season. What can you tell us? Will you be returning to the Rage? Or moving on to a new team?"
Rod's hand slid to Arielle's arm, and in a smooth move, he took a step in front of her and tucked her behind him. "Having the chance to play the game I love as my profession is an honor and a dream. All I can say is that my agent is in talks with some teams."
"Would you consider playing overseas, like your friend Matt Carter? Matt told me that he played in Russia last season. Would you play in Europe if you don't receive an offer from one of your preferred teams?"
"Nothing's out of the realm of possibilities. I have a lot of friends who've played over there, and so no, I can't say I'd rule that out."
His words droned on but Arielle lost focus. She stood, staring at his back. Europe? He'd never mentioned that possibility to her. Then again, he'd been receiving phone calls from players and his agent all day. Who knew what had been discussed? But he'd go—just like that? Would he expect her to go with him?
Nothing was set in stone. He could play anywhere or be traded anywhere. And would she stay here in Holiday, or would he want her with him in each new city? She'd want to be with him. That was the point of being in a relationship. She hated the thought of long distance.
But a new city meant another school district, and another job search, and very likely, a substitute position. She couldn't get by on a substitute teacher's salary, if she was even able to get a job. No way would she rely on Rod to pay her way.
A chill settled over her bones. With him, her life would be put on hold yet again. And if things didn't go well, she'd be left out in the cold.
8
Rod tightened his hold on his beer and gritted his teeth. Matt had tried to worm his way into every news photo and reporter interview after the ceremony and then had monopolized the conversation with his old high school teammates at the diner where they used to go after every game. He was acting as though he'd won the Cup.
Rod thought he'd lose him when they headed to Tap Out, but Matt had shown up there too. In full-on obnoxious mode.
He was inches away from punching the bastard but had to keep his cool. The league wouldn't be happy with a bar-room brawl, especially with the Cup present.
Next to him, Ben kept a death glare on Matt and nursed the lone beer he'd had all night. His best friend had to work even harder to hold back.
Arielle had grown quieter and quieter since the afternoon, no doubt thanks to Matt's constant presence. She stood between Ben and Kelsey. No way would Matt try to come near her with those two standing sentry.
Stuck in one spot, greeting people and posing for pictures, Rod raised his brows at her. She gave him a small smile in return.
After what seemed like hours, Edwin came over. "It's almost midnight. Time for one last goodbye with the Cup."
The day had passed in a flash, and now, it was over. Rod took the trophy out to the parking lot, and over to the small park beside the bar. Stars winked in the sky and the full moon shined bright. He found a bench and placed the shiny silver prize on the seat then sat beside it and hugged it with one arm. Crickets chirped, and a warm breeze flowed, as refreshing as water.
He trailed his finger over his dad's name on the upper tier, and then over the spot on the bottom band where his name would be engraved on the most storied trophy in all of professional sports. Luck and talent and sheer determination and hard work had culminated into his being on the Rage, and earning this place as a part of hockey history. Hopefully, those same factors would carry him through, wherever he ended up next.
Edwin approached again. "It's time."
Rod stood and handed over the Cup. "I miss it already."
"You might hold it again one day."
"I
hope so. Thanks for everything, Ed. Safe travels." He walked with Edwin back to the parking lot.
Minutes later, the Cup was gone.
Rod stuffed his hands into his pockets. Time to get back to real life.
He found his friends where he'd left them. Ben pushed away his half-empty beer. "I'm heading out."
He'd probably had all he could take of Matt. The idiot was holding court with a group of college-aged women on the other side of the room.
Rod slipped his arm around Arielle. He wanted to spend the night holding her close. "Stay with me tonight?"
She shook her head. "I'm really tired."
The weary exhaustion in her expression pulled forth a need to soothe. No matter what he wanted, what she needed came first. Tamping down his disappointment, he brushed his fingertip over her lips. "I guess I didn't let you get much sleep last night."
A shadow darkened her gaze but the corners of her mouth lifted in a smile. "Nope."
"I'll walk you guys out. Hell, I might as well head home too. Kels? Dylan? You coming?"
They both nodded.
The group trooped into the parking lot and didn't allow him any privacy for saying good night to Arielle. He managed to get a kiss before she climbed into Ben's car, but it wasn't as long or as deep as he'd needed.
Dylan slung his arm around Rod's shoulder. "Today was a hell of a good day, bro."
He nodded. "Here's hoping we have another one."
The next afternoon, he stretched on the ice at the Bedlam practice facility. In addition to Dylan, Celek, Forsberg, and Kreider, five more players joined them.
Coach LeClair pointed the introductions. "Sedlak, Rizzo, Paquette, Gostowski, and Clark."
Rod nodded at the guys. He'd met a few of them the last time he'd been in town. "I thought you said Pavel would be back today."
LeClair frowned. "Pavel called. He's still in Russia. He said he's sick."
"That sucks."
"Yeah." Dylan's expression matched the coach's, but then he grinned and slapped Rod on the back. "This just means we'll all be gunning for you today, bro."
Rod smirked and lowered his mask over his face. "Bring it on."
Two hours later, he was dripping with sweat, sore from performing acrobatics to make saves, and smiling so hard he thought his face would crack. The friendly practice had been brutal. He'd faced slapshots, two-on-ones, three-on-ones, breakaways, shots from the backhand and forehand, and then dove across the crease to stop wrap-around goals, plus had one puck ricochet off the crossbar and into his mask. Puck after puck sailed at him. Thanks to Dylan, again, more than one at a time.
He worked well with the defensive pair of Forsberg and Gostowski and did his best to predict each forward's strategy as they came flying at the net.
These guys were good. It was easy to see they would be a force to be reckoned with come next season.
In the locker room, LeClair dropped down next to him as they unlaced their skates. "It's been great having you here."
"I should be thanking you. I enjoyed the hell out of it."
"You're a hell of a goalie. What's the status for this season? I haven't seen any news of you signing anywhere yet."
He tried to play off his discomfort with a smile. "My agent still has a few calls to make. We'll see."
"Well, good luck."
"Thanks."
Celek sat on his other side. "Nice moves today, kid."
Again with the kid. He grinned and nudged the older player with his elbow. "You weren't so bad yourself, grandpa."
The room erupted in laughter, and Celek threw a towel at Rod's head. Dylan pounced, grabbing Celek in a headlock, and the two of them landed on the floor, knocking into Rod's equipment. They ended up flat on their backs, gasping and laughing.
LeClair shook his head, failing to hide his smile, and stood. "That's it for me today, guys. Be here at two tomorrow if you want to review the film."
When he left, Forsberg took his spot. "My head is pounding. I need caffeine in the worst way. Since you're known as the coffee dude, where's the best cup in Holiday?"
Rod paused in packing his equipment into his bag. His plans to visit Arielle and Ben at the coffee shop hadn't included bringing anyone except Dylan, but then again, the more people who knew about Ben's place, the better. He desperately wanted success for his friend. "The best coffee is at Jolt. I'm headed there now. You can follow me if you want."
After a brief discussion, all of the guys decided to tag along. Forsberg had taken one look at Rod's brown SUV and dubbed it The Coffee Bean. Appropriate enough since the inside usually smelled like coffee.
He led the caravan to the shop and decided not to call Ben with a heads up. The surprise would be better.
And he would get to see Arielle, which was best of all.
There wasn't enough coffee in the world to shake her out of her mood. Arielle sipped from her third cup of the day and then rang up an order for a teenage couple more intent on each other than actually paying for their food and drinks. A sharp clearing of her throat jumped them into action.
She handed over their change and stifled a yawn. She hadn't slept well. Thoughts of Rod and of Matt had kept her tossing and turning as her mind had replayed conversations over and over again. At dawn, she'd given up and had spent the early morning hours sketching a picture of Rod holding the Cup, from the photos she'd taken. So much had changed between them in a short amount of time. But the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced they were making a mistake. She wasn't sure how to talk to him about it.
The couple moved to the window and then squealed and pointed to the parking lot. Arielle squinted against the bright sunlight. Rod and Dylan and a group of men were walking to the door.
A low whistle escaped Ben. He set a bag of coffee on the shelf behind him and met her gaze. "Those guys all play for the Bedlam. I knew Rod was practicing with them today, but he didn't say anything about bringing them by."
Customers' conversations grew louder, and several people held up phones, ready to capture a picture.
Rod led the group inside. He grinned and waved. "I told these guys that you have the best coffee in town."
Ben started their orders, and Rod paid for them all. After Arielle had handed him back his credit card, he introduced her and Ben around. She'd recognized the players from watching the games, but seeing them in person, especially a group of them, especially in Ben's shop, was different. Almost surreal. She had to crane her neck to meet all of their gazes. Too bad Jacob wasn't there to see them, he would have gone crazy, but her nephew was enjoying a few days with his grandparents.
Coffees in hand, the players joined the customers at their tables and signed autographs and posed for pictures.
Rod leaned over the counter and kissed her. "Hey. Did you get some sleep last night?"
"Some, but not enough."
He traced his finger down the side of her face. "Maybe you need a massage tonight to relax you."
She raised a brow and tried to ignore the little voice questioning how many he'd given. Screw it. "Have you given them often?"
His mouth winged up on one side. "Never. But I've watched the team's trainer give them a lot, so I'm sure I can figure it out."
"I like your confidence." And the way his presence commanded attention. And how his smile lit up something inside her. She was falling faster and harder each day.
One of the other players came up and stood beside Rod. "Great place, kid. Thanks for letting us in on it. I think it'll be my new stop on the way home from training."
Rod laughed. "Training? Don't you mean practice, Celek?"
"Nope. Training. Sprint triathlons."
Dylan joined them. "Celek has been trying to convince me to join him in his training all summer."
Rod's brows lifted and he set his coffee down. "I have a buddy in New Orleans who does Ironman races. Training for those is really intense on top of our regular conditioning programs, especially this close to the season."
&
nbsp; "Sprint triathlons aren’t anywhere near as long as Ironman races. They’re short-distance triathlons, usually consisting of a seven-hundred-fifty-meter swim, a twenty-kilometer bike ride, and a five-kilometer run, so you log about five or six training hours a week. That’s nothing, and I’m only doing it as an off-season thing. If you want to try it, you should join me."
"Yeah? It sounds fun. I'd need a bike."
"I can take you to the place where I got fitted for mine. You'll need to make sure you're doing one or two training sessions—per sport—weekly. So that means at least two bike workouts, two swims, and two runs per week."
"Man, I'm in. Sign me up." Excitement sparked in Rod's features and movements and voice. "Get me a list of whatever I need to buy. I'll need a training plan too."
And in the span of a minute, a new hobby was born. Arielle blinked at the swiftness of the decision.
Celek grinned and high-fived Rod. "One of the team's athletic trainers does them. She got me started right after we lost the playoffs."
Dylan leaned on the counter. "Blair's great. She joined the team last season. Rod, her dad played on the Bedlam for a few years with Dad. She's really good at helping us during the off-season, too."
Rod's eyes lit up. "If she got Celek set, then maybe she'd help me. We could meet with her and get some tips. Maybe even train with her?"
"I'll give her a call." Dylan pulled out his phone and stepped away from the counter.
Arielle recognized Blair's name. Kelsey had mentioned her a handful of times. A shard of jealousy sliced into her confidence, and she swiped at a spot of coffee on the counter. She wasn't terribly athletic. Judging from Rod's enthusiasm, maybe he would prefer someone who was.
He leaned over and rescued her sketchbook from her rag's path. Whistling, he leafed through the pages.
She made a grab for it. "Wait."
But he'd already found the picture. "It's me. With the Cup."
"It's not perfect."
"It's amazing." He held the paper closer to his face, and she held her breath under his examination. "You're ridiculously talented."
She couldn't contain her smile. "It's nothing."
