by Lynda Aicher
Scott swallowed and numbly agreed. Segar was a hard-driving businessman who could wring the best deal out of anything he wanted. However he managed his business with an honest care that extended to everyone who worked for him. Players were commodities in the pro-sports business, but Segar was an owner who still treated them like men.
“It’s been a while since I could say that about you.”
There was no evading the narrow-eyed assessment from the man, so Scott didn’t try. Maybe he was too tired to dodge the truth. And maybe he wanted to admit the truth just once. For one weak moment.
Then it passed.
The pills were kicking in to snake the worry from his system. Tension slipped from his muscles in a gentle wave so familiar he could tick off the minutes until the pain disappeared and the mellow haze of contentment settled in. Was that happiness? It was the closest he’d come to the emotion in a long time—except when he was on the ice.
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Scott finally answered. A lazy smile he’d perfected back in high school backed up his words.
The lines between Segar’s brows deepened with his frown. “Maybe not, but I do.” His lips thinned. “Meet me Monday. Just the two of us. We need to talk.”
Scott’s heart did a rapid skip and lunge that sucked the air from his chest. The season was over, his contract expired and with eleven days until free agency opened on July first, the Glaciers had yet to make him an extension offer.
His agent had at least three backup deals in the works with other teams, which meant his career wasn’t over—unless he wanted it to be.
“Sure,” Scott said. It would’ve been easy to decline and blame it on his agent, who’d be pissed if he found out about the meeting. There were too many negotiation strategies in play, and the chance of messing something up was high. It was his life though. His career and, despite the intuition that said he might regret taking the meeting, a stronger one said he shouldn’t miss it.
Segar nodded. “Good.” He rose. “Ten at Harriet Park? The west lot.” It was a large park along the Mississippi River in St. Paul, close to the Glaciers’ offices. It had a nice path that linked with the river one. Chances were it’d be quiet on a weekday morning and free of sports fans.
Segar waited for an agreement then walked away. Scott assumed the meeting was about his contract, but it could be something else. And what else was there? Shit. He scrubbed his face and eyed the bar with longing. A chaser would obliterate the worries the pain pills missed.
He shoved to a stand, flexed his right knee a few times to work the stiffness out and made his way across the room, away from the bar. Mixing drugs was stupid and dangerous, especially given his mood, and he refused to go there. He’d seen too many men in pro sports take that crazy, dangerous path on the road to addiction.
And he wasn’t an addict.
Dylan Rylie cut off his escape near the exit. “You taking off?” He brushed his hair back, his grin lighter since his girlfriend’s return almost a month ago, and his hip injury was pretty much healed. Scott envied the man. Rylie had so much to look forward to, both in life and the sport, yet he didn’t begrudge him any of it.
He’d been there once, his future laid open, waiting to be defined. Being back at that same point ten years later wasn’t nearly as exciting.
“Nah.” He motioned out the door. “Just getting some air.” And hunting down a vending machine. There had to be one somewhere in the hotel.
“Cool.” Rylie leaned in. “Rumors are flying, you know?” He glanced around, but no one was close enough to hear them. “Over your contract. Or lack of one. So...” He frowned. “Are you leaving?”
The question held a note of concern that managed to mediate the invasive edge. That and the honest worry in Rylie’s eyes had saliva forming. A shot of liquor would obliterate his troubles.
The immediate instinct to brush Rylie off was curbed by that razor-sharp want that had him running from the bar. Over the last three months he’d found himself confiding things to Rylie that he’d kept from everyone else. Why? He had no clue. Company in misery when Rylie was injured and missing Samantha? Maybe. A desire to keep the younger man from making the mistakes he had? Possibly. The need to unburden a bit of his own pain on someone instead of a bottle? Probably.
He motioned Rylie into the hallway. Contract details weren’t something most guys shared when they were in process. It was one of the few things that wasn’t public knowledge.
Final deals were opened and examined in a way no other business allowed. For some reason, people thought they had a right to know how much players earned when they’d be offended if they were asked to publicly reveal their income. However, salary caps had made it pretty much mandatory without thought to how the open knowledge affected the players.
Grudges, expectations, jealousy and resentment were just a few of the emotions that burdened every player at some point in his career. Even if they wouldn’t admit it.
He stopped a ways from the door, shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned on the wall, head sagging back like a weight he was too tired to hold up. The lights were annoying, so he closed his eyes and absorbed the darkness.
Rylie settled in beside him but didn’t push with more questions. The expectation hung between them though. Scott hadn’t brought the man out here to simply bask in the relative quiet.
“You ever wish you’d done something different with your life?” he asked, not really sure where he was going with the question.
“Nope.” Rylie’s reply was quick. No hesitation. “You?”
Did he? “Sometimes.” The admittance was low. It felt wrong to begrudge what so many strived for and never obtained. “Not often,” he backtracked. “Shit. Forget it.” He shoved away from the wall, nudging Rylie in the arm. “Nothing’s finalized yet.”
Rylie didn’t fall for Scott’s smile though. His eyes narrowed. “Is retirement still on the table?”
Questions like that had Scott regretting opening up to the man awhile back. This was why he kept his mouth shut and his burdens hidden. Was he really ready to leave hockey behind when it was all he’d ever known? Could his body withstand another year or two of the sport? It had to if he wanted his name on the national championship trophy.
His shrug was his answer. Hell, he had just over a week to decide what the fuck he was going to do with the rest of his life. A decision he’d been delaying the entire season.
“You know we’d support whatever you decide.”
“Even if I play for another team?”
“Of course. That’s part of the game.” Rylie straightened. “You have to look out for yourself because no one else is. Do what’s right for you. Your friends will be there.”
And here was the young guy tutoring the old man. His advice was exactly like what Scott had given to more than one player over the years. Guess it was easier to say than do.
“Thanks,” he said. It was always good to hear what he hoped was true. “Now go find that gorgeous woman you got back before she picks up another guy.”
Rylie’s laugher was deep and real. Something Scott experienced so rarely now his envy raced back to grip his chest with shocking force. Apparently, the drugs hadn’t sunk in deep enough to dull that emotion. How did all his friends find the love that’d always avoided him? Or had he avoided it?
“She would just to spite me if she thought I was out here with a bunny.” Rylie shook his head, smile still in place. “But she trusts me, and I’m not about to do something stupid to fuck that up.”
“Yeah?” Scott raised his brows. “What about next season? On the road? After this shiny newness wears off and you’re lonely and tired? Will you be saying the same thing then?” He was being an ass, digging for trouble before it existed. Yet many relationships were destroyed on the road.
Rylie’s smile faded as he went still. Silence stretched between them, an open opportunity for Scott to apologize. Back off and let the subject go. It wasn’t the time or place for the do
wner topic. Yet he kept his mouth shut, eyes held on Rylie’s.
“I can’t speak on something that hasn’t happened,” Rylie finally said, somber notes holding his voice low. “But I know what I’ll lose if I cheat on Samantha, and that’s more valuable to me than any meaningless fuck.”
Truth. It rang through in his conviction and still posture. He stood there, almost daring Scott to contradict him.
And there was the reason why he hadn’t given up completely on the whole girlfriend idea. The right one inspired a loyalty and love that made all of the other bullshit in life manageable.
“Good for you.” Scott meant it. He wasn’t so jaded as to wish his sorry state of loneliness on anyone else. “Remember that when things get hard.”
“I will.” No doubts or hedging. Rylie believed what he said. Maybe the man really had outgrown his party years.
“I need to find the restroom,” Scott said, moving away. Thankfully, guys didn’t pee in groups.
Rylie slugged him in the arm. “Find me later. And don’t forget rink time starts on Monday.”
One week. That was the extent of their break from hockey since they’d gone so deep into the playoffs. “I’ll be there.” Scott’s promise could be broken later if things changed. It wasn’t like the cost of the private ice time the four guys split mattered to him.
And what did matter to him? That was the answer he couldn’t pin down.
Chapter Two
Rachel Fielding stepped up to the bar, relieved to get a moment to herself. “Can I have a water please?” All the dancing and earlier drinks had left her parched with the added bonus of a headache flickering to life behind her temple.
The cold bottle felt wonderful on her heated skin when she held it to her forehead before she chugged half of it down. Now that hit the spot. Sighing, she lingered at the side of the room, happy to be the wallflower for a bit. The wedding celebration was still in full swing, the riotous bunch of guys going strong despite the late hour. Or was it early morning yet?
Her phone was tucked away in her clutch on a table across the room. Without it, she had no idea what time it was. Not that it mattered. She was here until Rock and Carter decided to leave. As the official party crasher, she wasn’t going to complain. Not when she had this rare chance to see how happy her brother was.
Her yawn caught her by surprise, a wide stretch she quickly covered. Dang. She wasn’t used to late nights anymore. Or parties like this, for that matter. Her life as a high school teacher had become more sedate with each year that passed and every friend that progressed into the marriage-and-babies stage of life.
The social life of a single thirty-something female had a way of dwindling down to a series of blind dates set up by well-meaning friends and nights out as the third, fifth, seventh wheel. In a matter of a few years, she’d become the lonely single woman in the eyes of her friends as they’d all found blissful happiness in the institution society claimed everyone wanted.
And to what end? Divorce? Endless fights or days of stony silence? Being left alone for months as a single mom while her husband served overseas? She’d been raised with the last two and refused to repeat them.
She didn’t want to be alone, but she also wouldn’t settle for less than she deserved—whatever that was. She’d always believed she’d simply know it was right when it came around.
“There you are,” Rock said as he snuck up beside her.
She leaned into his side, absorbing the comfort. “I was just getting a drink.” She lifted the bottle of water to prove her statement. “I told you that you don’t have to babysit me.” He’d always been like that with her. It didn’t matter that they were both adults, Rock still took his older-brother responsibility seriously.
“I know.” He gave her a one-armed hug and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. Her smile bloomed automatically. He’d never been that affectionate before Carter. Loving, concerned, attentive, sure. But physical touches, let alone hugs and kisses, had mostly been reserved for greetings and goodbyes unless she’d forced it.
“Are you going to dance with Carter?”
His rough scoff of laughter gave his answer before he spoke. “Not a chance.”
“How come?”
“Not my thing. The dancing or the public display.” He arched a brow when she turned to scowl at him. “What? This is Holden’s and V’s night. I won’t have it ruined by some drunk homophobic hockey player mouthing offensive dumb shit.”
And there was the stubborn man she knew so well. He was making some pretty broad assumptions about the men, but she admired his dedication to his friends, a trait he’d had since childhood. She lifted up to press a kiss to his scarred cheek. “I love you, Rockford.”
“Back at you, sis.” He winked and smiled. Another change she’d noticed. His smiles were more frequent and freer now. That was good.
Her chest filled with honest happiness for him. He’d more than earned this chance with Carter after enduring years of self-imposed solitude as he struggled to accept he was gay. A battle that stemmed from the views and actions of their parents.
But her parents weren’t there and she was. Spending her summer break in Minneapolis with Rock and Carter was two years overdue. Damn the rest of her family for choosing to ignore that Rock was gay and, thus, Carter. There was no way she was following blindly along. But then, she never had.
She’d be right there to kick Carter’s ass if he hurt her brother though. Their relationship still seemed solid, stronger now than even a year ago, so there was hope they’d defy the odds and remain happy together. And she wasn’t that cynical to want anything less than that for both of them.
The dancing had progressed to sloppy embraces next to barely moving couples. From what she’d been told, the entire Glaciers hockey team was in attendance and the party was a bit of a consolatory event since they’d lost the national title in the final round of the playoffs. Not that she followed the sport—at all.
“Do you know all these players?” she asked. Her brother was more of a geek than an athlete, despite the way he looked. His military influence was still stamped on his physique and he wore the high-and-tight cut proudly. Or maybe the hairstyle was simply easy. Now that sounded like Rock.
“Most of them by face.” He nodded toward the bride and groom who were completely focused on each other as they swayed together on the dance floor. Their every touch and look communicated exactly how much they loved each other. “Some better. I’ve become friends with a few of Holden’s buddies over the last two years.”
“And you never told me you hung out with pro athletes?”
“Because I don’t. I hang out with my friends.”
Rock’s logic made complete sense to her. They were just men, despite their profession. Drunk men right now.
“Christ.” Rock broke away and headed across the room without another word. He didn’t need to explain his sudden departure. A very large guy had draped his arms around the wedding couple, head tipped forward in drunken babble, based on his rumpled clothing and droopy eyelids.
She chuckled, head shaking as Rock swooped in to ease the guy away from Holden and Vanessa. Deklan and Jake, two of Rock’s best friends, were there to help, and together the three men maneuvered the guy off the dance floor without incident before they passed him off to his teammates.
Her brother had really found himself a family here. It confirmed what she’d already known based on their frequent talks and her few previous visits, but it was good to actually see it.
And hard.
Crap. She spun around and headed for the exit before the stupid emotion could take hold. It was silly to be envious of what Rock had created for himself. So much so that she refused to indulge in the pettiness of it.
She had a good life back in Atlanta. One she’d built herself. For herself. On her terms.
“Hey. Rachel?” A man with a slightly crooked nose and a welt on his forehead intercepted her. “Would you like to dance again?” There was an enduri
ng vulnerability in his request, despite his battered facade, that had her smiling. Justin, was it? He was just one of the many players she’d danced with tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she said, motioning toward the hall. “I was heading to the bathroom.” And she was too tired to play another round of dodge-the-hand, not that he’d been especially bad the last time. But that’d been over an hour and how many drinks ago?
“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, hands shoved into his pockets. “Maybe when you get back then?”
“Sure,” she agreed then made for the hallway, intent on avoiding all forms of dancing the rest of the evening. Her feet hurt, her head officially throbbed now and as flattering as it was being hit on by men easily ten years younger than her, she was done.
She ignored the women chatting and fixing their makeup in the restroom. A courteous smile of recognition was passed in the mirror before she made another hasty exit. They were wedding guests, but not ones she’d been introduced to.
A song from the late nineties drifted out of the open ballroom doors. The tune brought back memories of college and one of her many old boyfriends. It wasn’t that she hadn’t dated or tried to find that right man. He simply hadn’t appeared in her life.
Would he ever?
Yet another thing she wasn’t stewing over. She didn’t need a man to be happy. Didn’t believe one was required to have a full life.
She found herself wandering down the hallway instead of returning to the party. The hotel was a smaller five-star affair located on the river. It was classy and elegant beyond her normal experience, and she paused to admire the modern paintings and eventually the ornate glass chandelier suspended over the three-story atrium. A water feature bubbled a soothing tune from below that drifted up to surround her, but it was the balcony down the way that beckoned her. The skyline twinkled in an array of multicolored lights against the darkness beyond.
The air was sultry and heavy when she stepped outside. She inhaled deeply, the murky scent of the river teasing her as she let the warmth soak in after the chill of the air conditioning. The June humidity was mild compared to Atlanta. A light blanket instead of a woolen wrap.
