What was it Jaxon had said?
Grovel.
The idea that he would grovel for anything would have made him laugh a few weeks ago. But not now. Not anymore.
And if that's what it took, then so be it. He'd grovel. Hell, he'd do more than grovel. He'd do whatever it took to win her back.
Caleb stared into the half-empty mug and frowned. Yes, he'd do whatever he had to do.
But something told him it wouldn't be enough. It would never be enough.
Chapter Twenty-Four
As far as distractions went, Shannon had put up with worse.
When she was younger, playing on the same team as her brother, the guys—the boys—from the other team would taunt her. Call her names. Get in her face or deliberately get too close, crowding her. Trying to distract her, to make her lose focus enough to miss a save. The first few times, it had worked. Not because she had been upset—although she could reluctantly admit now that part of her was—but because she had been angry. Furious. All she wanted to do was play hockey, to be a goalie. They didn't torment the other goalies the way they did her. Why was she different? Why couldn't they just let her play?
The name-calling and taunting didn't stop, even when she got older. Instead, it became more personal, almost threatening. Not by everyone. For the most part, she wasn't treated any differently. She was just another goalie, except she had long hair and was starting to fill out in ways the other guys on her team weren't. She'd have a locker room all to herself because they weren't little kids anymore, because it wasn't appropriate for her to be in the same locker room with her teammates when they were changing. She was different—but she was still one of the guys.
For the most part.
As for the small-minded jocks who couldn't see past her looks—she'd simply smile at them, laughing when they got flustered, then put them in their places the only way she knew how: by beating them on the ice.
She thought the time for the juvenile tactics was over, that it had been over for years. That was just one of the reasons why Caleb's stunt last week hurt so much. Not because he was upset about losing—Shannon could understand that, could even relate to that.
What she couldn't understand was the anger etched so clearly on his face as he crowded her. Shoved her. As he slashed at her wrist, repeatedly. He had reminded her so much of all those boys who taunted her, teased her, convinced she couldn't play the game because she was a girl.
Who became angry and threatening when they learned not only could she play—but she just happened to be better than they were. She knew Caleb was competitive; what she didn't know, not until that exhibition game, was that he also happened to be just like those boys from years ago.
That he was insecure. That his ego couldn't let him accept that maybe, just maybe, they were on equal footing.
Someone yelled, catching her attention. Shannon blinked, her gaze darting to the action on the ice just ahead of her. Holy shit, what the hell was she doing? Standing here, getting lost in her thoughts when there was a fucking game going on right in front of her.
She exhaled, forced all thoughts and memories from her mind as she focused on the game. Her gaze darted to the puck, watched as one of the players from Philly dodged around Sammie, moving closer. There was something almost desperate about her actions, about the speed she was building as she approached the net.
Shannon narrowed her eyes, bracing herself for the collision even as she prepared to block the shot. They happened almost simultaneously—the puck hurtling toward her, hitting the pocket of her glove with a sharp thud just as the body drove into her chest.
Shannon tossed the puck to the side, away from the net, then crashed backward, arms and legs tangling together with the other woman's as the net slid into the boards behind her. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her breathless for an agonizing few seconds. A shrill whistle split the air. Hands reached for her, pulling and yanking and tugging until she was finally resting on all fours, sucking frigid air into her struggling lungs.
More hands reached for her, pulling her to her feet. Voices, bombarding her with questions.
Are you okay?
Did you get hurt?
Can you breathe?
Shannon nodded, shook her head, shrugged. Yes. No.
Maybe.
She bent over at the waist and gulped, sucking in more air until finally, thank God, her lungs stopped seizing and started working on their own.
A hand gripped her elbow and she looked up. Taylor was watching her, concern etched on her frowning face. "Need a minute?"
Shannon shook her head and finally straightened, shrugged off Shannon's hold. "No. I'm good."
Taylor shifted, looking up in the stands, then turned back to Shannon. "Are you sure about that?"
"Yeah. Positive." Shannon reiterated her words with a sharp nod, doing her best not to look over.
Doing her best to ignore Caleb.
It had worked, for the most part. There had been a brief moment of confusion and surprise—of anger—when she first came out on the ice and saw him sitting in the stands with a few of his teammates. She felt his eyes on her, had to force herself not to look, even though she wanted to shout and scream and ask him why he was here. But only for the first few minutes. Once the game started, she put him from her mind. Ignoring him. Forgetting he was here.
Right up until a few minutes ago, when Caleb's presence had somehow mingled with unbidden memories of her childhood games. Distracting her, when she couldn't afford to be distracted.
She nodded at Taylor again, then nudged her in the side. "I'm good. Stop worrying."
"You sure?"
"Abso-fucking-lutely." Shannon adjusted her helmet. "Come on, we've got a power play. Let's finish this thing so we can go grab some food."
Taylor hesitated then finally nodded, a crooked smile on her face. "Sounds like a plan."
Five minutes later, the game was over and they were back in their musty locker room, celebrating another win. How long could they keep the streak going?
As soon as the thought entered her mind, Shannon pushed it away. One game at a time. They couldn't think in terms of streaks—if they did, they might jinx it.
Coach Reynolds finished up her post-game speech then caught Shannon's attention. "Wiley, don't forget your interview after cleaning up."
Shannon's excitement immediately dimmed. Shit. How had she forgotten? TR was out in the stands somewhere, waiting for her.
Maybe she could postpone it again, come up with some excuse. Tell TR she wasn't feeling good, or that she had other plans. That wouldn't exactly be a lie—she did have other plans: food and drinks with the team. That counted, right?
Except Shannon had been blowing TR off ever since the exhibition game a week ago. She didn't want to finish the interview. Didn't want to answer any more questions. Didn't want to take a chance that TR might ask about—
No, TR wouldn't do that. Shannon was fairly sure of that. But she still didn't feel like finishing the interview. Maybe she could convince TR to pick someone else. Like Dani. Or Sydney. Maybe Maddison. Anyone but her.
That wasn't possible, though. Yes, she could probably get out of it if she wanted to—she had a feeling TR would understand. But the idea left a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. She wasn't a quitter, never had been. She couldn't start now.
Shannon hurried through the shower, drying off and getting dressed in simple black pants and a tailored blouse that didn't need to be tucked in. She didn't bother with her hair, just simply pulled the damp length back into a ponytail. Then she grabbed her bag and followed everyone else out of the locker room—
And froze when she saw Caleb standing there against the boards, waiting for her.
A dozen different emotions churned inside her, none of them good. She wanted to ask him why he was here. Wanted to ask him why he kept calling, why he showed up at her place the other day. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone.
Most of all, she wanted to ask him
why he had acted the way he had last week. Why? She still didn't understand. Or rather, she was afraid she understood too well.
She did none of those things. Instead, she turned away, ignoring him as she searched for TR. Caleb didn't take the hint because he followed her, his hand reaching for her. She shot him a withering look and his hand dropped to his side. But he kept staring at her, those deep green eyes filled with remorse. With loneliness. With sorrow.
She almost snorted. Yeah, she was definitely seeing things.
"Shannon, can we talk?"
"No."
Surprise flashed across his face and she almost laughed—except it wasn't funny. None of this was funny.
"Shannon—"
"Can you just leave me alone? I have nothing to say to you."
"Fine. Don't say anything. I'm just asking you to listen."
She hesitated, feeling herself giving in. And how totally stupid would that be? "I'm busy. I'm meeting TR—"
"She had to step out for a phone call. She said to tell you she'd be a few minutes."
Was he telling the truth? She didn't know. And she wouldn't put it past him to ask TR to disappear for a few minutes, not if it would help him get what he wanted.
Shannon looked around, not quite willing to believe him. There was no sign of TR, not up in the bleachers, not by the benches near the front doors. But she did see Mac, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, a scowl on his face. The man seemed to be everywhere TR was lately, always hovering in the background, always watching.
Shannon swallowed back a sigh and readjusted the grip on her gear bag. She could either walk over to Mac and wait with him, or she could give Caleb the few minutes he asked for.
If Mac wasn't so freaking intimidating, if he didn't scare her just the tiniest bit...
As an excuse, it was fairly lame—even if it was mostly true. But if she was going to be honest with herself, she had to admit she was curious to hear whatever Caleb had to say. What excuse would he give her? Or would he try to spin it somehow, to defend his actions—his attitude?
She clenched her jaw and turned to face him, meeting his gaze with her own direct one. "Fine. You have until TR comes back."
Relief flashed across his face as he moved toward her, reaching for her once more. He stopped, hesitating, then pointed to the bleachers to their right. "Can we sit down and—"
"No. If you have something to say, just say it."
He nodded. Jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Nodded again and glanced around. He finally let out a heavy sigh and met her impatient gaze. "You're okay after that hit? It looked like you had the wind knocked out of you."
"Seriously? That's what you wanted to say?" Shannon shook her head and took a step back, throwing his words from last week back at him. "Yeah, Caleb. I'm fine. It's a tough sport. It gets physical sometimes. I'm a big girl, I can handle it."
Was it her imagination, or did he actually flinch in discomfort?
"That's not—I know you can. You're a damn good player. A great goalie."
"For a woman, you mean."
Emotion flashed in his eyes. Anger. Impatience. Regret. All swirling together in those deep green depths, threatening to draw her in. Caleb stepped closer, looking down at her. Was he trying to use his height to deliberately intimidate her? Yeah, like that would work. She squared her shoulders and tilted her chin up, refusing to give even an inch.
"No, not for a woman. For anyone." There was a steely determination in his voice, almost a hint of a bite that she didn't understand. Was he pissed because he had to finally admit it? She wanted to ask him, opened her mouth to do just that when he finally sighed and stepped back, his shoulders slumping. "And I'm sorry."
"Fine. You're sorry." She slung the bag over her other shoulder and started to walk away but he reached for her, closed his hand around hers and tugged.
"Shannon—"
She pulled her hand from his, ignoring the scalding heat of his touch, ignoring the pleading in his eyes. "What is it, Caleb? What? You said you were sorry. Fine. Your conscience is clear. Now leave."
"I don't want to leave. Not until we talk."
"What else is there to talk about?"
"I—" He took a deep breath, ran one hand down his face and along the back of his neck as he stared up at the dusty steel beams above them. He exhaled, lowered his head and stared at her. "I'm an ass. And you were right. I was pissed that we were losing. Not just losing, but losing to you. To all of you. I didn't want to believe you guys were better than us. Couldn't believe it. And when you blocked that shot—"
He paused, exhaled deeply and looked around. Shannon followed his gaze but there was nothing around them. Her teammates were gone and there was no sign of the two guys who had been in the stands with Caleb earlier. Not even a sign of TR. The rink was empty now, except for Mac, who hadn't moved from his spot by the door.
Shannon looked back at Caleb. His discomfort was obvious, from the way he kept shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, to the way his gaze darted from hers to the floor and back again.
"I kept telling myself I was pissed because you guys were a new team. That you didn't have the experience we have. That you hadn't been playing as long as we have. But that wasn't it. You were right: I was pissed that we were losing to a bunch of women. And I'm sorry. Sorrier than you'll ever know."
Did she believe him? Yes, she did. His discomfort was too real, the edge to his voice too rugged to be fake. And she had a feeling that the admission cost him more than she could ever know.
But it didn't change anything. It didn't change her anger, her frustration and disappointment.
Her hurt.
Because what he'd done had hurt. Not physically—her wrist was fine; the collision tonight had actually hurt worse. The pain she felt was emotional, not physical.
Because Caleb was no different than some of those boys she had played with growing up. No different than any other man who turned tail and ran because they were intimidated by her. Because their egos couldn't handle it. She thought he was different and had foolishly let herself get too close, had opened up in a way she never had before. She didn't think she'd be this hurt if it had turned out he was playing her, like she had first suspected.
She swallowed against the lump of emotion forming in her throat and forced herself to nod. She couldn't manage a smile, not even close. "Thank you for the apology. Now I have to go—"
"Go? But I thought—"
"Thought what, Caleb? That you'd apologize and that would be it?"
"No, but—" He hesitated, glanced over her shoulder then met her eyes. "So that's it? You just walk away, like we never happened?"
"Caleb—"
"I don't get it. I was an ass. I know that. But can't we talk about it? Can't we at least try?"
"Try?" She cleared her throat, hoping he didn't hear the emotion in her voice. "You mean until the next time your ego takes a hit from something I do? Because it will, Caleb. I am who I am. I can't help that, and I'm not going to change just to make you feel better."
"I'm not asking you to."
"Not yet, no. But you will." Because they did. They always did.
"You don't know that."
"Don't I?"
He stepped closer, his eyes flashing with a hint of hurt. No, not hurt—disappointment. But why? What did he have to be disappointed about?
"No, Shannon, you don't know that. I'm not one like those guys you've scared off in the past."
"Scared off?" She laughed, the sound brittle and forced. "Oh, you mean the ones I intimidated? The ones with the fragile egos?"
"I'm not like them."
"But you are, Caleb." She blinked, silently cursing the unwanted moisture burning her eyes. "You just did a better job of hiding it than most."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Shannon spun on her heels and walked away, her steps hurried.
She couldn't believe it—she was walking away, even though part of her screame
d to stop. To let Caleb talk. To trust his words and believe he really did want to try. But she couldn't. She was afraid to, could admit that to herself at least. Afraid of what he made her feel. Afraid that the hurt she felt now would be a hundred times worse the next time.
And there would be a next time, she had no doubt about that. No matter how much he insisted otherwise, Caleb was just like all those other guys: the boys who didn't know what to make of her and the men who couldn't handle a strong woman.
So she walked away, no matter how hard it was to do.
Caleb called after her, started following her—she could hear him behind her. But Mac was suddenly there, his scarred face grim and foreboding as he stepped around her, using his hulking body as a shield.
TR approached her, sympathy and understanding etched on her face. "Are you okay? Do you want to do this another time?"
Shannon pulled in a shaky breath and wiped one hand across her eyes. "No, I'm good. Let's get this done and over with."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah. Positive." She glanced over her shoulder, saw Mac still standing at her back, making sure Caleb didn't come after her. "He's, uh, he's pretty handy to have around, huh?"
TR frowned, impatience flashing in her pale blue eyes. "He has his moments. When he's not being a pain in my ass."
"Relationships suck, don't they?"
"Relationships?" TR's eyes widened, then she shook her head on a soft laugh. "There is no relationship. Not with us."
"But—I thought you guys were dating."
"Nope." TR glanced over at Mac and Shannon didn't miss the disappointment that flashed in her eyes. "Just friends. Or something. I guess."
Shannon had no idea what to say to that so, for once, she kept her mouth shut. TR led the way back to the bleachers and took a seat. Shannon dropped her gear bag and sat next to her, watching as the other woman pulled a notepad and several pens from her tote bag.
"No tape recorder?" Shannon regretted the question as soon as it left her mouth.
"Not yet, no." TR shifted on the bench, crossed one long leg over the other, then balanced the notepad on her knee. And then she just sat there, her head tilted to the side, watching.
Playing Hard_A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance Page 18
