Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2)

by Isabo Kelly

  “Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he said to her as they sat on her couch pretending to watch a zombie movie.

  “Like?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Well, there’s one thing…”

  He tried hard not to show his anxiety and only display mild curiosity.

  “My first name isn’t really Ann.”

  “What?” He turned a little to face her.

  “That’s my middle name.”

  “OK. What’s your first name and why don’t you use it?”

  Her cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink. “Chastity.”

  “Chastity?” He blinked, leaned back from her a little to look at her closer. “Your full name is Chasity Ann Bell?”

  She made a face and nodded.

  Well, it wasn’t the secret he was digging for—while trying not to appear to be digging—but it was an adorable secret nonetheless. “Chastity.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you ever call me that, I will hurt you. I hate my first name.”

  “What’s wrong with Chastity?” He pressed his lips together so he wouldn’t laugh.

  “Chastity Bell?”

  “Very melodious.”

  “It’s awful. Do you know how often I got called Chastity Belt in school? Besides, what scientist is called Chastity Bell?”

  “Well, I think it’s cute.”

  She scowled. “I’m serious about hurting you if you call me that.”

  “Fair enough.” He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “I got my name from a movie.”

  “Really?”

  “Connor and I both were named after movie characters. My mom’s favorite movie was Highlander and my dad’s was Jaws.”

  “Brody from Jaws, right? The character Martin Brody. Why didn’t he name you Martin?”

  “My dad liked Brody better.” He shrugged. “Could have been worse. They could have named me Hooper or Quint.”

  “Quint Evans? Not as bad as Chastity Bell, but OK, I see your point.” She snuggled back under his arm again and faced the TV. “I’ve never seen Highlander. What’s that about?”

  “Oh you have missed out.” He went on to tell her about the beloved family movie.

  In the back of his head, he continued to brood. His ploy had failed miserably. But what had he expected? If she hadn’t explained already, she wasn’t going to just drop the news at such a casual question.

  He’d let the unspoken go too long and now he didn’t know how to bring it up without upsetting her. He tried to convince himself he didn’t need to know, that he didn’t want to know. But he was a terrible liar—especially with himself.

  The movie credits rolled, and he took the excuse to kiss her, loving the way her entire body softened against him. He buried his fingers in her hair, enjoying the silky texture, trying to lose himself in her feel and taste and ignore his own irritating curiosity.

  She pulled back a little, breaking the kiss, and narrowed her eyes at him. “What’s wrong?”

  Damn. “What?”

  “You seem distracted. Is it the Classic?”

  He really wanted to lie and say yes and get back to the kissing. He didn’t want to be distracted when he was with her.

  He opened his mouth to say yes, but instead said, “Those two weeks when you were sick…” He winced even as the words tumbled out. “Sorry. I’m having trouble letting it go without knowing what was wrong.”

  “You think I’m going to make you sick?” she said through a forced smile, without looking him in the eyes.

  “No. I know I said it didn’t matter. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “But it’s obviously bothering you.”

  “It is. I’m worried.”

  “About?”

  “That what kept you away will come back to haunt us.” Well, he was all in now. He might as well lay it all out. “I’m worried whatever went on during those two weeks is tied to that week after our first date, when I couldn’t call you. I’m worried there’s something serious you aren’t telling me.”

  “It’s nothing.” She rose and went into the kitchen, making a show of putting dishes from their takeout dinner into the sink and tidying.

  He really wanted to let it go because she was upset and he hated upsetting her. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t let it go.

  “Ann, I really like you. A lot.”

  She smiled at him over the counter. “I like you too, Brody. A lot.”

  “I want this thing between us to…go somewhere. To be important.”

  “But?”

  He swallowed. “But I’m afraid whatever you’re keeping from me will prevent that.”

  “What do you think I’m hiding, exactly?”

  Her tone had bite but also a slight tremble, like she was covering anxiety with anger.

  “I don’t know. I can imagine all kinds of things…”

  “Not this,” she murmured, so low she probably didn’t mean for him to hear.

  “What the hell is ‘this,’ Ann? Please. I’m worried about you.”

  “Me? You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Of course I do.” It was on the tip of his tongue to just say the words, to tell her he’d fallen in love with her. But with this hanging between them, he couldn’t get the words out. “Are you in trouble? An ex? The IRS?”

  “No. How many times do I have to tell you there is no ex, no husband, no boyfriend, or anything?”

  “Your parents?”

  “No. We rarely even speak these days.”

  “Family? A health issue?”

  She winced, a barely perceptible tic, when he mentioned health issues.

  “Is that it? Something is wrong with you?”

  This time she flinched, almost like he’d slapped her, and looked away.

  “Ann? What’s wrong?”

  “Stop pushing, Brody. It’s none of your business.”

  “Like hell it’s not. Are you dying?”

  “No.”

  “Contagious? Is it cancer? Something worse?”

  “No. No. No. Please. Stop. I’m not… I can’t talk about it.”

  He ran his hands over his face and up through his hair. He shouldn’t have started this conversation. “Are you going to disappear on me again?”

  She stared at him, but didn’t respond.

  “I see.” He stood. “I’d better get going. We have training tomorrow.”

  She closed her eyes, ducking her head, but not fast enough for him to miss her hurt. He wanted to take it all back. He wanted her to tell him this wasn’t true.

  But knowing she might disappear at any moment, that she wasn’t even going to deny the possibility, was worse than any punch he’d ever taken.

  He snatched his coat from the back of a chair at the kitchen counter, waiting for her to look up, to look at him, to tell him to stay. She didn’t, and his heart broke a little more.

  “Goodnight,” he murmured.

  He was at the door when she called his name. He paused with his back to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Nothing else. Just sorry. He wasn’t even sure what she was apologizing for. He nodded and left without looking back. If he looked at her, he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover.

  Tears leaked down her cheeks as she curled into a ball on her lonely bed, missing Brody more than should have been possible. She should just tell him. Just get it over with. At least he’d know why he was leaving her.

  She squeezed her eyes closed. Tonight had been bad enough. She’d never get over seeing him look at her like she was a freak.

  Everything she’d gone through, all the work so she could really be with him, and she’d still driven him away.

  Now what was she going to do?

  Chapter Sixteen

  “What’s wrong with you?” Semonov asked as they came off the ice.

  “Nothing.” Brody focused on pulling off his mitts.

  “You have a fight
with Ann?”

  “None of your business.”

  “You want Nathalie to talk to her?”

  “Stay the fuck out of my business,” Brody said evenly, without looking at his goalie.

  “Whatever the fuck is wrong, get over it then. You’re no use to us tomorrow like this.”

  “Fuck you.” Again said evenly as he walked away. He didn’t need his teammate pointing out he’d been a disaster during practice, so distracted his energy was low and his reactions pathetic.

  He already knew it.

  Stomping through the locker room, he disposed of gear, showered, and dressed, ignoring the other guys. He wasn’t in the mood for light conversation or trash talk. When Reiner Jahr accidentally bumped into him, despite the friendly apology, Brody got in his face. He wanted to beat on someone badly and the big Norwegian was the only guy on the team Brody figured could stand up in a fight with him. They faced off for several long, tense seconds as the locker room fell quiet around them.

  Then Brody blinked and backed off. What the fuck was wrong with him?

  “Sorry,” he said to Jahr. He ignored the looks he got as he left.

  He’d taken the train to practice instead of his car, because he didn’t trust himself behind the wheel at the moment. The ride back into Manhattan from Tarrytown didn’t help with his anger, but it gave him time to feel even more like an asshole after the way he’d acted with Jahr. He never fought off the ice, except when he took time to train at a boxing gym so he’d be a better fighter on the ice. He didn’t get into bust ups with his teammates. Ever. He usually broke up the fights.

  Ann had knocked him so far off balance, he barely recognized himself. And he had only himself to blame. He’d pushed her for answers she wasn’t ready to give. Worse, he’d gotten answers he wasn’t prepared to hear.

  He needed to call her, find a way to fix things. Problem was, he couldn’t punch his way out of this. He had no idea what would fix things between them.

  He switched to the subway at Grand Central. A few brave souls tried to talk to him, cheering the team on tomorrow, still congratulating him on that last fight before his suspension. He couldn’t enjoy the conversations like he usually did, though he made an effort to be friendly. Something must have shown in his expression, because none of the fans took up much of his time, mostly leaving him to his brooding.

  He got off the subway two stops early so he could walk a little. The city was already crowded with people preparing to celebrate New Year’s Eve, even this far away from Times Square. He kept his head down and ignored the bump and push of people, letting the sharp, cold air cool his anger as much as was possible. The wind coming in off the river wrapped around him like an icy hug. The familiar scents of his neighborhood, the pizza restaurant, the hot air and chemical soap from the local dry cleaners, the falafel food cart on the corner soothed him a little more. He almost hated to go inside.

  At the door to his building, he glanced back up the street, considering extending his walk for a while longer. There was a party at Chris Emmerson’s house tonight, just friends and family since the players had to keep an early night. He’d decided not to go, but maybe he should. Nathalie would be there. Even though he’d told Semenov to stay out of his business, Brody really could use Nathalie’s help.

  He glanced at his phone to check the time. He could walk another hour and still be back in time to get ready.

  He’d just started to turn away from the lobby when a soft voice broke over him, freezing him in place.

  Very slowly he faced Ann. She was just outside the building, like she’d been waiting in the lobby and had walked out when he turned away.

  “Can we talk?” she asked. “Please.”

  She had her hands jammed into her coat pockets and her head tilted down, looking at him but not quiet meeting his gaze. Her hair was tucked under a wooly hat with the Empires’ logo on it, a few blond strands escaping to wisp around her cheeks in the wind. Her skin was flushed from the cold, but beneath that red, she looked pale.

  “Come on up,” he said, turning back to the lobby, and holding the door for her.

  He waved absently at the doorman as they walked to the elevator. It took an act of will not to pull Ann into his arms once they were inside. Instead, they stood awkwardly on the ride to his twelfth floor apartment.

  He let her in ahead of him, then took his time taking off his coat, gloves, and scarf at the door, needing a few moments to steady himself. Taking her coat to hang might have been a mistake because the material carried her scent and that scent filled his head, making him want to ignore the needed conversation and just take her to bed.

  That made him feel pathetic, so when he offered her a seat on the couch he was sharper than he meant to be. She flinched, and he cursed silently.

  He sat in the big recliner chair next to the couch and waited in silence. He didn’t trust himself to start the conversation, even though he knew he should at least apologize for pushing things the other night.

  She stared around the living room for a bit, looking at everything but him. She’d been here a few times, but they mostly went to her apartment. It was closer to the Brooklyn Banking Center, the Empires’ home rink, and he liked how cozy her place was. As he waited for her to start, he wondered what she saw, what she was thinking. And it was on the tip of his tongue to ask, because the silence was stretching his nerves to breaking.

  Finally, she faced him fully. “I’m sorry about our fight. You deserve an explanation.”

  “I shouldn’t have pushed.” He tried not to sound grudging, but he was too wound up to make it a proper apology.

  “No, you’re right. I’ve disappeared on you twice. I never have explained. If…if we’re going to have more than sex, I should have been honest. But I don’t know how to be.”

  He frowned. “What’s that mean?”

  “This is something I never talk about.”

  “Does Nathalie know?”

  “She’s my sister.”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  “Yes, she knows. She’s been helping me.”

  “With what?”

  She swallowed visibly and looked away again. “I don’t know if I can tell you, Brody. My parents…” She trailed off and shook her head. “Never mind.”

  “When I asked if you’d disappear again, you couldn’t say no. Why and where would you go?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why are you here if you aren’t going to be honest with me, Ann?”

  She raised her hands, a gesture of surrender, and pressed her lips together. He saw the dampness in her eyes and had to grip the armrests to keep from going to her.

  “Do you want more with me than sex?” he asked. A question he should probably have asked the other night.

  “Yes.”

  “We can’t have that without honesty.”

  “Have you been honest with me?”

  “About everything.” Except one little thing. He hadn’t told her he was in love with her yet. But that wasn’t a lie, just an omission.

  She flinched. “Brody…” She closed her eyes, and a tear leaked out.

  That little drop of moisture almost broke him. He leaned forward, not sure what he intended to do, but knowing he couldn’t just sit here while she cried.

  When she opened her eyes, when she looked at him with her jaw set and her gaze fierce, he froze in mid-motion, then slowly sat back.

  “Fine.” She nodded. “Fine. I’m going to be honest. Please, please don’t…”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Just…” She shook her head hard and said, “Watch my hand.” She held it up, palm facing the ceiling.

  He scowled. What the hell was she doing?

  Ann concentrated harder than she’d ever done before, focusing all her attention on controlling the fire. She’d managed to start the fire on her hands once or twice without her entire arm erupting into flames, but only in the safety of Mr. Mendez’s basement. Part of her was terrified if she
tried this, she’d burn down his apartment. But she had to at least try. He deserved that much.

  Nothing happened for a long moment, and then the tingling in her palms got more intense, and the heat built. She narrowed her eyes, a physical attempt to get the fire to do the same, stay in a narrow little ball on her palm. When the blue flames burst to life, she gasped, surprising even herself with the show.

  She kept her attention on the fire ball, afraid to look away and break her concentration. Now came the tricky part, putting it out and calming the heat. You can do this, she chanted to herself. You’ve done it before. Just close your hand and breathe away the heat.

  For a heart-stopping moment, the flames engulfed her fist, getting bigger rather than going out. She breathed a little deeper and envisioned pulling the flames back into her skin where they belonged. When they vanished, she opened her hand and wiggled her fingers, smiling just a bit. She’d done it. Her heart was thumping hard from the short burst of adrenaline, but she’d still done it. And not destroyed anything.

  That thought reminded her that Brody was watching, and she might still have destroyed something. She hesitated and then forced herself to face him.

  He was pale, his eyes huge, his jaw slack. He blinked at her, looked back at her hand as horror spread through his expression. Then he crossed himself.

  Her shoulders slumped. She couldn’t wait around to hear the epithets, the curses and accusations. She stood and fled, pausing at the door long enough to grab her coat before she slammed out of the apartment.

  He didn’t follow. He didn’t even call her name.

  Brody found Nathalie standing at one side of the party with Semenov, quietly talking and drinking a glass of Scotch. She blinked a few times when he stormed up to her.

  Brody ignored the way Semenov moved to stand between him and Nathalie. “Has she called you?” he asked.

  “Ann? No, why?”

  “Here.” He handed her a ticket to the Classic. “Make sure she comes to the game tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to talk to her.”

  “You want to explain what’s happened?”

  “In private.”