Dirty Play (A Nolan Brothers Series Novel ~ Book 3)

by Amy Olle

  Panic took hold. “You can’t just pick me. You need to find someone who knows what they’re doing.”

  “I’m the owner of this team.” He bristled at the perceived insult. “I can do whatever the hell I want.”

  Haven gaped at him a moment. “Are you seriously telling me there isn’t one person inside your entire organization better prepared to do this job than me?”

  He hesitated. “Look, it’s complicated.”

  “What’s complicated?”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Their gazes locked. “It matters to me. Tell me, or I’m walking.”

  His head lolled back on the pillows. He stared at the ceiling for one long, excruciating moment.

  “Someone’s been feeding information to the press.” His throat worked when he swallowed. “Someone on the inside. It’s not that big a deal—there isn’t much to hide aside from the fact we can’t steal a win, but the truth is I don’t know who I can and cannot trust right now.”

  A curse slipped from her.

  “I’ve never asked you for anything.” Emotion thickened his voice.

  It was true, he hadn’t asked for her help in anything ever before, but that didn’t mean she’d given him nothing. She rubbed the ache forming between her eyebrows.

  Her dad’s next words shattered any semblance of peace she might’ve held on to.

  “Ryan would’ve done it.”

  The tremors started in her center and resonated outward. For a long, perilous moment, she struggled to hold herself together, the last thread of her composure threatening to unravel. “Ryan’s dead, Dad.”

  He winced as though her words caused a physical slash of pain. “That’s why it has to be you. I need you, Haven.”

  It was the closest he’d ever come to a declaration of love.

  He actually hadn’t said he loved her at all, she was well aware, but needing someone was kind of like loving them, wasn’t it?

  “Did I mention I’ll pay you?”

  Her head came up. “What, like a salary?”

  “A healthy salary.”

  “How much?”

  When he told her, she wasn’t able to hide her shock. For two months of work, she’d receive more money than she’d earned the previous two years bartending.

  She’d be able to afford her own place.

  An image arose in her mind, as clear as the shrewd calculation in her dad’s eyes. Of a house. A little Cape Cod with a garden and a panoramic view of Lake Michigan.

  A pang of longing struck her beneath the breastbone.

  “Fine.” She snatched the napkin off the bed. “Tell me what to do.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Jack, peas?”

  Jack paused with his fork poised before his lips. “Sure.” He smiled at Evelyn and, returning his fork to his plate, accepted the bowl of peas she held out to him.

  The smile held as he scooped peas onto his plate. Neal’s wife, Evelyn, lived to stuff food into the bellies of her three children and the numerous kids her husband had brought into their home over the years, Jack included.

  Neal plucked a dinner roll from the breadbasket. “How was the wedding?” With his crooked nose and chipped front tooth, he had the face of a champion.

  A face Jack hoped to have one day.

  “The wedding was nice.”

  The statement didn’t begin to capture the chaos of the ceremony, or the two nights he’d spent in Haven’s bed.

  He’d thought about her constantly since she left him.

  The morning after they’d parted ways, while on his flight back to Nashville, he’d worried about her and whomever she’d rushed off to see. That afternoon, while he’d waited for his appointment with the team doctor, he told himself it was for the best that she left when she did. The truth was, if he’d had her one more time, he might not have been able to let her go. It didn’t matter that he knew next to nothing about her. Hell, he didn’t even know her last name.

  He knew she had a soft heart but pretended not to, and he knew her body.

  When the doctor cleared Jack to play, Haven dominated his thoughts as he returned to his apartment, repacked a bag, and headed to the airport to meet up with the team for their chartered flight to Detroit ahead of their game the next night. By the time he sat down to Evelyn’s home-cooked dinner, his concern for Haven had warped into a sharp ache of longing.

  He wanted to see her again.

  After years of guzzling keg beer, she was like a fine wine, and he wanted another taste. Desperately.

  But wine wouldn’t get him closer to his goals, he reminded himself for the two-hundredth time or some such shit. He should be happy if he never saw her again.

  A frown pulled at his features.

  Evelyn sipped her wine. “What did you think of your brother’s bride? This was the first time you met her, wasn’t it?”

  The Thompsons had met Jack’s brothers only once, the day they came to pick him up and take him to their home in the Detroit area. But they inquired about them often, as though determined to prove to Jack that they never intended to replace his family.

  Though that’s exactly what had happened.

  The old sliver of guilt wriggled under his skin.

  He couldn’t say he regretted his choice. Hockey was his life. As a dyslexic, Jack had struggled in school, and in life, before he discovered hockey. On the ice, the world finally made sense to him. It was the one place he excelled, and he wouldn’t have given that up for anything.

  “The bride is a sweetheart, and I’m sure my brother doesn’t deserve her,” Jack teased. “He must’ve charmed her with his cooking and good looks.”

  Neal winked. “Worked for me.”

  Quickly spotting the learning disability Jack had hidden from his own family, Neal had hired tutors who specialized in working with dyslexics. He oversaw Jack’s hockey career as well as his education, and Jack credited Neal with the bachelor’s degree he’d earned from State and the large sums of money now sitting in his bank account. In every way that mattered, Neal was the father Jack never had.

  Evelyn smiled sweetly. “It wasn’t your cooking or your looks that attracted me to you, dear. It was the fact that you did the dishes.”

  Neal’s dark eyes glinted with humor. “I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I was the leading scorer in the league at the time.”

  Evelyn’s cascade of laughter was contagious. “I can promise you it did not. I knew nothing about hockey before I met you.”

  Jack chewed around his smile. “Speaking of hockey, how’s the new job going?”

  A former player, Neal was in the midst of his first season as the General Manager in Detroit.

  “Front office is definitely different than the player perspective.” A dry smile turned up one corner of Neal’s mouth. “It’s a lot more brutal.”

  A bitter laugh escaped Jack. He could well imagine. The egos of multimillionaire businessmen surpassed even those of pro athletes.

  “No, but seriously, I can’t complain. It’s a good organization,” Neal said. “The staff is incredible, and so far Martha’s been great to work with.”

  Martha Fillmore, the team’s owner, was the type of owner every club dreamed of having—a ninety-year-old widow unafraid to part with large sums of money who left the running of the team to her innovative, competent, well-paid staff.

  “Sounds like a great gig,” Jack agreed.

  “It could certainly be worse.” A frown touched Neal’s features. “We could be Milwaukee.”

  A soft gasp slipped from Evelyn. “Did you hear about Hank Callahan?”

  The biggest scandal to hit the league in a year?

  “Yeah, I heard.” Though he’d caught only the bare-bone details before he switched off the TV.

  He preferred to stay removed from scandals and rumors. It only made his job harder if he had strong opinions about the spoiled, self-centered owners and executives running the league.

  Besides, he’d heard all he n
eeded to know about the incident. “Sounds like Callahan’s lucky he didn’t hurt anyone.”

  Evelyn murmured her agreement. “At least he’s going to get some help. I hope it all works out for him.”

  “Rumor is his daughter’s taking over while he’s in rehab.” Neal shook his head. “I don’t envy her.”

  A frown pulled at Jack’s features. “I didn’t know he had a daughter.”

  “She hasn’t been around the organization much, from what I hear. It’s unclear what her background is, but I don’t think it’s in hockey.”

  Jack shot Neal a sour look. “Since when did an owner need actual credentials? All they really need is money.”

  Neal chuckled. “True enough.”

  In his career, Jack had seen every type of ownership, from the young entrepreneur who partied with the players to the seasoned businessman who treated the team as though it were just another capitalist venture. Some took ownership in hopes of a gold rush, others for the adrenaline rush. Very few understood fandom, a vastly different beast than consumerism, or possessed the skills necessary to run a successful pro sports organization.

  Never was that more painfully obvious than when they handed the reins to the team over to one of their children who, more often than not, had been given every opportunity in life but never earned anything.

  As a player, all he could do was hope whoever the owner was, they learned fast or failed faster and moved on. It was entirely out of his hands. A fact that often pissed him off.

  Across the table, Neal and Evelyn’s gazes caught and held. Then Evelyn turned her big blue eyes on Jack.

  Jack grew still.

  Neal sat back in his chair and regarded him across the table. “I wanted to talk to you about the possibility of a trade.”

  “A trade?” Jack’s knee banged against the table leg. “You mean, me?”

  “We’re looking to make some moves, and I think you’d be a perfect fit for what we’re trying to do in Detroit. We’d like to get a deal done this week. I haven’t talked to Roger yet,” Neal added, referring to Jack’s GM in Nashville. “And I won’t contact him if you don’t want me to.”

  Jack gaped at Neal while he struggled to comprehend the meaning of the man’s words. Was he really offering Jack the opportunity to play in Detroit? Alongside his mentor and father figure?

  It was the team Jack had dreamed of playing for since he was a homesick sixteen-year-old living five hours from home. It was that dream he’d latched onto to fuel himself through grueling 4:00 a.m. workouts and a brutal schedule that often had him playing ten games in three cities in a five-day period.

  One of the original six teams in the league, Detroit had history, tradition, name-recognition, and a track record of making the playoffs every year for the past twenty-four years. With two future Hall of Famers on the current roster, they sat in first place in the league, and while there were no guarantees in sports, at present the shortest, most direct path to a Stanley Cup ran through Detroit.

  “Jack?” Neal shifted in his chair. “What do you think? Are you ready to play in Detroit?”

  Jack cleared the unexpected emotion from his throat. “Yes, sir. More than ready.”

  Evelyn yelped and slapped Neal’s raised hand in a high five.

  Neal reached for his wine glass. “Here’s to winning a lot of games together.”

  Jack took a healthy swallow of his chocolate milk, and amidst their celebration, he didn’t hear the back door open. He didn’t notice the woman until Evelyn, spotting her, scrambled to her feet with a surprised gasp.

  “Oh, sweetie, I didn’t know you were coming for dinner.” In the kitchen, Evelyn pulled a plate down from the cupboard. “Come, join us. Look, Jack’s here.”

  The woman pulled up, and her soft blue eyes landed on Jack’s face.

  Jack choked on a pea.

  At first, he hadn’t recognized her. Not the mile-long legs or the silky spun-gold hair that hung in luxurious waves down her back. Definitely not the soft blue eyes that shone like jewels amidst the perfection of her delicate features.

  He blinked stupidly. “Sutton?”

  The last time he’d seen Neal’s daughter, she was a gangly preteen with braces and a crippling shyness. The outrageous beauty before him now bore little resemblance to that girl.

  “Omigod, Jack.” Sutton plopped down beside him. “It’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”

  A waft of her flowery scent teased his nostrils. “We’re playing Detroit tomorrow night. Just stopped by and your mom insisted on feeding me.”

  An agonized groan reverberated in Sutton’s throat. “You made cheesy potatoes?”

  Evelyn held the dinner plate to her chest. “Is that bad?”

  Sutton shot to her feet and backed away from the table. “Do not let me eat those.”

  Neal waved his fork at the table. “A couple bites won’t—”

  A strangled sound erupted from Sutton. “Do not tempt me.”

  Evelyn scowled. “Jack lets me feed him.”

  Sutton planted a kiss on her mom’s cheek. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll eat after the photo shoot. I promise.” She whirled on Jack. “Are you around for lunch tomorrow? There’s this new place downtown I’ve been dying to try.” She ducked her chin and peeked at him from beneath the sweep of her long eyelashes. “You wanna come with me?”

  Unease rippled through him. He shoveled a forkful of peas into his mouth and took great care to chew them thoroughly. Risking a glance at Neal, whose features remained inscrutable, Jack wondered what was more likely to irk the man, agreeing to go on a lunch date with his daughter, or refusing her?

  He chewed the peas to dust.

  “It’s right next door to the new arena, so you won’t have to rush around at all before the game.” She worried her bottom lip while she gazed at him with large, hope-filled eyes.

  He gulped. “Uh… yeah… sure. Lunch would be great.”

  Chapter Eight

  Haven ignored her cell phone as it vibrated across the sleek coffee table in her dad’s “apartment,” which turned out to be a top-floor penthouse with twenty-foot ceilings, marble flooring, and wall-to-wall windows framing dramatic views of historic downtown Milwaukee to the west and the expanse of Lake Michigan to the east, and painted hot-pink polish onto her toenails.

  The phone went silent for approximately two seconds before going off again.

  Unhurried, she returned the cap to the bottle, screwed it on, giving it an extra twist, and then she accepted her dad’s call.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  She sat back and, feet on the table, inspected her work. “Oh, I’m just settling in—”

  “Not at the arena. You’re a no-show so far this morning.”

  At least some of the strength had returned to his voice.

  “How do you know that?”

  “I talked to Mel.”

  “Who’s Mel?”

  “You’d know if you’d bothered to show up.”

  Haven winced. “Good point.” Then, because the thought of setting foot inside that arena made her stomach lurch, she heaved a dramatic sigh into the phone. “I guess this isn’t going to work out, huh? Oh well. Sorry to let you down, Dad. Feel better.”

  “It’s too late for that, Haven Marie.”

  “But—”

  “You’re not getting a dime out of me if you don’t show up. Get your ass down there. They’re waiting for you.”

  The connection went dead.

  Her stomach in knots, she left the penthouse an hour later and headed east toward the Milwaukee River. The bright midmorning sunshine chased the chill from the cool December air and danced across the facades of modern skyscrapers and historic buildings.

  The charm of the new-old, coastal-urban city was lost on her as she made the nine-block walk through the dense, narrow streets of Juneau town where her dad’s apartment building was located to the west side of town. She crossed over the river, and the massive steel and glass arena loomed lar
ge before her.

  She arrived at the north entrance, as her dad had instructed, but the burst of courage that’d carried her across town dissolved like snowflakes on her tongue. She spun away from the doors, only to abruptly turn back and then away once more.

  One of the doors opened and a woman with spiky yellow hair and a round middle poked her head out. “Ms. Callahan?”

  Haven swallowed the terror rising in her throat. “Yeah?”

  The woman positioned her body to prop open the door as her shrewd blue eyes slid over Haven.

  A bartender’s wardrobe didn’t have a lot to offer by way of professional office attire, so Haven had dressed in the black skirt and white blouse she’d bought to wear to Emily’s wedding. Except she’d thrown a bulky winter coat over the ensemble and had ditched the red heels in favor of her winter boots.

  The woman’s plump face remained expressionless when she turned. “Follow me.”

  Haven lunged to catch the door before it fell shut.

  In the empty concourse, she caught up to the surprisingly quick-footed woman. “I’m sorry, who are you?”

  “I’m Mel.” Large peace sign earrings swung from her earlobes.

  “Nice to meet you, Mel.” Haven stuck out her hand.

  The woman thrust a file folder into her palm.

  “What’s this?” Haven asked, cracking open the folder.

  “I pulled together some information for you.” They approached a bank of elevators and Mel pushed the button. “There’s a list of staff by department, a team roster with salaries against the cap, last season’s stats, and some advanced metrics that may prove helpful to you.”

  With a soft ding, the elevator doors slid open to reveal three men crowded in the tiny car.

  Big men. Huge. Athletes, no doubt.

  A shudder rippled through her.

  Mel plunged into their midst. “Hello, gentlemen. On your way up?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Mel turned and the gazes of everyone inside the elevator fixed on Haven.

  Who remained firmly planted on the other side of those doors.