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

by Amy Olle

She shushed him. “Don’t distract me. I’m driving.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Thirty minutes later, they finally arrived at the arena. They’d missed the puck drop and by the time they found their seats behind one of the goals, five rows up from the glass, the game was well underway.

  Jack let out a low whistle. “Nice seats. These come with the job?”

  “I don’t know. Mel got them for me.”

  She removed her coat and started down the row ahead of him. The blue jeans did everything and more that he’d imagined to accentuate her sweet ass, and for the first time, he questioned his judgement in agreeing to attend the game with her. How in the hell was he going to keep his hands off her for so long?

  The teams played fast and physical, and he watched several shifts before one player jumped out at him.

  “Who’s number thirty-five?”

  She squinted at the roster. “Kai Okalik.”

  “He’s shifty. Elusive,” Jack noted. “You can’t coach that.”

  Her brow puckered while she scrawled notes in the margin of the paper. She was kind of adorable, actually.

  Smiling, he turned his attention back to the game.

  They shared a few observations about the other players, but then the Mayhem made a line change and a massive player staggered out onto the ice. With the finesse of a drunken sailor, number eight mauled his way to the net at will.

  “Whoa.”

  Haven was already looking him up on the roster. “Number eight… Gabriel Killorn. Six eight, two forty. He plays Bryce’s position?”

  Killorn knocked his man off the puck, took possession of the disc, and skated up ice.

  “Yeah, except this guy plays defense.”

  At intermission, Jack stood. “I’m going to grab a hot dog. You want anything?”

  “A hot dog sounds good, and a beer.” She reached for her bag at her feet. “I’ve got money.”

  “Stop it.”

  Long lines delayed him, and by the time he returned to their seats, the players were back on the ice going through warmups.

  She thanked him when she accepted a hot dog and beer from him.

  Placing her drink in the cup holder, she poised the hot dog before her mouth and removed the paper wrapper. “What do you think of Coach Chambers?”

  “I think he’s a good coach.”

  The players gathered at center ice and the ref dropped the puck.

  “You think he’s a good coach, but…?”

  Jack selected his words carefully. “He’s a little young yet. What is he, thirty-eight?”

  She nodded. “That’s a theme with this team. Youngest coach in the league and the youngest roster.”

  And all the pitfalls that came with youth, Jack thought. Immaturity. Inconsistency. The tendency to get too high and too low too quickly, and commit stupid penalties.

  The smooth shooter, Okalik, wound up and slapped a one-timer at the net. The goalie knocked it down and the Mayhem recovered the rebound.

  “But when Coach decides to take control of this team, look out.”

  “You don’t think he’s in control?”

  He shook his head. “Forget it. You’re not going to bait me into ratting out my coach.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Has anyone ever baited you into anything?”

  “Not once,” he admitted.

  “And don’t worry. Cal’s job is safe. I was just curious.” She frowned at her hot dog. “It is odd though. He’s a defense-minded coach, but Darby can’t seem to get enough offensive skill players. I wonder what Cal could do if he had a few more players that fit into his scheme better.”

  Jack shot her an incredulous look.

  Her hand came up to touch her mouth. “What?”

  “For someone who hates sports, you sure know an awful lot about hockey.”

  A soft smile touched her lips. “My dad was a super fan. He was a season ticket holder and he used to take my brother and me to games—every game—when we were kids. Also, my brother played.”

  Jack didn’t know she had a brother. He was about to ask her about him when her mouth opened and she wrapped her lips around the long shaft of her hot dog.

  A moan of ecstasy sounded in her throat.

  All the heat eddying through his body coalesced in his cock, and he knew with a certainty that no amount of guided meditation would ever erase the memory of Haven Callahan eating that hot dog.

  Her tongue peeked out from between her lips to lick a splotch of ketchup from the corner of her mouth. “This is so good.”

  The horns blared and he whipped his head around to see that the Mayhem had scored.

  He shifted in his seat, trying to ease the pressure on his hard cock while they showed the replay on the jumbotron. Number eight, camped out in front of the net, had deflected the winger’s slap shot and the wobbling puck hit the hole over the goalie’s right shoulder.

  Haven scribbled notes on her paper. The long sweep of her eyelashes rested on the soft curve of her cheek, and when he glimpsed her small, neat handwriting, a tiny pinch nipped him in the center of his chest.

  “I’ll say one more thing about Coach, and then my lips are sealed on the topic.”

  “What’s that?” She sipped her beer.

  “The players are confused. Coach tells them one thing and then Poitiers swoops in and the whole plan changes.”

  A crease formed between her brows while she chewed on his words.

  “The guys, especially the young guys, they don’t know their roles. If they knew who to trust and could figure out their place on this team, I think you’d see a big improvement on the ice.”

  Number eight checked his defender against the board. Jack surged to his feet as the crowd erupted with the resounding hit. The prone player climbed to his feet and caught up with Killorn at the other end. The men circled each other, heedless to the game being played around them.

  Both men dropped their gloves and it was on. With Killorn’s long reach, the fight ended quickly.

  At his side, Haven’s heat reached out to him.

  He smiled down at her. “I think that’s a Gordie Howe hat trick for number eight.”

  Her mouth dropped open in an O. “I’ve never seen one live.”

  That he didn’t have to explain to her the term used for a player with a goal, an assist, and a fight all in one game sent Jack’s pulse pounding.

  As the game played on, his gaze continued to stray to her. His first game as a spectator, a thrilling game before an unruly crowd, and unbelievably, the action didn’t hold his attention. Instead, she drew him to her like a magnetic force, and by the time the final buzzer sounded, he was repeating one phrase over and over again in his undisciplined mind.

  Fifty-four days.

  As they filed out of the arena, Haven read something on her cell phone and then dropped the device back inside her bag.

  “Do you mind if we make a quick stop on the way back to town?” she asked.

  He bared his teeth. “I’m just along for the ride.”

  The slow, painful ride.

  Though if it meant he got to sit beside her and breathe in her intoxicating scent for a little while longer, he may not complain too loudly.

  Darkness had settled in when they pulled up to a wrought iron gate. In a neighborhood that kindled the fire of resentment in Jack’s gut. Haven punched in a code on the intercom and the ornate bars slid open. She eased the car up the curved cobblestone driveway and parked in front of a sprawling mansion so opulent and overdone it appeared garish to his lower-middle-class eye.

  Fine, he probably couldn’t be considered middle class now. He made plenty of money. It didn’t mean he understood these people or their lifestyle. Or that he wanted much of anything to do with their world. He barely concealed a bitter sneer.

  It just figured the woman he wanted more than any other had grown up in a place like this.

  A leggy blonde let them into the lavish foyer, and Haven introduced the woman, who ha
d to be close to him in age, as her stepmom, Kristen.

  “I’ll go grab the envelope.” Kristen disappeared into a room beneath a grand staircase.

  He could feel Haven’s eyes on him, watching him, so he wandered over to a wall of framed photographs.

  Two little boys featured prominently, along with a number of photos of Hank Callahan, his trophy wife, Kristen, and an assortment of famous hockey players from the past several decades.

  Before one photo, Jack leaned closer, squinting at the two teenage girls.

  He pulled up, and then whipped his head around to gape at Haven. “You were a punk rock girl?”

  She cringed. “The purple hair didn’t do anything for my complexion.”

  He peered more closely at the picture. “Wait. Is that…?”

  “Kristen.”

  His unspoken questions hung in the air.

  Soft pink stained Haven’s cheeks. “She and I were best friends since the time we were in preschool together. Our senior year in high school, she and my dad….”

  Jack recoiled. With a glance around to make sure the stepmom wasn’t nearby, he whispered, “That’s disgusting. Was she even legal?”

  She gave him a pointed look. “Just barely.”

  Twisting back around, he stared into Haven’s younger face and shook his head. “Damn,” he muttered. “You deserved better than that.”

  A moment later, he turned away from the wall of memories.

  “Thank you,” she said softly.

  “For what?”

  She spoke to his shirtfront. “For taking my side, even though you hardly know me.”

  “I know you,” he said.

  The pink color on her cheeks deepened.

  A commotion at the top of the stairs sounded a beat before two boys burst out onto the landing. They plunged down the wide staircase.

  “Mom’s on the phone.” The taller and, presumably, older boy told Haven while his bright eyes sized up Jack. “She said to tell you she’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Have you guys met Jack Nolan yet?” Haven asked.

  Two blond heads shook.

  “Jack, this is Chance and Braden. They’re hockey players, like you.”

  Two narrow chests puffed up.

  One of Jack’s favorite things about being a semicelebrity was meeting a wide-eyed kid and shooting the shit with them for a bit.

  “Hockey players, eh?”

  Two heads bobbed.

  “What positions do you play?”

  “I’m the goalie,” the little guy said.

  “A goalie? Wow. That’s big time. How about you?”

  “I play forward. You wanna see my new stick?”

  “I’d love to see your new stick.” Jack smiled with Haven as they followed the boys to a kitchen at the back of the house.

  Chance darted toward the pile of hockey gear in the corner behind the kitchen table while Braden climbed onto a barstool at the island and plucked a grape from the stainless steel colander.

  While Jack and Chance discussed the curve and angle he’d chosen for his stick, Haven chatted with Braden at the island.

  She tossed a grape in the air and caught it with her mouth.

  A smile broke across Jack’s face.

  The little boy lunged at the colander. His first attempt sailed over his head.

  “Like this.” Haven flicked another grape in the air and it bounced off Braden’s tiny nose. “Ooh, so close. Try again.”

  She sent another grape flying and that time the kid reeled it in.

  Haven’s face lit up with the prettiest smile Jack had ever seen and her throaty laughter rang out. Was it the first full-blown smile he’d ever seen on her?

  Two more grapes disappeared into the boy’s mouth before Kristen reappeared.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” she said, her cheeks flushed. “Here’s your paycheck.”

  “It’s no problem.” Haven tossed up another grape and Braden ducked under it to make the catch. She turned her smile on Kristen. “He’s a natural. I think he’s even better than Ryan.”

  Braden chewed happily. “Who’s Ryan?”

  Haven froze. She blinked at the little boy several times before turning to her stepmom.

  Kristen appeared stricken.

  Haven’s arms dropped to her sides. “You never told them about Ryan?”

  Jack would never forget the anguish in Haven’s voice when she asked that question, or the vicious slash of pain that sliced across her face when Kristen’s guilty expression provided the answer. It knocked him in the chest with such force it nearly felled him.

  “There hasn’t been a good time....” Kristen’s voice trailed off.

  Haven stood motionless while she stared. He thought she might crumble to dust right there before their eyes, and he was about to go to her when she suddenly drew herself up.

  She set down a handful of grapes on the island counter, which rolled and settled as she strode to the kitchen door.

  Kristen turned, following Haven’s retreat. “When they’re older, I’m sure—”

  But Haven didn’t slow down long enough to hear Kristen’s explanations.

  A heavy silence hung in the room.

  “Mom, watch this.” Braden tossed a grape in the air and snatched it.

  “Good job, buddy,” Kristen said weakly.

  Jack said a quick good-bye to the boys and took the envelope Kristen handed him.

  In the car, he found Haven in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead.

  He settled behind the steering wheel.

  For many long moments, they sat in silence.

  Until, finally, he asked, “Will you tell me who Ryan is?”

  “He was my brother. My twin brother, actually.” Her features crumpled and she turned her face away.

  “What happened to him?”

  Her fingers flitted over her collarbone. “There was an accident….”

  “The car accident you were in?”

  She nodded.

  Sickened, he closed his eyes.

  “We were arguing.” Her voice trembled. “I can’t even remember what about, but I’m pretty sure I was being a bitch. Another car ran a stop sign.”

  He could think of no words that might stop the bleeding, so he didn’t try. “How old was he?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “Damn. That’s so young. He played hockey?”

  “Same position as you.” A ghost of a smile touched her lips. “He used to have a knack for spotting the gaps, you know? He could slip around and between defenders better than anyone else his age.”

  There was a long silence while she folded and unfolded the hem of her coat.

  “What happened after he died?”

  She stared down at her hands. “Everything changed. My parents became… different people. My mom was… so sad. All the time. Then my dad and Kristen….”

  He swallowed the lump in his throat. “What about you?”

  “Someone had to take out the trash. Buy the milk. Make sure my mom didn’t mix up her meds and accidentally overdose again.”

  His throat closed and he couldn’t get any more words out. Not that he had any words which might alleviate, even a little, the aching tear inside her.

  She stared into the darkness through the windshield. “And I…”

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.” She inhaled a sharp breath and pushed it out between her lips. “I’m sorry. It’s late. We should go.”

  He wanted to argue, to demand she talk to him and tell him everything that was in her heart. But when he glimpsed the defeated, despaired expression on her precious face, he just couldn’t bring himself to push her.

  The drive back to Hamilton Place was more excruciating than any ride he’d ever taken. Though it paled in comparison to the pain he felt when he delivered her to the penthouse door and watched her disappear into its dark interior alone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack skated up ice
and drove toward the net.

  From his position near the bench, Coach blew his whistle. “Where the hell you going, Lovejoy?” His voice cracked hoarsely. “Your man’s way the hell over here!”

  Hands on his knees, Bryce skated in circles and dragged air into his lungs.

  Jack felt little sympathy for the alternate captain, who’d shown up to practice hungover.

  “Do it again,” Coach barked.

  Poitiers sat in the arena seats a few rows behind the bench, hovering like a devil over Coach’s right shoulder.

  They ran the drill again, and again Bryce missed his assignment. The tediousness began to wear on Jack.

  Then he caught sight of her on the mezzanine, talking with the facilities manager. Haven pointed up at the rafters while the facilities manager nodded. Then he said something that made her laugh.

  With that one simple laugh, the tension that’d been rattling through him since he’d last seen her two days before eased suddenly. In those two days, he’d thought of her often. Constantly. Strangely enough, when his mind played with his memories of her, more often than not, she was wearing clothes.

  The team ran through the drill again, that time without provoking Coach’s ire. They repeated the exercise, and when Jack found a seam, he squeaked the puck through with a slap shot, but Milo reacted with a flash of speed to make the backbreaking save.

  A swell of appreciation rippled around the team and coaches, putting a wide, unrestrained smile on Milo’s youthful face.

  After setting up the next drill, Coach waved Jack over. “Give the kid a few more looks like that, would ya? Let’s see if we can build his confidence back up.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The next set began, and he and Coach turned to watch the action on the ice.

  Behind them, Haven had moved down into the lower bowl and now sat beside Darby. Her words garbled when she said something to him, but the general manager’s booming laugh rang out.

  “You’ve got to be joking.” Poitiers coughed and laughed at the same time. “Oh God, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m serious,” she bit out.

  “Then no, they’re staying in Madison. They need more time to season. Both of them.”

  Coach pretended great interest in the action on the ice, but Jack could tell he was keeping track of the conversation going on behind them.