Shot on Goal: Seattle Sockeyes Hockey (Game On in Seattle Book 11)

by Jami Davenport

“Everything? All the meat and all the toppings?”

  She nodded. “I do prefer thin crust.”

  “I’m good with that.” He’d hit the jackpot. A woman who preferred her pizza with all the meat. A man couldn’t get much luckier than that. Becca appeared and took their drink and pizza order, returning in a few minutes with the drinks.

  “How did you find this place?”

  “I spend time helping a friend out whose business is down the street. We come here a lot. Neither of us are much for cooking.”

  “What do you help him with?”

  “I’m really good at IT. I have a BA in Information Technology, a little-known fact about me. My dad prefers I keep my nerdiness a secret.” He chuckled but was unable to prevent the bitterness from creeping into his tone.

  “I see.” Marina sipped her wine and watched him over the rim of her wineglass. Drew saw the questions in her eyes, yet she didn’t ask a one.

  “You’re wondering about my dad.”

  “I am?” She seemed surprised.

  “Aren’t you? Everyone does. He puts on this façade of this great guy, but beneath it he’s a drunken asshole at times.”

  “That’s pretty harsh to say about your father.”

  Drew shrugged and took a long pull of his beer. “Yeah, probably. He didn’t used to be like this, but he’s turned into a hard man to please. Actually, impossible. He’ll never be satisfied. After Dave died, everything changed. It’s like he has to hold on tightly to what he has left, and he’s strangling me.”

  “Drew, I’m sure he’s struggling. He wants the best for you and doesn’t know how to express it.”

  “I’m sure that’s partially true. He has no one else but me to focus his attention and large ego on.”

  Marina stared down at her hands, suddenly quiet. He’d hit a nerve and wasn’t sure why. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, but I remember hearing when your brother died. It was around the time my parents died before the Games.”

  “I’m sorry about your parents.” His words were inadequate.

  “I wonder how differently my life would’ve been if they’d been around to guide me. I hear stories like yours, and I think I would take your dad rather than no dad.”

  Drew hung his head in shame. He still had his parents. She had no one. “I’m sorry. I can’t imagine. Losing my brother was a big enough blow.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you feel guilty. Just stating the truth.” She reached across the table and placed her hand on top of his. The warmth spread through him, heating up more than his hand, maybe even thawing his heart, which had been in the deep freeze way too long.

  “I was insensitive and callous.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand and squeezed. He should’ve let go, but he didn’t, and she didn’t try to pull away. Her hand felt so good in his. So right. In fact, the first right thing in his life for a long time. He vowed to have more fake dates with her.

  “Drew, you can’t tiptoe around the subject of parents with someone who has none. That’s not fair to you, either. You have legitimate issues with your father. You have to set boundaries but it’s hard when you never have.”

  “You’re right about that.”

  “What happened that night your brother died, if you don’t mind me asking. The details are sketchy. A drive-by shooting or something?”

  “More like or something, but that’s part of the story few people know except the detectives and my parents. It’s hard for me to talk about it.” He tightened his grip on her hand, but she didn’t protest.

  “You can tell me if you like. I’m a good listener, and whatever you say is safe with me.”

  He believed her. Even stranger, he wanted to tell her. He’d told few people the complete story, but he wanted to tell someone he barely knew. Only he felt as if he knew her.

  “Dave was twenty-one. Playing his rookie year for the Rangers. I’d just turned eighteen and was spending a long weekend with him to celebrate and go to a game. I got into an argument with a guy who cut us off in the parking lot of a convenience store. Dave pulled me away from him and into the store. When we came out, he was waiting for us with a gun pointed at me. Just as he pulled the trigger, Dave jumped in front of him. My brother took the bullet meant for me in an altercation over nothing but a parking spot.”

  “I’m so sorry.” Now she was squeezing his hand and leaning toward him. Her touch gave him the courage to continue.

  “Dave fell to the ground, and it took me a few seconds to register what happened. I guess I was in shock. I tried to stop the bleeding, but his blood quickly covered my fingers, my hands. It was fucking everywhere. I’ll never forget how it felt, all warm and sticky. And the smell of iron in the air.” Drew paused and rubbed his hands over his face, trying to compose himself. She held on tighter, and he found the words to continue on.

  “Dave tried to talk. I could barely hear him because every word was an effort.”

  Her beautiful face was filled with sympathy and sadness. He swallowed hard and bit his lip, hoping the pain would prevent the tears from falling.

  “What did he say?”

  “No one, except Mom and Dad know about his last words. He said, ‘It’s up to you now to win the Cup.’” He lowered his chin to his chest and pressed his eyes shut. He would not cry. He would not. Marina clasped his hand and said nothing. He appreciated her not filling the empty space with empty words like most people would.

  “Oh, Drew.” She stroked his palm with her fingers. The motion was calming, and he leaned into her, closing his eyes and letting her touch soothe the pain of his emotional scars. Regaining control, he met her concerned gaze.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “I’ve never told anyone except the detectives and Mom and Dad. I’m not sure why I chose to tell you.”

  “I’m humbled that you did.” She smiled at him, and he managed a weak smile back. “Did they arrest the guy?”

  “Nah, he disappeared into the wilds of New York City. They had a name, but they could never find him.”

  “That’s awful. The least you could hope for is justice.”

  “My parents blame me. I’ve spent the past eight years trying to make up for it. Only I can’t. I never can.”

  “You didn’t pull your brother in front of you. He made that choice.”

  “But I started the entire thing over a fucking parking spot.”

  “We’ve all done dumber things, and usually they don’t end in tragedy. You had no idea it would escalate like it did.”

  “Yeah.” The gentle sweet sound of her voice soothed his soul in a way no one else ever had.

  “Drew, you have to follow your own dreams. Not theirs. Not your brother’s. But yours.”

  He nodded slowly, knowing she saw the haunted look in his eyes. “That bullet was meant for me. He should be living my life, playing in the playoffs, partying with the guys. Instead, I’m the one doing all those things and not enjoying a moment of my own life.”

  She reached for his other hand, her face mere inches from his. He wanted to kiss her from across the table. Kissing her would make the pain go away, even if only for a short while. Kissing her would be like heaven, even if a relationship with her could descend into hell once the team, the press, and his parents snatched up the story.

  “Can we talk about something else?” He leaned back and extracted his hands from her grasp, running one hand through his unruly hair.

  “Sure.” Hurt flashed across her face, as if he’d emotionally slapped her. Before he could apologize and explain himself, their pizza arrived. Drew waited impatiently while the waitress deposited plates, pizza, utensils, and napkins in front of them.

  When she was finally out of earshot, Drew turned his attention to Marina, who was lifting a slice of gooey, messy pizza onto her plate.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just—touching you—it does something to me. Something good. Something scary.”

  She regarded him through lowered lashes. “Let’s enjoy our pizz
a.”

  Marina was as good at avoiding an issue as he was. She’d run off to Europe four years ago rather than face the hostile press and fans. He was constantly running from his brother’s ghost and himself.

  “OK,” he said with a wry smile. He’d let it go for now, but he’d revealed his deepest pain to her, and she’d said little about herself. Did that make him the weaker of the two or the stronger?

  * * * *

  Marina put her hand on the car door, opened it, and put one foot on the ground, but Drew’s words stopped her. It’d been an emotional night for both of them, bringing them closer together while emphasizing the futility of such closeness. Definitely, bittersweet, yet she wouldn’t take it back for anything.

  “Thank you for being there for me tonight. I feel better. I needed that.”

  She smiled and twisted at the waist to look over her shoulder. “You’re welcome.” For her own self-preservation, she had to get away before she did something stupid and kissed away the pain lingering on his handsome face.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night.” His face fell, as if he were expecting an invitation inside or something. They’d done too much tonight in the car, no less. She’d be all kinds of a fool to invite him in, even though his revelations over pizza brought them closer than was safe, and the sexual chemistry sizzling between them demolished her ability to keep a distance.

  Before she changed her mind and did something stupid, Marina said good night, jumped from the car, and sprinted up the steps to her second-floor apartment, not giving him the opportunity to protest or follow her. She needed to get away, clear her head, find a way to combat this thing between them.

  She shut the door and locked it, then peered between the blinds to watch him pull out of the parking area and onto the street.

  She’d been a coward to run, but avoiding alone time with him was the smart thing to do, even if she’d been anything but smart earlier in the night. Common sense battled with her heart, and resolving her inner conflict while still being exposed to the magnetic pull of this bordered on impossible.

  Marina slumped into a chair, leaned her head back, and closed her eyes. Her mind refused to be quiet, running through the impossibilities of a relationship with Drew, warning of impending disaster, like a car on a steep grade with no brakes, each corner more dangerous and difficult than the one before it.

  Desperate for a distraction, she sprang to her feet, walked across the room, and turned on her laptop. She hadn’t checked the internet since she’d started this job, not wanting to see all the negative press regarding the Sockeyes hiring of her. She’d check Facebook, see what old friends were doing. Only she didn’t. Before she knew it, she was Googling David Delacorte shooting. There were tons of articles, and she read several. There were pictures of the crime scene, images of Drew and his parents huddled together, heartbroken and bereft. Her heart went out to all three, despite how they felt about her. She would never wish that kind of grief on anyone. No wonder Drew’s dad held on so tightly to his only remaining son.

  She had more in common with Drew than he realized. Three lives gone in an instant, through no fault of their own. Her parents had been killed by a wrong-way, drunk driver, who only served a year in jail for killing two people.

  She tried to put herself in Drew’s father’s shoes. He wasn’t a bad man, just a misguided one. In the images, she read the devastation on his face as clear as she could read a theater marquee.

  Dealing with Drew’s family would be the ultimate test. Considering the way they inserted themselves into his life, she doubted she’d be able to avoid them as long as she was with the Sockeyes or skating in some capacity.

  She had goals, lofty goals, but achievable, starting with resurrecting her reputation by earning people’s trust and respect. It’d be a long haul, but she would do it. She’d started on the right track with the Sockeyes organization. Now if she could only stay there and away from their struggling winger. Easier said than done. The sparks between the two of them would light up a small city. The things Drew did to her insides…she hadn’t felt that since she’d had a teenage crush on her teacher so many years ago. She hadn’t done much dating over the years. Skating always took precedence. In Europe, she’d had a few affairs. No sparks. No butterflies. No sunset dinners. Just sex. Nothing like Drew did to her with a simple smile.

  Most likely her inexperience with love was why Drew affected her more than most. She was merely feeling a normal attraction to a handsome male. Nothing more. Only she was doing a piss-poor job of convincing herself. She wanted Drew’s mouth on her, his hands touching her, and ultimately him burying himself deep inside her.

  And that was going to be a problem. A big problem.

  She had to be strong. She had to maintain her professionalism despite the raging desire between them. She had to be the woman her parents had raised her to be.

  Times like these she missed her mother and father. Sure, she had a few close friends, like Kaley, but none of them made up for the loss of her parents. If she’d told her mother about her problem with Drew, she’d have sympathized and offered sage advice. Her dad would have threatened to hunt him down with a shotgun. The thought made her smile—for a second.

  Only they weren’t here. They couldn’t help her. They were gone. Other than a few distant relatives, she had no one.

  Except for crotchety Aunt Mina, she was alone. She’d been alone for eight years. And she’d be alone into the unforeseeable future. She’d gotten a hefty sum of money from her parents’ life insurance, but she’d used every cent to finance her quest for another medal. It was all gone. Living in Europe and instructing children had barely paid the bills. It’d been time to come back. She’d missed the United States, and she couldn’t hide forever. She wanted her future back, and sleeping with Drew was not the way to get ahead.

  Her dream was training up-and-coming skaters, steering them toward making better decisions than she had. She’d blown her entire future on one night of stupidity.

  Ethan had given her a shot.

  She loved coaching the guys, and a permanent position with the Sockeyes would be an enormous step forward. She’d gain legitimacy if she could pull this off, and she couldn’t be stupid and have an affair with a player. She’d made too many stupid mistakes already. People were waiting for her to screw up, expecting it, but she’d prove them wrong. She was stronger than she’d been in the past.

  Drew, despite their blind lust and sizzling chemistry, could not come between her and her future.

  Chapter 9—Major Penalty

  Drew’s father wasn’t there when he got home that night. In fact, the guest room door was wide open and his suitcase and clothes were gone.

  Fucking odd.

  Drew scratched his head and contemplated his dad’s absence. He’d been certain Stafford would be gearing up for the lecture of the century. He turned on his phone. Nothing. Not a text message or voicemail.

  That could only mean one thing, and it wasn’t that he was going to let it go. He was plotting something. Drew sighed. He hated all this shit. He wanted a simple life doing what he loved, whatever that was, with a nice woman at his side, and a few kids. He didn’t want this drama. Nor did he like the spotlight or the constant pressure to win. He longed to be a normal person in a normal job with a normal life. Or so he thought that’s what he wanted. He’d never been a normal person. As Stafford’s son, he’d always been under scrutiny and in the spotlight.

  He wished his father could love him as he was instead of constantly trying to mold him into what Stafford thought he should be, a younger version of Stafford, or worse, Dave. Drew was neither. Even his mother often made the mistake of painting Drew with the same brush as Dave. Maybe he wasn’t being fair to her. He’d never been honest with either of them about his hopes and dreams. He’d done what was expected, even though his heart wasn’t in it. They deserved the truth, if he could figure out what the truth was. They’d be shocked. They’d be upset. B
ut he knew they’d forgive him because he was all they had left.

  His life was all kinds of fucked up, and he couldn’t shake the feeling things were coming to a head and Marina would be the catalyst. He couldn’t avoid the inevitable much longer, any more than he was able to avoid Marina.

  Shit was going to hit the fan.

  He had a fitful sleep and called his father the next morning. Stafford picked up on the first ring, as if he’d been sitting by the phone.

  “Yeah,” his father said.

  “Dad, where are you?”

  “I’m at the Edgewater Hotel with your mother.”

  “Mom’s in town?”

  “Yeah. She flew in last night. Caught the last period of your game.”

  “I didn’t see her with you after the game. Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were second line?”

  “Sorry.” Drew swallowed hard. His father had him there. He felt once again like a crappy son as renewed guilt flooded him. “I’ll be there in thirty, and we’ll have breakfast.”

  “Just you? Or is someone with you?”

  “I’m alone.”

  His father’s silence stretched before him, his lack of words saying more than his words did. Did Stafford suspect something between him and Marina, or someone else entirely?

  “Dad, let’s talk.”

  “See you in half an hour.” His father ended the conversation, always needing the last word.

  * * * *

  With growing dread, Drew gave his keys to the valet and strode into the historic Seattle hotel on the waterfront. His parents were sitting in the lobby. Drew paused and took stock of them before they noticed him. They sat together on the couch, staring out the wall of windows at a white and green ferry crossing Eliot Bay. They were holding hands, he noted with surprise. His parents’ relationship had always been a stormy one, with periods of ups and downs. Somehow, they’d weathered those storms, and he’d noted in the past year or two they were closer than ever, and the infidelity rumors surrounding his father had faded into nothingness.