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

by Jami Davenport

  “Not this time.”

  “Let’s hope not, dear.”

  In Mina’s world, the head was always followed. Many staff swore she didn’t have a heart. Marina wasn’t so sure. She’d seen moments of softness, such as when her parents died and Mina came to the Olympics to watch her skate in their absence, despite her aversion to large crowds. When Marina’s world came crashing down a second time four years later and she lost the only other thing she loved—figure skating—Mina was there. She wasn’t happy with Marina’s screw-up, but instead of belaboring the point, she came up with solutions, one of which was Europe.

  Marina smiled at her aunt, who graced her with a rare smile in return. Mina reached out and patted her hand. “It’ll all work out. You must believe.”

  Marina nodded and swallowed a large lump in her throat.

  Maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought she was.

  Chapter 10—Shredding the Offense

  Grinning, Drew mirrored Marina’s movements as they skated in a large circle at high speed. He was having fun. Digging in, she powered in front of him, and he lifted her by the waist before dropping to one knee, while still holding her above his head. He slid to a stop, released her, and she did the splits in front of him, ending their routine.

  A huge smile spread across his face as he shot to his feet and pulled her up next to him. Her mega-watt smile warmed his heart and other parts he’d been trying to keep under wraps. She was so beautiful, and her face glowed with happiness. Come to think of it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d smiled this broadly and felt this free and happy.

  She threw back her head and laughed for the pure joy of it all. He wrapped her in his arms and spun her around, both of them laughing as their skates became tangled and they fell into a heap on the ice with Marina half underneath him.

  As she stared up at him with her expressive brown eyes, he forgot the rest of the world.

  She held him in a trance, the same one she appeared to be in. Neither spoke, they barely breathed. Their lips were mere inches apart, and he so wanted to taste them. One little taste. That’s all. That’d be enough. Only it wouldn’t. He’d want more. She was an addiction he couldn’t shake, and thoughts of her occupied his days and nights.

  “Drew?” she said questioningly, then pushed on his chest. He woke from his Marina-induced stupor and hauled himself to his feet. Offering her his hand, he helped her stand.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “Nothing to be sorry for.” She brushed his remark off as if the last several seconds hadn’t happened, as if she hadn’t felt the connection tugging at both of them. Her smile returned. “We nailed it!”

  “We did,” he agreed, smiling again. “We were awesome.”

  “We were. Next time we’re working on the jumps.”

  He made a face. Even though he secretly loved the jumps, he pretended he didn’t to get a rise out of her.

  They’d run through the majority of their routine and done it close to perfectly. He couldn’t begin to explain the pure joy that enveloped him when he was skating with Marina. They’d been in the zone, one mind, one body… Fuck, maybe even one soul. He’d never wanted anything in his life as much as he wanted her. She’d made him love life again, even if only a portion of it. He’d been dead to the world around him. Numb and unfeeling. Now he’d emerged from a black-and-white world to one in full, vibrant colors. He didn’t want to lose those colors again.

  The past several days had been tough, but the Sockeyes made it through the first round by the skin of their teeth. They won the seventh game in L.A. in overtime in a five to four nail-biter and were moving on to the second round against San Jose.

  Cave proved he belonged on the first line by being all over the ice, assisting, passing, blocking, shooting, and scoring the winning goal with five seconds on the clock. Drew, on the other hand, hadn’t proven a thing. He hadn’t played badly, just not impressively. He wasn’t performing to his potential. Yet the coaches seemed pleased with the improvements they’d seen. It certainly wasn’t enough to win back his spot on the first line, but he was becoming accustomed to playing with Ziggy and Rush.

  Tomorrow they’d fly to San Jose and the next night they’d play the first of two away games before returning to Seattle for two home games. Today they had a much-needed break. Drew and Marina were taking advantage of the deserted practice rink to work on their pairs routine. The last couple of games had been too intense to spend time on figure skating. He enjoyed the break from hockey, probably a little too much.

  His parents had been absent from his games. He’d heard through the hockey grapevine they were back home in Toronto. He’d never gone this long without talking to either of them. He should be relieved without their constant scrutiny, and he was, but not as much as he’d have guessed. He missed them, but he couldn’t cave this time. They’d expect him to come back on their terms. If he did, he’d lose what little ground he’d gained.

  He still wasn’t as crazed as his teammates about the playoffs, but he was faking it better, judging by the looks of approval he’d seen on Coop and Smooth’s faces.

  And he had Marina to thank for his improved attitude. Gorst damn well better notice and give credit where credit was due. Maybe he’d talk to him, throw in a good word for this woman currently gazing up at him with adoring eyes. He couldn’t recall anyone ever looking at him like that, and he suppressed his urge to touch her. He’d be a goner if he did something that stupid. Touching her during their skating practice was torture enough.

  “Marina, a word with you.” There was no mistaking the stern voice of Mina from near the corridor.

  Marina jumped and skated backward a few steps. “Aunt Mina.” Guilt was written all over her face. Her aunt stood near the gate, her arms crossed over her chest and her dissecting gaze ripping Drew a new one. The entire team was afraid of Mina. She had Ethan’s ear, and it was public knowledge she had more power than her position suggested.

  His face impassive, Drew skated behind Marina and halted when she stopped in front of her aunt.

  Mina bestowed her disapproving scowl on him. “Don’t you have better things to do, Mr. Delacorte?”

  He probably did, but he couldn’t think of anything right this moment. One more withering glare from Mina, and he was thinking harder. He cast an apologetic glance in Marina’s direction and hurried down the corridor.

  The locker room was deserted, and Drew sat to unlace his black figure skates. He’d broken down and purchased a pair. Doing a pairs routine in hockey skates had been a challenge. He put them away and wandered into the players’ lounge to see what he could find to eat. The team kept the refrigerator stocked with all kinds of goodies for the players, and Drew was starved. He snagged a hefty ham sandwich and a water and sat down to enjoy his meal in solitude. Rarely did he have this room to himself.

  The door opened, and Ice strolled in. He glanced around the room. Seeming satisfied they had the lounge to themselves, he walked across the room, grabbed his own water and sandwich from the fridge and dropped into the chair across the table from Drew.

  “How’s it going?” Ice said, surprising Drew. His teammate wasn’t one to make small talk.

  “Good.”

  “Caught part of your routine. If you ever want to hang up your hockey skates, you might have a career as a pairs skater.”

  Drew snorted. “I doubt that.”

  “You were enjoying yourself.” Ice’s words weren’t accusatory, more like surprised.

  Drew shrugged and refused to be sucked into telling more than necessary. “It’s fun.”

  “More fun than hockey?”

  Drew narrowed his eyes, but no one could intimidate Ice. The guy was unflappable, intense, and merciless on and off the ice. He shrugged. “A different kind of fun.”

  “You don’t fool me.” Ice leaned back and took a swig from his water bottle, his gaze direct and almost smug. “I’ve been where you are. I know that look.”

  “What look?”
<
br />   “The look of a man who’s considering hanging up his skates for good and at the prime of his career.”

  Drew concentrated on his sandwich. He bit off a mouthful and chewed thoughtfully as he ran through his options. The best choice was not to answer. Play dumb. Keep his cool.

  “You considered hanging up your skates?”

  “Yeah. I was playing hockey for all the wrong reasons. It was my escape, my ticket out of my shitty home situation. My dad was a brutal man, physically and emotionally. Nothing ever pleased him. He was sucking the joy out of anything I did.”

  “But you didn’t quit.”

  Ice smiled. “No, in the end, hockey was my lifeline. I needed hockey to survive.” He scrutinized Drew for a moment. “It’s not your lifeline, is it?”

  Drew shook his head and answered honestly for once. “I don’t know what hockey is to me. My brother loved it. Lived and breathed it, just like Dad. Me, not so much. I’m good at it. It comes easily for me. The money is fantastic.”

  Ice frowned, irritation creased his brow, and he set down his water. He leaned forward in his chair and pursed his lips. “Is your lack of commitment fair to your teammates who are busting their asses to kick it up a notch during the playoffs while you’re on cruise control?” Ice leaned forward. “What the fuck is it you want? Not what your father or mother wants. Or what your brother may have wanted. But what does Drew Delacorte want?”

  “To be happy. To do something I love. To be with someone I love.”

  “Now there’s the rub. I’m going to get a little sappy here. If you tell anyone, I’ll kick your ass. To love someone and have someone who loves you changes a guy’s entire worldview, especially a cynical guy like me. Maybe that’s your real problem. You don’t have that someone. In the time I’ve been on this team, I’ve seen you do plenty of partying and one-night stands, but I haven’t seen you have a serious relationship with anyone.”

  “I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s not what’s wrong here.”

  “Then what is it?”

  Drew looked down again. “Just going through some stuff. That’s all. This game is all I’ve ever known. It’s been my life for as long as I can remember.”

  Ice didn’t look convinced. He didn’t believe a word Drew was spouting. He tossed his napkin into a nearby garbage can and stood. “You’re going to need to make some tough choices in the next few months. One of them will involve that little figure skater. Make the right choices for you. No one else.”

  Ice stood and walked out of the room without another word, leaving Drew to wonder what had just happened. He’d never known Ice to talk that much in one sitting, for starters, let alone get personal. Secondly, Ice had noticed something between Drew and Marina. And thirdly, Drew wasn’t fooling him at all when it came to still loving hockey. Ice knew the truth about hockey and Marina. How many others had figured him out?

  He thought he was being clever and hiding his feelings for Marina and hockey. Ice had probably noticed the hungry glances between the two and the way they purposely avoided each other. Maybe he was the only one in the room who didn’t realize he wasn’t hiding a damn thing.

  Chapter 11—Doing Normal

  The next ten days zoomed by, and Drew managed to hold it together, keeping his hands off Marina except during their figure skating practices and upping his game on the ice. The game thing was gradual, but the coaches noticed, even if he was still stuck on the second line. The Marina thing was excruciatingly painful, and his dick hated being on such a short leash.

  The Sockeyes had fought a hard series against San Jose and were leading three games to two.

  At the end of the third period of Game 6, the San Jose goalie slid across the ice on his stomach in the opposite direction of the net, and Rush snatched the puck from their defenseman. He passed to Gibs, who sliced the puck across the net through traffic into Drew’s waiting stick.

  His teammates had set him up perfectly. He was in the perfect scoring position. Open net. Ten feet away. No defenders in sight. It was a gift of heaven. All he had to do was slap the puck into the net to send Game 6 into overtime and give the Sockeyes a chance to win the second round in six games and earn a much-needed rest.

  Drew hit the puck with his stick and watched it go airborne, realizing in mute horror he’d put too much on it. It grazed the top of the net and fell harmlessly behind as the final buzzer sounded.

  Drew stared at the empty net in open-mouthed shock. All around him, San Jose players streamed onto the ice and celebrated tying the series on the Sockeyes’ home ice. Seconds ago, the crowd in the arena had been deafening. Now you could hear a puck drop.

  His teammates stared at him in disbelief, many of them shaking their heads as they shuffled from the bench area to the tunnel, never once looking back at him. Drew avoided speaking to anyone as he fell into line. At least the crowd wasn’t booing him, though he deserved it.

  Coop waited for him in the hallway outside the locker room. His face was expressionless. He motioned for Drew to follow him down the hall where nosey ears couldn’t hear.

  “Sorry,” Drew muttered.

  “That was a shot a pee-wee player would’ve made, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

  Drew swallowed and wiped his sweaty face with his jersey. “I fucked up.”

  “Your head isn’t in the game. That’s why you’re not first line, and if I were Coach, you might be riding the pine or on the third line after that move. We need every player on this team to dig deep and find reserves they didn’t know they had, to perform a miracle on ice.”

  Drew didn’t point out the obvious. There had only been one true miracle on ice, and this team wasn’t the one who’d pulled it off. He doubted Coop would appreciate his observation.

  “You aren’t giving us everything you have. I don’t know where the fuck your head is, nor do I care what you plan on doing after the season ends. Hockey is a team sport, and you’re still on this team. We fucking need you because without contributions by every member, we don’t stand a rat’s chance in hell of taking this thing any further than round two.”

  Drew nodded and lifted his head, forcing himself to look Coop in the eyes. He wouldn’t continue to be a coward. He’d own up to his problems.

  “Are you in or are you out? Because if you’re out, if your heart isn’t in this, I’d rather Coach benched you for the remaining games and played a kid we just called up.”

  “I’m in,” Drew said through gritted teeth.

  “Good.” Coop nodded briefly and without another word, turned and entered the locker room, slamming the door behind him for effect. A few guys glanced from Drew to the door and quickly entered, not wanting anything to do with Drew’s bad mojo.

  Drew closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had to go in there and face every one of them. He could see their condemning gazes now. They considered him a liability. A bad luck charm. The storm cloud ruining their sunny day.

  The worst of it was that they were right.

  “You have reached a new low. You’ve embarrassed the hell out of me in front of my friends.”

  Oh, fuck.

  Drew whirled around to confront his father. He should’ve known the man wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.

  Stafford was madder than Drew had seen him in a long time. He was practically breathing fire. His face was so red he looked ready to detonate, and his big hands were fisted so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

  He couldn’t think of a smart retort, so he said nothing.

  “Maybe you should be putting on sequin jumpsuits and figure skates. I never thought I’d see the day when a boy of mine prefers to do those whimpy-assed spins and jumps over playoff hockey.”

  Frustration welled up in him, bringing him to the boiling point. “You’re right, Dad, I do love figure skating more than hockey. I find it a hell of a lot more rewarding because you aren’t there every step of the way criticizing my every move. I could never please you, and I’ll never
be good enough because I’m not David. No more. I’m done with this bullshit.”

  There. He’d said it. He waited for detonation, but it didn’t come. Stafford frowned, looked confused, and backed up a step. He blinked several times as if trying to get his bearings on uneven turf. His father never backed down, and Drew rarely challenged him.

  “I had no idea you felt that way.”

  Stafford suddenly looked ten years older. His face turned an unhealthy gray, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. Drew wanted to take it all back, to apologize, and grovel for his father’s approval like he always did. This time, he refused to cave and held strong.

  “I do feel that way.”

  “What about Dave? What about his last request? Doesn’t that mean shit to you?”

  “Dave would understand.”

  “I guess I have nothing more to say to you. You’ve made your position clear. I was trying to help because I want the best for you.” Stafford was manipulating him, and Drew saw it for what it was, even though he had to exercise extreme restraint not to give in.

  “I don’t need your help, thank you.”

  Stafford appraised him one final time, sighing, he strode away, a man too proud to admit he was wrong. Drew watched him go, his insides grinding in turmoil.

  He could only think of one place to go and one person to go to.

  The only person who’d understand, and the last person he should confide in.

  * * * *

  Marina left the arena after the loss, the series tied three to three.

  Everyone was grim-faced and not talking much. She needed some ice time by herself. Skating had always been her therapy. She drove to the SHAC and let herself in with her keycard. Minutes later, she flipped on the middle bank of lights and stepped onto the ice.

  She pushed off, allowing herself time to feel her blades gliding across the fresh surface. Finishing a few perfect figure eights, she skated to one corner and built her speed, executing a damn good triple before the boards on the diagonally opposite side. She may not be in championship form, but she was good enough to perform for and wow a crowd, if they’d forgive her transgressions long enough to enjoy her talent.