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

by Jami Davenport

  She’d hoped America would be different.

  She’d been wrong.

  She’d screwed herself once again and the social network peeps hunted her down and crucified her every chance they got. Even worse, she deserved it once again.

  Marina tried to shut off her brain and sleep, but she couldn’t. When her phone beeped at about midnight, she braced herself for another scathing text message from some crazy who’d managed to get her cell number.

  The crazy wasn’t a crazy. It was Drew.

  Yeah, let’s talk when I get back.

  She held her phone to her chest, embracing the only good thing that’d happened to her in the past couple days, even as she warned herself he could want to add his voice to all the others vilifying her. Fine, she’d let him. He’d get his say, and she would listen to him and take it.

  Maybe if fate finally took pity on her, he would listen to her, too.

  * * * *

  Drew groped his way down the hallway early Thursday morning, not bothering to turn on the lights. He left a trail of clothes in his wake, stubbed his toe on the doorjamb, and hopped to the edge of the bed. He fell on top of the comforter and that was the last thing he remembered for hours. He slept like he hadn’t in days. He didn’t wake until noon with a pounding headache worse than the worst hangover, only he hadn’t been drinking anything stronger than water.

  The Sockeyes had lost their second away game and returned to Seattle beaten but not broken. The team resolved to fix their issues and play as if Game 3 was an entirely new series. So what if they were down two games to the powerhouse Penguins? No one pointed fingers at Drew, but he’d played pee-wee level hockey in the first two games. The guys cast furtive glances his way, some more irritated than worried. Others, especially the more seasoned veterans, were concerned, while the coaches scratched their heads.

  He’d played like a demon possessed before Marina and him had broken up. At least his parents had spared their criticism and held their tongues. They’d said nothing to him after either game. He’d met them briefly for breakfast yesterday, and his father talked about Penguins’ weaknesses but never once brought up Drew’s problems. Drew was grateful yet puzzled. In a way he almost wished they’d chew him out because he’d earned an ass-chewing. He was playing the worst games of his career—and in the Finals, no less.

  He sat up and scratched his belly, yawning and blinking his eyes as the sunlight poured in the windows and washed streaks of gold across his bed. Marina had looked incredible splayed out naked in this very bed with the sunlight dancing on her pale skin.

  Why the fuck did everything remind him of Marina?

  He was going to meet with her today. For closure. No other reason. He should’ve told her no, but he was too weak for that. He wanted to see her, inhale her scent, listen to her lyrical laughter. Even if it might be for the last time.

  Because she didn’t love him, and without love, they had nothing.

  He texted her. Six tonight at Gone Missing?

  He didn’t wait for an answer and got in the shower. Bronson would probably be there to witness their discussion, but Drew was beyond caring. He wanted to get this over and move on with his life. He hoped to God talking to her with would enable him to play better hockey instead of obsessing over what could’ve been.

  Unfortunately, he feared love didn’t work that way. After a long, body numbing, somewhat cold shower, he picked up his phone and read her message.

  See you then.

  OK, then game on.

  He was ready for her. She’d walked on his heart, used him for her own selfish means, and threw him away when he was no longer able to further her agenda. Anger rolled through him, and he gratefully embraced it. Almost like a drug, anger dulled the pain. He’d been battling a broken heart all week. Today he’d show her he was going to be fine. He was moving on. He didn’t need her.

  Drew spent the next few hours working out, going to morning skate, and having lunch with Coop and Smooth. They didn’t speak of his performance or even of hockey. They avoided the subject like the big, fat elephant in the room that it was. Smooth talked about his off-season plans. Coop bragged about Colin and Riley and passed around pics. Drew didn’t have much to say so he pretended to listen and hoped they never asked him any questions.

  Finally, the time came to meet Marina. He purposely dressed down in faded jeans and a ratty T-shirt and arrived a half hour early. Bronson was just walking out the door and did a double take when he saw Drew.

  “What the fuck are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be immersed in game videos of Penguins or something?”

  “I’m meeting Marina.”

  Bronson’s dark brows shot upward and disappeared under his unruly hair. “OK. I’ll leave you to it then.”

  “Where are you off to?”

  Bronson’s slow smile spread across his rugged face. “Got a date. Don’t wait up for me.” He chuckled as he pivoted and strode briskly to his truck. Drew grinned and walked into the old building. Bronson had a date? He couldn’t imagine. The only dates he’d known Bronson to have were with prostitutes, but then, who said that wasn’t what this was.

  Shrugging, Drew entered the messy office and pulled out the file on the Harmon case. He shuffled guiltily through it. He hadn’t worked on it in a while, and he firmly intended to finish to the best of his ability.

  He’d been avoiding working on it for two reasons: One, Marina and hockey had been on his mind. He loved untangling the mystery of a good who-done-it, but he’d been wrapped up in his game and playing well until this week. And reason two: He hadn’t wanted to mess with the good mojo he’d had going and muddy the waters by working on a depressing, unsolved case.

  Now looking through it and making more notes, he realized how much he missed this.

  * * * *

  Marina’s hands shook as she pulled her car into the empty spot behind Drew’s SUV. She didn’t know what to expect, and her nerves were getting the best of her.

  At this time of evening in this neighborhood, there were plenty of spots. She got out, straightened her pink blouse, gave herself a quick once over in the side mirror, and walked purposefully to the door. It was unlocked. As she entered, the little bell tinkled over the doorway.

  Drew stood in the back room and came toward her. Her heart fluttered, and she locked her knees to keep them from collapsing. He was so hot, and she’d missed him so much. She raised her gaze to his face. He could’ve been cut of stone. His eyes were dark and hard, and his body was rigid.

  He was furious. She’d hoped he’d be more receptive, but he wasn’t going to make this easy.

  He pointed to a set of rickety stairs, and she followed him up two flights. Drew opened a door and sunlight streamed in. He stepped onto the roof, and she joined him. The skyscrapers of downtown Seattle towered to the north and the huge cranes from the Port of Seattle obscured Puget Sound to the west.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” She stepped gingerly along the flat roof, not trusting its sturdiness.

  Drew’s eyes narrowed. “Would I have invited you up here if it wasn’t?”

  “I guess not.”

  Drew lowered his body into one of the plastic lawn chairs arranged haphazardly on the roof and flanked by a partially dead plant. Marina sat in the other one. They were a faded green, weathered from many years of exposure to the elements, but they were sturdy enough.

  “Say what you came to say.” Drew sipped on a beer he’d grabbed from a battered ice chest. He didn’t offer her one.

  “I wanted to apologize for everything.”

  Drew snorted. “Yeah, like using me to get a reality show.” The hurt in his eyes sliced deep to her core. She fought the urge to once again run away.

  “Drew, I didn’t do that. I never signed the contract.”

  “Every fucking gossip blog online says you did. I even heard an interview with the guy who’s producing it.” He didn’t disguise the pain in his voice, and Marina cringed. He was going to torture her, and s
he didn’t blame him. “You took my heart and used it for a trampoline. You pretended to feel the same way about me that I felt about you, but you were lying. It was all an act. That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it?”

  Marina put her hands primly in her lap and adopted her best poker face, the one she’d perfected after the Games debacle. “I didn’t sign the contract. Nor am I interested in signing it. Believe me or not. You can ask Kaley. She knows the truth. I never set out to hurt you.”

  “Excuse me if I call bullshit on your second point.”

  “Call it what you will. You might’ve chosen me over hockey. I couldn’t let you do that.” Marina met his gaze, hoping he read the sincerity in her eyes. “Drew, I love you. I’ve loved you since the first minute I saw you skate around that practice arena.”

  The conviction in her voice deflated some of his self-righteous anger while appearing to leave him at a loss for words. An awkward silence followed where neither of them knew what to say next.

  “I’m sorry. I wanted to clear the air. I do love you. I couldn’t bear to see you make a life-changing decision for me.”

  For a long time, he stared at his hands clutching the beer. Marina waited him out. Finally, he looked up. “And I’m supposed to believe you now?”

  “You’re not supposed to do anything. Just do what you feel is right.”

  He stood abruptly and closed the two steps between them. He reached for her hands and pulled her to her feet. “What I feel is right is one more night with you, stupid as it might be. Then we’re over. Done. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust you.”

  She swallowed hard and nodded. “One more night.”

  And she’d given it to him. One last night with nothing held back. She gave him her body, her soul, and her heart.

  True to his word, Drew was gone when Marina awoke in the morning. No note. Just an empty bed where his warm body had once lain.

  She cried inconsolably for what seemed like a lifetime.

  Chapter 24—Hashmarks

  Drew stepped onto the ice for warm-ups before Game 3. The atmosphere in Sockeyes Arena was restless and rowdy.

  He hated being weak, but he hadn’t been able to resist one more night with Marina. After all, his game improved considerably when they were together. Only he was kidding himself. He hadn’t slept with her for the good of the team. He’d done it for himself because she was his drug, and he couldn’t get enough of her.

  And one more night would never be enough, but at least he had hope. That hope lifted his spirits.

  The Sockeyes’ first games in the Stanley Cup Finals had started and ended in utter chaos. Going into the game down two games to zero against a formidable Penguins team was no way to start the series, and Drew carried those losses on his shoulders.

  Tonight he’d do everything in his power to win the game. His first two playoff games back on the first line had been dismal. Marina had pointed out he was trying too hard and to relax and enjoy it out there. He’d do his best. He skated in large circles, feeling loose and relaxed and knowing he had her to thank for his lack of tension.

  Coop and Smooth flanked him, exchanging glances between each other, as if they noticed the difference, too. They said nothing but nodded and smiled.

  The puck dropped minutes later, and Drew didn’t have time to think about anything but hockey. He was in the zone and seeing things before they happened. He skated like a fiend, finding spots in front of the net and snatching the puck fed by Smooth or Coop. In the first period two of his shots went in, leaving a shell-shocked Penguins team scratching their heads and wondering what this guy had done with the real Drew Delacorte because they’d like to have him back.

  Not happening, suckers.

  His confidence built. By the end of the third period, Drew scored one more goal for a hat trick, and Coop and Smooth each had one. They beat the Penguins five to two.

  The arena was rocking, and Drew was skating on air. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. As he stepped into the tunnel, his father waited for him. Drew hesitated and braced himself, but Stafford was grinning.

  “Good game, son,” he said and slapped Drew on his sweaty back.

  “Thanks, Dad.” Drew was swallowed up by reporters and well-wishers before he could say another word, but he caught a glimpse of his father over the heads of some of the fans, and Stafford was hugging his wife.

  Watching them made him elated, but at the same time his heart sank. He missed Marina. He’d been a coward to sneak out while she’d been sleeping last night, avoiding the big question. He couldn’t answer her right now. He didn’t know what he wanted.

  His parents waited for him in the family area after the game. For once, Drew wasn’t dreading seeing them. They were still smiling, and they were holding hands. He spoke with them for a few minutes before he was called away for interviews. When he returned they were gone. He’d stepped into the Twilight Zone where his dad was concerned. Eventually he’d get to the bottom of the changes, but right now he wasn’t looking that gift horse in the mouth.

  He didn’t get a chance to look at his phone until he was leaving the arena an hour later. There was a text from Marina.

  Great game.

  He tapped in his response. Thanks. I had fun out there.

  I could tell.

  I’m sorry I left without saying goodbye.

  It was probably better that way.

  Her response made his heart sink. Was she blowing him off again? Rejecting him one more time? But she said she loved him, and he believed her after the night they’d had. He tapped out another message. Is that what you really believe?

  No.

  Meet me for a late dinner.

  I’ll get takeout and come to your house.

  Even better.

  He was on cloud nine all the way home. She stood on his porch with two large sacks of Chinese takeout, and he realized how famished he was. He’d burned off a lot of energy tonight and not eaten anything after the game, even though the team always had a huge spread laid out for the players and their families.

  He took the bags from her and opened his door. Once inside, he slammed it shut with his foot, put the bags on the entry table, and pulled her into his arms. They kissed as if they’d been apart for several years instead of several hours. When he finally drew back, he buried his face in her neck and closed his eyes, just wanting to be with her and feel her against him. She sighed contentedly and rubbed the back of his sore neck. Now that he thought of it, his entire body ached from the rough game. He’d been on fire, so he’d been a target and slammed against the boards more times than he could count.

  “You’re hurting, aren’t you?” she asked in that uncanny way of hers, reading his mind once again.

  “Yeah, a little. Let’s eat. I’m also starved.”

  They sat at the kitchen counter. Marina picked at her plate of food while Drew wolfed down two heaping plates of fried rice, sweet and sour pork, Mongolian beef, and cashew chicken. All his favorites. How had she known? He couldn’t recall having Chinese with her in the past.

  Finally, Drew put down his fork with a happy sigh and turned to her. She’d been watching him, as if waiting for something.

  “I’m sorry I left like that. I didn’t know what to say so I took the coward’s way out.”

  Marina lifted her chin slightly as if expecting the worst. “You said only one more night. We had our night. Why am I here?”

  “I wanted Chinese takeout?” He grinned.

  She smacked his arm and immediately sobered. “What are we doing here, Drew?”

  “I don’t fucking know.”

  “Even though the Sockeyes are no longer an obstacle between us, I’m not sure of my future, and I’m not getting many offers. Except for the reality show.” She winked at him.

  “Which you’re not doing?”

  “I’m not doing it. I’ve had my share of drama to last a lifetime, but I doubt I’ll get a decent job in this town. My name isn’t good here.”


  “With our win tonight, everyone has forgotten about our scandal of the day. They’ve moved on.”

  Marina sighed. “I wish that were true. I don’t have answers any more than I did before.”

  “I don’t, either. I have to get through the playoffs before I can think about the future and where we fit together in it.”

  “If we do.”

  He nodded grimly, hating to admit she might be right. They may as well be star-crossed lovers. “I do love you, but I don’t know if the path we’re on is the right one.”

  “I don’t, either. My crystal ball broke long before I met you.”

  He chuckled. “I never had one.”

  “I have to level with you. I wasn’t going to tell you this, but I had an offer to be the skating coach on another team.”

  His heart stopped, and he was sick inside, proof he didn’t want to let her go or end this. “What team?”

  “Montreal. I speak French, after all. They don’t seem disturbed by my past transgressions.”

  “Montreal.” The futility of a relationship with her slammed him in the gut. So far away. Almost seven hours by plane. He doubted there were many—if any—direct flights from Seattle. “Did you accept the job?”

  She avoided his gaze for a long moment. “Not officially, but I’m going to unless I get a better offer, which I don’t see happening. That’s why we can’t start anything. It would never work out.”

  “When would you start?”

  “In two weeks, after the playoffs.”

  Shit, two weeks? That was all he had? “We could try long distance.”

  “We could. But do either of us really want to be grabbing a few hours here and there after spending more time in planes than we would together?”

  He didn’t have an answer to that, and his silence was enough of an answer.