Hanging up, he slumped against the wall. Love you as much as I can love anyone.
* * * *
The sun was way too bright, blazing over Landon's closed lids like the fireball that had flared up from his stove. A vise squeezed his brain and his stomach—
He lurched from the bed and practically knocked Carter over on the way to the bathroom. His strength spewed out from his guts as he knelt in front of the toilet. "Idiot." He mumbled between dry heaves. "You deserve to suffer you fucking idiot."
"You and me both, pal." Carter shuffled into the bathroom, giving Landon a weak smile as he slapped his back. "You're probably in worse shape than I am though. Had to help you in here a few times last night, but I got some water in you, which should help."
Landon didn't remember leaving the bed, or drinking anything other than beer, whiskey, and half a dozen tiny bottles of everything else. But his mouth didn't taste as acidic as it would have if he'd been puking up alcohol. The kid had taken care of him. Destined for sainthood, that one.
"Thanks, man." Landon let Carter help him up and inhaled deep. It had been a long, long time since he'd let himself get this wasted—a year to be exact. Never happened on a game day, but he had a few tricks that would help him cope. "I'm gonna take a shower, then go for a jog. Usually gets me feeling almost human. You wanna come?"
Carter backed away, holding his hands out in front of him, his expression serious. "I like you. But not that much."
What the— Landon groaned and shoved Carter out of the bathroom. "For the jog, you asshole."
The kid's laughter sliced through the door Landon slammed in his face and stabbed into his skull. Despite his pain, Landon managed to chuckle. Under an ice cold shower spray, he scrubbed quickly without letting his thoughts drift to anything depressing. He tipped his head back, filling his mouth with water and spitting it out until his mouth stopped tasting like rancid meat. Swallowed to rehydrate himself. Then went to the room to dress for his jog.
Without a word, Carter followed him outside the hotel and kept pace with him as he pushed his body beyond the dragged-behind-a-fourwheeler-through-the-woods sensation. Sweat soaked his tank top, his muscles burned, and his stomach took another lurch. This time, he managed to hold down the bit of water he'd drank. But he needed to eat something.
"Hungry?" He asked Carter as they slowed in front of a grocery store.
Carter's skin took on a green tinge. "I'm starting to hate you. You go ahead. I'm going to keel over right here and die."
"We've got three hours to pull it together, kid. I'll pick us up some crackers and bananas. Some eggs would be good too if we can stomach them."
"Where the hell are we going to cook the eggs?"
"Who said anything about cooking them?"
Covering his mouth with his hand, Carter retreated to a bench and folded onto it. "You are a fucking sadist. Ever hear of salmonella? I'll pass on the side of food poisoning with my hangover, thanks."
"Organic eggs aren't likely to make you sick, you wuss." Landon shrugged when Carter made a gagging noise and headed into the store to get what he needed. At the checkout he chatted with the cute goth girl at the cash register, feeling almost normal. Just another game day after a few too many. No reason to dwell on things he couldn't change. He controlled what happened on the blue paint, between the pipes.
Narrowing life to those 60 minutes suited him just fine.
Grabbing his bag, he glanced over to the glass storefront and cursed. Apparently 60 minutes wasn't going to cut it. The game wasn't going to wait until they got to the rink.
"Hey, aren't you the guy who's with that hot singer? Mel-something? The one I loosened up for you?"
Landon groaned as he approached Carter and the three Sabres that surrounded him. The rookie didn't get the concept of keeping the trash-talk on the ice. 'The guy' was Dirk Nelson, the Sabres's captain. And 'Mel-something' was his wife.
Anyone you haven't slept with, kid?
To his credit, Nelson just laughed. "Nice try, rookie. See you on the ice. Hopefully you can prove yourself there, because you didn't make much of an impact on my wife. Then again, she doesn't remember most of her past boy toys."
"Oh, she remembers me. I took her virginity." Carter said with a smirk.
"You were still eating cat shit out of the sandbox when she lost her virginity, kid."
"I'm talking about the back door, Einstein." Carter's mouth opened wide as Nelson's eyes narrowed. "Oh fuck! You didn't know your ol' lady was an anal slut? You have no idea what you're missing!"
Landon yanked Carter out of reach just as Nelson went for his throat. The captain's teammates dragged him away, struggling and cursing all the way to a black SUV. Carter bent over, laughing so hard that Landon had to punch him in the arm to get him to stop.
Red faced and gasping, Carter finally straightened. "Did you see—Oh my god, that was fucking classic!"
"What the fuck is wrong with you? He's going to be on you all night, you know that right?"
"Let him fucking bring it." Carter squared his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. "I wouldn't have started on him if he didn't bring up my little sister."
"Ah . . . ." Landon made a face, glancing over at Carter as they headed towards the hotel. "How old is your sister?"
"Sixteen."
"Shit."
"Yeah." Carter shrugged. "I don't think he'd touch her, he's just taking digs, but if he wants to throw down the gloves, I'm game."
Landon didn't know what to say. Nelson had at least fifty pounds and five inches on Carter. The kid had spunk, but he wouldn't win if it came to fists on the ice. Thankfully, with Mason out there, it wouldn't come to that.
An hour later, in the locker room, Landon pressed his fist to the wall beside the white board displaying the lineup and groaned.
Mason wasn't playing.
* * * *
The press box in the HSBC Arena wasn't as nice as the one in the Delgado Forum, but Silver noticed a few things she wanted to add during renovations. Earlier that day, she'd gotten a tour of everything from the offices to the wives room—she hadn't even known there was a wives room! Or that the Forum had one too—and the Sabres' president had answered all her questions about the changes scheduled at the Arena over the next two years. Silver absolutely loved the Hi-definition video displays they planned to add outside the building, and brought up installing them outside the Forum to Dean when they met again just before the game. As usual, he seemed unsure of the idea, but he agreed to look into it when they got home and get her in touch with the right people if that's what she wanted to do.
She peeked at him from under her lashes as he paced the other side of the room, speaking to some agent about a defenseman he really wanted to sign. The way his tone sharpened, just a little as he went over numbers and contract details, made goosebumps rise all over her flesh. And down lower, her body recalled that tone when he'd woken her up early and she'd been grumpy with him. After saying 'Do. Not. Move' he used his mouth and tongue to make her come twice and then taken her hard and fast.
A morning person, she was not. But if that's how mornings with him would be, she might just turn into one of those perky the-sun-is-out-and-the-birds-are-singing people!
Screaming orgasms at dawn beats coffee any day.
Dean paused and looked at her, his lips curving into a knowing smile. Her nipples hardened and she snapped her gaze to the ice, willing it to cool her down.
There, a black and gold jersey with the number 20 and Bower on the back. A chill prickled down her spine. She inched closer to the glass, watching him as he did a few laps around the far end of the rink. Seeing him out there, bigger than the other men in all his equipment, more important in his position, made him seem . . . untouchable somehow. Like the actors people had actually heard of in some of the movies she'd done. They might all be working together for a common goal, but her small part was nothing compared to his.
He's never made you feel like nothing, said a voice in he
r head that she didn't recognize. Too many voices. The freakin' pushover one could join the diva in the mental trash compactor.
"He made me feel like less than nothing," she said under her breath as she took a step back. "So shut up."
Dean held a hand over his phone and lifted his head. "Did you say something, Silver?"
"No." She smiled at him and took a seat in one of the swivel chairs. "I think the game is about to start."
He nodded, quickly ended his conversation, and came over to take the seat beside her. As the game got underway, Silver tried to follow the play, but through the corner of her eye noticed Dean fixated on the far end of ice.
"He looks stiff. Uncomfortable." Dean's lips drew into a hard line. "Tim said it looked like he'd been drinking last night. My idiot brother should have put in the backup."
If only I didn't know who you were talking about. "He looks fine to me. I wish you'd trust your brother. You said I might come off as an intrusive owner. Are there such things as intrusive GMs?"
His jaw clenched. Then he sighed. "You're right. I may be overanalyzing my brother's worth as a coach. I'll try to tone it down a notch."
"Good."
"But I still don't think Bower should be in nets."
Uck. Do I have to spell it out? He was a man, so probably. "I don't want to talk about him."
Dean angled his chair towards hers, spreading his feet apart as he leaned forward. His slight frown, the stillness about him, unnerved her. "I understand that you're upset. And that you're not speaking to him. But I asked you to come on this trip for a reason. Look at him." He nodded towards the ice below. "Tell me what you see."
Rising again, she folded her arms over her chest and glared down at Landon. He took his place in front of the net and slapped his stick against the pipes. His stance was stiff as he bent his knees and several of the forwards took shots at him. He stopped most, but the easy flow from the last time she'd seen him out there was gone.
His head just wasn't in it. She couldn't say how she knew, exactly, but he appeared to be somewhere else, leaving his body to go through the motions.
She dropped her head and sighed. "You're right. I don't think it's the drinking that got to him." It's probably you, you coldhearted bitch. She grounded her teeth. "But whatever it is, he shouldn't be out there."
Dean nodded and stepped up to put his hand on her shoulder. His eyes said what he wouldn't.
Whatever it was, whatever would come of Landon stepping up to guard the fort, there was nothing they could do about it. It was too late.
Chapter Twenty-Three
A big fist flew and Landon winced as Carter took a solid punch to the jaw. The fight lasted for seconds after Nelson and Carter dropped their gloves, midway through the first period—the refs had stayed close, ready to break the men apart as quickly as they could. Carter tried to hold on, but that hit threw him off his skates. Nelson lifted his fist, growling something Landon couldn't make out.
And Carter laughed, baring his blood coated teeth.
Stupid little shit. Landon thought, grinning and shaking his head. At least he'd made it through the fight without needing a stretcher to cart him off the ice. Nelson had gotten his licks in. The game could continue without any more bullshit.
The puck remained in the offensive zone for most of the five minute fighting penalties, giving Landon plenty of time to take a drink and let his mind wonder. He shifted from side to side to keep his muscles loose and kept his head down so he wouldn't be tempted to look for Silver. Not that he could see her from down here while she stood high above him in the press box, but somehow, he could feel her. Watching him. Damn it, he would give anything to have spent a moment with her before the game—to tell her . . .
Fuck, man. Get over it. Talk to Becky if you need to get it off your chest. Silver doesn't need to hear it. She hates you enough without knowing—
White, blue, and gold sweaters rushed him and he dove as the puck came at him. He landed and lifted his head just in time to see the Sabres celebrating their goal. 1-0. He better snap the fuck out of it.
His defensemen glanced at him, then skated away. He pushed up to his knees and gave his head a hard shake. A stick bumped his arm.
Carter crouched down to eye level. "You good, buddy? They really left you hanging."
"I'm good. Just fell asleep." He let out a shallow laugh. "That woke me up."
"Fair enough." Carter stole Landon's water bottle to rinse out his mouth, then spit on the ice. "Don't worry about it. I got this."
Landon nodded and they bumped helmets. He managed to make his mind go blank and centered on the little black disk. Dropped. Swept up by Carter and passed to their youngest rookie, who fumbled and ducked as Nelson rushed him. He lost the puck and Nelson barreled down the rink. Landon came out to meet him.
Bent down low, Carter hip checked Nelson and stole the puck. He paused and grinned. "Tell Mel butterflies look some nasty over dimples!"
Nelson roared and chased Carter across the ice. The kid moved like a jaguar, long strides and pure speed, feinting to the left and attacking from the right. The Sabres' goalie fell for the ruse and looked back as Carter tucked the puck into the empty net.
First period over. Landon met up with Carter as the team headed to the locker room. Slumped on a bench, he pulled off half his layers to let his body cool down. The rookies congratulated Carter on his goal, but the few veterans ignored him. Landon studied the men, taking note of the cliques that formed between the old and the new. He had to give Callahan credit. As a captain, he pulled the team together, and his alternate, Perron, worked as the glue. Unfortunately, neither of them was here. The excitable rookies really had no one to lead them. Except for Demyan who snubbed them all and Landon himself, who'd never been comfortable with team politics.
"You guys were real solid out there!" Tim grabbed the shoulders of two rookies, and inclined his head to Carter. "That goal was highlight reel worthy. But take care of those hands. We don't need them busted up in a fight."
"Got it, Coach." Carter pulled off his shirt, flexed, then laughed. "I need to beef up a bit before I take on that guy again anyway. He's got fists like a fucking sledge hammer!"
Tim nodded. "Yes, but so does Mason. Let him take care of the man."
"Mason's not here."
"With the way you chirped out there, Nelson will be on you all season. I like that you don't turtle, kid, but if you're going to run your mouth, let him take the penalty."
"Will do," Carter said.
Landon laughed as Carter approached. "So you've got it? Next time he takes a swing, you gonna stick your head in your shell?"
"Hell, I don't know." Carter scowled and dropped onto the bench beside him. "I should, shouldn't I?"
"He could have ended you out there."
"Yeah . . . not so sure about that." Scrubbing his face with a towel a trainer handed him, Carter mumbled. "I didn't even get in a punch. I looked like a damn pussy."
"Fuck that." Landon shoved the kid almost off the bench. "You made up for losing the fight by putting us on the scoreboard."
"I guess . . . ."
The kid was damn competitive. Which was good. So long as he put that energy where it actually counted. But he didn't need a pep talk. "So . . . butterflies?"
Carter lifted his head and chuckled. "Yeah. Mel has one on each butt cheek. She's hot, but they're all gross and faded. Like she sat in something. And they're right over her dimples, so they look squished."
"Damn. So you really did fuck her?"
"Oh, yeah. She wouldn't take no for an answer. You know the type."
Landon nodded, even though he didn't. He'd been with a woman who knew him before he'd been drafted. Before he was someone. He hadn't let sex or women take away from his goal to be the best. And that mindset had cost him too much for him to change it now.
Sweaty, smelly, and all suited up again, Landon followed the others out to the rink for the second period. The next twenty minutes were uneventful. The tie
held well into the third period. Demyan, whose minutes had been limited so far, pulled a double shift and led a merciless strike against the Sabres goalie. Not quite as fast as Carter, but the way he fluidly spun and dodged his opponents made them all look like toddlers learning to skate on two-bladed 'cheese-cutters'. He had the puck for most of his shift and played cat-and-mouse until, with only five minutes left on the clock, he walked up to the blue paint and surprised the Sabres goalie with a smooth five-hole shot.
The crowd booed as Demyan took a flamboyant bow. Bad enough he'd made asses of their entire team, but he had to rub it in.
Entertaining? Yes. But Demyan was proving to everyone—including his own team—that he had no class. Not one of the Cobras—except Carter—congratulated Demyan for the goal.
Of course, Demyan didn't look like he gave a shit. Slouched on the bench, he pushed his helmet over his brow and folded his arms over his chest. Looked like he was taking a nap. The rookie close to him scooted over as though afraid that whatever was wrong with him was contagious. The Sabres' bench grumbled and their goons leaned over the boards, shouting insults at Demyan.
A fresh line up took the center ice faceoff. Carter managed to sweep up the puck before the focus fully shifted from Demyan's antics. Weird, because the kid had riled up their captain . . . .
Yeah, but Demyan disrespected the team and the fans.
Intentional? Hell, Landon doubted it. Scott Demyan was an arrogant, cocky fucker. Why would he care about taking the target off the kid's back?
No time to dwell. His fumbling defense had moved too far into the Sabres' zone. The eager rookies wanted some of Carter's spotlight and he seemed happy to give it to them, saucering easy passes to the line for one timers. Not a selfish player then. Good man.
The defenseman flanking the left missed his pass. Nelson picked it up for a breakaway.
Landon blocked out the rink. Blocked out the crowds. Saw nothing but the puck and the man charging him. And Carter, catching Nelson and diving to knock the puck away from his blade.
Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) Page 27
