Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Nelson cursed and slashed his stick into Carter's face as the kid tried to rise. Players crowded around them, fighting for possession. Carter dropped to hands and knees. His blood splattered the ice beneath him.

  The ref didn't see him. The linesmens' attention locked on the play as Nelson careened into the net. The puck left his stick. Landon grabbed it. And hacked his stick into Nelson's legs.

  A harsh whistle. Shouting. Landon tossed his stick and skidded to Carter's side. The trainer joined him, knelt on the ice, and used a towel to hold the torn flesh of Carter's mouth together. Blood soaked the white cloth as the trainer helped the kid stand.

  "That fucking bastard." Landon left Carter to the trainer's care and looked around for Nelson.

  Demyan already had him. A swift uppercut sent the Sabres' captain flying. A ref grabbed Demyan from behind and hauled him back.

  'You're fucking lucky, you pussy! This isn't over!" Demyan howled and gave the screaming crowd the finger. "Hope you enjoyed the show you sick freaks!"

  Fuck what people say about you man. Landon grinned and shook his head. His whole body quivered with rage as Demyan was shoved towards the hall leading to the locker rooms. You're quality.

  Someone was dragging Landon and he glanced back to see a ref glaring at him.

  "You're out of here."

  He snorted. "Yeah, well that's a surprise."

  "Shut it, Bower." Tim reached out and fisted his hand in Landon's jersey. "Get out of here. I'll talk to you later."

  "Carter—" Landon shook his head and tried to turn. Blood. So much blood. "He—"

  "We've got him. Just go."

  Go. You can't help him. He'd been ejected from the game. Hell, he'd probably be suspended. The temporary satisfaction of lashing out at Nelson dwindled away, leaving him empty and cold. Some fucking pro you are. Was it worth it?

  He snarled and punched the wall on his way down the walk of shame.

  It damn well better be. This is all I've got.

  * * * *

  "I can't speak for the league. There will be a review of what happened on the ice and both Scott Demyan and Landon Bower will accept whatever supplementary discipline is handed down."

  Dean folded his arms over his chest, watching his brother address the media, and grudgingly admitted he was handling the questions well. So far.

  A familiar face in the crowd of reporters stepped forward and Dean cursed.

  "Would you say you support your players' actions on the ice?" Rebecca Bower thrust her mike at Tim like a dagger and she wanted to stab him with. "Rumor has it that Bower was in no condition to play tonight. No one is all that surprised by Demyan's actions, but perhaps you wouldn't have to worry about losing your starting goaltender for any amount of time if you'd sat him tonight."

  "There are many rumors, Miss . . . ." Tim's brow shot up and he smiled. "Bower. I fully understand your concern, but if that was Landon playing at less than his best, I look forward to what he'll bring to the team this season. As for the players' actions, we have many passionate men on this team. Passion is shown in many ways, and while I cannot encourage retaliation in the manner it was displayed today, I expect my players to react when their teammates are targeted as our young Mr. Carter was."

  "Didn't he ask for it?" Another reported shouted out from the back of the crowd. "He made derogatory comments to the Sabres' captain about his wife."

  "More rumors?" Tim shook his head. "Many things are said on the ice. Carter is having surgery to piece his mouth together as we speak. I don't believe anything he may have said warranted such a brutal attack."

  "So you're claiming Nelson's actions were intentional?"

  "Watch the replays and make your own judgments," Tim said, evasively. "Thank you."

  Well done, brother. Very PC, yet, he'd managed to support the players and state his opinion. The previous coach, Paul, hadn't been comfortable with the media. He came off as brisk and had more than once thrown players he didn't like under the bus. Which Dean should have paid more attention to, but the man seemed so professional he hadn't questioned it. Only in hindsight did Dean realize the man had been wrong for the team.

  Seeing Tim out there, confident and approachable, gave him a new outlook on the skills a coach needed to run a team like the Cobras. He couldn't wait to see where his brother would bring them this season.

  But first, he had to deal with Bower. Demyan, he would leave to Tim, but Bower . . . as a goalie—as a Dom—he should have shown more control.

  Silver came to his side and slipped her hand into his. "Can we go now? I need to see if Carter is okay."

  Carter or Landon? He almost asked, but thought better of it and simply nodded and squeezed her hand. "Sure." He noticed Rebecca, off to the side of the conference room, glaring at him. "Just give me a minute."

  Rebecca's lips twisted into a scowl as he approached. "I don't care what the coach says. Landon shouldn't have been out there."

  "Rebecca." His brow furrowed as she stared at him expectantly. "Your brother is a grown man. You can't come running every time—"

  "This time is different."

  He studied her face. Maybe she wasn't overreacting. Bower had gotten drunk. And maybe not because of his problems with Silver. "Different how?"

  She glanced over at the other reporters, at Silver, and shifted forward. "Can we talk somewhere private?"

  Silver might not . . . he looked to Silver and she inclined her head. No jealousy in her eyes. Just concern. He gave Rebecca a stiff smile. "Yes. Follow me."

  Another conference room, the one he'd used to speak to the players the night before. Smaller, but private. He took a seat and motioned for Rebecca to do the same.

  "I shouldn't be telling you any of this, but I have to tell someone since Landon won't. Hockey is his life and if he doesn't let this go he's going to lose that too." Rebecca covered her face with her hands and hunched over. "I can agree with one thing Tim said. Landon is passionate. He's played hockey since he was four years old and our parents supported him, even when he got older and threw away other opportunities for more training, more time at the gym. He didn't have much of a social life—except with the other players, and even then, only the serious ones. He had one girlfriend in high school. The only girl who could put up with seeing him only once or twice a month. He stayed with her through college."

  Rebecca stopped talking. Looked torn, as though not sure she should continue.

  Dean steepled his hands on the table. "Sounds like he had something special with her."

  Shaking her head, Rebecca stood and started to pace. "That's the thing. It wasn't really special. She just fit with his lifestyle, even after . . . ."

  "After . . . ?"

  "Landon had a college professor who was an old school Dom. Strict leather. He saw something in Landon—a need . . . ." Rebecca went to the window and placed her hands on the ledge. "He introduced Landon to D/s—he was attracted to my brother, but Landon is straight and not at all submissive. Somehow, it worked out anyway. Because Landon wanted to learn. They became very close friends. From what I understand, Tracy was totally into everything Landon wanted to try. She threw herself into a 24/7 with him—whenever he was around long enough—"

  "She became everything he wanted."

  "Yes and no. She played the perfect sub, but she started to come down on him about the time he spent with his mentor and his friends. Bitched about the time he spent with his family. He tried to accommodate her until one day she pushed him too far." She sighed. "Right in front of us all—mom, dad, our little brother—she lashed out and said she was tired of sharing him with his gay friends. Landon is nothing if not loyal. He ended things."

  Her face was twisted in rage when she turned. Dean tensed, not sure if he should let her go on. This was too personal. Too painful.

  But she continued before he could make up his mind to stop her. "He went on a road trip, came back, and found her waiting for him. She was pregnant! Wasn't it wonderful?"

  "He went
back to her."

  "Of course he did. My brother isn't the type to turn away a woman carrying his child. But . . . the baby was stillborn." Her voice hitched. "He was so in love with the idea of being a father! It tore him apart. He tried to make it work after, but she hadn't changed. She got worse and worse until he couldn't take it anymore. She was smothering him!"

  "Rebecca, you don't have to—"

  "She committed suicide a week before the second anniversary of their baby's death. She called him and begged him to come back to her. It was training camp, he couldn't just leave. And she'd been calling and calling . . . ."

  Jesus Christ. Dean stood and pulled Rebecca into his arms as she sobbed. "It's not his fault. I get it. Breathe, sweetie."

  "He blames himself!" Her whole body trembled. "She slit her wrists in his bathtub and made sure he found her there! He hasn't been in a relationship since. I can't . . . I can't let her destroy him! I hate her! I fucking hate her!"

  "Shh . . . ." He stroked her arms and let his voice lower to a soothing, yet firm tone. "Thank you for telling me, Rebecca. I couldn't help him if I didn't know. You're an amazing sister. He's lucky to have you."

  She sniffled, then groaned. "He's going to be so mad that I told you."

  "I won't tell him you did. Here, clean yourself up." He took out the grey silk handkerchief from his suit pocket and handed it to her. "You go tell him off for playing hung-over. He's probably at the hospital. Do you want a lift?"

  "No." She dabbed her wet cheeks and took a deep breath. "I can get there on my own. Just . . . just make sure he knows he's worth something. I thought he and Silver were . . . but they're not. They're friends. And he could use a friend right now."

  "He has several." He smiled. The woman pulled it together quick. If her face wasn't red, he wouldn't have guessed that she'd just bared her soul. "Do you mind if I tell Silver? I think he needs her more than anyone."

  "Tell her." Rebecca's jaw went hard. "And tell her if she ever hurts my brother, friend or not, I'll turn her pretty face into road kill."

  "So noted." Dean gave her a moment to compose herself, then gently guided her to the door. "I really don't think you need to worry about Silver though. I think she'll be good for him."

  "So do I." Rebecca hesitated and frowned up at him. "But you—"

  "Let me worry about that." Dean gave her a hard look when she opened her mouth to protest. "Rebecca, I don't appreciate subs questioning my actions."

  Her cheeks reddened. Then she laughed. "Yes, Sir!"

  "Good girl." He inhaled as she walked away, then spotted Silver and held out an arm, welcoming her into his embrace.

  She snuggled against him and mumbled. "You've got something bad to tell me, don't you?"

  "Yes, my love." He kissed her hair and sighed. What if he was wrong? What if believing her 'Me and Landon are friends' was an indulgent fantasy? Would she still want him? He had to believe she would. And make sure she made an informed decision. "But all you have to do is listen."

  And not leave me in the dust once I'm done.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Antiseptic and—Silver's nose wrinkled—blood. The scent didn't bother her as much as the length of stitches, piecing Carter's swollen mouth back together, marking a black track from the left side of his bottom lip almost down to his chin. As she watched he laughed and leaned forward so Scott and Landon, who both stood by his temporary ER bed, could see the stitches inside his mouth.

  The room spun like a twirl-a-whirl and Dean caught her elbow. "Breathe, sweetie. He's fine. Just showing off his 'war wounds'."

  Must he? Her concern stepped aside and common sense took over. She didn't need to be here. She needed to be . . . In a nice hot bath with a bottle of tequila. Enough to completely blank out what I just saw.

  As her gaze flitted away from Carter, it locked with Landon's. He opened his mouth—then stood and lightly punched Carter's arm. "I'm going to go pick up a few things for you, patch-face. Demyan, you mind giving him a lift back to the hotel when he's cleared?"

  "Sure thing," Scott said.

  Landon shuffled past her and Dean, pausing when Carter called out to him.

  "What?"

  Carter pointed at his mangled lip and managed a painful-looking, lopsided grin. "Few more of these and I might be as ugly as you!"

  Chuckling, Landon gave him the finger and walked out.

  Wow, not even a nod? A smile? Nothing? She chewed on the inside of her cheek, confused by how much it bothered her that Landon hadn't even acknowledged her presence. Fine, she wanted some space, but . . .

  On the drive here, Dean had told her all about the shit Landon had been through with his ex. Part of her—a big part—wanted to talk to him. To get him to tell her himself. They were supposed to be friends and if he was having a rough time of it, he needed to know she was there for him.

  But she wasn't. Which made her feel guilty and pissed off all at once. It was his fault they weren't speaking. Should she just forget he'd hurt her because he'd had a rough life?

  No. Forgetting it wasn't an option. They had a long way to go before they could be friends again.

  Still, she couldn't just let him leave. And anyway, she was his boss. It made perfect sense for her to remind him of that after what had gone down on the ice. They had some things to discuss.

  Even though he obviously wanted nothing to do with her.

  Doesn't work that way. Silver squared her shoulders. I'm the one who's mad. If I have something to say he's damn well going to listen to me.

  Following him out to the exit, she cleared her throat and folded her arms over her chest. "Mr. Bower."

  He stopped short. His back muscles tensed under his snug grey t-shirt. "Yes, Miss Delgado?"

  "Don't get all pissed off and go on another bender. You'll still be expected to show up for practice."

  With a gruff laugh, he turned to face her. "Is that so?"

  "Yes. And you don't have to run away the second I walk into a room."

  His brow arched. "Run away? Is that what you think I'm doing, mignonne?" His lips curved into a dark smile. "You wanted me to stay away. I'm staying away. Don't push me."

  She dug her nails into her palm to stifle a shudder. "Is that a threat, Mr. Bower?"

  "Landon." He moved closer, his grey eyes holding the heat of molten steel. His tone took on a knife's edge as he backed her into a wall. "Say my name, Silver."

  There wasn't enough air to say his name. She gasped as her lips formed it, and that appeared to be enough. His hands delved into her hair, tearing it free from her loose updo. Her scalp tingled. Her heart forgot to beat. His lips came down on hers and she lost herself to the taste of him. Mint and salt. Brutal, bruising pressure. Pain, so fucking sweet. The smooth thrust of his tongue, possessing her mouth until she whimpered because it was all too much.

  His kiss gentled, massaging her lips as the tip of his tongue teased hers. He eased his hands from her hair and curved them around her face. "I'm sorry. I had to."

  Her brain snapped back into her skull. She shoved him and her hand whipped out, catching his cheek with a loud, satisfying Smack!

  "No. I'm sorry." Her eyes teared and her whole body quivered. "I'm sorry bad things happened to you, but you don't get to do that. You don't get to hurt me, then leave me, then do that."

  Landon gave her a curt nod, then lifted his head. "I'm afraid I must apologize again for trespassing, Sir. I swear this is the last time it will ever happen."

  He walked away and she locked her legs against the insane urge to follow him again. To scream at him. To give him a few more slaps.

  To demand another kiss.

  Strong arms came around her and she stiffened, then relaxed into the familiar embrace. Hot and musky. Solid. Her man. Dean.

  Dean . . . she glanced over her shoulder and held her breath. Was he mad? He smiled and shook his head, as though answering her thoughts.

  And then he did. "I'm not angry. Actually, I've been expecting this."


  "You have?" She let out a bitter laugh. "Of course you have. I'm a slut and—"

  "Enough." He turned her and hugged her tight. "He kissed you, pet. That doesn't make you a slut. What I'd like to know is what exactly were you hoping to accomplish?" Dean whispered into her hair. "I'm assuming that wasn't it?"

  "No." She groaned, miserably. "I don't know. I guess . . . I don't want him to forget about me. I won't pretend I'm not mad, but I want him to know . . . I'm still here."

  "He's not likely to forget, my love." Dean's pulse beat slow and steady against her cheek. "You know how he feels about you."

  "I do not. And it doesn't matter how he feels." Fisting her hands in Dean's shirt, she glared up at him. "I'm with you. And you need to stop acting like I'm going to leave, because I'm not going anywhere. I . . . ."

  Dean shook his head and sighed. "Silver, you don't have to say—"

  "Shut up." She smacked his chest and grinned when he frowned at her. "Interrupting is rude, Sir."

  "And smacking your Dom is not very smart."

  Oh shit. She let him go and backed up. "We're still at work."

  "Work hours are over, little one. But we'll discuss this at the hotel." His eyes crinkled as he looked her over. "I do believe we'll have to try out the new gag I bought for you. Your screams may disturb the staff."

  Heat flashed over her cheeks. "Umm . . . ."

  He smiled. "Now. You were saying?"

  What was I saying? She nibbled on her bottom lip and shrugged. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm with you. So Landon—"

  "We'll figure out how to deal with Landon when the time comes." He took her hand and kissed her forehead. "Just keep one thing in mind." He tipped her chin up. "I will never make you choose."

  Won't make me choose?

  The night air stirred her mussed up hair as they made their way to Dean's rental. She stared at the side of Dean's face all the way there, then again when she got inside the car and he climbed in behind the wheel. He didn't say another word on the drive to the hotel, which was good, because her mind was racing and she probably wouldn't have heard him anyway.

  He won't make me choose. She stared out the window and chewed the inside of her cheek in thought. What the hell does that mean?