Going for the Goal

by Sara Rider

  “No. So I can patch up that hole in the wall this morning before I head to the arena.” He leaned over and pecked her on the cheek. “You can use your key to lock up when you’re done.”

  23

  One of Jillian’s most deeply held professional secrets was to prepare for her toughest negotiations by wearing her frilliest underwear and consuming the frothiest, girliest, most caffeine-laden drink Starbucks had on special that month. It was her personal equivalent of a middle-finger salute to anyone who dared to underestimate her because she was a woman.

  Armed with a thong that wouldn’t have been out of place at a burlesque show and a venti toasted butterscotch latte, she made her way to Tyson’s Midtown high-rise office early that morning. He’d been reluctant to drop everything and meet her on short notice—even more reluctant to drag Coach Phillips over on a game day—but she’d made it clear they’d like the alternative even less.

  She’d gotten off the subway two stops early to burn off a little extra energy by walking. It was her favorite kind of day: the kind where the sun was out in full force and the winter chill was finally giving way to the warm blush of spring. The kind of day where she couldn’t help but be optimistic, in spite of the terrible start to her morning. Her blood hummed with the feeling that things were about to change drastically. Securing Nick a contract extension was as drastic as it could get.

  She waved to the security guards at the front desk as she walked to the elevators, grateful to discover that not only was there no line, there was a car waiting for her on the ground floor. She stepped inside and pressed the button for Tyson’s floor.

  “Hang on.” A hand slapped one side of the metal door just before it shut, triggering the release. “Looks like I made it just in time.”

  She prepared herself for some polite yet unwanted small talk on the ride up, but her smile vanished the moment she saw who had just stepped inside with her. She pressed the door-open button frantically, but it was too late. She was stuck in an elevator with Sebastian Liakos for the next twenty-six floors.

  He stepped toward her, trapping her in the corner. “Funny running into you here.”

  “Hilarious,” she intoned, not willing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how nervous she felt in the confined space with him.

  His lips curled into a snarl that erased all attractiveness from his teen-heartthrob face. “Maybe ‘funny’ is the wrong word. How about ‘sneaky,’ since you were supposed to keep your mouth shut about what happened last night. And yet here you are.”

  A chill slithered across her skin, making the hair on the back of her neck stand up. Men who used physical intimidation against women were the worst sort of scum, though not unusual in this business. But this was the first time she had been trapped in an elevator with one she knew was capable of unpredictable, remorseless violence. “Perhaps I was coming to see if you followed through on your end of the bargain. Or maybe I have other business here that has nothing to do with you.”

  “I’m the star of the team. Everything to do with the Vipers is my business.” His arrogance was as rancid as his breath. He flicked a lock of her hair off her face with his finger, smiling as she flinched.

  Screw this. She reached past him and pressed the button to let her out at the next floor. He grabbed her wrist tight enough to hurt. “We’re not done talking.” He let her go, but her relief was short-lived because he immediately hit the red stop button and the elevator lurched to a halt.

  She crossed her arms and steeled her expression. “All right. Talk.”

  “You might think you have something on me, but it’s nothing compared to what I have on Salinger.”

  “What? You found out he skipped class in high school? Or that he jaywalked last year? Everyone already knows he’s got a temper, but he’s an open book. There’s nothing you have on him that matters.”

  “Now, why would I let something like the truth get in the way of what I want?” Her expression faltered for a moment. She recovered quickly, but not fast enough to escape Liakos’s notice. His nostrils flared like he was already celebrating a victory. “See, that girl you saw me with last night? Turns out I’m irresistible after all. Lacey had a change of heart after you ran her off. She’s prepared to tell anyone who will listen that Salinger hit her after she rejected him. That’s what he and I fought about.”

  Blood drained from her face. “You wouldn’t do that. The video I have on you is incriminating whether or not anyone believes your story.”

  “It’d still be enough to destroy Salinger.”

  He was right. An accusation like that would ruin Nick long before they could clear his name. “What do you want?”

  “I want him to suffer.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Having to play on the same team with an asshole like you is torture enough, don’t you think?”

  Liakos laughed. “Sadly, no. He’s always been an irritable asshole, but in spite of everything, he’s been shockingly happier this past month. I thought it was because he was taking fewer knocks to the head, but after last night I know the real reason. You.”

  Dread curdled in her stomach. “Spell it out, Liakos.”

  “I’ll keep my mouth shut if you break up with Salinger.”

  Nick pushed off the boards and skated frantically toward his blue line, not caring if he’d left the Detroit player behind in a crumpled heap. It was a clean hit and he needed to shut down the right wing, who’d picked up the loose puck and was heading toward the Vipers’ net. They had to win every remaining match to qualify for the play-offs, and there was no way in hell he’d let Detroit tie the game in the last thirty seconds.

  He jostled his stick against his opponent, stripping away the puck and making a quick pass. Luke picked up the puck and dropped it into the corner. Ellison, their center, beat the defenseman to the puck and slid it along the front of the net just in time for Luke to fire off a quick shot. The puck flew past the goalie’s hand, only to rebound off the post.

  Bad break, but it didn’t matter. The buzzer sounded before the puck crossed back over the half.

  It had been a hell of a long time since he’d ended a game feeling so optimistic. It wasn’t just the victory, it was the cohesiveness of the team. The plays Coach had drilled into them at practice for the last few months had finally come together seamlessly on the ice. There were no stupid squabbles in the locker room messing with anyone’s head, and even though being in the same building with Liakos felt like getting licked with hellfire, Nick knew Jillian had the situation handled, leaving him to focus on the game.

  He pulled off his helmet, skated to the bench, and squirted some water into his face and mouth before waving to the roaring hometown crowd.

  Coach Phillips clapped him on the back. “Great job out there.” The comment stunned Nick so much, he nearly fell back on his skates.

  Luke came up beside him. “You just pulled ahead in most league assists for a defenseman tonight.”

  Nick attempted some rapid-fire mental math and ran a hand through his wet, sticky hair. “Well, shit. You’re right.” He’d been so focused on just playing the game, he’d forgotten about the stakes.

  Luke shook his head. “Dude, how can someone as arrogant as you be so humble?”

  “Natural, god-given talent,” he deadpanned.

  “Or sheer dumb luck. Either way, we’re celebrating tonight.”

  The rest of the team seemed to share Luke’s enthusiasm, so Nick agreed to meet them at the pub after the game, hoping Jillian would understand. With any luck she’d even join them, like most of the other wives and girlfriends on the team.

  He took his time getting ready, savoring the calm vibe in the locker room that had been absent for so long. The high-tech viewing room off to the side, with its dozens of TV screens, black recliners, and minibar was what got most of the new guys excited, but for Nick it was the finer details that made this pl
ace special. The dark cherrywood benches lining the walls and the intricate Vipers logo in the middle of the black carpet still looked as sleek and awe-inspiring as they had the first time he walked into this room almost a decade ago. The way each player’s name was carved into the gold bar in front of his locker reminded him that playing in this league, with this team, was something special.

  His time here was going to come to an end sooner or later. Winning the Stanley Cup would secure his legacy in this place forever.

  He was one of the last few to leave after the game, but even so, the crowd of reporters waiting outside the locker room was like a swarm of insects. He braced himself for the usual questions about his attitude. His temper. How satisfying it felt to see his opponents writhing in pain or hear the crunch of their pads against the glass.

  But those questions didn’t come. One of the regular local sports news anchors shoved a microphone in his face. “Hey, Salinger, your game has changed dramatically these last few months. You’ve gone from being one of the roughest players in the league to one of the top playmakers. Was this a conscious decision from you or the coaching staff?”

  “I’m just doing what I have to do to help the Vipers make the play-offs this year.”

  “Your team is neck-and-neck with Montreal for the last play-off spot. Is it realistic to think that the Vipers will still be on the ice in May?”

  He hated stupid questions like that, but Jillian’s training kicked in. She wanted him to answer every question like it was a goddamn Pulitzer Prize–worthy query and spin everything he said toward the importance of the team. “We know how to hit our stride at the right moments. Our team is stronger than ever on and off the ice, and we’re planning to go all the way to the finals again this year.”

  The reporter chuckled. “That would make for a hell of a story.”

  “We’re full of surprises.”

  “Hey, Punisher,” another reporter called out. “With no fights in the last fifteen games and a personal best for points, have you thought about changing your nickname?”

  Nick laughed. “That’s a question for the fans, not me.”

  To his surprise, the questions shifted to his upcoming appearance with an environmental organization Jillian had set up for him next weekend. Even more astounding was that he wasn’t being grilled over the authenticity of his charity work. The questions peppered his way were asking for the social media links and ways for fans to get involved. He struggled to remember the website address, but the reporter assured him they would display the proper link on the broadcast.

  It took almost fifteen minutes before he managed to break away from the reporters and head to his car in the underground parking lot, where it was quiet enough to dial Jillian’s number.

  He ended the call before the first ring when he realized she was waiting for him.

  “This is supposed to be a secured lot,” he teased. “Players only.”

  “Funny how being the agent for the hottest player on the team lets a girl bend the rules.” Her smile and wry words were as familiar as the floral scent of her perfume, but there was something off. Too much tension in her shoulders. A strange vulnerability cracking at the surface of her tough demeanor. Her oversize handbag was strung over her shoulder, resting in front of her chest like armor.

  “You should know there are even better perks for the girlfriend of the hottest player on the team.” He reached for her, but her back straightened like her spine had turned to metal. “What’s wrong? Did everything go okay today with Tyson?”

  Her heavy exhalation was amplified in the echo-prone walls of the parking lot. “I didn’t hand over the video.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s not the right move. Too much risk of backfire.”

  “And you’re okay with Liakos getting away with what he did? With everything he’s done?”

  She shook her head. “I get that you want him punished for hurting Ben. But my job is to get you the best contract renewal I can. Ben’s not my client. You are.”

  He raked his hand through his hair. “We’ll talk about this later, all right? Tonight, I just want to go out with the team and celebrate the game with the smartest, fiercest, most beautiful woman at my side.”

  “That’s not a good idea,” she said quietly.

  “You want to stay in? We can do that.”

  “No . . . I mean none of this is a good idea.”

  Confusion ricocheted in his brain as he tried to piece together the unreadable clues in her words and body language. “Is this about the election? If you want to lie low for a while, that’s okay.” He didn’t like it, but he was ready to wait as long as he needed for her to come around.

  “It’s not just that. It’s the hole patched up on my wall this morning and the keys—”

  “Too much? That’s an easy fix. I’ll give you the keys back.”

  Her eyes squeezed shut like his words had scratched at her skin. “It’s only easy for you because you have nothing to lose. My reputation is everything in this business, and right now my entire career is jeopardized because of us. After that bullshit disqualification, I can’t afford to make dumb mistakes with your contract. Not if I want to maintain any credibility in this business. From now on, our relationship needs to be strictly professional.”

  “You think I have nothing to lose here? Christ, Jillian. For once in my life there’s something I care about more than hockey. More than the Cup. I have everything on the line.”

  His chest heaved from the effort it took to hold back the explosion of anger inside him. The rims of her eyes were red and wet with the sheen of tears, but she showed no other reaction. “We’re as close as we’ve ever been to a contract renewal with the Vipers. I’ll stay on as your agent as long as you’ll have me, but nothing more. Once the contract is done, we won’t need to spend so much time together. In fact, we can avoid face-to-face contact completely from now on, and do everything electronically. I think that’d be best.”

  She marched past him, not waiting for his response.

  “This isn’t what I want,” he called out.

  She didn’t stop. Didn’t turn around. Just walked through the nearest exit like she didn’t even hear him.

  24

  “Surprise! It’s your personal cheer-up squad to the rescue!”

  Nick tried to slam his front door, but Luke’s size 13 foot blocked him. He would’ve forced it shut at the expense of Luke’s bones if it weren’t for the fact they were up three games to two in the first round of play-offs and the left winger had been on a goal-scoring tear.

  “If you don’t let us in, I’m going to have to perform my song and dance routine right here in the hallway where all your neighbors can hear. I swear I can sound just like Céline Dion when I go for the high notes.”

  “He’s fucking serious, man,” Mike said with a scowl. “I brought beer, so just let us in.”

  Nick opened the door reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to be around other people. Especially two guys on the team who knew exactly why he was moping like a heartbroken fool. “I don’t need cheering up.”

  “No, but you do need to get that play-off beard under control, mountain man.”

  “Don’t listen to him,” Mike said. “He’s just jealous that an eight-year-old girl could grow better facial hair than him.”

  No question Luke looked like an overgrown peach when he let his blond stubble grow out, but Nick knew his own beard was getting a little scraggly. He couldn’t bring himself to shave without thinking of Jillian. Hell, it’d been five weeks since she broke things off, and pretty much everything reminded him of her.

  Mike grabbed a beer from the six-pack and made his way to the couch. “Can we just get the talking-about-our-feelings shit out of the way quickly so we can play some video games like real men?”

  “I don’t have feelings.” Nick joined Mike
on the couch and grabbed the spare Xbox controller off the coffee table.

  Luke stepped in front of the TV, arms crossed. “Bullshit. You’ve been miserable for weeks and it’s damn obvious why. We haven’t seen Jillian around lately, which leads us to believe you screwed things up with her. And even though you’re still playing like a man on fire, we want you to be happy. Right, Mike?”

  The goalie grunted in a way that sounded like agreement. Or it might have been a belch.

  “I don’t know what I did,” Nick admitted. He’d been trying to stick to her rules and keep his head in the game, hoping she’d see it as a sign of how much he wanted her back, but it wasn’t working. He’d tried calling her and stopping by her place in the first week after she’d broken up with him, but she refused to answer his calls or open her door. She was getting his messages, though, because she responded to any work-related questions with an immediate email follow-up. “And I doubt talking to you lonely assholes is going to help.”

  “He’s right,” Mike said to Luke. “So sit down and watch me kick Nick’s ass at NHL 16 with his own avatar.”

  Luke stormed off and returned to join them on the couch with a beer in hand. “Fine. Did you at least ask Ben for advice?”

  “He said I needed to beg forgiveness with a grand gesture.” He hadn’t pushed for further explanation since his brother was off in paradise for spring break with Trevor. Ben deserved to drink mai tais and lounge on the beach, not worry about how to fix his older brother’s hopeless love life.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Mike asked.

  Nick shrugged.

  Luke sighed. “It means you need to do something big to show her you love her. Really big. And better if it’s embarrassing.”

  Nick shot him a curious look.

  “What? Claire’s big on this kind of thing.”

  “Trying to do something nice for Jillian is what pissed her off in the first place.” At least, that was the best explanation he could come up with. He had no other way to make sense of why she’d blindsided him. And yeah, maybe he had come on a little strong, but he knew damn well she felt the same way. Everything between them was too intense, too real, to be thrown away like a dirty napkin. She’d gotten scared and pushed him away. Hell, maybe she was the one who needed to grovel.