by Lia Riley
“That’s impossible. And I’ll watch you play tomorrow night. You’ve got this.”
He inhaled sharply. “As long as I’ve got you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Margot watched the Denver/Kansas City game from a Watering Hole bar stool beside Breezy. When the game ended with a Hellions win, they’d broken into cheers, falling into each other’s arms. The atmosphere of the room was electric, the fans stomping their feet and pumping their fists.
The long lockout had sucked for any self-respecting hockey fan, dragged out over the holidays and into the miserable cold of January. At last there was light. And a win.
And best of all . . .
“Patch kept his cool! Did you see it? Did you see?” Margot cried, nearly knocking Breezy off her kitten heels.
“I think the team’s back on track,” Breezy said. “Finally.”
“Looks like Westie wasn’t the only magic on the team.” She nudged her friend’s ribs.
“Ha.” Breezy gave a good-natured grin before taking a gulp of water. “You know Jed doesn’t believe all that hype, right?”
“Of course not. Because Jed West isn’t just Mister Hockey, he’s Mister Awesome. And humble. And let’s face it, practically perfect in every way.”
Breezy sighed. “He really is, isn’t he?”
“Are you ready to be Mrs. West?”
She waved her hands. “It’s crazy to think a year ago we were probably right here, and I was probably ogling him on the screen, never dreaming that he . . . that we . . .” She heaved her shoulders in a happy shrug, lost for words.
“Bet it was the night we stole that cardboard cutout of him from here.”
Breezy groaned. “I still can’t believe we did it.”
Margot sipped her IPA. “Is it strange, having the fantasy come to life?”
“Sometimes, yes,” Breezy said honestly. “But I can’t explain it. As soon as we were around each other he stopped being this untouchable idea, and became a regular guy.”
“I don’t know if I’d say regular. I mean, he’s got the heart of a Boy Scout and the body of a Greek god.”
“I still don’t know what I did right to deserve him,” Breezy said with a smile.
Margot smiled back. “I do. You were your awesome self.”
“Aw, you’re the greatest friend.” Breezy seized her and gave her a bear hug.
“I meant to apologize for freaking out the other day. I was a mess, but you weren’t the place to put it.”
“How are things with Patch?”
“Hard to say.” Margot wrapped her arms around her waist, as if that could put a clamp down on the butterfly riot. “Not practically perfect. We’re more a perfect mess.”
They both had broken parts. But when he looked at her as if she was the last woman on earth, as if he couldn’t believe that he was lucky enough to be in her airspace, it wasn’t an ego stroke. It gave her a sense of home, of belonging.
“Do you like being with him?” Breezy asked, pulling out a hand mirror from her purse and checking her half-beehive hairdo.
A pointless gesture because it was perfectly styled, as per usual.
“Yes.” She loved being around him. He made her feel whole.
“Because I don’t know anything about him. I don’t think anyone really does. Jed once mentioned that he has a buddy who is a priest, but besides that he keeps to himself.”
“He has a snarl that’s for sure, and that glare. It keeps the world at bay.”
“It’s intimidating.”
“But beneath it, I wouldn’t say he’s a cuddly teddy bear . . . but all the gruffness manages to hide some real, bona fide and undeniable sweetness. I feel weird saying it, but as strong as he is, I am scared that I could break him.” She ran her hands over her head, interlocking the fingers behind her neck.
“It sounds like he really opened up to you. And I don’t think he’s a guy who opens up to anyone.”
Sitting back in her chair, she absorbed Breezy’s words a moment before responding. “Here’s the deal. I can’t keep feelings professional where Patch is concerned. I know everyone thinks that I’ll chase any hot man on two legs, but there’s more here than just attraction.”
Her friend reached over and squeezed her hand. “Then what’s the harm to give in?”
Margot wanted to tell her friend how Patch was a virgin. How it felt like a responsibility that she wasn’t sure she could live up to. She slid her hand into her purse, distracted a moment. “Hey. Crap. I don’t have my phone. It must still be hooked to the charger in the car. I need to call him soon. I told him I’d be watching.”
“Go on,” Breezy said. “I’ll get us one more drink. Unless you want me to come outside with you.”
“Why?”
“It’s dark!”
“I’m a big girl. Don’t worry.” Margot blew Breezy a kiss and tore to the door.
She couldn’t wait to hear Patch’s voice. To tell him how proud she was. Her heart had burst with every play. Every move he made. And when they won she swore that for half a second he looked straight at a camera, straight at her.
She jogged to her car. Cheeks blazing. Peering through the window, she saw her phone on the passenger seat, just like she’d suspected. It had been a long day. She’d had to teach two classes, get a new tire, and through it all she fretted over the game.
Fretted for nothing.
“Hot Pants.”
Margot froze, hearing the slick drawl and hated nickname. Slowly she turned around, hugging her purse to her chest.
“Stefan.” She darted her eyes left and right, cringing on the inside. No one was around. Here she was in a city of almost a million people and no one was frigging around.
“Watching the game?” He leaned against the side of her car like he owned it, his hands stuffed into his leather jacket.
“Watched,” she answered flatly. “It’s over. We won.”
“Knew I’d find you here.”
“That’s some fantastic deductive reasoning seeing as The Watering Hole is an extension of my living room.” She reviewed the contents inside her purse. Nail clippers. Lip gloss. Wallet. Parking change.
Great. Her options were pinching him or pelting his face with a handful of quarters.
“We met here, remember?” He spoke in a lazy tone, like he had all night. Like she hadn’t asked him repeatedly to leave her alone. Like he didn’t purposefully have the upper hand here in the dark, outweighing her by fifty pounds of muscle.
She swallowed hard. “I remember.”
She’d been playing air hockey with Neve and Breezy when he’d sent her a beer. She’d glanced over and noticed black tribal tats on his biceps, that deep dimple and thick tousled black hair. He was the definition of sexy. She’d given a wave and he’d waved back.
“What we had was good.”
“For a while.”
He snorted, a mean, ugly sound.
But she meant it. The first couple months had been fun. He was a player, and so was she in her way. They flirted and had hot sex. Not a lot of emotional connection, but that wasn’t the point. She’d liked visiting his MMA studio, watching the kickboxing and jujitsu. It was out of her wheelhouse and he’d loved showing her off to the guys.
But she hadn’t loved the jokes he’d told them, about the benefits of dating a yoga teacher, the benefits of flexibility in the bedroom.
And when she tried to share her dreams about opening a business, perhaps someday even taking a lease on the great building his MMA studio was in, he’d made fun of her ideas.
It had gone downhill from there.
He narrowed his eyes. “I want you to come with me.”
“Then you’re going to be disappointed,” she shot back, glancing at a streetlight. Were there security cameras in the parking lot? Regret swelled that she hadn’t agreed to have Breezy come out with her, just as her anger grew. Because she should be able to duck into a well-lit parking lot of a popular neighborhood bar without being afra
id of being accosted by a giant creep.
“I’m serious,” he stepped closer. “You’ve been hanging out with that hockey nut job. Donnelly is no good. I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.”
“And the whole part of us breaking things off means that it doesn’t matter what you like, or don’t like,” she snapped, faking a calm she in no way felt. “It’s flat-out none of your business.”
“You aren’t listening.” He grabbed her arm. “You have to hear the truth from a guy who knows a thing or two.”
Annoyance turned to fear.
“Let me go! You’re scaring me.”
“Jesus,” he snapped, a fleck of spittle flying from his lips. “Will you calm down? I’m not even hurting you.”
“You don’t get to decide that. Let me go.”
“You make me crazy you know that?”
“I don’t make you anything. I’ve repeatedly asked you to delete yourself from my life.”
“The idea of Donnelly putting his hands on you. It makes me sick. I watched you.”
She went rigid as wood. “What do you mean watched?”
“At your studio. Him lifting you up. His hands all over your body.”
“You’ve been following me?”
What a stupid question. Of course he had. For the past month she’d had a growing sense of unease, been denied the ability to feel safe in her own skin.
And now her worst fears were being confirmed.
“You work across the street from me. It ain’t hard. But what if I did? Because I was good to you. I treated you nice. And you didn’t make no complaints when I was giving it to you. You liked it, you liked everything I did. Some of my friends tried to tell me I was a cuck. I know you’ve been with a lot of guys. But I went to the mat. I defended you. After all, some people like to eat a lot of donuts. You stuff your face with dick. It happens.”
“Are you seriously comparing dicks to donuts?” Her jaw was about to drop on the pavement.
“Don’t deny you went in Donnelly’s house. That do it for you? That NHL money. All that power. Does he have a big dick? Is his dick bigger than mine?”
God save her from fragile male egos.
“What are you even asking?”
“I want to know. I don’t care if it is. I’m confident.” He shrugged. “So is his dick bigger than mine? Is that it?”
It took every ounce of strength not to roll her eyes. If she wasn’t so scared, she’d laugh in his face.
“You need to get off 4chan or Reddit or wherever you are hanging out messing up your mind with ideas on women and realize that whatever this is . . . it’s not working. It’s not going to win me over.”
“You turned slut after the breakup. But I’ve thought about it and I can forgive you.”
“I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to tell me the truth.”
“What?”
“You slashed my tire, didn’t you?”
He averted his gaze, his swagger deflating some. “Our relationship wasn’t even cold in the grave, and you spread your legs for someone else. That shit is cold.”
“You don’t get to decide what is or isn’t okay.”
“Look.” He shook his head. “This is coming out all wrong. I know this dude, see. A lawyer who’s got a hell of a lot to say about your hockey player. He works out in my gym. You’ve seen him in the news, the lawyer who nearly got his arm ripped off. We got to talking tonight and I’m telling you, he’s got a lot to say, a lot to say. Interesting things about your goalie.”
Margot jerked her wrist, trying to wrench free. “If you don’t let go of my arm on the count of three then I am going to scream.”
“Can’t you see I’m looking out for you? Guy Footscray says Patch is a creep, that up close he has the eyes of a psychopath.”
“One . . .”
“That he was going to put powder in a girl’s drink at The Jury Room.”
“Two . . .”
“I’m just saying you got to come with me and we’ll call Guy. He can tell you. He tried to stop him and the fucker attacked. That’s some crazy shit.”
“Three.”
“Margot.” He stepped forward. “Be reasonable.”
But she was not staying silent so he could be comfortable.
She screamed. She screamed bloody murder, and clocked him across the face with her handbag. He hadn’t expected that and a leather tassel poked his eye. He dropped her arm, swearing.
“Goddamn it. What’d you do that for, you stupid slut.”
She turned and ran, didn’t look back. She ran straight into the bar, and didn’t stop until she was next to Breezy, shaking like a leaf.
Chapter Fourteen
The Hellions went into the third period against Kansas City with a score of one to one. That’s when Petrov scored his second goal of the night for the Hellions with three seconds remaining, his incredible backhander giving the Hellions their first win of the season. The game wasn’t a blowout, but a hard-fought scrabble, not without casualties. Munro had exited in the second period with an apparent shoulder injury and was joined by Nicholson a few minutes later.
Still, as Patch skated to the bench at the end of the game, he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face. He hadn’t bit the few times the offense had got in his crease. He’d been on the ice the whole time, and his playing had been aboveboard. It had been a tough night for the Hellions defense, but he’d stopped twenty-six out of twenty-seven shots.
Everyone talked at once, slapping each other on the back. They’d been solid, played a great team game.
“That was a notch above,” Tor said from near the center of the circle. “We’ve got some work ahead of us but tonight you men clicked in a way I haven’t seen in months. This was a whole different level, and we’re going to keep building on that hard work.”
He glanced at Patch and gave him a nod. Hell, he even cracked a smile which was rarer than a unicorn walking down Main Street.
Patch imagined Margot watching the screen, studying his breath, the way he tuned out the shit talk and cheap shots, how he refused to take out his frustration on the net when he let the one goal slip in. Instead of slamming his stick to the crossbar, he’d shaken it off. Breathed. And breathed some more.
Because somewhere across the high plains, Margot Kowalski was watching, and he didn’t want to let her down.
When he got back to his hotel room, he was still riding the high. He dialed her number as soon as he dropped his bag, and she didn’t answer. No big deal. They’d connect soon. He took a shower and came back. Still nothing. He turned on the TV and mindlessly clicked until he found a sports channel.
“Hellions showed some of their old fire tonight, didn’t they, Bob?” a bald commentator in a suit was saying to another guy behind the desk.
“They sure did.”
“Patch Donnelly was on point tonight. Did you see that behind-the-back save?”
“Snatched it out of thin air. That’s the Donnelly who wins championships.”
“Guess that’s the questions for what’s left of the season. Will the Hellions be getting that guy from tonight or the one who gets into bar fights.”
Patch clicked off the television.
He stared at the ceiling without blinking until his eyes burned, until his vision distorted and blurred.
It had been two hours since the end of the game. If Margot hadn’t called him by now, she wasn’t calling him period.
He turned off the phone and the light, rolled over and punched the pillow twice. Sleep didn’t come easily, but eventually the adrenaline of the night faded and sleep took hold.
He was back in the bar, The Jury Room, which wasn’t far from the courthouse. It had been the anniversary of Ma’s death, a night that he alone in the world remembered or mourned, a night when he thought about the fucking prick who still was out there sucking air, the one who’d put a bullet in her head. The one who’d never been apprehended no matter how much Patch had spent on private investigators.
Some shadows were too dark to penetrate.
He’d seen the girls right away. They were far too young to be there. No doubt the bouncer turned a blind eye to their fake IDs because they were beautiful. And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.
He’d leaned against the bar, sipping his single malt as a man in a suit began to case them.
First it was a nod. A smile.
Neither looked a day over nineteen. But they were harmless, having fun, dancing, sipping a cocktail, not getting too stupid.
Patch decided to keep an eye on them from a safe distance. He wasn’t interested, but the interest he saw on the other men disquieted him.
He’d seen the same looks on the men who’d come to see his mother. The hunger. The predatory gleam.
The blonde girl went to the bathroom, wobbling in heels she might have stolen from her mother’s closet. While she was gone, the man in the navy pinstriped suit sidled closer to the redhead. She smiled at whatever he said, but it was stiff, polite. She didn’t want to talk to him and Patch didn’t blame her.
Hell, the man was old enough to be her father.
That’s when he saw it happen. It was fast. So fast he knew with sickening surety that this wasn’t the first time it had happened.
As the man spoke, he removed a small paper envelope from his trouser pocket and sprinkled something in the blonde girl’s drink.
For a moment Patch wanted to believe he’d made it up. After all, this was a night that lent itself to dark thoughts. But the churning in his gut was no lie. This had happened. Make no mistake. And the only question he could think as the world turned red was how bad was this shithead going to pay?
He sauntered over, just as the blonde got back.
“Hey, I know you,” she grinned, her smile sunshine bright.
Unlike the suit who was as old as their dad, he guessed he was in the demographic they’d come to seek. An older guy. Twenty-something. But not too old.
The redhead turned over one shoulder and let out a pleased gasp. “No way. Patch Donnelly?”
“Can we get your autograph?”
“Or a selfie?”
