It was so loud in the rink, Dean couldn’t hear himself think. His heart pounded against his chest, echoing in his ear. This was it. This was exactly what he wanted. They were up. Dean looked at the scoreboard. Forty-seven seconds left of the period. He hadn’t even heard the one-minute warning.
Anything could happen in forty-seven seconds.
It was part of the reason he loved hockey so much. A game could be won in two seconds. A game could be lost in the same amount of time. Which meant there was a lot of pressure on the defensemen as well as Brandon Thorpe in order to ensure another goal did not go in before that buzzer sounded and the period was over.
The Gulls had all of the momentum right now. If Florida scored, that momentum would shift, and the Gators would go to the locker room with more confidence than if they didn’t score. Dean - and the team - wanted to hang onto that momentum and do whatever it took in order to ensure they were going to the locker room winning the game.
It did not surprise him that those last seconds were played with both desperation and chippiness. Dean had no problem throwing his body around, knocking the red and blue players out of the crease. He had to be extremely careful, however. If the Gulls drew a penalty, the Gators would be on a power play once the game resumed, which meant they would be rested for twenty minutes, ready to play. The momentum would be on their side.
The clock ticked down. Dean was too focused on the game to even risk looking up and seeing the time. He kept playing, kept shoving people out of the way, kept clearing the puck from the zone, until that buzzer sounded and freed him. It felt like forever, like the longest forty seconds of his entire life, but, like everything, they finally came to an end, and the loud buzzer sounded.
Everyone - Gulls and Gators - stopped playing and proceeded to head into their respective locker rooms. The majority of the crowd cheered, applauding the Gulls as they headed back to the locker room.
Now that he wasn’t playing, he had been freed from his spell. His head snapped around and he looked over at Clara as he skated off the ice and to his bench. She was standing but she was standing next to someone. A man. A man who turned his body to talk to her. It wasn’t anybody in her family. Dean knew her younger brother and she didn’t have cousins, at least on her mother’s side. Her Dad and his family lived scattered across the eastern United States. Her mother and brother and one uncle lived in Orange County.
Maybe one of her other relatives came out to spend time with her. That was possible.
Until Dean watched with narrowed eyes as this man squeezed Clara’s side with his hand playfully. He was glad to see that Clara did not grin or even react. Her eyes - still practically hidden by her hat - were on him. Her body was unnecessarily tense. She did not know how to react to seeing him, and he felt the same way.
All he could think was, She’s mine, she’s still mine, and anyone who says otherwise is going to get the shit beat out of them.
He wanted - needed - to talk to her, but he wasn’t quite sure what to say. He didn’t have her phone number anymore he’d had to get rid of it or he would have been tempted to call every day.
“What’s wrong with you?” a gravelly voice asked from beside Dean, snapping him out of his thoughts and forcing him to pull his gaze away from Clara. “You’re staring.”
Art Jackman. Goddamn Art Jackman and his goddamn timing.
Dean reached up to tap spectators and fans who thrust their hands out of the stadium in order to try and garner a high five as they headed into their locker room before responding to Art Jackman.
“Just thinking,” Dean said through a huff once they were safely inside and no one could overheat.
“Thinking with your eyes?” The doubt was evident in his voice.
There were times Dean wanted to punch his own teammates. This was one of those times. Just because Dean had confided in Art a couple of weeks ago, that did not mean Dean was still willing to share what was on his mind. Especially if that person was Clara fucking Daniels, a blast from his past.
“Let’s just focus on the game, asshole,” Dean said as they stepped into the locker room. He was mindful not to cross the Gulls logo in the center of the floor. He didn’t consider himself superstitious but he also wasn’t willing to risk it on the off-chance that the superstition was true.
“As long as you can,” Art said with a smirk.
Dean clenched his teeth together. Art wasn’t just an asshole, he was a smartass, and that was worse than just being an asshole.
Once everyone was in the locker room, Cherney gave his usual speech about trying hard, not to let any of these fuckers walk all over them, and just because they were up by one didn’t mean shit because the game could change at any moment.
“Do you want to say anything?” he barked when he had finished, turning his attention to Brandon Thorpe.
Dean raised an eyebrow. Everyone knew Brandon Thorpe didn’t say much. He was kind of a snot in that way. He didn’t socialize, didn’t hang out. He kept to himself. If this was a movie set, he’d be the Method actor, needing isolation to help get into character. In Dean’s opinion, it was all bullshit, but Brandon had his respect because he was captain and also because he was a damn good goalie.
“You’re doing great,” Brandon said, surprising everyone in the room. Every now and then, Thorpe would make a speech, but each time he did, it was like the first: short and shocking. Shocking because he spoke in the first place. “Everyone just needs to keep the Gators out of my zone. You guys are turning it over at the blue line. And D - don’t be afraid to get tough with them.”
Dean saw the other defensemen nod. He couldn’t help but agree. They were playing well but they couldn’t make little mistakes because eventually the Gators would capitalize on them. The remainder of the break he was silent, visualizing how he was planning to play in the next quarter. But every time he tried, a familiar redhead would pop up in his thoughts and distract him once again.
Chapter 3
The Gulls ended up winning by one. Thorpe, as usual, was a beast in the net. Nothing could get past him, even if it seemed like it should. The Gulls played one of their best games to date. Even Clara got into it by the middle of the second period. Just because she had history with one of the players didn’t mean she was suddenly not a fan.
When Negan took a bullshit penalty late in the third, Clara thought this was it. They would tie it and have to go to overtime. She did not realize the Gulls would be able to kill the penalty with tired bodies on the ice. Clara glanced across the ice to see Negan shaking his head and spitting in the box. When they replayed the supposed penalty, it was clear that the referees made a mistake and Sampson dove. Began hadn’t even touched him. Clara wondered if that would garner a makeup call for the Gulls but she realized it probably would not only because there was no time for a makeup call. If the Gulls managed to kill off the penalty, there were thirty-seven seconds left in the period.
During that penalty, Florida pulled their goalie, so there were six players opposing a tired Newport penalty kill rather than five. However, if one of the Gulls managed to ice it perfectly, the puck could potentially go in the back of the net, securing them the win.
Unfortunately, they were not able to hit the empty net. If anything, the Gulls couldn’t seem to clear the puck at all. Everyone in the stadium was on their feet, as if standing could help them see better. Bill had grabbed Clara’s hand and held onto it tightly. Neither of them spoke. They watched. The stadium was as silent as it could be.
The minute the penalty expired, Negan shot out of the box and managed to pick up the puck. He was checked into the boards in the Gator zone, coughing up the puck. He had been so close to hit that empty-netter.
The Gators had one more scoring chance. They got into formation and skated down the ice. Their passes were crisp, their skating fast. However, it wasn’t enough to get past Jackman and Morgan. Clara couldn’t help but smile as she watched the two in action. She was surprised Cherney had separated them at the begin
ning of the game, but she also understood it had more to do with pairing two big defensemen together and pairing two small but fast ones together. Each line needed balance. Now, though, they were both on the ice, which made sense, since they both used their bodies and managed to get the Gators to turn over the puck.
Morgan was an expert at clearing so they got it out of their zone without an icing call. Nobody could seem to score on the open bet, however, which meant, until the buzzer sounded and the game officially ended, the Gators had the chance to tie it up and force overtime.
That didn’t happen.
Thank God that didn’t happen.
When the game ended, the Gulls mascot waved the flag and the ice girls lined up, waving their signature playoff towel in the air.
The announcer enthusiastically let the crowd know of the Gulls’ win and then mentioned the three stars of the game.
“And,” the deep voice bellowed over the speakers, “the third star of the game, defenseman, number thirty, Dean Morgan!”
Clara nearly choked on her breath and she faltered in her applause. Bill, next to her, started cheering. He wasn’t a huge Morgan fan but even he could agree that Morgan brought a much-needed veteran presence to the team. More than that, he was big and wasn’t afraid to drop his gloves if he needed to. Bill respected guys like that.
Dean skated out without his helmet on, stick in hand. He waved it around as thanks to the spectators for being present, for supporting him and the team. And Clara knew what was going to happen next. She didn’t know how she knew, but she did. His eyes settled on her and skated straight towards her. He didn’t look at the kids all vying for his attention. The girl behind Clara started freaking out, thinking he was coming for her.
When Dean got to the glass, he pointed directly at Clara so everyone knew she was the one who would receive the stick and no one else, and there was no mistaking it. Even the girl behind her faltered and Clara could feel the daggers being tossed at her back.
“Holy shit,” Bill murmured from beside her.
Dean tossed the stick over the glass, his eyes still only on her. He waited to make sure Clara was the one who received the stick and no one took it from her. Bill reached his long arm up and caught the stick before bringing it down and giving it to Clara. Clara barely noticed. Her eyes were locked with Dean’s. He lingered for a moment too long before he skated off and the next player was announced.
She knew what that stare meant: this wasn’t over. Whatever was between them, whatever tension was still there, had not been forgotten.
“He looked at you like he knew you,” Bill said, shouting over the applauding crowd. “Do you know Dean Morgan?”
Before Clara could answer, one of the ushers came to them. “Excuse me,” he said in a soft voice. It was hard for them to hear him over the noise. “But you’ve been invited to get a tour of the Gulls’ locker room. May I escort you to the elevators?”
“What the hell?” Bill asked, his eyes wide. His smile was wide and bright, his entire face lighting up. “Is this something you get when you get a stick from a star of the game? I’ve never been to the locker room before. Holy shit!”
Clara pretended to be as enthused about the locker room tour as he was. The truth of the matter was, no, just because she got a stick did not mean she was guaranteed a locker room tour.
This was Dean. Dean was trying to get to her. If she said no, she would be the worst girlfriend in the history of girlfriends. Because Bill had never been a season ticket holder, he had never gotten an official tour of the Gulls’ locker room. More than that, this locker room tour would be given specifically to them by the actual players after a Stanley Cup final game. He would definitely wonder why she would turn something like that down, even if she did claim to be sick.
Clara forced a smile, grabbed her stick from Bill, and wondered if he would forgive her if she knocked him unconscious with the stick in order to avoid this whole thing.
However, that was not to be. Bill didn’t even ask her if she wanted to take the tour, and, instead, turned to look at the usher and give him an enthusiastic nod.
“Absolutely,” he said.
Clara frowned but said nothing. At the very least, she had hoped Bill would take the time to ask her about what she wanted without making the assumption that she wanted to walk around a smelly locker room and accidentally bump into players in suits or players in towels. It was literally just a room with all of their equipment. There was a small room with a television, snacks, and couches just before the actual locker room, and a room filled with sticks before the press room. The showers were to the right, adjacent to the locker room.
The only reason why Clara even knew about that was because Dean snuck her in during the summer - after obtaining permission from Ken Brown, the original owner and manager of the club, before he was murdered - to give Clara her own personal tour before they succumbed to their passion and made love against a wall in the locker room.
Even now, the memory was vivid, racing through her head like a movie. The way his hands touched her body, like her body belonged to him. The way her body reacted because he knew where to touch her and how. She felt herself her flush just thinking about it and shook her head, trying to rid herself of the memory. He probably did this on purpose. Inviting her to the locker room was probably a strategy in order to get her to remember it.
She wasn’t going to let him get to her, despite the effort.
Instead, Clara kept her head held high as she followed Bill and the usher out of the stadium and to an elevator. The elevator descended and took them into a small, quiet room.
“Hey Clara,” the receptionist said with a small wave.
Bill stopped talking, mid-sentence, in order to give Clara a curious look. “She knew your name,” he said. “Was she here when you took that job for the Gulls?”
Oh yes, the job. Seraphina had used her services in order to prove that Alec Schumacher did not rape a former ice girl the way she claimed he had. She took the job because it didn’t involve Dean and she never saw him once, plus Seraphina always paid her more than her going rate. She wrapped up her job in a week and got paid two grand. She proved Schumacher was innocent and managed to avoid Dean altogether - even with Seraphina innocently bringing him up every now and then.
“Yeah,” Clara said, clearing her throat and looking away. She did not need to go into details of why the desk attendant knew her. She had been here for years and recognized Clara from that whirlwind summer with Dean. Thank goodness she hadn’t mentioned anything in front of Bill. “Must have.”
They continued forward and stepped into the family room, so dubbed because family and girlfriends would hang out here as they waited for their players to finish up with the press and get ready to head home.
Standing outside the entrance, Clara recognized some of the players’ girlfriends - Harper, Katella Hanson (and Seraphina’s older sister), Emma, and Madison. A petite blonde woman stood with the group. She was someone Clara didn’t recognize.
“Clara!” Harper said when her eyes found Clara’s. “How are you?”
Clara waved. She didn’t want to be rude but any way to avoid mentioning her past with Dean would be helpful. She really didn’t want to have to explain herself, especially to Bill who still hadn’t even thought to question her about why Dean Morgan had given a grown woman his stick.
Harper didn’t know much about Clara and her relationship with Dean, but it wasn’t like it was a secret. People talked, and Clara knew that Seraphina and Harper went to college together. Harper had always been polite the few times they had seen each other. Clara shifted her eyes to Bill and then back at Harper. Harper paused and then nodded her head like she understood. Clara felt tension leave her body and she nearly sagged in relief.
“You know Harper Crawford?” Bill asked in a whisper. “You know she’s dating Zachary Ryan, right?”
Clara shot him a look. Was he kidding? Of course she knew that, and she didn’t appreciate that he was t
alking down to her. She worked for Seraphina Hanson and she even knew that Seraphina was secretly dating Brandon Thorpe. Not that she would tell that to Bill in order to throw it in his face, as though to prove herself and how she actually did possess hockey knowledge.
“Yes,” she said, her voice flat. “Yes, I was aware of that.”
Her tone seemed to go over his head.
“I cannot believe we’re about to step into the locker room,” Bill continued. He opened the door and let Clara walk in before he followed suit. Sam, the backup goalie, sat in a leather couch, dressed in a suit, watching highlights from the game. There were a couple of vending machines off to the side and a table filled with snacks behind the couch.
The door that led directly inside the locker room opened and out strode Dean Morgan, in nothing but grey sweatpants, his body dripping with water like he had just stepped out of the shower.
“Clara,” his deep, masculine voice said, his eyes locking with hers before settling on Bill. “Who is this asshole?”
Chapter 4
Dean typically didn’t call fans names. Sometimes, he was instigated on purpose because fans had this odd perception that just because they watched the team play, they seemed to have a personal relationship with the players and could treat them a certain way. Based on the way his eyes lit up looking at the locker room, this guy was a fan. Dean almost felt bad about antagonizing him until he noticed the guy was holding Clara’s hand. Based on that, his mind flashed back to when he used to hold her hand. When her soft hand fit within his big one. When she walked out because there was no way she was going to do a long distance relationship and he hadn’t thought to ask her to come with him to Florida. When he literally took a chainsaw to the sofa the minute the door shut and he knew she wasn’t coming back.
Why hadn’t he asked her to come? Why had he been scared to take that step with her when he knew, even then, that she was the only one for him?
Brutal Love & Stanley Cups: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 7) Page 2
