Brutal Love & Stanley Cups: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 7)

by Heather C. Myers

  He rolled his eyes just as the women came over to his window.

  “Please don’t take this personally,” he explained. “I need to focus on hockey. You’re both beautiful, but I bet you would be even more beautiful without the paint on your face and the skin hanging out of your clothing. You’re both better than that, and you can find a better guy to try and impress than me.”

  He backed up the car and left them in the parking lot. He wasn’t sure what the hell just happened, but he definitely knew this was all Clara’s fault.

  Chapter 9

  Clara slept in. By the time she woke up, the sun was shining through the window and was tugging at the lids of her eyes, trying to pry them apart. When she finally opened her eyes, she forgot, for a moment, that she had been waiting for Bill to come in so they could talk. So they could make up. Instead, she remembered Bill not coming home. She remembered texting Dean. And she remembered being okay. Like she wasn’t terribly upset that Bill hadn’t shown up last night. Like she could talk to Dean and somehow, he made her feel okay.

  She checked text messages one last time. Part of her had hoped Bill had texted her, at least letting her know that he was safe. Another, smaller, darker part of her was hoping she would get a text from Dean.

  But there was no reason for Dean to text her. They weren’t together. More than that, she was with Bill. So any desire to receive a text message from another guy - let alone her ex - wasn’t one of her finest moments.

  Clara stood and stretched before padding to the bathroom and turning on the shower. She needed a break from all of this and purposefully left her phone on her nightstand, almost as though she was making a statement to herself. She slid off her clothes and stepped under the hot water, letting the steam hit her face and the water wash away her problems.

  She felt herself start to get frustrated by the fact that she still hadn’t heard from Bill. They had been together for under a year but were already living together so in her head, they were serious. Out of respect, at the very least, he could have shot her a simple text that said he’d be staying at his mother’s place and he’d be back later the next day.

  Instead, silence.

  Clara took in a deep breath, trying to keep herself from getting angry. He would reach out when he was ready. She couldn’t force him to be ready if he wasn’t.

  After another ten minutes, she stepped out of the shower and dried herself off. She wrapped a towel around her hair and another one around her body. She grabbed her pajamas from the closed toilet seat, padded out of the bathroom and stepped into her bedroom. A quick glance at her bed and she nearly had a heart attack.

  “Shit, Bill.”

  He stood next to her nightstand, her cell phone in his hand. His shoulders were hunched, like he was looking at something serious. Every muscle was strained.

  He didn’t even look at her as she clutched the clothes she intended to change into to her chest.

  “You scared me.”

  “What the hell is this?” He looked down at the phone before glaring at Clara. He raised the phone so Clara could see what he was referring to. “Clara, what the hell is this?”

  Clara furrowed her brow. She was suddenly uncomfortable in so little clothing and wished she had pulled on the clothes before stepping out of the restroom.

  “As far as I know, Bill, it’s a cell phone,” she said. “More specifically, my cell phone.”

  “Is there a reason there are text messages from Dean Morgan on your phone from last night?” he demanded, taking a step towards her. “Why is he asking what you’re wearing?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you think that’s funny? Is that supposed to be some kind of joke between the two of you?”

  Clara’s cheeks burned with frustration. She started pacing up and down the room, keeping her arms tightly across her chest. She didn’t want her towel to accidentally fall off of her.

  “Look,” she said, and then stopped. Why was she going to defend herself? The real question was, why was he going through her phone in the first place? She whirled around to face him. “Is there a reason you thought it was necessary to go through my phone?”

  “You got a call.” He cleared his throat and shook his head. His grip on her phone tightened, judging by the way his knuckles turned a white color. “I was going to answer -“

  “Why would you answer my phone?” Clara asked, cutting him off. “I seriously don’t understand why you would do that.”

  “Don’t deflect,” Bill said. “Why do you have Dean Morgan’s number in your phone? Why was he texting you?”

  “Why are you asking me? Clearly you read them. Clearly you already know.”

  “Don’t be cute, Clara.”

  “I told you,” she said. She stopped pacing, taking a moment to pause and breathe. “I told you about me and Dean. I told you that we were together. You were the one who didn’t believe me. You were the one who left me in an empty parking lot at eleven o’clock last night.” She took a step towards him. “You want to know why Dean Morgan was texting me? Because he drove me home. Dean Morgan drove me home because he saw me out in the parking lot by myself.”

  “It’s Newport Beach!” Bill exclaimed.

  “I don’t care,” she responded. “You don’t know what can happen. Do you honestly think Newport doesn’t have its own share of crime? Are you kidding me, Bill? You know better than that.”

  “Dean Morgan took you home,” Bill stated flatly.

  Clara started pacing again. “Isn’t that what I just said?” she growled. “He saw me and offered me a ride.”

  “What kind of ride?” Bill retorted. He tossed the phone on the bed.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Clara said, stopping once again to glare over at Bill.

  He threw up his hands and shook his head, as though he wasn’t going to elaborate. At least he had the good sense to not push that further.

  “I told you,” Clara said, taking a step forward, pointing her finger at Bill. “I told you we had been together. You were the one who didn’t believe me. You were the one who drove off. You didn’t call, you didn’t text. I had no idea where you were all night, Bill.”

  Bill was silent for a long moment. He picked his head up, his eyes cold. “That doesn’t explain why he’s texting you,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “That doesn’t explain why he’s taking you home.”

  “What do you want me to say?” Clara threw her arms put. Her towel shifted a little and she grabbed the top of it to ensure it didn’t slide down her chest. “Do you want me to tell you I’m sleeping with Dean Morgan?”

  “Are you?” He sounded slightly hesitant, as though he wasn’t sure what to believe.

  Clara was this close to slapping him across the face for even insinuating something akin to her cheating on him. She felt angry energy course through her bloodstream and she had to clench her fingers into tight fists and dig her nails into her palms to keep from doing just that.

  “I don’t know, Bill. Even if I told you, would you believe me? Because clearly, someone like me can’t possibly be good enough to get into Dean Morgan’s pants. Because someone like me can’t possibly date the guy. Because I’m nothing - I mean, not compared to the women he could get.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” Bill said through clenched teeth.

  Clara shrugged. “How should I have taken it?” she asked.

  “You never answered my question,” Bill said. He walked hastily past her, making it a point to avoid touching Clara. Clara turned so she didn’t feel especially vulnerable in nothing but her towel. “What’s going on between you and Dean?”

  “Nothing,” Clara snapped before he could explain his question further.

  “Those texts –”

  “He wanted to make sure I got home safely,” Clara said. “Someone wanted to check up on me. You... I don’t know what you did. I don’t know who you were with.”

  “I wouldn’t –”

  “Exactly.” She leveled a glare at Bill, making sure he unde
rstood what she meant. “How does it feel to be accused of something you didn’t do? From someone who loves you and has given you no reason not to trust her?”

  Bill raked his fingers through his hair, glancing sideways. “Look,” he said. “Can you blame me? Dean is known for breaking up marriages, for sleeping with whomever he wants.”

  Clara crossed her arms over her chest and shifted her weight from one hip to the next. “So it’s Dean’s fault?” she asked. “I guess the women aren’t responsible for their decisions?”

  “Why are you defending him, Clara?” he asked. “The man has no morals, no respect for the rules.”

  “Rules? What rules?”

  “He’s just a guy who takes what he wants and doesn’t ask,” Bill said, shaking his head. He dropped his hands from his jean loops and started to pace once again.

  “I thought you liked the guy!”

  “As a hockey player, he’s an impressive defenseman who can score when he needs to and drops the gloves when the occasion calls for it,” Bill said. “As a person, I would rather not call him a friend.”

  Clara snorted. “You are unbelievable,” she said. “You’re shredding Dean’s character? You? The same guy who doesn’t believe his girlfriend when she tells him something serious? Who leaves said girlfriend by herself in a parking lot at night with no way to get home other than a cellphone? I think you’re the last person to judge anyone, Bill.”

  “Why are you defending this person, Clara?” Bill asked, taking a step forward. “I looked into your relationship. You broke up because of him.”

  “He was signed by Florida,” Clara replied. “What else was going to happen? I was barely nineteen, about to be a sophomore in college. He wouldn’t ask me to go with him and leave my life. And I wouldn’t ask him to stay and make him give it all up.”

  “Rumor had it he took a fucking chainsaw to his sofa!” Bill shouted.

  Clara didn’t understand the anger but she shouted right back. “I don’t know, Bill! We only saw each other after all of this yesterday when you accepted his invitation to the locker room. I didn’t want to go, but I wasn’t going to take what you’ve been waiting for away from you. I tried to talk to you about it afterward. I tried. But you didn’t believe me.”

  “And somehow, he conveniently swoops in to give you a ride?” Bill asked.

  “Yes, he happened to be there,” Clara replied. “He was there. You weren’t.”

  “And what did you do?” Bill asked. “What did you do? He just drove you home and then texted you? That sounds like -“

  “A friend.”

  “A friend you used to fuck.”

  “Years ago,” she snapped. “My past is none of your business. All that should matter is here and now.”

  “What did you do?” Bill raised his voice again, though Clara still didn’t understand why he felt the need to yell. She wasn’t used to seeing this side of him and wondered if he always had this side, or if it was something new, something she had unwittingly inspired in him. “Last night.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Clara crossed the room so she could close the blinds she hadn’t realized had been left open. “Once again, you don’t believe me.”

  “You just drove?”

  “Where were you?” Clara countered, realizing he had never answered the question.

  “Don’t change the subject,” Bill snapped. He started to walk over to her. “What. Did. You. Do?”

  “Oh, well he took me to dinner, walked me to my door, and proceeded to fuck me on the bed I share with you. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Without warning, Bill’s hand shot out and slapped Clara across the face. His eyes widened. He hadn’t meant do it, she could tell, but he had.

  “Clara.” His voice softened. He reached for her again.

  Clara stepped back. Tears filled her eyes but didn’t fall. “Don’t touch me,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  She thought about changing but didn’t want to risk him snatching her keys or standing in front of the doorway, preventing her from leaving. She would try to make do, change in her car, if she had to. She grabbed her keys and her phone from the nightstand, continued to clutch her pajamas with the other, and stalked towards the door.

  “Clara, I –”

  Clara yanked the door open, only to come in contact with the crisp blue eyes of Dean Morgan’s, his hand in a loose fist, prepared to knock on the door.

  Chapter 10

  Dean looked between Clara and Bill. The asshole boyfriend ran his fingers through his hair while Clara had tears in her eyes and her right cheek was splotchy with a red mark. His eyes narrowed and it took him all of three seconds to figure out what happened. Dean didn’t even hesitate. He took a step forward, his eyes shooting daggers at Bill, who jumped at the step in his direction.

  What an asshole.

  Clara put her hand on Dean’s chest, taking him out of the moment. His eyes unwillingly dropped to Clara.

  “Take me away.”

  Dean ground his teeth together. His fingers pinched from how tightly they were curled together. His trimmed nails dug into his palms, and he wouldn’t be surprised if the angry crescent moons were burned into his palms like tattoos on his skin. Like Clara tattooed his goddamn soul.

  He really wanted to beat the shit out of the goddamn weasel, but Clara needed him more and Clara wasn’t the type to ask for anything, especially for help.

  “Fine.” His eyes remained firmly on Bill. “You come near her again, I’ll kill you.”

  “Dean,” she chided but her heart wasn’t in it.

  He continued to look at Bill, wanting nothing more than for Bill to come at him. Dean wanted to feel threatened in any way he could. It would mean he could defend himself and Dean would go to fucking town on him. Dean didn’t give a shit if he broke his fingers before the big game. He wanted to hear the crunch of his bones, the crack of Bill’s knuckles as he popped him back. He wanted to do bodily harm to Bill more than he wanted to do bodily harm to anyone. When he told Bill he would kill him, he wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Let’s go.”

  “And you expect me to believe nothing happened last night?” Bill shouted, taking a step towards him. “What the hell is he doing here then, Clara? Are you actually leaving with him?”

  “I’m going somewhere where you aren’t, Bill.” Dean caught the shakiness of her voice, the way she tilted her head down so her hair fell in her face, masking her profile for either of them to see. “I don’t know why Dean is here.” She picked up her brown eyes, so dark and filled with flecks of utter sadness that completely gutted Dean. “Please. Let’s go.”

  Dean held her gaze with his and offered her his hand. He nodded once. She was still in her pajamas, red hair still wet, obviously from a shower. She took his hand - still so tiny and fragile and soft, just as he remembered it - and he covered hers with his.

  They began to walk away but Dean heard Bill step out of the door.

  “You can’t just leave with him, Clara!” he called.

  Clara stopped, as did Dean. Dean whirled back around and in two strides he reached Bill. He glared at the lean guy.

  “Please tell me again why she has to do any goddamn thing you say.” He leaned in close so his mouth was close to Bill’s ear. “I’ve always wanted to know - does it make you feel like a man, putting your hands on a woman,a woman you’re supposed to love?” Bill pulled his arm back as though he was going punch Dean, causing Dean to grin. “Please hit me. I would absolutely love it if you hit me. I’m begging you. Please.”

  Bill blanched and took a step back.

  Dean inwardly rolled his eyes. What a goddamn pussy. Shame, too. He really wanted the opportunity to beat the shit out of him.

  “Clara,” Dean said, continuing to stare down at Bill. “Do you need anything before you go? I’m sure Bill will have no problem letting you come back in and get it.”

  Clara wrapped her arms around her chest and shook her head. From hi
s peripheral, Dean did his best to study her as well as he could while also keeping his eyes fixed on Bill. It was difficult - the only thing he really noticed was the fact that she was visibly upset, trying to curl into herself like a ball. He hated that look on her face. Back when they were together, they had had plenty of fights before - screaming, yelling, and then onto great makeup sex - but she had never been sad because of him before. Disappointed, sure. Hurt, absolutely. But she was never sad, and she definitely never scared.

  The fact that she was both right now caused his quick temper to flare once more and he wondered again for the umpteenth time why he couldn’t just let himself teach Bill a lesson.

  ‘Your anger constantly gets you into trouble,’ a small voice pointed out. It sounded suspiciously feminine, with a quality that indicated she knew everything. Clara to a tee. ‘If you’re going to show her that you’ve changed, now would be a great time to do so.’

  “I’m fine,” Clara said. Her voice was stronger than he expected, surprising him. In all honesty, he found that he was proud of her resilience. Her damn stubbornness that annoyed the shit out of him when they were together. “I just want to go. Please.”

  There was that word again. It wasn’t as though Clara was rude, but she didn’t go out of her way to say it a lot of the time.

  Dean stepped back until he was next to Clara once more. Still keeping his eyes on Bill, he reached out and wrapped his arm around Clara’s shoulders. He saw Bill glare, saw him open his mouth, ready to argue. Dean snapped his eyebrows up, as though to say, ‘What? What, exactly, am I doing wrong here? Did you want to say something about my decision to hold her?’

  Dean hoped Clara didn’t think he was taking advantage of her in her vulnerable state. He hoped she realized that he wanted to protect her, to send a clear message to Bill that his behavior was unacceptable and would not be tolerated. That this was the least of his problems if Dean ever saw him even trying to talk to her again.

  By the time Dean led her down to the parking lot where he parked his car in the temporary parking, afraid it might get towed if he parked it in ‘reserved’ considering this was Irvine and the leasing offices got trigger-happy with towing cars. He opened the door for Clara, not releasing his hold on her until she was getting into his car.