Resistance on Ice - SR GREY

by Grey, S. R.

  “Good question,” I murmur as I flip through one of Brent’s hockey magazines. “You’re as mixed up as he is.”

  Needing to focus on something else—the hockey mag just isn’t helping—I glance around the living room. I’d like to talk with someone, but no one is home. Aubrey is working over at her office in the Desert Sports Complex, and Brent had an early morning practice in the same place.

  The empty house makes me wish I wasn’t off from work today. That’s why I’ve been lazing around and perusing magazines I have no interest in. Well, maybe I have a little interest. Seems having so many hockey people in my life is making me love the damn sport.

  I resume flipping through the magazine, skimming over an article on which teams to watch this upcoming season. The Wolves are at the top of the list, no surprise there. I move on to a report on training camp, which is back in session around the league. And then I get to a bunch of short bios on all the current players, including Nolan.

  My heart rate picks up when I peer at his picture. God, I have such intense feelings for that man. Still, I don’t know if I want from him what I did last spring, namely a commitment.

  I’m just not sure he can commit.

  Though there is something I’ve been insanely curious about since the party—what it was he about to tell me when Aubrey inadvertently interrupted him.

  What the hell happened when he was a teenager?

  What sort of huge mistake did he make?

  And how’s that affecting us now?

  It must be, in some way, since he said me knowing would help explain his behavior.

  “I bet it was a relationship that ended badly,” I mutter out loud.

  Since there’s no way of knowing till Nolan feels like opening up again, and who knows when that will be, I toss the magazine onto the sofa and bite out a curse.

  But then I hear, “Ooh, sounds like someone’s pissed over something,” and I just about jump out of my hide.

  Someone’s in the house with me!

  Jumping up, I pick up the magazine and whip it at the intruder.

  Like that’s going to hurt him. Maybe if he’s a fly.

  It’s not a fly, it’s just my future brother-in-law in the entryway. And my magazine missile missed him by a mile.

  Crumpling back down to the sofa, I breathe out, “Shit, Brent. I’m sorry I threw something at you, but you scared the crap out of me.”

  “Clearly.” Chuckling, he picks up the magazine. Holding it aloft, he says, “Next time you might want to throw something a little more formidable. The worst damage this thing could do is maybe give someone a nasty paper cut.”

  I start to laugh. “It was all I had.” And then I ask, “What are you doing home so early, anyway?”

  Stepping over to the sofa and placing my magazine-weapon on the coffee table, he informs me, “Practice ended a little sooner than usual.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  He plops down on a plushy chair across from me and takes in my ripped jeans and off-the-shoulder ivory sweater. “No work today, I take it?”

  I’ve been picking up a lot of extra shifts lately and often when Brent’s coming in from practice, I’m on my way out, clad in my waitress attire and ready to work another ten-to-twelve-hour day.

  “Can you believe I’m actually off?” I say. “Shocking, I know.”

  “It is, Miss Workaholic,” he replies, chuckling as he glances down at his phone, where a text is dinging in.

  “It’s Aubrey,” he murmurs distractedly as he reads the text. After a few secs, he looks up and informs me, “Looks like she has to work later than usual today. We recently called up a couple of new guys from our minors system, and management must want her to meet with them to make sure their heads are where they’re supposed to be before the regular season starts.”

  Aubrey used to provide—to Brent only—consulting, counseling, motivation, and whatever else was needed to keep him on track. That was her role as Brent’s life coach. But then they fell in love and her position ended, until the team rehired her in her current position. She’s now responsible for making sure all the guys stay focused on playing good hockey.

  Luckily for her, and especially since Brent would never stand for it, she no longer has to live with her clients. She works from her office in the Desert Sports Complex, where the Wolves practice and play home games.

  “Thanks for letting me know about Aubrey,” I say. “I probably would’ve wondered where she was come dinnertime.” I pick up my Kindle, which is never far out of reach. “Looks like I’ll be getting in a lot of reading time today, which is excellent since my book boyfriends have been highly neglected lately.”

  Brent laughs. “Sounds like a plan Aubrey would approve of.”

  “Definitely.”

  Between Aubrey and me always gushing over our latest reads, he’s grown accustomed to our reading addictions, book boyfriends included.

  I’m all set to start my reading marathon, but it seems my book boyfriends may have to wait. Brent is making no move to leave. In fact, he’s staring over at me like he wants to ask me something.

  Crap, I hope it’s not about Nolan. He’s been suspicious about us ever since he caught me sneaking into the house New Year’s morning, after spending the night at Nolan’s having sex everywhere. I think Brent was onto me.

  I breathe a sigh of relief when he simply asks, “You plan on reading all day and into the evening?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time,” I inform him.

  “Huh, okay, but what if I told you there might be something more fun for you to do this evening?”

  “More fun than reading? Hush your mouth!”

  “Maybe not more fun than reading,” he concedes, laughing, “but pretty close.”

  I set my Kindle aside…for the moment.

  “This I gotta hear. What’s this great, fun thing going on tonight? Is there another party in the works?”

  “No, no more parties. But there does happen to be an exhibition game at seven. I could have a ticket waiting for you. That is, if your book boyfriends won’t mind you leaving them for a while.”

  “I think they’ll understand,” I reply.

  Even though preseason games count for nothing when it comes to the standings, I jump at the chance. Watching Nolan do his thing on the ice is one of my favorite things to do. And it’s been a while since I’ve seen him play. We may not be together, and I’ll never be mistaken for any kind of hockey expert, but I still can appreciate how skilled Nolan is.

  That dark, brooding man just looks really good on the ice, okay?

  “So is that a yes?” Brent asks.

  “Yep,” I confirm. “I’d love to go.”

  “Great.” He stands. “Let me go make the call.”

  The seat Brent procures for me is amazing. I’m in the first row on the side where the Wolves shoot twice. Since the team is the reigning Stanley Cup champ, there are a lot of people in attendance, preseason be damned. Everyone is pumped, including me. I stand and cheer, like a crazed lunatic, every time the Wolves point up a point. And when Nolan scores a gorgeous goal late in the third that puts the Wolves up by one, I can’t refrain from sharing my excitement with the person seated next to me.

  “Oh my God, I think we’re definitely going to win this one,” I gush excitedly to a girl who’s been to my left the entire game. She appears to be here alone, like me. I thought about talking with her earlier, but I was too immersed in the game—and Nolan—to strike up a conversation.

  “Yeah, I think we will.” She smiles over at me like she’s happy I finally said something.

  “I’m Lainey, by the way.”

  I hold out my hand, and she shakes it daintily.

  “I’m Eliza,” she says.

  “I totally should’ve introduced myself earlier, seeing as we’ve been sharing space all night.” I gesture to our seats and she nods, looking down and smiling.

  “Aw, that’s okay,” she says. “The game’s been pretty engrossing.”
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  “It has.”

  Eliza is shorter than me and a bit curvier. There’s a definite cuteness about her. Maybe it’s the way she’s wearing her strawberry blonde hair pinned up, all messy-like, or perhaps it’s the sparkle in her emerald eyes. Whatever the case, I warm to her immediately. It also feels good to have someone other than Aubrey and Brent to talk to.

  “Are you here all alone?” I ask.

  I then realize how creepy that sounds, and amend, “Oh, crap. I don’t mean that in any weird way. Like, I’m not trying to pick you up or anything.”

  That makes her crack up. “Well, you are very pretty, so if I swung that way I’d definitely let you.”

  Now we’re both laughing, and I think I may have just made a friend.

  “So,” I continue, “let me word that a little differently. You’re clearly here alone, so I guess what I’m asking is if you’re here for someone on the team…or if you’re just a totally rabid Wolves fan?”

  “I’m not here for anyone,” she replies. “And I don’t know about the rabid part, but I am a fan. Though, I kind of have to be.”

  Ooh, now I’m really curious what her story is.

  “Why’s that?” I inquire.

  “Coach Townsend is my dad.”

  “Oh wow, no way.” I glance over at the Wolves’ bench, to where her dad is currently barking out what is no doubt a defensive strategy to maintain the lead during the final few minutes of play.

  “Coach T seems like a really nice guy,” I go on, since from all accounts he is. “He’s a really great coach, that’s for sure.”

  “So they say,” Eliza replies. There’s an unmistakable look of pride on her face as she glances over at her dad. Then she turns back to me, and says, “This is kind of new for me, watching a Wolves game. Last season I missed pretty much every one, except for the ones that were broadcast nationally.”

  “Were you living somewhere else?”

  “I was,” she confirms.

  I sense she’s about to elaborate, but instead, she murmurs, “I was away at college.”

  “Oh yeah, where at?”

  “Georgetown. You know, in DC.”

  Hmm, her responses are so clipped-sounding, like this is a sore subject. I sense Eliza Townsend may have some secrets. But it’s none of my business. I won’t pry, seeing as I’ve just met her.

  In a tone I hope sounds casual, I remark, “Wow, that’s a really good school.”

  “Yeah, it is. I liked it a lot too.”

  Now she sounds sad. Definitely, there’s a secret.

  “Did you graduate, then?” I ask. “Is that why you’re back?”

  “No.” She laughs nervously. “I actually should be graduating this year, but I took a semester off this past spring.” She starts talking really fast then, and I sense it’s to divert me away from the real reason she left school. “I kept changing majors too. My dad was ready to strangle me. But it doesn’t matter now. I’m back here, finishing up at UNLV.” She quickly, and oddly, adds, “I just really missed the warm weather.”

  The weather seems like an odd reason to uproot your whole life so close to graduation, but, again, it’s none of my business. As if to underscore that point, she looks away, making it clear this discussion is over.

  With my seat neighbor preoccupied with her own thoughts, I take the opportunity to steal a glance over at Nolan. He’s coming off the bench and onto the ice, and all I can think is, damn, he looks good. Even if the man does drive me nuts half the time—or more like, most of the time—I can’t deny there’s something about him that makes me think it may be worthwhile pursuing something with him.

  “Are you in school?” Eliza asks out of the blue, breaking me away from my confusing thoughts on Nolan.

  Tearing my gaze from the sweaty and hot-as-hell forward who’s clearly worming his way back into my heart, I reply, “No. I graduated this past spring.”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “I was at the University of Minnesota.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh wow, that’s a long way away. Did you find a job out here in Vegas?”

  “Right, I wish.” I shake my head, indicating a big, fat no. “I did get a job recently, but sadly it’s nothing career-related.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Waitressing at one of the casinos.”

  “Ah.”

  I take a breath, and start verbal vomiting, sharing probably too much. “Yeah, I’m staying out here with my sister and her fiancé. At least, for a while. They’ve been really wonderful, but I don’t want to take advantage, you know? It’s just that this job market sucks. Once I find a real job, though, I plan on paying them back for everything. I was living back east with my parents earlier this summer, but they were driving me crazy.”

  Eliza, not one bit phased by my rambling—yeah, we’re definitely going to be friends—looks over at her dad on the bench and says, “Yeah, parents have a way of doing that sometimes.”

  I know from hearing Nolan and Brent talk that Coach Townsend can be a real stickler for discipline. I bet Eliza changing majors and switching schools is giving him an ulcer, hence her heavy sigh. But soon she’s back to all smiles and focusing on a new line of conversation.

  “So,” she says, “your sister and her fiancé… Are they big hockey fans too?”

  Ha, wait till she hears this one.

  “Um, you could say that. My sister’s fiancé is the one who got me the ticket for tonight’s game.”

  “Well, it’s a really good seat,” Eliza says, pondering. “So I’m guessing he’s either a player or someone pretty high up in management.”

  “He’s not in management,” I reply.

  Before Eliza can question what my vague non-answer could mean, our attention is drawn to the ice. Play has resumed, and it’s really freaking exciting!

  “Wow, the game’s really opening up,” Eliza remarks as the puck is worked from one end of the ice to the other, back and forth, over and over.

  “It sure has,” I agree.

  Regulation is almost over, and though we’ve maintained the lead, it’s still only by one goal. It’s no surprise then when the opposing team pulls their goaltender and adds an extra attacker.

  “So who’s your sister’s fiancé?” Eliza finally gets around to asking. She nods to the players currently on the ice and says, “Is he out there right now?”

  I point to where Brent is winding up, about to take a shot at the other team’s empty net.

  “She’s engaged to that guy right there,” I state proudly.

  Goal!—the big scoreboard above center ice flashes in giant black and red neon lettering, the Wolves’ colors, spelling out G-O-A-L! There are bells and whistles sounding all around us, and an announcer is yelling enthusiastically over the intercom that, “Brent Olll-i-veeeeer just shoots and scores!”

  “Oh wow, your sister’s engaged to Brent Oliver, huh?” Eliza turns to me then, green eyes widening as recognition dawns. “Wait a second, I know who you are. I’ve seen you in pictures with Brent and Aubrey. You’re her sister, right?” I nod, and she muses, “Wow, now that I know I can really see the resemblance. It’s uncanny, actually.”

  “Yeah, we hear that a lot.”

  Most people know Aubrey from the many pictures circulating around of her with Brent. Because we look so similar, people do sometimes confuse us. It really freaks them out when the three of us are photographed together.

  The game ends with a Wolves victory, and people begin filing out of the arena.

  Eliza stands. “I guess I better get going,” she says, kind of sadly. “It was really fun talking with you, Lainey. Who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around.”

  She turns to go, but I sense she wants to keep in touch. Maybe she just isn’t sure how to go about it. But I say, let’s get this friendship started. I’m even up for hanging out with her more tonight. God knows I have nowhere to go. We could grab a coffee back in the lounge by the locker room and work on becoming friends.

  S
topping her before she takes off, I call out, “Eliza.”

  She turns back to me. “Yeah?”

  “I was thinking if you don’t have any plans right now, you’re more than welcome to come with me back to the family lounge. I drove in with Brent so he’s my ride home and I have to wait for him. Otherwise, I’d say let’s go anywhere. But we’ll have plenty of time to hang. I’m sure Brent will be tied up for a while. The media will want to interview him in the locker room about that goal at the end of the game.”

  “Yeah,” Eliza agrees, “I’m sure they will.”

  “So what do you think? You up for drinking all the free coffee in the lounge? We’ll be right by the locker room, meaning if we position ourselves just right by the door we’ll have a really good chance of seeing a half-naked player walk by.”

  I can tell before she even opens her mouth that it’s a no-go. But I wonder why since she looks like she’d really like to join me in ogling hot hockey players.

  Sadly, my guess is right and she says, “I’d love to hang with you, Lainey. Really, I would. I mean, shit, I’m always up for admiring hot hockey player butts.”

  “We could rate them even,” I throw out as incentive. “Just not Brent’s. That would be weird.”

  Chuckling, she says, “Another time, I promise. But we’ll have to hide me from my dad.”

  “Huh? Why?”

  “He’d totally flip if he saw me back there.”

  Confused, I say, “Really?”

  She sighs. “It’s a long story, but the bottom line is he doesn’t trust any of his players around me. Not all of them, of course, but he’s wary of a few.” I wonder if Nolan is on that list. “It’s ridiculous, I know. I swear no matter how old I get—and I’m freaking twenty-one—nothing’s ever going to convince that man that his little girl doesn’t need protecting.”

  “Aw, you have to admit, that is kind of sweet.”