Playing To Win: The Complete King Brothers Collection (A Contemporary Romance Box Set)

by Teagan Kade

  I use my free hand to pat down my pockets hoping I was wrong about my cell, but it’s not there.

  There’s nothing else for it.

  I count to three and manage to sit up bent in half, a flash of pain from my side that makes it hard to breathe. My shirt’s soaked. When I manage to stand, I feel it against my thigh, dripping down the inside of a pant leg.

  It’s a hell of a lot hotter when I start walking, but it soon swings the other way. I can’t seem to control my body temperature anymore. The sweat’s cold on my forehead but everywhere else it’s bonfire night.

  I make my way into the middle of the road and start to walk hoping to find either a house or see a passing car.

  At this point, I’d just as happily take a horse and carriage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  LINNEA

  I know something’s up when Nolan doesn’t show. It’s a sickening lump of coal right in the pit of my stomach.

  He told me to meet him at the chocolate café on Main Street, but he never showed.

  Peyton and Phoenix see me coming through the front door.

  “Lover girl!” Phoenix shouts, seeing my face and his expression turning to concern. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  Peyton sees it too. I’m surprised how attuned to me the brothers have become in such a short period of time. “Linnea?” he says.

  I’m trying to hold it together, but that tugging, gnawing dread won’t go away. “I think Nolan’s in trouble.”

  I expect a quick comeback, a joke from Phoenix, but the brothers remain stony-faced. “He’s not picking up?”

  I shake my head.

  “No texts?”

  “Nothing. He wouldn’t stand me up like that.”

  “You think Rex has something to do with it?” Peyton asks me.

  I shrug. “I’m not sure.”

  The two of them look at each other before springing into action.

  “I’ll get the Jeep and meet you guys around front,” says Phoenix, darting off towards the back of the house.

  “Come on,” says Peyton. “We’ll check all the usual spots, see if we can find him. I’m sure it’s nothing sinister.”

  But simply hearing that word has me on edge.

  Peyton places his hand on my shoulder. He’s looking at me with the same cerulean eyes as his brothers. “We’re going to find him. Don’t worry. I’m sure it’s nothing. He probably stopped to buy you flowers or some shit.”

  I nod because it’s all I can do, and rush with him out the front where Phoenix is waiting in a fire-engine red Jeep I haven’t seen before. It’s like these guys have Hot Wheels for cars, constantly interchanging them.

  I jump in the passenger seat and Peyton climbs into the back, tapping Phoenix’s seat twice. “Let’s move.”

  *

  We’ve been around the Academy, up and down Main Street, the side streets, all around Crestfall asking if anyone’s seen him, but so far we’ve got nothing. It’s like he just up and vanished.

  We’re driving further away from the town center, less and less infrastructure and more and more places to get lost.

  “It’s been three hours,” adds Peyton from the back. “I’m going to call Dad.”

  Phoenix nods his approval, as do I. I’ll try anything short of a Ouija board at this moment.

  We’ve got the windows down. I can’t make out everything Peyton is saying, but I get the gist of it. He’s asking Stone to get in touch with the police, reminds him the commissioner is such a big fan of his team.

  I see Peyton hang up in the rear view and look to us. “Fingers crossed the comish gets off his ass.”

  Stone calls back a few minutes later, Peyton relaying to us the police are going to start searching immediately, even though it hasn’t technically been twenty-four hours.

  It’s a relief, until I realize there’s no certainty it’s going to help us find him.

  I swallow down a sudden wave of nausea.

  Peyton’s still on the phone, covering the earpiece to tell us, “The Commissioner’s going out to see Rex personally. He’s going to talk to him, see what he can drum up.”

  “Good, good,” nods Phoenix. “Let that asshole feel the long arm of the law.”

  “Not exactly long when you’re talking about the commissioner. Dude looks like a T-Rex.”

  Peyton realizes this isn’t the place. “Shit. Sorry.”

  “No,” I tell him, trying to breathe. “It’s good. I need to take my mind off things. I’m thankful for the distraction.”

  “You won’t be once Phoenix starts playing his hippie music.”

  I smile, but it’s fleeting, my thoughts again turning to Nolan and running through each painful possibility.

  We keep looking well into sunset, but there’s no sign of Nolan—from us or the police.

  We’ve stopped to grab some hot dogs, but I wave away the offer when Peyton attempts to pass me one. “You’ve got to eat.”

  That lump of coal has become a living, breathing manifestation of worry. I’ve never felt this before, so lost and panicked. I’m falling and I don’t know how to prop myself back up.

  We’re looking, but with nightfall it seems futile carrying on.

  “Why don’t we take you home?” Phoenix offers. “You can get some rest. We’ll keep looking.”

  “I couldn’t rest if I tried.”

  “Fair call,” says Peyton, but the cops are searching, the girls, plenty of Nol’s buddies from the Academy. The word’s spreading. He’s going to show up sooner or later.

  Dead.

  It’s the first thing to comes to mind. For the first time in forever I feel the hot press of tears behind my eyes.

  Peyton suddenly juggles the hot dogs onto the seat, fishing in his pocket. “Someone’s calling.”

  He holds his phone up, squinting. “It’s Dad.”

  He answers, keeps his eyes on me while he speaks, but he’s not giving much away. “Yes,” he says. “The three of us…uh-huh…we’re on our way.”

  He hangs up and by the simple way he swallows I know the news isn’t good.

  Phoenix watches him. “Pey?”

  He looks between us. “Nolan’s in hospital. Dad’s on his way.”

  “What happened?” I ask, stomach knotting, trying not to let the tears come.

  “We don’t know yet, but we should go.”

  Phoenix nods. “Belt up.”

  *

  I’ve been pacing this waiting room floor for what seems like an eternity. The tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall is infuriating, the fabric on the chairs frayed—the whole place is designed to send someone mad. Around me Stone, Alissa, Phoenix, and Peyton pace too, more ghosts than people, barely a word spoken since we arrived.

  A doctor emerges from the hall, entering the room and looking from one person to the next, eventually settling on King Senior. “Mr. King?”

  Stone steps forward. “Yes.”

  “Your son has lost a lot of blood.”

  I’m conscious of the tense. Is it a good sign?

  “What happened?” Stone asks. “Was he in a car accident?”

  The doctor looks down. “I really can’t…”

  Stone stands to his full height. “I funded this very wing you are standing in, Doctor. I think you can.”

  The doctor seems to think it over. “All right,” he says, checking the hall. “He’s got a bad concussion and a pretty severe stab wound in his side.”

  “A stab wound?” questions Phoenix, stepping forward. “From who?”

  The doctor raises his hands. “You’ll have to talk to the police about that. I’m only here to offer my medical opinion.”

  “Which is?” prods Stone.

  “Look, if he makes it through the night, I think that will be a good indicator of where we’re at, but it’s touch and go.”

  And with that, it’s like the ceiling has fallen. I see the resignation on the faces around me, but I won’t quit on him.

  “I want to see him.�
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  All eyes turn to me.

  “Sorry, are you family?” asks the doctor.

  Phoenix places his arm around my shoulder. “She’s his wife.”

  “I don’t know if it’s a good i—”

  “Let her see him,” says Stone.

  The doctor nods. “Follow me.”

  The tears come when I see him. I can’t stop them, don’t know if I want to.

  There are more machines and tubes than Nolan himself, panels and monitors left and right. My heart breaks at the sight.

  Peyton guides me to a seat by the bed. “Here. You can just sit right here, for as long as you want, okay?”

  I nod, silently crying to myself.

  My senses are working, but they’ve been dulled and blunted.

  I take Nolan’s hand. I know there are people moving in and out of the room, Stone and Alissa and the brothers, but it’s all background noise—static. I focus what little energy I have on Nolan, on willing him to pull through this.

  I can’t believe we’re back here again, that this nightmare has to continue.

  Even when the lights go out and only the hum of machinery can be heard with Nolan’s breathing—so, so soft—I remain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  NOLAN

  “Linnea? Linnea?”

  It takes me a long time to work out it’s me saying her name.

  I open my eyes but close them immediately. It’s way too bright out there.

  My mouth’s dry but I try again. “Linnea?”

  “I’m here. I’m right here.”

  I let my eyes open and adjust, follow the sound of her voice.

  There she is—my wife, my everything. Her hand is squeezing mine and her cheeks are wet, but there’s no doubting it. She’s here and she’s fine.

  Where I am, and why, takes a bit longer to register.

  “You’ve just come out of surgery,” Linnea tells me, squeezing my hand harder. “They patched you up real good, even that silly head of yours.”

  “Why…are you crying?” I ask her, noting the tears falling from her face, the hot glaze in her eyes, those eyes I never want to leave.

  “I’m just happy you’re okay.”

  The details start to fill in. I tighten. “Rex. It was Rex and his goon in the back of the limo.

  “Just one?”

  “Just one, I confirm. The big one.”

  Damn my throat’s dry.

  “We know it was Rex,” Linnea tells me. “The commissioner is putting together enough evidence to arrest him. They found your blood in his limo, a thumbprint on the knife that was used to…” She stops, hand going to her mouth.

  I try to smile, but even that hurts. “It’s okay.” I bring a hand up to the side of her face. Something attached to the back of my hand stops it going any further. “We’re okay.”

  She wipes her cheek and holds my hand against her. “The print was from his bodyguard, probably the guy you’re talking about. Rex is going to have far bigger problems than salvaging a merger and trying to marry me off now.”

  “How long have I—”

  “Been out?” she finishes. “Twelve, maybe thirteen hours?”

  “The surgery took a while, sorry.”

  I look behind Linnea to the doctor who’s entered the room. He stands beside her but addresses me. I’m pretty sure it’s the same doctor who patched me up the first time. “They made a real mess of you, but we’ve managed to stop the bleeding in your side there. You’ve got a nasty concussion, might feel like you’ve been swallowing razor blades for a few days, but it looks like you’ll pull through.”

  “He is going to make it. There is no ‘probably’, not for this one,” says Linnea, with more conviction than I’ve heard her say anything, even ‘I do’.

  I smile at that. “I wouldn’t dream of denying you,” I tell her, the doctor taking his cue to leave.

  “I’ll be in later,” he says.

  I squeeze Linnea’s hand back. “You heard the man. I’m going to be fine. Plus, I’ve got you to nurse me back to health, don’t I?”

  “Don’t know if you remember, but I make a really shitty nurse.”

  “No Jell-O and sponge baths?” I laugh but it hurts like an absolute bitch, and I fall into a coughing fit instead.

  Linnea takes a glass of water from the table next to the bed, directing the straw into my mouth. “Here.”

  I sip, letting the straw fall from my lips. “I feel like an idiot.”

  “You look like a racoon.”

  I can’t find a mirror to confirm, but two black eyes seems about right.

  I catch Linnea looking at my side where the knife went in. “It was pretty serious. I thought…”

  I bring my hand back to her face. “Hey, hey, I’m right here, aren’t I? It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than your father and his goon squad to get rid of me.”

  The laugh that follows is short-lived. She takes my hand away. “I’m worried you won’t be able to play hockey anymore.”

  I hadn’t considered it, or even thought about hockey. I’d be lying if I thought there wasn’t irritation at the idea. “I love hockey,” I tell Linnea. “But if this injury costs my career, even if I could have avoided it by not meeting you, it will still be worth it. I’ll still have no regrets. You hear me? None. You are everything to me.”

  She’s wiping away more tears. “Here I go gushing away again like Old Faithful.”

  “All these tears over me. It’s enough to give a guy a big head.”

  She laughs. “I think your head is quite big enough already.”

  “You have met my brothers, right?”

  “I don’t think any of you King boys have self-esteem issues.”

  I get back to hockey. “There are other roles to play in a successful hockey team, you know.”

  “I don’t think you’re cut out to be a water boy.”

  Even I can’t help smiling at that. “You know I don’t play football, right? That’s Peyton King.”

  She taps me on the chest and rolls her eyes. “I think I know my husband by now, thank you very much.”

  “But I haven’t shown you my collection of human skulls, or the gimp I keep in the attic.”

  “Whatever skeletons you’ve got in your closet, dear husband, they’re our skeletons now.”

  “What about you?” I ask. “Any surprises I should know about? Crazy exes, weird fetishes?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “All in good time, but for now you need to rest.”

  “Do I?”

  Followed by another eyeroll. “You’ve been freaking stabbed and still all you can think about is sex?”

  I shrug, and again, it’s like someone’s jammed a poker into my side. “I’m male.”

  She wags her finger. “But being a male is a matter of birth. Being a man is a matter of choice.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “And with that wisdom I’m off to drown myself in trans fats and sugar from the hospital canteen. You want anything.? To look at, that is. I don’t actually know what you can and cannot eat.”

  “I’ll survive,” I reply, watching her strut to the door, looking back over her shoulder.

  “You’re incorrigible.”

  “And you’re fine as hell, wife.”

  She walks away laughing.

  The doctor comes back later in the evening. He says he doesn’t believe there will be a permanent injury that should prevent me from playing hockey, which is good news. Nothing is certain, however.

  All I want to do is go home, but Linnea won’t hear of it. It’s kind of nice, actually, having her at my bedside. She promises to take care of me the next few days until I’m discharged. It’s an offer I’m happy to accept.

  *

  It's been a long, hard road, but finally, two weeks later, I’m headed home.

  One of the hospital staff is waiting there with a wheelchair, but I’m not having it. I walk out of there confidant and upright, side by side with Linnea.

&nbs
p; There are reporters outside, but I’m in no mood for talking to the press. I just want to get home.

  The next few days are more of the same, back to being babied by Linnea and my brothers waiting on me hand and foot, never failing to take a ‘stab’ at a joke or jibe when the situation calls for it. It’s nice, though, having them here, and Linnea.

  Soon I’m strong enough to get around the house myself. A nurse comes to check on my wound, tells me it has healed nicely.

  It has, I can barely feel it apart from a bit of tenderness around the area and general uncomfortableness—nothing I haven’t experienced before from the rink.

  By the end of the week the last of the bandages are removed and I’m somewhat human again.

  Everyone’s headed off to the Steam Room tonight, which has left Linnea and me home alone.

  We’re on my bed watching Schitt’s Creek, Linnea using her finger to circle where my stitches start. “It’s going to look badass when the stitching comes out.”

  “You’ll still love me, even when I’ve got a fault line in my side?”

  She purrs and presses up against my side. “It only makes you sexier, dear.”

  I put my hand behind my head. “God, I wish I could have you right now.”

  “You think you’re ready for sex?”

  “Always.”

  “The doctor said…”

  “I know what the doctor said, but he was talking about your everyday, average patient.”

  “Not a superhuman King.”

  I smile. “That’s right.”

  Linnea considers it. “I see.”

  I can tell she’s just as horny. We’ve done some things, had fun in other ways, but sex itself has remained elusive. I can’t bear it any longer.

  Linnea reaches for the remote, muting the sound on the TV.

  She stands up, tossing the remote onto the bed.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, scooting into a sitting position on the edge of the bed.

  “Take off your boxers,” she commands.

  “Are we doing this?”

  “If it takes my fancy, but first, I want to show you something.”

  I pull up my knees and strip away my boxers, tossing them into the corner.

  Linnea raises an eyebrow at the sight of my cock, lit on and off by the glow of the TV screen. “Why, hello there, stranger.”