God’s gift to tape? Very smooth, asshole.
Chapter Two
“Ahem.”
Bobby Kramer stood in Savannah’s doorway, ten minutes early for his appointment. Turning back to her desk, she rolled her eyes. “I have to go, Callum,” she told her oldest brother through the phone. Callum also had to go on the ice tonight, so they’d needed to wrap up anyway. Still, her neck heated with annoyance at Bobby.
Though she tried not to rank them, she definitely liked some players better than others. Bobby Kramer would always reside at the bottom of that list.
She nodded politely as he stomped past her and parked himself in front of her table, his ass resting against the edge. He liked to stand for his visits, probably just so he could loom over her. Most of the guys who needed elbow work sat, either in a chair or on the table. Not Bobby. He stood, leaned into her, held his arm closer to his body than necessary, and recently had taken to bending his head down to hers, trying to force an intimate conversation.
Just the memory of his breath on her neck made her shudder.
She’d made it abundantly clear she wasn’t interested in him or amused by his advances. He either didn’t understand her not-very-subtle rebuffs or he didn’t care. The last time he’d been in her office, he asked what she was doing that weekend.
She’d snapped, “Nothing with you, Bobby, and that’s all you need to know.”
His friends had howled at that and she’d kicked herself for letting her anger show. Not that she regretted getting her point across since it seemed he’d finally heard her. The look he’d given her as he’d left her office that night had been chilling.
The look he sent her right now wasn’t much better.
Bobby Kramer was a local, like Garrick. Yet not like Garrick at all. He was the son of some big-wig businessman who owned half the bars, all the off-track betting joints, and a couple hotels in town. His father was a notorious douchebag, from what Savannah had heard, and he had obviously raised his son in his own image.
Bobby was a spoiled brat. No, worse than spoiled. Entitled. Entitled to his position on the team, though his only specialty was fighting and he was one of the weakest skaters on the roster. Entitled to the devotion of the puck bunnies he treated like something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Entitled to be late to practice and ignore the advice of the trainer, coaches, and team management alike. Entitled to show up for his appointment with Savannah any time he saw fit.
At least today he was early, so he wouldn’t screw up everyone else’s time too. She’d scheduled him first with the hope he’d be in and out quickly. She’d love to bounce him to Steve, the very nice assistant trainer who helped out on game nights, but Bobby’s elbow work took more strength and finesse than Steve’s experience or seventy-year-old hands could handle.
Facing her counter, she gathered what she would need and schooled her features before she turned back to Bobby.
“How’s the elbow? Has it been bothering you at all?”
“It fucking sucks.”
She kept her voice neutral. “Have you been icing it after games and practice?”
Bobby’s face twisted into an ugly sneer, which, actually, wasn’t too different from his normal expression. “I don’t have time for that shit. I shouldn’t have to. If you knew what the fuck you were doing, I wouldn’t have this problem.”
She forced herself to move slowly, carefully placing the rolls of tape and bandages on the table next to Bobby’s hip where they would be within easy reach.
“I think you’ll find icing after games and practice will help.” Just like I told you the last twenty times. “I can also refer you to a couple good PTs in town if you want to get another opinion.”
“Fuck that. I don’t need any ice but the shit I’m skating on.” He chuckled at his own feeble wit. “Next thing you’ll be telling me is I have to do stretches after I jerk off.”
Oh yes, Bobby was all class.
She picked up a bandage and began to wrap his arm. He didn’t even try to keep it away from his ribs, forcing her to reposition him repeatedly. Her jaw ached from gnashing her teeth, but she did her job and did it well.
Bandage secured, she reached for the tape, her fingers barely brushing the roll before he yanked it from her grasp. She grabbed for it, twice, increasingly furious at Bobby’s asinine game of keep-away. She realized too late she was off-balance and much too close.
She had just threaded her fingers through the tube of the tape when Bobby grabbed her ass and hauled her up against him.
Oh shit.
Stomach plunging, she tried to shove him away. “What the fuck are you doing?”
Using her knee against his thigh as leverage, she drilled her patella into his quad and pried herself loose. He released his hold on her ass so suddenly she stumbled back, slamming against the hot tub with a clang, the scissors in her back pocket digging painfully into her right butt cheek.
Bobby immediately advanced on her.
“Stay the fuck away from me, Bobby,” she said, her voice loud enough to carry into the silent hallway. Where the fuck is everybody?
Not for the first time, she regretted team management’s decision to move the trainer’s office out of the locker room when she took the position. Steve was still in the old space since this new one was so small. She could have used his help right about now.
She dodged to the right, but Bobby stopped her. He wrapped one ham-sized hand around the edge of the tub, cornering her and killing any hope of getting between him and the door. She thrust her palm against his chest in a vain attempt to get him to back the fuck off.
He shoved his face to within an inch of hers. “You’re a fucking bitch.”
Adrenaline rampaged through her system and bile rose in her throat. She’d once heard one of the most effective means to deter a would-be attacker was to vomit on him. She’d thought it would be hard to force herself to barf at a moment like this. As the burn reached her tonsils, she realized it would be no trouble at all.
She cocked her leg, ready to thrust a knee up. “Back off. Now, Bobby.” Her command was loud and firm and it didn’t do shit.
“You fucking bitch. You think you can talk to me like that? You think you’re better than me?”
She wisely kept her mouth shut and instead shoved both hands against his chest as hard as she could. He didn’t budge. Changing tactics, she swung her leg, her toe connecting with his shin. He didn’t even blink. Goddamn it, she wasn’t even sure he’d felt it except that his hand came down, blocking her knee from making contact with his groin.
“Nice try, bitch.”
“Back off, asshole! Now!” Hysteria laced her voice and she swallowed hard. She was trapped. Fear swept away the last vestiges of annoyance and she drew in a deep, shaky breath. Time to scream her freaking head off.
Before she made a sound, Bobby shoved away from her and spun to face the door while she slammed into the tub once more. A huge man charged into her office, roaring like an enraged bear.
A sharp stab in the ass reminded her she wasn’t without a weapon and she yanked the scissors from her back pocket, fully prepared—eager even—to stab Bobby, if he wasn’t ripped limb from limb first.
Never in her life had she been so happy to see Garrick LeBlanc.
Garrick hurled himself at Bobby, determined to rip his fucking useless head from his fucking useless body. Under any other circumstances, Bobby’s cowardly retreat up and over Savannah’s treatment table might have been funny. Garrick wasn’t amused. He was about to sail right over it himself when Savannah grabbed his arm.
“Wait.” She was pale, her knuckles white on the hand brandishing the scissors.
His hesitation was all the time Bobby, the fucking scumbag, needed to escape. His heavy footsteps retreated down the hallway to the locker room. He let go of chasing Bobby down for now, though he would definitely get back to him later.
Garrick spun to face Savannah. Her eyes widened as she stumbled back. Damn it.
<
br /> Savannah’s disheveled appearance set off another surge of rage but he took a deep breath and wrestled it back under control. “Are you okay?” he asked as gently as he could manage. He reached for her, freezing when she shied away. His arms dropped to his sides, his hands curled into fists.
God, he really wanted to hit something.
She visibly regrouped and released her death grip on the scissors to straighten her clothes, her pale cheeks turning a dull red.
“Are you okay?” he asked again.
“I’m fine. Thank you.”
Her voice was remarkably steady. He might have believed she had nerves of steel if he hadn’t seen her hands shaking as she put the scissors down on a tray.
“I’m going to get Mark,” he said, referring to the team’s manager. “Do you want to come with me, or are you okay here alone for a minute?”
She surprised him by grabbing his arm. “No. Don’t.”
“Rick, then?”
“No!” She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Let’s just get you wrapped up for the game.”
“What?”
“Let’s get you prepped and we can figure out the rest later.”
Garrick stared at her. “Figure it out later?”
“Yes.” She prodded him toward her table.
He held his ground. “No.”
Her hands fell away and her shoulders slumped. “You’re going to be difficult, aren’t you? Can’t we just forget about this?”
“Can’t we just…what?” he yelled. Loudly. Maybe he wasn’t being the sensitive new-age guy he was supposed to be in this situation, but he really didn’t give a flying fuck. “Are you seriously asking me to forget that Bobby just attacked you?”
He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—what Bobby had done or that she was going to let him get away with it. He would have sworn she was smarter than that.
“No, of course not,” she said, clearly trying to placate him. His anger and disappointment ratcheted higher. “I’m obviously not going to forget that. All I’m asking is that I be allowed to get through my pre-game work, then I’ll go to Mark and tell him myself.”
Garrick was only mildly relieved. “Bobby is bad news. You should tell Mark now.”
“And what? Send you and everyone out on the ice without proper prep? Pretend they’ll delay the game while Mark scolds Bobby for being a colossal asshole?”
“We can live without you,” he said, skillfully proving yet again his inability to prevent his foot from lodging in his mouth around her.
“Gee, thanks.” She grabbed more bandages.
“That’s not what I meant. I meant for one night. Tonight.” He sighed and scrubbed his fingers through his hair. He was fucking this up. She’d never listen to him if he kept insulting her, for Christ’s sake. “You’re the best trainer this team has ever had.”
She blinked. “Thank you.”
“My point,” Garrick continued, “is that Bobby can’t get away with this shit. And you can’t think it’s okay.”
Her shoulders slumped and she rubbed her hand across her forehead. “You’re right. It’s not okay. I give you my word I’ll go to Mark. But all he’s going to do is slap Bobby’s wrist. I’d rather minimize the drama as much as possible.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.
“Look, I’m the new girl, right? And, you know, a girl. Well, a woman, actually, but that’s an argument for another night. I’m pretty sure it won’t shock you to learn that I get hit on sometimes.”
He cringed, taking some solace that the corner of her mouth kicked up in response. Like just maybe she could find humor in his idiocy.
“The last thing I need is some huge brouhaha that impacts the entire team before a game because of some shit like this. I promise you I will speak with Mark. Tonight. And if it’s okay with you, I’ll tell him to verify what happened with you if he feels it’s necessary.”
“Please do.”
“But as much as I’d like to have Bobby smacked down in front of the entire team, I would rather have this be handled discreetly.”
Why shouldn’t Bobby be smacked down? Handed his ass and his walking papers? The asshole deserved that and more. Though Garrick wasn’t naïve. It was highly unlikely to go down that way. Unfortunately.
Savannah gently urged him toward her table again. “I’m asking you for a favor,” she said, her eyes pleading. “I don’t think I can explain to you in the next five minutes just how much this job means to me.”
Sighing, he stripped his gym shorts off and stood where she wanted him. “Try.”
Her lips curled, just a little, and she met his gaze. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He tried to ignore what her smile was doing to his insides. “I’m going to talk to Mark an hour after the game. If you haven’t told him by then, I will.”
She nodded, looking straight into his eyes. “He’ll know.”
He still didn’t like it, but he believed her. “Okay.”
She immediately went to work wrapping his hip. Distraction time.
“So why hockey? Why this job?”
She didn’t hesitate. “It started with my brothers.”
“Are they hockey players?”
She laughed. “Yes. All six of them.”
Two hours later, early in the second period, Savannah stood with Mark in the tunnel to the locker room, next to the bench. She kept one eye on the players and the game, always on the alert in case they needed her. The line change came off the ice and all sat without a glance in her direction.
Quickly, quietly, she told Mark what had happened.
She fought to remain detached as she laid out the details, only stopping when Mark moved toward Bobby, clearly furious. She put a quelling hand on his arm, discreetly pointing out the TV cameras, her smile fixed in place.
Telling him here, like this, wasn’t fair, but it worked to her advantage. She deserved one after the night she’d had.
The next line change came and went. She continued to spell it all out for Mark.
She told him about Garrick, and Mark turned to stare down the bench, nodding once. She sent Garrick a weak smile over Mark’s shoulder, sorry he would be dragged into this further.
By the time she finished, Mark had repeatedly promised to address it and assured her it would never happen again. She hoped that meant Bobby’s ass would get fired, but she didn’t think she was that lucky.
Another line change brought her attention back to the game. Garrick rose to his feet, ready to go on the ice. He was almost seven feet tall in his skates, a veritable wall of jersey, pads, and man as he moved in front of her. He tossed one leg over the boards before lifting his hand to her.
Without a thought, she bumped her bare knuckles against his huge gloved fist, grateful for his support.
Garrick threw himself into the game while she studiously ignored the looks from Mark and a couple of the players on the bench. The truth hit her hard. In all her time with the Ice Cats, she’d never done anything as familiar as a fist bump.
They all must think I’m an uptight bitch. And why wouldn’t they?
She’d been hell-bent on making the right impression as a professional, as a qualified trainer. Somehow, she’d lost sight of the fact that she was also supposed to be a team member.
She searched for signs Garrick’s groin hurt, that any of the players on the ice were having an issue, all the while wondering when she’d sucked the joy out of the game she’d loved all her life. But she loved the job, too. And when had she decided these two things were mutually exclusive?
Probably about the same time Garrick had hit on her that first day. Or when she’d turned down two more dates within the following hour. By day four she’d turned down two more players, an assistant coach, and Sheila, the lovely woman who ran the box office. She’d also determined that she was the only straight, single woman under the age of sixty who worked for the team. And that the people of Moncton really needed to g
et laid.
Which was most definitely not in her job description.
In the end, she’d erred on the side of isolation. The operative word being erred. Three months later, she was lonely, didn’t feel like she’d ever settle into her new home, and her teammates were surprised when she engaged one of them in something as benign as a fist bump.
If not for the cameras and the crowd, she might have fist bumped her own forehead.
The next line change was in motion and she helped Mike Erdo shove his hand back in his glove as he stood. How many times had she done this for teammates, her brothers, students she’d coached? Why had she never said to a member of the Ice Cats all the things she’d shouted from the benches of countless other ice rinks?
Mike was already sailing over the wall when he called out his thanks. She responded by suggesting, loudly, that he apply his foot to their opponent’s posterior. Only not in those exact words.
It felt good. Really good. Like she’d reclaimed something she hadn’t known she’d lost—her spirit.
Mike shot her a quick smile as he sailed past, already in the game.
The joy returned.
Chapter Three
Garrick strode into the arena, his teeth locked together with grim determination. He was not going to limp. He was not going to limp. He refused to fucking limp.
A mid-week staff meeting at the beginning of a series of home games was unusual. Likely someone had been fired, hired, drafted in, dealed out or was in deep-shit trouble. He dreamed fleetingly that Bobby Kramer was getting his ass fired, as he so richly deserved, but Garrick doubted he or Savannah would be so fortunate. He’d known the moment Mark had caught up with Bobby a week ago. If looks could kill, Garrick and the team’s esteemed trainer would have died one hundred times over. Bobby was in a rage, but it was a quiet rage he was keeping to himself, so Garrick couldn’t do much about it.
He strode without a hint of a goddamn limp into the meeting room and scanned the crowd. He immediately caught Bobby’s gaze and was treated to another death-ray stare. Whatever.
Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) Page 2
