“You don’t? The Great One and I just spoke on the phone yesterday.”
He shifted uncomfortably beneath Kylie’s warm body that suddenly made him feel overheated. Why had he not heard this before? It irritated him to get it secondhand, catching him off-guard. He could not be anywhere near his old coach, Bernie Griffiths, no matter how much distance between the corporate office and the rink. A promotion to COO seemed a further insult and completely undeserving.
Fucking perverted bastard.
When he didn’t respond to her joke, Kylie lifted her eyes to search his.
“Something wrong?” she asked, worry lining her smooth brow.
He realized he hadn’t spoken in several minutes. “I should take you home,” he said, his voice low and rough.
“Oh,” she said, squirming away from him as he raised his body to a sitting position. “Is it late? I didn’t notice the time…”
“It’s midnight,” he answered, glancing at his watch.
“It’s Saturday night,” she said, slipping off his lap and onto the adjacent sofa cushion. “You have to be in church tomorrow at seven a.m. or something?”
He half-smiled at her attempt to make light of the situation. With definite sarcastic overtones. Possibly heading into pissed off territory. He realized he’d blown it again and through no fault of his own.
“No,” he said with a weak chuckle.
He rose from the couch and offered his hand.
She didn’t take it right away. Darkening blue-gray eyes peered up at him. No longer the shade of a calm azure sky, they’d turned the shade of an impending tempest.
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No, no, I was just reminded of something…important.”
“More important than me, I take it?” she asked in a rush, then dropped her head to stare at her bare feet. “I’m sorry.”
His shoulders sagged a little as he exhaled and dropped his hand. The gate to the pissed off corral was creaking open.
“I didn’t say that. This evening was amazing,” he started, casting about in his mind for some standard placating words that women liked. “I just think some things are best enjoyed slowly. Like homemade pizza. Is it wrong to want to take things slow? I did promise to be a gentleman at your request.”
She reached out her hand. He grasped it and pulled her to her feet.
“Okay,” she said, her tone brightening as she bought his explanation hook, line, and sinker. He wanted to exhale in relief but held it in. “I’m told that the most important shot is always the next one.”
“You were told right,” he said, grabbing his keys and leading her to the door. He hoped he would get that next shot, but right now he felt like a puck had just nailed him in the jewels.
***
That dumb bitch is going to pay. The thought looped in Denny’s brain like a stalled video. He couldn’t think of anything else because there was nothing left to think about. His street rats had all but died out, gone off to other cities, other countries. Some had just plain died. Of AIDS, alcoholism, overdoses, and worse. All but Denny, and that lucky bitch Rose Kinewski. When he’d seen her on Facebook, with some cutesy new profile name and bragging about her plush job he’d nearly shit himself. What did she do to deserve that while he was stuck on the streets with no future and no past that he cared to recollect? Leave it to Rose to fall into a pile of steaming cow dung and come out smelling like a fresh tulip. All he had to show for it was a fucking scar where the stupid john had knifed him. A knife meant for her.
Denny was no stranger to prostitution. He’d been doing it since the age of fourteen…for cash, for booze, for drugs, sometimes just for kicks. He’d been pretty then; the kind of pretty boy the sick fags wanted. And they had money. When the street rats had all lived together at Jezz’s crib, they had a nice little gig going – Denny lining up the johns and sending out members of the rats to keep them company. He made a great pimp, he thought, fair and reasonable. No bullshit or scalping.
It all went fine until Rose fucked everything up. He’d set up a nice trick for her, her first. The guy had wanted a blushing virgin, and he’d been willing to pay. Big. She’d rejected the idea up until then, with her hoity-toity dreams of college and going legit. But since she needed green for that stupid school or something, he’d fixed up a good client, one he knew had the funds to pay the cherry-popping price tag.
Some sort of sports guy, he didn’t remember exactly. But he sure remembered his puffy, pastry flour face. When Rose chickened out, Denny went himself. Hell, he swung both ways, he didn’t care. Though he mostly preferred to fuck guys, he’d grown very fond of Rosie and hung out with her at Jezz’s. She was sweet and pretty, and he felt protective of her at the time. Everyone called her his girlfriend, and he’d have done anything for her. Until she’d betrayed him.
When the john got rough, Denny got scared. He’d sucked the guy off and tried to get the hell out of there as fast as possible when the fucker pulled a knife on him. Caught him in the face, then down the side of his jaw, nearly slitting his throat. Denny clubbed him one with a piece of cheap, particle board motel furniture, took the money that was left on the bureau and ran bleeding all the way home. He bandaged himself the best he could and passed out next to Rosie as she slept on the mattress they shared. In the morning, she was gone and the money too. Never even said goodbye.
Bitch.
Well, he’d found her now, and he wanted more than his money back. He wanted revenge. For the scars on his body but mostly for the one on his heart. Now, he had to find a way to make her hurt the same way he did. Make her pay attention. And he knew how to do it. He looked up at the sketchy dump where he knew Jezz still lived. Rosie had a soft spot for Jezz even after all these years – he’d seen her going in and out with bags of food and shit. The equation was a simple one. Hurt Jezz, and you hurt Rose.
***
“Deal me,” Shredder said, his face deadly serious as he sat across the desk from the Riot’s general manager, Lou Spieker. Not even thoughts of what his leaving would do to his burgeoning romance with Kylie could stop him from making this request. “The draft is in a few weeks, put a deal together with another team, I don’t care which one. I can’t stay here.”
Lou’s lower lip protruded as he appeared to study Shredder as if he’d started speaking Mandarin. If he was taken aback, he hid it well. He scratched his head and swiveled his chair slightly.
“This seems pretty sudden, Sheldon. I’ve already approached a few organizations and made some tentative arrangements for certain players, but you weren’t one of them. I thought you were happy here. Certainly, the Riot is happy with you. You’re crucial to our Stanley Cup run next season. I know I don’t need to say it, but Sheehan Murphy is not going to deal one of the top goalies in the NHL. He’s a shrewd businessman.”
“I’m glad to hear that you both think so highly of my work, but I just think I’ve contributed all I can. We had a great playoff run. Better to move on while I’m a desirable asset rather than wait until the bough breaks, so to speak. I’m not getting any younger.”
“You’re not a free agent,” Lou reminded him. “We’re not obliged to let you go, nor offer you incentives to stay until your contract is up. We’ve just gone through a major management change. I don’t really want to lose any more good people than I have to. Are you sure you don’t want to stay? Is there something else bothering you? Something I can help with? Ease your mind about?”
Shredder had avoided telling anyone the whole story for years and now excelled at evasion. Smoke and fucking mirrors. Just call him the padded David Copperfield. He wasn’t ready to make it public, like other players had done before him. He’d buried the memories so deep he thought a backhoe would never uncover them. He’d been wrong.
“I’d like to be closer to my family on the east coast,” he admitted. “But I know I have to go where the work is. If it’s Buffalo or Baton Rouge, so be it. I just can’t stay in Rochester.” He swallowed hard. “Partic
ularly with the…management changes…you just mentioned.”
Lou leaned back in his chair. “I presume you’re talking about Mr. Griffiths? To be honest, I don’t care for him either, but Sheehan thinks he’s the right man for the job. I don’t have to like him in order to work with him. You have a different perspective, do you?”
Fucking right I do. I’d like to take my personal perspective and shove it straight down his throat until he chokes to death.
“I knew him as a coach,” Shredder allowed. “I have no idea what he’s like as an executive. I can only assume a leopard doesn’t change its spots. And you don’t keep leopards in with your prize livestock. That’s how they get ripped to death. Gutted.”
Lou kept silent for a few minutes, seeming to digest this information, then nodded. “I can see this is a personal issue for you, Sheldon. I won’t ask for any details you’re uncomfortable with sharing. But if you’re saying what I think you may be saying, it’s usually best to either put things behind you or bring them out in the open.”
“I’m sure you’re right, Lou. But hockey isn’t like working for a big company; there’s no real job security or guarantees of staying in one place for very long. Eventually, I’ll be with another team anyway, so why not now? Before things get ugly.”
“I’ll send out more feelers, Sheldon. See what interest there is. Then I’ll let you know. I appreciate you coming to me. And Sheldon…”
Shredder rose and at Lou’s last comment glanced back over his shoulder. The older man’s eyes had narrowed as if he could see right through him. Like he knew.
“Yes?”
“Hang in there, kid.”
Shredder left Lou’s office feeling more than a bit shaky. He’d rather have called him on the phone than take a chance of bumping into Griffiths in the corporate offices, but some conversations needed to happen in person. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he actually laid eyes on Bernie Griffiths again. Would he even recognize the man? Would Griffiths recognize him?
Shredder was far from the curly-headed seventeen-year-old he’d once been. And he certainly wasn’t the only young player held under Coach Griff’s unholy sway. Perhaps he’d even been forgotten in the long lineup of the pervert’s favorite pets. But Shred wouldn’t forget him. Or forget what he’d done, forget what he’d seen and felt. The night visits. The guilt trips. A good friend and teammate that committed suicide over being touched inappropriately by the coach, the one guy they were supposed to trust, admire and give their all for.
But still, they protected him, did as they were told and kept quiet about it; the ever-present hopes of making the bigs always dangled in front of them like bait. The worst predators of all were those that hunted children, and this animal had gone unpunished for it.
He considered Lou’s advice. There were really only two choices. He was uncertain if he had the will to make either one.
Chapter Twelve
After his meeting with Lou, a missed call showed on Shredder’s phone screen. His mother. He wondered if she was still angry over his missing the Foundation Cotillion. They’d spoken several times since then, but just how long could one woman chew his ass out about something that was now ancient history? As if he didn’t have enough on his mind right now. With a sigh, he punched the callback.
“Sheldon, how are you?” came Natasha’s rich, alto tones.
“Hi, Mom. I’m fine. You?”
“I’m well, darling. Is your back giving you any more trouble?”
“A little. Not much. I’m managing. I’ve been seeing Dr. Haines.”
“Oh, that’s good. He’s a fine physician, the best in his field.”
“I know, I know. Dad says it often enough. There’s a new procedure we’re considering. I haven’t scheduled it yet.” Shredder had yet to hear from the Doc, in spite of his open-ended offer.
“Procedure? What procedure?”
“It’s laser surgery; non-invasive. It has a good chance of curing my condition for good.”
“Really?” Natasha paused. “That’s…that’s wonderful. I’ll want to fly out and be with you when it happens. You’ll let me know, won’t you? Let me support you in this way just as a mother should for her only son.”
Shredder chuckled under his breath. He appreciated her concern but didn’t need his mother hovering at his bedside at his age. In fact, her interest seemed almost suspicious. She was a master manipulator and not usually one for small talk.
“Sure. You’ll be the first to know. Why did you call me, by the way?”
“Well, I thought since you were on holidays…”
“It’s called the off-season, Mom. I’m not on holiday. This is my career not a vacation.”
“You know what I mean, dear. I thought since you had the time, and missed the Cotillion this year, you might join us for the July Fourth fundraiser. It’s going to be fabulous, as always.”
“As always,” he echoed, feeling validated she had an ulterior motive after all. “I suppose Ari will be there.”
“Actually, she can’t make it this year, sadly. I believe she’s in Montenegro, visiting friends. Wealthy friends. I wouldn’t be surprised if she meets someone eligible while she’s there. A pity you and she didn’t cement your relationship before she left, but a girl can’t wait forever you know. Ari’s clock is ticking.”
There it was. No one could dish out thinly disguised guilt better than the maternal side. Shredder laughed inwardly.
“Snooze, you lose,” he said, clucking his tongue.
It might actually be fun, he thought. His folks annual Fourth of July Fair for Fare in support of local charities always made the New England headlines. He could use a getaway right about now, and what better excuse to get some distance from his intolerable situation, have time to think and set a few things straight with his family as he waited for news from Lou’s feelers to come in. “In that case, I think I’ll bring a friend.”
“Of course,” Natasha acquiesced. “We would be thrilled to meet one of your teammates.”
Shredder snickered silently at her assumption. “Thanks for the invite. I’ll be there.”
***
With eyes closed, Kylie inhaled the pungent scent of incense and held it for a count of three, then exhaled. Repeat. Inhale. Count to three. Exhale. She sat cross-legged on the floor of her apartment, letting her mind clear and allowing her chi to flow. She could feel the energy resonating throughout her body and buzzing at the end of her fingertips, her cupped hands resting on her knees. She began to hear sounds in vividly audible detail – from the muffled traffic outside to the hum of the refrigerator and the gentle bubble of her goldfish tank filter. The sheer drapes at the window whispered to her as they swayed with the movement of air through the room.
Peace. Clarity. Wisdom.
Bullshit.
She blew out a breath and opened her eyes. She couldn’t concentrate today. She should have gone to the studio and done meditation classes with her yogi, but didn’t feel like going out. Meditation took some work, she’d discovered, and sometimes it just became more trouble than it was worth. One didn’t want their stress-busting meditation process causing more stress. It was supposed to keep her grounded and relaxed, centered with the benevolent Universe, but it had been hit and miss lately. Today, the Universe seemed to be working against her like a frenemy. She should be better at her practice by now, but her head seemed too crowded with thoughts of Shredder, of Denny, of Bubs and the unanswered questions about her birth mother. She didn’t want to relax, she wanted action.
Her date with Shredder had her thoroughly confused. She liked him and thought that he liked her too by the way he’d pursued her and let her into his private life a little, not to mention his kisses. OMG, his kisses! They were disarming and decadent, luscious and lingering, making her feel wanted and cherished. These were sensations she hadn’t felt in…well, ever. Then it all went wrong. He said he wanted to take it slow, but she knew that was just guy speak for “I’m not sure I’m attracted t
o you, weirdo.” For a minute, she thought he’d throw out the old, “it’s not you, it’s me” chestnut. Thank goodness he hadn’t patronized her with that line of crap. That would have been the end of the road for sure because her temper would have been unleashed.
She wondered what was so important to him that he’d allowed it to kill the romantic buzz building between them. It wasn’t like any guy to brush off a guaranteed make-out session. His gigantic hard-on as she lay on top of him didn’t go unnoticed. But then, Shredder wasn’t just any guy, she reminded herself. Perhaps she was too impatient. But why hadn’t he called her in three days? Gah! The frustrating cycle of thoughts in her brain nearly reached tornado status, when it was broken by the shrilling of her cell phone.
It was Jezz calling. Kylie froze, debating whether to answer. She’d put her foot down; told her plainly she was going away and not to call again. She let it ring. She should have gone to Verizon and changed her damn phone number.
“Fuck,” she cursed to herself and grabbed the phone. “I told you not to call me, Jezz. I told you I was done. Done.”
“Is that so? Well, Jezz has a message for you, Rosie. You may be done, but she isn’t. In fact, she’s just getting started.”
The sound of Denny’s voice struck Kylie’s heart cold. Her mind raced, trying to comprehend what was going on. “What are you doing with Jezz’s phone? Did you steal it, you little shit?”
“Shut the fuck up and listen, you cold-hearted cunt. You’re the thief. You stole three-hundred dollars from me five years ago and left me for dead. That money cost me my looks and almost cost me my life. But you know what? I don’t even care that much about the money. I’m going to take payment in a different way. With something that matters to you. With inflation and interest, I figure your debt’s now about ten grand. Pay up, or your baked out little fairy godmother here is going to get hurt.”
The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 10
