Defending the Reaper: A Standalone Steamy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 5)

by G. K. Brady

  “So how’s the hand these days? Fully recovered after the Habitat workday?” she ventured.

  “It’s getting there.” It wasn’t a lie this time. His hand had been feeling better, but it still wasn’t a hundred percent—not that he was about to let anyone know. “And don’t worry. I haven’t been using anything to help it get there.” Though, once again, he couldn’t help but think how much quicker recovery would have been.

  “I wasn’t worried—I have confidence in you—and I’m glad to hear it’s healing.”

  As the warm fuzzies over her declaration of confidence drifted into the general area of his heart and started settling in, he was jerked back to reality, recalling her comment about that guy. Who had he been, what had he meant to Ellie, and why had he let her go? How had he wronged her? Dave didn’t get the chance to find out because she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a folded envelope.

  “Before Finn and Sonoma get here, I want to give you something.” She carefully extracted a slip of paper and thrust it at him.

  He took the paper and stared at what appeared to be a check. “What’s this?”

  The corners of her mouth curled up in an impish smile. “The insurance money finally came through.”

  Shock had him exclaiming, “That’s all they gave you? And why are you handing it to me?”

  “It’s my first installment on the Sienna.”

  “What? Oh no, you don’t.” He shoved it back at her, but she raised her hands, palms out, and the check fluttered to the floor. He gave her the don’t-fuck-with-me stare-down he normally saved for the ice. When he detected a flinch, he instantly regretted the hard look, but she still didn’t pick up the damn check. “I’m not taking any money from you, Ellie. End of discussion.” Suppressing a headshake and a smile, he stepped away and washed his hands, returning to scoop up a handful of the rice mixture and fill the hollowed hens.

  “Well, you’ll just have to because I’m not taking it back.” Arms cinching over her chest, she tipped her cute nose in the air.

  Bossy. He opened his mouth to argue—he was not going to back down—when someone came tromping up the stairs.

  “We finally made it,” Sonoma sang as she unwound a scarf from around her neck. Finn was on her heels, loaded down with a box and a few bags. He called out a “Hey!” and Dave pointed to some open counter space where he could unload.

  “So. What are we doing?” Sonoma crooned. “Ooh … drinking wine, it looks like.”

  Ellie hopped up. “Dave’s got his hands full. Can I pour you a glass?”

  Sonoma waved her off. “I got it.” Then her eyes traveled to the floor. “What’s that?” She stooped and picked up the check.

  “It’s my insurance check, which Dave refuses to accept,” Ellie huffed cheerfully.

  Sonoma side-eyed him and smirked. “Yeah, you’re fighting a losing battle, Ellie. Trust me on this one, unless you enjoy beating your head against the brick wall of ‘Dave.’”

  “Hey! I resent that,” he chirped.

  “Well, it’s true.” Sonoma pulled down a wineglass and snagged a beer from the fridge, which she uncapped and handed to Finn, like it was the most natural move in the world.

  Dave’s gaze collided with Ellie’s, and they seemed to share the same thought. Oh yeah, something’s definitely going on between these two.

  Sonoma seemed oblivious. Filling her wineglass, she prattled on. “If you’re dead set on paying him back, then I suggest taking the money and donating it to his favorite charity instead. Trying to foist it on him will be an epic waste of time.”

  Ellie’s face lit with a mischievous grin as she watched him stuff the last of the hens. “What’s your favorite charity?”

  “Don’t think I have a favorite. How about you donate to your favorite charity—namely yourself?” Christ, he knew she could use the cash for her business. Why didn’t she just take it? Bossy and stubborn. Oddly, he found the combination kinda sexy. Or maybe it was just her. No, don’t go there. You’re moving soon. The trade deadline was three months away.

  Her eyes narrowed. “How about I donate it to Habitat in your name?”

  For some reason, his mind leapt to her personally handing the check to the douchenugget schmoozemeister from the landscaping project who wanted in her pants. “How about not? Or if it goes to Humanity, we do it jointly?” That didn’t come out right. Now it sounds like I want credit, damn it.

  Sonoma’s eyes had been bouncing between the two of them, and now she thrust her full wineglass in the air. “I think we have a winner! Let’s drink to Habitat getting a big, fat check.”

  “Not that big,” Ellie said.

  “Or that fat,” Dave agreed.

  One side of Sonoma’s mouth curved up in a knowing smirk. What? he wanted to say. Nothing to see here. Just move along and leave me alone.

  He put aside the stuffed hens and pulled out the sage Ellie had brought. Sonoma peered over his shoulder as he began blending the drizzle for the butternut squash he’d baked and cubed.

  “Is this from one of your shows?” she asked.

  “Yep. Looked simple, and I wanted to experiment on all of you. In fact, this whole dinner is one big experiment.”

  Finn held up a hand. “I, for one, have no qualms about being a guinea pig.”

  Ellie raised her glass. “I second that!”

  “Hear, hear!” Sonoma chimed.

  As Dave worked on the food, cheerful chitchat, music, and wonderful aromas filled the air, and he smiled to himself. He couldn’t remember being this relaxed in … forever. This is what it’s supposed to be like. Too bad I’ll be leaving it behind.

  Chapter 18

  Hidden Agendas

  Dave dropped his bag in the room he was sharing with Quinn. They’d just arrived in Edmonton after beating Calgary in a matinee game, and he was anxious to ditch the suit jacket and tie and grab a cold one in the hotel bar. His phone rang, but when he saw who it was, he let it go to voicemail. He didn’t need the aggravation, and he had a more important call to return anyway.

  Quinn was already in shirtsleeves, rolling his cuffs to his elbows. Dave loosened his tie. “Why don’t you head on down, Hads? I have to take care of a few things, and I’ll be right behind you.”

  Quinn left the room, and Dave shucked the coat and pulled the tie over his head, then parked on the edge of the bed and tapped his agent’s number. “Herb?”

  Herb had sent him a few encouraging messages about teams he’d been talking to, including Arizona, who’d perked up at hearing Dave’s name in a possible trade, and Dave couldn’t wait for what he hoped was a positive update.

  “There you are. Thought you might still be making your way to Edmonton. Nice game today.”

  “Thanks. So what’s going on?”

  Herb cleared his throat. Never a good sign. “Well, the teams that were interested in a trade went dark.”

  An invisible fist punched Dave in his solar plexus. “All of them? Even Arizona?”

  “Says they’re waiting until after Christmas before they seriously entertain anything from anyone.”

  “That doesn’t sound right.”

  “I think they’re holding back because they’re still not convinced your hand’s where it needs to be, though no one’s come out and said that.”

  Dave’s pulse kicked up a notch. “Haven’t they been watching? I’m playing the best hockey I’ve played all season.”

  “Don’t get your panties in a wad, buttercup. I know that, you know that. They’re just being extra cautious. Any team that brings you aboard is facing a hit to their salary cap, and they have to be sure it’s worth the spend.”

  Dave raised his eyes to the ceiling and gusted out a breath. “Fuck.”

  “Things getting any better with your team?”

  “Not really. I’m still the Invisible Man.”

  “Can’t lead a club that way, and that’s one of those intangibles GMs will be looking at. Yeah, they’re looking to pick up a solid defenseman, b
ut they’re also looking for leadership in the locker room. If I were you, I’d hedge my bets and figure out how to make it work in Colorado. It’ll increase your marketability and … well, just in case you wind up staying put.”

  Herb wasn’t telling Dave anything he didn’t already know, and part of him was pissed he was hearing it again. Pissed and disappointed. But a small part of him had been turning over the possibility of staying in Denver a while longer, and that part was thawing—slightly—to the idea. Probably because it was buying into the stupid Yoda voice that kept repeating, “Make it work, you can.”

  Could he find a way back, find a way to fit in once more? He needed cooperation from his teammates, though, and damn it, it just wasn’t happening. Didn’t help that he was still butting heads with Gage Nelson. Guys looked up to their alternate captain, cared what he thought, followed his lead. So if Nelson wanted to shun him, they would too.

  He hung up and pinched the bridge of his nose, debating whether to go to the bar or just say, “Fuck it!” and watch a movie. Play a video game. Watch hockey highlights. Instead, he picked up his phone and stared at his last text exchange with Ellie. All benign crap that started with her thanking him for Thanksgiving—again—and him teasing her about the “social box” she had to prepare for their upcoming weekend. No lie, thinking about that weekend gave him a lift, but he told himself not to get too carried away. Maybe a trade wasn’t coming this month, but after the holidays, chances would improve, especially if his hand continued its slow grind toward healthy. He could not, would not, start anything with this girl. Even if she was taking up a chunk of his idle thoughts. Like how good it had been having her in his house, how comfortable, and how incredibly hollow he’d felt when she’d left.

  “Who says she’d want to start anything with you anyway, dumbass?” he muttered aloud. One fact was becoming painfully obvious the more time he spent with her: she deserved someone who had his emotional shit together. Someone smarter, more sophisticated, more than the sum of his salary and celebrity … just more. Keeping it in the friend zone was the right thing to do. The only option.

  A few minutes later, he strolled into the hotel bar and spotted his teammates. Puck bunnies swarmed their tables like wasps swarmed picnics on hot summer days, and Dave looked each one over. They were all attractive and all there for one reason. A few looked his way and gave him wily smiles. If he wanted, he could lose his bad mood for a while with one. If he wanted. But he didn’t want, and maybe it was because a certain strawberry blond was front and center in his mind, and though she was only a bright mist, she looked better than anything else he was seeing. Better than anything he’d ever seen.

  The realization surprised him.

  Ignoring the ladies, he zeroed in on Quinn, seated beside Nelson. They seemed to be sitting in a bunny-free zone, which was a phenomenon Dave still hadn’t gotten used to—at least where Hadley was concerned, not that Hads spent much time in bars anymore. But when he did, he barricaded himself behind some kind of invisible force field that telegraphed “Not interested!” loud and clear. Nelson was even less likely to hang in the bar and had a force field of his own. Dave hadn’t expected to see him and debated whether to do a one-eighty back to his room, park his ass in the bunny-infested section, or suck it up and join Nelson and Hads.

  Yoda chose that moment to growl out a gravelly command to suck it up, and Dave’s feet seemed to take charge and propel him in that direction.

  “Hey. Okay if I join you guys?” he said when he reached them.

  “Sure,” said Hads.

  Dave took Nelson’s grunt and shrug as a yes, and, uncomfortable as it was, sat down. “Hope I didn’t interrupt anything.”

  Nelson raised his eyebrows.

  Quinn shook his head. “Nah. We were just shooting the shit.”

  A waitress appeared, and Dave pointed at his two teammates before ordering a beer. Quinn said, “Why not?” while Nelson said he was done. Of course he was. Any minute, he’d down the rest of his brew and hustle off to his room.

  Shit. Dave hadn’t meant to shorten the guy’s stay by joining them. He rummaged around for common ground and started talking about their game. “Wyatt saved our bacon today.”

  “Guy stood on his head. Looks like he’s celebrating.” Quinn sat back and laughed, and Dave glanced over his shoulder at Wyatt, who was chatting up the bunnies, a big grin splitting his face. Dave was reminded of how the dude had leered at Ellie, and his blood heated a few degrees higher. The contrast between these girls and her—well, it was stark. Did Wyatt actually put them on an equal plane?

  Dave swung his gaze back in time to witness Nelson living up to his prediction. Dude polished off the contents of his pint glass and stood. “I’m beat. I’m gonna head up to my room.”

  Asshole.

  Before Dave could open his mouth and call him on it, his phone rang again. He glanced at the caller ID and hissed out a curse before picking it up. He hadn’t even listened to her voicemail yet.

  “Hey, Nicky.” Dave didn’t miss the surprise on Hads’s face, or the fact that Nelson chose that moment to make himself scarce.

  “I tried calling you just a little while ago.” Her tone was part-pout, part-accusation.

  “Yeah, I was just getting settled in my hotel room.” He said a silent thank-you to the waitress as she deposited his beer.

  “You’re in Edmonton.” A statement, not a question. “You looked great in today’s game.”

  “Uh, thanks?” After an awkward pause, he said, “What’s going on?” That was more polite than what he really wanted to say, which was, “What do you want?”

  “Nothing. I just wanted to call and say hello and let you know I was thinking about you.”

  This confused the hell out of him. “So you’re okay? Isaac’s okay?”

  “We’re okay.”

  “Benny’s okay?”

  He could practically hear her eyes roll. “Yes, Dave, Benny’s fine. We’re all fine. Can I not just call to say hello? And to say I miss you?”

  WTF? “Do you need money?” he blurted. Across from him, Hads was scrolling through his phone, looking all kinds of uncomfortable. Probably as uncomfortable as Dave felt at this moment.

  “For God’s sake, Dave, I don’t need money!” She paused a beat. “What I needed was to hear your voice.”

  He was too dumbfounded to reply.

  “So, um, sounds like you’re sitting in a bar,” she ventured.

  “Yeah, and I’m with some buddies, so I really should go.”

  She let out a mirthless laugh. “You sure you don’t mean ‘bunnies’?”

  Seriously? Now she was just pissing him off. He’d never cheated on her—hadn’t even considered it, not once—yet she had always given him flak about hookups that hadn’t happened. Just because a guy liked to grab a beer with his teammates didn’t mean he was fucking every female in sight. Yeah, he talked to them on occasion—no need to be a jerk—but he never touched. In Nicky’s world, he was supposed to hole up in his hotel room and stay put while he was on the road. Apparently, he wasn’t trustworthy. His mind suddenly turned a sharp angle. What if she’d been fucking other guys behind his back? People who threw accusations around were often guilty of the same sins. If that wasn’t a Yoda-ism, he didn’t know what was.

  His inner Han stepped to the forefront and cut her off.

  “Will you call me later?” she asked as he was about to hang up.

  “Doubtful.” Okay. So he was more than capable of being a jerk when the situation called for it. He stowed the phone, shot Quinn an apologetic look, and took a big swallow of his beer.

  “She’s still calling you?”

  “Not still. She just started recently, and I can’t figure out what she wants.”

  Quinn tipped his glass at him. “They always want what they think they can’t have. Now that you’re seeing someone—”

  “I’m not seeing someone.”

  Quinn’s eyebrows did a crazy crawl up his forehead. “O
h. Wyatt said you were dating the cute landscaper.”

  “Ellie. And no, I’m not dating her. I just told him that because he was about to go all horndog on her.”

  “Jesus.” Quinn laughed. “Yeah, best to protect the girls who aren’t hip to the Wyatts of the world.”

  Dave doubted Ellie had much experience with said “Wyatts of the world”—something Quinn used to be, Dave refrained from adding. But who knew? There was so much about this girl Dave didn’t know, and he had to admit he was intrigued. For instance, what had happened in her past with that guy? He’d tried some subtle prodding at Thanksgiving, but she’d skillfully dodged and redirected.

  “Things good with Sarah? The new house?” he asked.

  Quinn sprouted a goofy grin—just like the one Nelson wore whenever he talked about Lily. Did I look that stupid when I talked about Nicky? No way. “It’s going good. Couldn’t ask for better.”

  “I’m happy for you, man. How’s her brother taking it?”

  “He’s fine with it. He just likes to give me crap, and mostly I let him.”

  “Sorry if I broke up your party. Didn’t mean to chase the guy off.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Quinn sipped his beer and leaned his forearms on the table. “I just hope one of these days you two can patch things up.”

  I’m trying, for fuck’s sake! But that stubborn jerk-off won’t stop being a jerk-off. Yoda piped up with his asinine quote about doing over trying, which caused a question to zoom through Dave’s head: How much effort had he really put out—with any of them? He merely replied, “Me too,” and gulped his beer.

  Now that Thanksgiving was over, the demand for Christmas decorations had skyrocketed, and Landscaping with Altitude was busy stringing Denver in lights. A good problem to have, though the boom would be short-lived, and Ellie was feeling more than a little guilty about her and Finn taking off for the better part of a weekend and leaving Felipe on his own. Plus, she was fitting in an impromptu cut and highlight with Sonoma. Another hour and a half where she’d be away from the office.