The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  Bobby had come sailing through the door, caught his skate, and careened directly into Savannah. They’d slammed into the tunnel wall with sufficient force to bounce her head off the concrete, pinning the rest of her with his full weight and equipment—hockey and otherwise.

  Garrick had leapt to his feet, heart pounding, not knowing how badly she was hurt. He’d wanted to leap the length of the bench and pound Bobby, the stupid fucker, into the ground.

  But Savannah had yanked herself free at the same moment Mark’s hand had landed on Garrick’s arm. She’d stared Bobby right in the face, bright color in her cheeks, and shoved him, repeatedly and with all her weight, forcing him to stumble toward the bench while she tore into him.

  “You’re a fucking baby who needs to learn some manners. Go home to your momma if you want to cuddle. I’m here to work.”

  Her last shove had nearly dumped Bobby on his ass. Heads had spun and Mike Erdo’s loud guffaw was audible above the noise of the crowd.

  Before Bobby could react, Mark was in his face. “Sit there and shut the fuck up, or you’re out of the game.”

  Bobby’s innocent exclamation of “what the fuck?” didn’t fool anyone, but everyone went back to focusing on the game.

  Mark had checked on Savannah, but she’d waved him off. She’d never spared Bobby another glance, so she hadn’t seen the glare he’d drilled into her back. The death-ray was going nuclear and so, Garrick suspected, was Bobby.

  Garrick dashed out of the showers, a towel barely clinging to his hips, and jogged to his locker. He ignored Rhian’s raised eyebrow, only cocking his head toward Bobby’s locker before throwing on his clothes. He’d told Rhian about what he’d walked in on in Savannah’s office, as well as the ridiculous staring contests and bench antics, so Rhian merely nodded and got out of his way.

  Garrick’s hip twinged, a bolt of pain shooting down his leg as he thrust it into his pants, and he smiled grimly. He even had an excuse to go see the trainer.

  Five minutes later he was outside her door, waiting while she cut tape and unwound bandages from the last of his teammates. He entered her office as she scribbled some notes on what Alexei told her, while Mike listened in with interest.

  Garrick smiled. Savannah was growing a respectable fan club. And, fortunately, there was no sign of Bobby.

  Once she sent Mike and Alexei out, Garrick dropped his used wraps in the bin and went to her medicine chest.

  “Mind?” He indicated the ibuprofen bottle. He was eating the damn things like candy these days.

  Savannah nodded. “Help yourself. No more than four though. And only two tomorrow until after you work out.”

  He sighed. “You’re mean.”

  She laughed. “I’m careful. And you’re trouble. The last thing you need is to dull the messages your body sends when it’s telling you to stop.”

  And isn’t that the sad fucking truth?

  Savannah saw his no doubt pathetic expression and cocked her head. “What?”

  He shook his head.

  “What?” she asked again, coming closer. “Did I say something to upset you?”

  She didn’t usually care if she said something to upset anyone, but she probably didn’t often see grown men hanging their heads like sad puppies in her office.

  “It is telling me to stop, isn’t it?” He hadn’t intended to ask the question. At least, not out loud—to Savannah or anyone else. Silently, he asked himself every day.

  She drew up short, her eyebrows pinched together. “Your body?”

  He sighed. “Yes. My stupid, beat-up, crappy old body.”

  One side of her lips quirked up. “It’s not a crappy body.” A hint of a blush crept into her cheeks. “It’s a strong body, Garrick. It’s a body that’s in better shape than ninety percent of the men on earth, and probably ninety-nine percent of the men your age.”

  Garrick winced. “Holy crap, you just said men your age.”

  Savannah laughed. “Stop it. You’re what? Thirty-four? I’m sorry if it’s hard to accept, Garrick, but the truth is you can’t play hockey forever. Not professional hockey.”

  “Ouch.”

  Savannah fell silent He was being ridiculous. But how could he not play hockey? It was all he knew.

  Rhian’s arrival spared Garrick attempting to explain any of that. Rhian looked back and forth between them in the growing silence until Savannah turned to ask him how he’d felt for the game. Rhian gave her all favorable reviews, even claiming he had never felt better.

  Of course. To be young and at the top of his game again. Garrick remembered how easy it had been.

  A few nights later, Savannah buttoned her coat and tried to ignore the itch between her shoulder blades as the players walked past her door on their way out of the arena. When she was suitably bundled up to face the New Brunswick winter night, she turned to find Bobby standing in the hallway, talking to a friend, his eyes fastened on her.

  Shit.

  Her heart sped up, but she held firm to her resolve not to be intimidated. Bobby was a serious problem that could not be ignored, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to run her life. She was determined to be cautious. Not cowed.

  Steeling herself, she stepped into the hall and closed her door, keeping her movements slow and precise to not betray her nerves. As the deadbolt locked into place, she promised herself she’d find Mark tomorrow and tell him about the stares, the hovering. She hadn’t yet because she didn’t want to stir the pot, and it was hardly against the rules to stare at someone. But Mark had seen Bobby’s childish stunt a few nights ago—she had a nice bruise on her shoulder blade because of it, too—and Bobby wasn’t letting up. Not stirring the pot was one thing. Being stupid was another.

  Bobby’s friend said goodnight and moved away. The next sound were footsteps drawing near.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  “Savannah!”

  Garrick’s voice made her jump. She spun toward it, not bothering to hide her relief.

  Bobby stopped just a few feet away. He glared at Garrick then moved quickly in the opposite direction. The smile Garrick sent in his wake was more a baring of teeth.

  Garrick stopped at her side. “Are you okay?”

  She shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

  “Okay, good,” Garrick said. He never questioned her. Never made her explain.

  She was incredibly grateful, for so many reasons. She sighed as they walked toward the doors to the arena parking lot. “I’m going to talk to Mark tomorrow.”

  “Good idea. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

  She smiled ruefully. “You’ve already done more than I can possibly thank you for.” He didn’t look at her, his eyes constantly scanning the passageway, then the parking lot.

  He’d been hanging around her office and had walked her to her car a couple nights before, after the incident with Bobby. And, mysteriously, Rhian had shown up and walked out with her last night while Garrick had done photos with the scout troop who had won tickets to last night’s game.

  She wanted to be irritated. Wanted to be tough. Independent. Unafraid. Unfortunately, her policy against being stupid prevented her from objecting to Garrick’s unsubtle orchestration of her nightly escorts.

  “So—” She broke the silence. “Do you think they’ll find a buyer for the Cats quickly?”

  Garrick glanced at her before returning to his diligent surveillance. They left the bright halo around the arena and moved into the darker rows of cars. “I hope, but I’m doubtful. They’d be buying a bit of a mess.”

  “They would?”

  They stopped in the orange glow of the vapor lamp nearest her car. The night was cold, but not unbearable—the wind that had been whipping in off the Atlantic for the past few days had died down at last.

  “Lamont has been mostly ignoring the team and this arena for years,” Garrick explained. “I think before the economic downturn, it was easy enough to make his profit and he didn’t care about the margin or the size of the retur
n until they went into the red.”

  She nodded. “Ticket sales are down, but you we still pull in a good crowd.”

  “We do, fortunately, but we could sell more. And even with sales down, Lamont’s missed a lot of opportunity. To start with, the arena should be retro-fitted to allow parquet to go down quickly, leaving the ice below. Good management could arrange the basketball team’s games around ours and move them out of the convention center, which would be a big improvement for them. It would also facilitate other events, like concerts. The University could use that kind of space, too, I’m sure. And then there are the concessions.” Garrick gestured back at the arena. “He’s had the same fried dough, cheap pizza, and watery beer stands going for decades. Microbrews like Picaroons and even bigger local companies like Moosehead would easily outsell at least half the Bud and Molson taps. And don’t get me started on the lack of corporate sponsors and season ticket holders. I could—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “Listen to me ramble on about shit I know nothing about.”

  “I am listening. It’s interesting.”

  “I’m easy-chair quarterbacking. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” He scuffed his boots on the pavement, his hands stuffed in his coat pockets.

  “It sounds like you know what you’re talking about.”

  He shrugged. “Not really. I just have lots of ideas.”

  “Have you told Lamont your ideas?”

  He looked at her. “Lamont?”

  “Yeah, you know, the guy who could actually make money by listening to you?”

  Garrick’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t. I mean, I’m just a hockey player. I don’t know anything about running a team or an arena.”

  Garrick had struck her as a lot of things, but never insecure. His lack of confidence surprised her.

  “Seems to me you know plenty. Everything you just said makes sense and jives with what I’ve seen other arenas do. And don’t give me the just a hockey player crap. The smartest men I know are hockey players, so that doesn’t mean shit to me.”

  She couldn’t be sure in the strange light, but it was possible Garrick LeBlanc was blushing.

  “Yeah, well anyway, to answer your actual question,” he said, obviously avoiding responding to what she’d said, “I think the Cats and the arena need to find a buyer with good ideas and a willingness to invest. And given the current state of the economy, no, I don’t think that’s going to happen quickly.”

  She nodded. He was right. He was also a hell of a lot smarter than she’d given him credit for.

  She stood, head tilted to the side, and studied this new Garrick, aware of the bemused smile on her face. He blinked, slowly, and his eyes darkened, going black in the dim light.

  She licked her suddenly dry lips.

  His gaze darted down. Otherwise, he didn’t move. Not a muscle.

  I could kiss him.

  The thought—which she never should have had to begin with—held way more appeal than it ought to. Not because she felt sorry for him, or because she was grateful for his help these past weeks. But because he was gorgeous and kind and smart and funny and holy crap when had she stopped pretending he wasn’t smoking hot?

  Of course, none of that mattered. He was a player on the Ice Cats.

  “Goodnight,” she said abruptly.

  “Goodnight.” His deep voice drifted over her skin and made the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up beneath her scarf.

  She yanked her keys from her pocket, unlocked the car, and practically dove into the driver’s seat. Screw waiting for the engine or the frigid air around her to warm up. She slammed the car into gear and hightailed it out of there.

  She checked the mirror, once, just before she turned out onto the highway.

  Garrick stood exactly where she’d left him, watching her drive away.

  Chapter Five

  Savannah was all business the next morning when she saw Garrick, which, for some reason, he seemed to find amusing. She ignored his failed attempts to hide his smile while she strictly stuck to the subjects of training, conditioning, his hip, and his groin pull.

  That she wanted to smile back was another issue, one she refused to acknowledge. She hadn’t meant to befriend one of the players, but she had, and it didn’t mean she’d lost her ever-loving mind and would do something colossally stupid.

  Once she’d sent Garrick and the rest of the team off to run through their training programs, she stopped by the gym to check in on everyone. Then she went to see Mark.

  It sucked to bring him more shit to deal with the day before they left on a road trip to Nova Scotia, but she’d promised herself, and more or less promised Garrick, that she would address it.

  Standing outside Mark’s office door, she watched him tug at his hair while he reviewed whatever numbers were on the spreadsheet before him. She considered leaving it until the bus ride tomorrow.

  Tempting, but she’d need that time to get organized for the days and games to come. Now was her best chance.

  She left Mark’s office a half hour later, sealing off his stream of muttered curses as she closed the door behind her. Mark was a nice man, but his hands were tied. Bobby hadn’t laid a finger on her since that day in her office, and the “accidental” body slam the other night, about which he had professed absolute innocence.

  She sighed as she made her way back to her office. It was going to be a long season if she couldn’t figure out a way to get Bobby off her ass. She didn’t know where to begin and had no one she could ask. If she called her parents for advice, they’d have a seizure. And any one of her six brothers could be counted on to drive to Moncton and attempt to remove Bobby’s black heart. Through his nostrils.

  Settling in at her desk, she took a chance her best friend, Grace, would answer her phone in the middle of the day. She hung up a while later feeling immeasurably better. Grace didn’t have any answers either, but it had been good to tell someone what was going on. She’d even managed to deflect all suggestions and innuendos regarding Garrick.

  Now, sitting alone in her office, a few of those suggestions wandered through her mind. She cursed Grace for giving her imagination so much fodder. She hadn’t slept well last night as it was, and now her tired body felt twitchy and hot.

  She just about jumped out of her skin when Garrick said “hello” from no more than two feet behind her.

  “Hi!” Leaping from her chair, she yanked her fleece down over her butt and thighs.

  He lifted one brow. “You doing okay?”

  “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  His warm brown eyes met hers and she struggled not to do something ridiculous like squirm or try to push her fleece down to her knees. Her face was warm, no doubt flushed, and the rest of her body felt sensitive. Swollen.

  “No reason,” he said, watching her closely. “I just came in to see if I was allowed to have two more ibuprofen now that I’ve been a good doobie and done all my work.”

  She laughed as she moved to the cabinet, grateful for the distraction. “You make me sound like a grade-school teacher.”

  Garrick cleared his throat. “You definitely don’t remind me of any grade-school teacher I ever had.”

  She was about to ask what he meant by that but bit off the question when Bobby stepped through her door. She shot Garrick a look to warn him.

  “What do you want, Bobby?” Garrick’s cold stare and arctic tone made Savannah smile into her medicine chest.

  “My elbow hurts, and she said I should have it wrapped before practice.”

  Savannah turned, speaking before Garrick could. “Yes, of course. Please have a seat.”

  Bobby eyed Garrick, who stared back. Tension crackled in the air around them, building until she worried they would come to blows. She couldn’t relax, even when Bobby relented and flopped into the chair he hadn’t deigned to sit in for months.

  She went to Garrick and dropped the two pills in his palm. “Here you go.” She smiled up at him, her back to Bobby, an
d mouthed thank you. “Let me know how you’re feeling later and we can talk about what’s next.”

  He dutifully moved toward the door. In truth, she wanted to beg him to stay, but she couldn’t hand that kind of power over to Bobby. Confirming she was afraid of him would only make him worse. Hell, just the hint that she and Garrick were friends gave Bobby too much.

  Garrick shot Bobby another hard stare on his way out.

  She gave him a little push. “Come use the tub whenever you’re ready.”

  His eyebrow went up, silently giving her one last chance to change her mind. When she said nothing, he left her office and disappeared around the corner.

  Savannah stared at the empty door longer than necessary, but she was composed by the time she turned to gather what she needed to wrap Bobby’s elbow.

  She moved quickly, keeping as much distance as possible without being obvious. She didn’t ask him any questions, which was unlike her, but she didn’t want any more contact than was absolutely required.

  Bobby was uncharacteristically cooperative, holding his arm as she needed and keeping his hands to himself. Too bad he spent the entire session staring into her face from mere inches away. His breath brushed her cheek when she bent to cut away a loose string and she forced herself not to jerk back. She did, though, hold her breath.

  By the time Bobby stood to leave, a continuous trickle of cold sweat slid down her back. She left her supplies where they were, not cleaning up as she would usually, choosing instead to stand back and let him go. He smiled at her from the door and her fingers tightened around the scissors still clutched in her hand.

  His laughter echoed in the hallway as she slumped into her desk chair, tossed her scissors onto the pile of paperwork, and wiped her clammy hands on her pants.

  Holy shit. How the hell was she going to fix this?

  Garrick bolted out of the coach’s office, barely calling goodnight before jogging around the arena toward Savannah’s office, his hip protesting the unforgiving concrete beneath his feet. It hurt like hell.