The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  “Yeah,” he bitched, “my fucking elbow hurts.”

  They were back on familiar ground. It was almost a relief. “Did you ice it last night and again this morning?”

  Bobby scrunched up his face and rocked his head back and forth. “No, I didn’t ice it last night,” he said in a snotty voice, casting a derisive look at Mike. “Unlike your loser friends, some of us have lives and go out after the games.”

  Savannah held her tongue.

  Mike felt no such compulsion. “Some of us are professional athletes and take our responsibility to the team seriously.”

  Bobby opened his mouth, but Savannah cut him off. “Go ice it and do the stretches. If it’s not better, I’ll adjust your program for today.”

  He stared at her, his eyes narrowing. Mike moved closer.

  “I’ll be back.” Bobby stomped toward the door.

  Savannah resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Barely. She kept her polite smile fixed in place and waited for Bobby to leave. As soon as he disappeared into the corridor, her shoulders slumped.

  Garrick drove into the arena parking lot an hour later, his mind jammed with figures and interest rates and business plans. He was so preoccupied, he almost didn’t notice Rhian slamming out the back door and running toward his car. When Rhian’s headlong charge finally registered, Garrick ditched the SUV in the first spot he came to and leaped from the car.

  “What?”

  “We’ve got a problem. A big one.”

  Rhian wasn’t particularly given to hysteria, so his wide eyes and urgent tone were downright alarming.

  Garrick grabbed Rhian’s arm. “Is she okay? What happened?”

  “She’s fine. At least, she was when I left her with Alexei a few minutes ago. She’s not going to be for long, though.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” Garrick’s blood pressure was reaching critical levels.

  “Come on. I’ll show you.”

  Garrick sprinted after Rhian into the arena and to the gym, where Mike waited for them, his eyes glued to the TV. Before Garrick could ask, the newscaster spoke.

  “Local businessman Robert Kramer and the EHL announced today that he will be the new owner of the Ice Cats. The deal, submitted just weeks ago, has been approved by the league.”

  “Fuck.” Garrick’s stomach dropped. Reese hadn’t been able to stall them for long. How the fuck did Kramer get the league to act so fast?

  “Maritimes TV went to the streets to see what fans and the players thought of the news…” Garrick tuned out the news program. Rhian and Mike looked at him with pity. He wondered briefly if they were sorry Savannah was leaving or that he was going to be out of a job.

  He needed to find Savannah and see if she was okay, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard Bobby’s voice booming from the television. “Yeah, I’m pretty pleased that the Ice Cats will be owned by a local, especially since it’s my dad.”

  The sycophants surrounding Bobby all laughed at this great joke. Garrick wondered if they’d all been lobotomized before they fell in with Bobby or if it was a free service his father offered so his son could have friends.

  The newscaster, clearly clueless about what kind of idiot she was dealing with, moved on to particulars. “Do think there will be a lot of changes to the team?”

  “Well, I think the real talent is safe and the old dead weight can be sure they’ll be cut loose, which is long overdue.”

  Garrick grimaced. No question who he was talking about there.

  “And the management?”

  Bobby laughed, a grating, malevolent sound.

  “Well, we’ll see,” he drawled. “I can tell you this—sleeping with half the team won’t be enough to secure your job, especially if you’re a lousy trainer to begin with.”

  Garrick choked on a lungful of stale, sweaty gym air. A stunned silence followed, both in the gym and on the news program. Before the reporter could recover, Mike shut the TV off and hurled the remote against the wall, shattering it.

  A small whimper came from the corridor. Heart plummeting, Garrick spun to see Savannah standing in the door, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide with horror.

  “Savannah…” What the fuck he could possibly say? There were no words, no apology, no comfort he could offer her that would undo Bobby’s slander. Her worst nightmare come true.

  Savannah stared at the blank television screen. A strange ringing in her ears numbed her to the concern in Garrick’s voice. Shock prevented her from reacting to the stricken expressions on everyone’s faces.

  Garrick reached for her, but she snapped out of her stupor and evaded his grasp. The buzzing in her head subsided enough for her to hear him and the others call her name as she swung around Alexei, her unwitting escort to the gym. Before they could stop her, reason with her, try to get her to wait, she was sprinting down the hallway.

  Footsteps thundered behind her, proof that Garrick, Alexei, Mike, and Rhian followed. She ran faster. Ran past the stunned stares of the coaching staff, the other players, the front office workers, as she dodged between their desks on her way to Mark’s office.

  She didn’t ask to be admitted. Hell, she didn’t even knock. She threw his door open and staggered to a stop in front of his desk before slamming it shut behind her.

  Mark leaped up from his chair. “Savannah! What’s wrong?”

  She sucked in a deep breath and fought back the shakes. The tears. Fucking adrenaline, she cursed, determined to shut it down. She wasn’t going to let anyone—not Mark, not Garrick and the others, and certainly not Bobby Kramer—see one fucking tear.

  “I quit.”

  Mark’s mouth fell open. “What?”

  He glanced down when the desk phone starting ringing. Then his personal phone, too. The lines for the rest of the office started lighting up and her heart cracked open a little further with every goddamn ring.

  “I quit,” she restated. She needed for it to be done, for this nightmare to be over. “Two weeks and I’m gone. Less, if you’ll give me a decent reference.” She prayed he’d let her off the hook. She didn’t know how she’d survive the next two weeks. How she’d ever work in hockey again.

  Her knees turned to jelly and she wavered, clutching the back of a guest chair to steady herself. Mark came around his desk.

  “No!” she barked, holding out her hand. He froze.

  She could stand on her own. She would walk out of this arena on her own two feet, of her own volition, her head held high.

  And then go someplace quiet and dark and curl up in a ball and cry her damn heart out.

  “Answer the phone. Turn on the news.” She pointed to the screen mounted on his wall. “You’ll have your answers.”

  He sighed. “Are you sure?”

  Was he asking about the answers or her resignation? It didn’t matter. The answer was the same.

  “Absolutely.”

  Mark nodded, understanding in every line on his face and he didn’t even know the worst of it yet.

  Turning, she opened his door and marched out of his office, her molars clamped so tight they hurt. The pain and her mile-wide stubborn streak were the only things keeping her lips from quivering. The guys were waiting for her but moved out of her way to fall into line behind her. Their support was important to her. Meant so much. At that moment, though, she wanted to tell them to leave her alone. She wanted to screech at everyone to just leave her the fuck alone.

  She walked faster. Head high, she strode back to her office, ignoring the looks, the pregnant pauses in conversation as she passed. She didn’t know if they were staring because of her mad dash past them five minutes before or because they’d seen the news. It didn’t matter.

  Soon Moncton would all be a bad memory.

  Garrick didn’t remember the game that night. Sitting rigidly on the bench in the locker room afterward, he tried to tune out the tension crackling in the air and focus on getting himself dressed. He didn’t bother to shower. He’d do it later. At home. Right
now he needed to get Savannah out of this fucking arena and back to his house. Away from the stares, the snickers, the pitying looks.

  The usual post-game joking, the ribald humor and inevitable comparisons of that night’s performance on the ice to various sexual talents or lack thereof, was completely absent. He’d never been in a quieter locker room. Everyone was strung tight and giving everyone else a wide berth.

  Which was wise. Garrick was holding on to his temper by a thread.

  Taking three slow, deep breaths, he stared at his hands, clenched into fists on his legs, and told himself to just leave. He stood, yanked on his coat, shoved his laundry in his bag, and nodded goodnight to Rhian at the next locker. Rhian and his other friends had been running defense off the ice, keeping everyone else away. He’d thank them for it when he was sure he could keep his shit together. Right now, a single word might lead to the uncorking of what he was trying very hard to keep bottled inside.

  He promised himself he could make it to Savannah and then to his car without losing his mind.

  He broke that promise when Bobby and three of his stupid friends sauntered up to him, smiles wide. That alone was enough to send Garrick over the edge, but, of course, the asshole had something to say.

  “Think long and hard before you fuck with me again.”

  The crack of his fist hitting Bobby’s ugly fucking face was the single most satisfying sound Garrick had ever heard. The shiver of impact and pain racing up his arm felt even better.

  Bobby barely staggered before he came right back at Garrick, fists flying, and Garrick welcomed it. He felt the hits, given and received, and plunged in for more. Swung harder. He used his arms, fists, knees—hell, even his head—to impress upon Bobby how much he fucking hated the son of a bitch.

  Bobby’s cronies didn’t jump in and Garrick could only assume they were being held at bay. He didn’t bother to check as he hurled Bobby to the floor and fell on top of him.

  Garrick was having the devil of a time seeing out of his right eye, but he felt no pain. Bobby put up a good fight, but he was under Garrick now, at his mercy, and Garrick had none to offer. Some distant part of his brain warned him there were no refs, no one to declare the fight over. He swung again anyway, laying into a still struggling Bobby, ignoring the punches to his ribs. Someone grabbed Garrick and lifted him almost completely off Bobby. He threw his arm back and got himself free.

  He landed with one knee on Bobby’s chest and watched Bobby’s pal Greg’s eyes widen. A second later Rhian sailed over Garrick, planted one foot on the bench and hurtled himself at Greg and another of Bobby’s fan club. All three hit the floor with a sickening thump.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Savannah crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the four men sitting side-by-side on her table. She was prepared to give them another stern lecture, though they’d already had at least one of those. In fact, the entire arena had probably heard Rick screeching at them—and she, for one, never would have guessed the man could reach that octave. She’d barely managed to dart out of his path as he stomped out of the arena, muttering about fucking arrogant, brainless idiots.

  And they were that. She lifted a brow and refused to respond to their wide, shameless grins. Two of them couldn’t even see out both their eyes, for Christ’s sake, and yet they were obviously delighted with themselves.

  Rolling her eyes, she turned to her supplies and brought out another box of gauze. She’d already gone through three that night—after her post-game work—thanks to the brawl Garrick had started in the locker room.

  She’d made these four wait to go last. They’d also been the last to be released from Rick’s tender care, so their ears were likely still ringing. Bobby had fled the arena without a backward glance, but his buddies had come by to be patched up. She’d also taken care of all the others who’d ended up taking shots to various body parts in the effort to break up the fight—which included, but was not limited to, Mark, Steve, members of the janitorial staff, the head scout, several of the front office workers, and at least a dozen players.

  Half the team’s administrative staff had come running to her office as soon as word of the fight had escaped the locker room. Mark had been with her, trying to talk her down from the ledge, but he’d taken off to the locker room, demanding Sheila stay with her. She’d protested, but Sheila had shut her down.

  “No way am I leaving you alone for one second.”

  It was, Savannah reflected as she stuck scissors in her pocket and looped rolls of tape over her fingers, nice to discover she had more support than she’d expected. Too bad she found out just in time to leave.

  She shook her head. No point dwelling on that any more than she already had. Every minute standing behind the bench tonight had been torture, her focus on the game only possible through sheer will and years of training. And for the first time in her life, she’d hated it. The noise. The crowds. The cameras. It was Bobby’s most unforgivable sin yet, and god knew that list was long.

  Sheila hadn’t left her side during the brawl and break-up. Not until these four had shown up and Savannah had decided to let them in to see her. She was glad for their company, though in no mood to admit it. And it wasn’t like Mark was in any condition to play escort with his lip split, his ribs bruised, and his pants torn in an exceedingly awkward place.

  Yep, there was going to be hell to pay.

  Bracing her hands on her hips, she gave each of them a stern look. God, it was hard not to let her lips twitch. They were a freaking mess. Garrick was still bleeding over his eye, Rhian had ice packs on his head and groin, and Mike had a black eye that was very nearly swollen shut. Alexei, by some miracle, had only sustained scraped knuckles.

  No amount of stink-eye was making a dent in their glee. Fortunately, she knew just how to wipe those grins off their faces.

  “You do realize that now the entire city of Moncton thinks they know which half of this team I’m sleeping with, don’t you?”

  Their stunned and horrified expressions were extremely gratifying.

  “That’s what I thought.” She shook her head, went to Alexei, and cleaned his cuts with antiseptic. “How are you going to play like this?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not so bad. I’ve played with worse.”

  If he could make it through the fight with only scraped knuckles, that was probably true.

  She moved on to Mike, cleaning his abraded knuckles and then inspecting his eye. “You’re probably going to miss a game because of this. You won’t be able to see properly for a few days at least.”

  Mike smiled. “Worth it.”

  She sighed, totally exasperated. “Really? It doesn’t change anything.”

  Rhian laughed. “Sure it does. Bobby won’t be mouthing off again anytime soon.”

  “And not just because he’s missing a couple more teeth,” Mike added.

  Savannah stopped in the process of breaking open another ice pack and turned her eyes heavenward, praying for patience.

  She. Would. Not. Laugh.

  She gently lifted Mike’s shirt and prodded his bruised ribs. She grimaced when he sucked in a breath.

  “Think they’re broken?” she asked.

  “Nah. Not even close.”

  Throwing up her hands, she stood back and planted her fists on her hips once more. She should chastise them. Rail about their stupidity. The risks. But damn it, she just didn’t have it in her.

  She sighed, then smiled. Begrudgingly. “Thank you.”

  Their grins faltered, replaced with momentary surprise, before beaming even wider.

  God help her, she’d been around hockey players too long. It had been an incredibly foolish thing to do, but she was actually flattered.

  Mike and Alexei hopped off the table. She squeaked when Alexei wrapped his huge hands around her face and kissed her on each cheek, then on the first one again, loudly, before releasing her.

  “You’re welcome.” With that
he turned and left.

  Mike shrugged. “It’s a Russian thing.” He kissed her cheek too, though more gently and only once. “But you are welcome.” He ran to catch up with his friend.

  Savannah watched them go, bemused.

  Turning back to Rhian and Garrick, she sighed.

  Garrick had yet to say a word. He was still smiling—grinning like a fool, in fact, after Alexei’s hearty kisses.

  Rhian gingerly slid off the table, still holding the ice packs to his head and his crotch. He winced when his feet hit the floor.

  “You sure you’re okay?”she asked gently. Groin injuries were one thing, but there was little she could do about a shot to the nuts.

  Rhian shrugged, bringing on another wince. “Yeah, the head bump is already better. And getting kneed in the junk sucks, but it will fade.” He looked back at Garrick. “Next time you’re in that foul a mood, I’m leaving my cup on until I get home.”

  “I didn’t do it!” Garrick said.

  “No, Steve did.”

  Savannah’s eyes widened at Rhian’s suggestion that her assistant had maimed him.

  Rhian laughed. “It was completely by accident when he was trying to pull me off the pile. It’s a long story.”

  For the first time since she’d started with the Ice Cats, Savannah was glad her office wasn’t in the men’s locker room.

  Rhian stepped forward and she smiled, tilting her cheek to his kiss. Garrick’s brows arched—well, at least the one that still worked—as she willingly accepted Rhian’s affection. At this point, why not? Her plan to be the queen of all-business-no-play wasn’t working anyway. In fact, she wasn’t going to miss it at all.

  Her smile faded. No, the hard part now was telling Garrick she’d quit. That she’d be leaving as soon as she could pack up her shit and go. She’d already called her parents to let them know she was coming home, her tail tucked firmly between her legs, goddamn it, until she could find a new position.