The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

“I’m sorry about everything, Savannah,” Rhian said softly.

  “Thanks, Rhi. I’m sorry, too.”

  With a nod to Garrick, Rhian left, shutting the door behind him. She almost called out for him to leave it open, but she let it go. She and Garrick would be locking up in a few minutes anyway.

  Turning to Garrick, she cocked her head and studied his swollen face. The bleeding over his eyebrow was down to an ooze, his left eye was swollen almost completely shut, and his upper lip distended to the point it should have been comical.

  “How bad is the stuff I can’t see?”

  Garrick’s smile slipped. “Not bad.”

  She frowned. “That wasn’t very convincing.”

  His shoulders lifted, about to shrug, but froze. He grimaced as he slowly let them fall again. She tugged up his shirt before he could object.

  She cringed at the florid bruises across his ribs. With a gentle touch, she traced the continuous path of purple skin until it disappeared beneath his waist band. Then she studied his stony face.

  “Your groin?”

  “Fine.” He said it quickly enough that she believed him.

  “Your hip?”

  He sighed and met her eyes.

  “How bad?”

  She was almost glad he couldn’t shrug. He twisted his lips in a humorless smile. “Bad. Hit the floor first, with most of mine and Bobby’s weight on it.”

  Shit. She didn’t ask if it was a season-ender. A season-ender would be a career-ender, and they both knew it. Buying time by collecting more supplies, she swore she’d get him back on the ice to finish this season, if it was the last thing she did before hauling ass out of town. Garrick had earned her loyalty. Hell, he’d earned her devotion. He deserved the right to wrap up his career on the ice with dignity. Doing something as stupid as picking a fight to defend her honor was not nearly a good enough reason to blow that.

  She went to work on what she could fix, cleaning up his face and hands and applying butterfly bandages to the cut. He sat patiently, barely making a sound except to suck in a breath when the sting of antiseptic caught him off guard. She ignored the way he stared into her face, his gaze disconcertingly direct when she leaned in to do the close work on his forehead.

  Stepping back, she took stock. He wasn’t even close to presentable, but she’d done her best. He’d taken some painkillers earlier, but she doubted they would do much good. She could send him to the hospital for something more powerful, but he’d refuse.

  “God, Garrick. What the hell were you thinking?”

  His warm brown gaze captured hers, and Savannah’s heart lurched. Chocolate. He towed her close with one hand hooked in her fleece, until she stood between his knees.

  “You know what I was thinking?” he asked, his voice low and gruff.

  She fought the sudden urge to clap her hands over her ears and run from the room, even while part of her was still desperate to wrap his battered body up in her arms.

  “No,” she said. “You had to know it wouldn’t help. That it might make things worse.”

  “Yeah, I knew that. It didn’t matter.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re my friend,” he said softly.

  “Oh, well…” She smiled, touched and uncertain what to say.

  “And I love you.”

  Everything in the world came to a screeching halt. Her heart, her lungs, everything.

  “No.” Her denial was firm. Reflexive. Desperate. “You’re confused. We’re friends.” She grasped for any explanation, for an excuse. A way to make him take it back. “You’ve never had a woman friend before, right? You’re just confused.”

  Garrick looked at her like she was crazy. That was exactly how she felt. This was insane.

  “It doesn’t matter if you believe me or not, I am in love with you.” He said it calmly, certainly, his chin jutting forward.

  God, when had this all gotten so out of control? Her heart pounded as if she’d sprinted to this disastrous end.

  “Garrick, you can’t.”

  His good eyebrow arched. “Why not?”

  Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and for once she did nothing to stop them. “Because I quit. I’m leaving the Ice Cats. Moncton.”

  You.

  Garrick wrapped his fingers around the edge of the padded table, ignoring the sting of his shredded knuckles, the shaking in his hands.

  She was leaving him. Already.

  The first time in his entire life he’d ever said those words to a woman and it had all gone wrong within ten seconds. That had to be some kind of record.

  He’d been stunned to learn something could feel so good, so right, when he’d finally figured it out. It had been true for weeks, possibly since she’d climbed into Reese Lamont’s limo and lost all control in his arms. That was when the funny kick had started beneath his ribs, the insatiable need to be near her had taken hold in his gut.

  Friendship. Love. It was all tied together in Savannah.

  And so he’d told her. Only to have it dismissed and handed back to him on a plate of no thank you with a side of have a nice day, I’m leaving.

  He sat motionless, trying to find his way through the emotions—fear, anger, love, sadness.

  A tear slowly tracked down Savannah’s cheek.

  In the time they’d known each other, she’d been assaulted, harassed, stalked, insulted, and had her reputation savaged on television. She’d never cried. Not until he’d told her he loved her.

  He brushed the drop from her jaw as another began its slow path down the other cheek.

  “I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he said, his voice gruff. He was dangerously close to losing it. He swallowed hard.

  She closed her eyes, freeing two more tears. “I can’t stay.”

  “I know you can’t. It doesn’t make it any less true.”

  Savannah’s tears came faster. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Garrick tried not to flinch. No doubt now about whether she might say it back, regardless of how ill-fated their relationship.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” He carefully eased off the table and to his feet.

  It had been one hell of a day. He needed to go home.

  She stepped back, rubbing the heels of her palms across wet cheeks and under reddened eyes. He carefully tugged the rolls of tape from her hands, pulled her scissors from her back pocket, and tossed it all on her work tray.

  What few reserves he had left were draining quickly. His body hurt, but it was small compared to the ache in his chest and the increasingly loud pound of his pulse in his head.

  “Let’s go.” He kept his eyes down, as if he had to watch his step.

  She didn’t move and he looked back. Fresh tears already slid down her cheeks.

  “Do you want me to go back to my apartment?” she asked.

  Garrick sighed. He was hurting and a little pissed off about it, but he wasn’t an asshole and he hadn’t lost sight of what was most important to him. Even if it wasn’t reciprocated.

  “I need you safe. Please come home with me.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” She went to her desk, threw on her coat, and grabbed a few files. “We need to get you in the bath and then stretch out some of that damage.”

  If that was what it took to get her home again, for however long he could keep her there, he’d take it.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Three days later, Savannah opened her eyes as the last ring of Garrick’s house phone faded away. She lay in a wash of warm sunlight, sprawled across Garrick’s huge bed, feeling decadent and spoiled. It had to be after ten o’clock. She smiled into the pillow and stretched all her aching and love-bruised parts. She hadn’t slept this late since college.

  The phone rang again and she ignored it. Again.

  Garrick was definitely feeling better and he’d proven it last night, twice. And once more this morning. His torso still looked like something out an episode of CSI, but his face was almost back to nor
mal and his hip, thank god, was doing far better than either of them had expected after the fight. In fact, after thoroughly ravaging her this morning, he’d left for the arena and practice. Mark and Rick had told him to stay home another day. She and Garrick thought he’d be back on the ice for tomorrow night’s game, though probably not for as much time as he’d normally play.

  Savannah chuckled, thinking how much that would piss Garrick off. He’d be back where he belonged within a week.

  And so, sadly, would she. She forced the thought aside, knowing full well it would crawl back to the top of her mind before long. It was always there, hovering.

  Connecticut. Mom and Dad.

  In the meantime, she didn’t have anywhere to go. In fact, she didn’t have anywhere she could go. Garrick, the sneaky bastard, had caught her at a low moment this morning. Or maybe it was a high moment? Her muscles had still been quivering with post-orgasmic joy. Her head still swimming with the rush of pleasure that had only just roared through her body. And her body still stretched with his thick cock jammed in her to the hilt as they lay gasping on the bed. Of course she’d promised to stay home today while he was out. How could she not have pledged to sleep in and relax and worry about packing later that night?

  Truth be told, she hadn’t been worrying about packing much at all over the past few days. Instead she’d devoted herself to helping Garrick mend and sending her resume to every professional sports team and college or university athletics department she could find. She’d had some nibbles, but nothing firm.

  Mark had graciously let her out of her contract without forcing her to trudge through two weeks—let alone the balance of the season—humiliated at the hands of the Kramer family. The head trainer from the Université de Moncton had agreed to help Steve until her replacement could be found.

  She had Mark’s promise to put a positive spin on her sudden departure to anyone who called seeking reference. One scandal in the far reaches of New Brunswick wasn’t certain to spread across the entire sport, but it wouldn’t shock her if it did. Scouts, management, players—it was a business of networks, travel, and keeping track of who was doing what. Once a rumor caught on the wind, it could travel far and wide in little time.

  Her best hope was to jump to a new gig as quickly as possible. And regardless of how long her hunt lasted, she couldn’t stay in Canada. She’d been granted her Canadian visa through a sponsorship—the Ice Cats—and there weren’t many opportunities for new sponsorship in the area. She’d looked.

  The phone rang again and she eyed it. It was like Grand Central Station around here today. She still didn’t answer it. It was Garrick’s phone. What if it was his mother calling? Or his sister?

  She’d spend the day finding a moving service. The Ice Cats had paid for her relocation up here, but she was on her own to get back to Connecticut.

  She’d told her parents and brothers what had happened, figuring it was better to hear it from her on their monthly Skype call than through the grapevine. She’d barely convinced them not to come to New Brunswick and inflict untold damage on the Kramers. Garrick had sat across the kitchen table and outside the view of the camera, silently cheering her family on the whole time she’d been trying to contain seven enraged hockey players—her dad being the worst in the bunch, much to Garrick’s entertainment.

  She rolled to the edge of the bed, loving and wincing at the various aches and pains Garrick had left behind. Staggering to her feet, she shuffled toward the bathroom. She was about to close the door behind her when her phone buzzed on the bedside table. Sparing it a glance, she shrugged and gave in to the call of the shower first. Whoever it was would leave a voicemail if it was important.

  Garrick sat in his car and stared down the alleyway behind The Sugar Shack. His phone buzzed again and he checked to make sure it wasn’t Savannah.

  Rhian Savage.

  Sighing, he shoved the damn thing back into his pocket.

  It was late morning, almost noon, and the bar wouldn’t open until five. He’d been watching the back door for a couple hours now, noting the people coming and going. The beer delivery seemed routine. The driver genuine. The bar-backs hauling all the cases and kegs inside were just a couple of college kids working their asses off, from the looks of them. Nothing nefarious from what he could see.

  But he hadn’t imagined that back room, and there was definitely something more going on in the Sugar Shack then just prepping for a night’s work. Robert Kramer had come and gone once this morning, not long after seven people—none wearing the Sugar Shack’s uniform of a black t-shirt and jeans—had arrived, each stopping to knock on the back door before quickly being admitted by someone Garrick couldn’t see. He’d bet his left nut it was one of the thugs he’d tangled with on his last visit to the Shack, and he cursed the placement of the dumpsters that had forced him to plant himself at this end of the alley. The view from the next street over would have been closer to the door and he’d have been able to see who was acting as doorman, if it weren’t for those damn dumpsters.

  Not that he had any idea what he would do with the information. Hell, he didn’t have anything even approaching a plan. All he knew was he’d woken up this morning to Savannah’s soft body curled into his, her smooth ass cheeks wriggling against his morning wood, and he’d known complete and utter happiness, followed by mind-erasing bliss.

  Then he’d returned to reality. And the rage.

  He wanted the Kramers to pay. Savannah couldn’t stay, and he wouldn’t ask her to even if he thought she would. She had worked too hard to chuck her career for some soon-to-be-unemployed ex-hockey-player. She was starting her career just as his was coming to a stuttering halt.

  He couldn’t change any of that. But goddamn it, he was going to do his level best to see the Kramers didn’t get their heart’s desire—the Ice Cats—either.

  It only seemed fair.

  Not to mention, it felt damn good to channel all his anger into something, and if successful, that something would be good for his friends, his teammates, and his hometown. The Kramers owning the team would be a disaster. Preventing it would be just.

  Maybe if he succeeded, the rest of it wouldn’t hurt so damn much.

  He caught a brief flash of color, movement, in the corner of his eye and he brought his head around quickly, his hand reaching for the ignition as he scanned the sidewalk and the street behind him. Nothing.

  When, after five minutes of scanning the street, nothing and no one had materialized, he let go of his key and relaxed back against the seat. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. Staking out an alley was boring as hell, and already he was imagining things in his rearview mirror. It was going to be a long day.

  Fortunately, he could sit here all day and no one would miss him. He’d mentioned to Rhian he might be back to work today, but Mark and Rick had told him he should wait another day or two. Not that he listened to them. Savannah felt he was ready and he trusted her opinion above all others.

  He’d left his house this morning with every intention of proving Rick and Mark wrong. Of proving to Bobby Kramer he wasn’t down or out of this fight. It would be satisfying to return to the ice before Bobby. Rumor had it he had a couple more days of recovery, at least. Garrick had been halfway to the arena, his mind churning with thoughts of the Kramers, when he’d turned his truck for the city instead.

  The only good news about his renewed obsession with the Kramers and their dirty dealings was that while he was focused on that, he couldn’t think about anything else.

  It was a welcome respite. He wished he could drag it out, keep his crusade alive until Savannah was done packing and had left Moncton forever. Unfortunately, the league was eager to proceed, and Garrick had to act fast if he was going to make this work.

  He considered the odds of him being able to slip in the back hallway and get pictures of the room he’d seen. Only, the bar didn’t open for hours. Maybe he could sneak in the back when some of the staff or back office workers started to come and go
.

  He glanced at his watch again. The five minutes that had passed since he’d last checked the time might have been the longest five minutes of his life. Settling deeper into his seat, he told himself to relax and keep his eyes on the door.

  His phone started in again and he yanked it from his pocket. Rhian, again. He never should have told him he’d be back today. At least it wasn’t Savannah. She was going to be pissed if he left her trapped at the house all day and night. Maybe he’d call Rhian back later, when he would be off the ice after practice, and see if he’d go keep Savannah company. Maybe even take her to her place to pack.

  Yeah, making that Rhian’s job suddenly seemed like a great, if totally cowardly, idea.

  Savannah took a long, leisurely shower, and let the hot water and Garrick’s soap—a smell now forever branded in her memory—work its magic on her sore body. When her skin had finally pruned to the point she could no longer feel things with her fingertips, she shut off the water and wrapped herself in one of his big, fluffy towels.

  She loved this house. He’d made it a home. One she’d been more comfortable in than any other since she’d left her parents’ house to go to college. She brushed out her hair and took the time to dry it thoroughly. It had been her routine to tie her wet hair up into an unforgiving knot each morning. Now that she was unemployed, she relished having the time to blow it dry and the freedom to keep it loose around her shoulders.

  By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, she was ready to tackle another round of job hunting online. She scooped up her phone and pressed the button for voicemail.

  “Hello, Savannah. This is Brian with the Boston Bruins Human Resources Department. I’m pleased to be calling you regarding an offer for the Head Athletic Trainer position. Please call me at…”

  With a low growl, Garrick yanked his phone from his pocket and hit the answer button. “Dude, shouldn’t you be at practice?”

  Silence stretched until Rhian’s low voice replied, “Shouldn’t you?”

  Shit.

  Thinking quickly, Garrick put the phone to his other ear and kept an eye on the alley. He’d seen four big men go into the bar a few minutes ago and hoped something interesting was going to happen.