The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  “Jesus, I—”

  “Garrick, I don’t know what this means, but let’s not lie to ourselves or each other about it. How could we possibly build our lives together if we do that?”

  “I do want to build a life with you.” His voice had gone hideously hoarse.

  “I want that, too. And we will.”

  “I love you. I love you so much. I never meant to hurt you.”

  “I am hurt,” she admitted softly.

  A boulder settled in Garrick’s chest. He couldn’t have gotten words past the constriction in his throat, even if he’d known what the fuck to say.

  “And I’m worried” she continued. “But to be honest, I’m more confused than anything else.”

  “I hear that,” he muttered.

  “We’ll figure this out, Garrick. But in the meantime, don’t lie to yourself. Or to Rhian.”

  “I can’t…”

  “You can’t go anywhere near him for now. I agree. But in a few months, you’ll both be in Boston, and then what?”

  He’d been certain he knew the answer minutes ago. And then nothing. That might still be the answer, but the fact Savannah even asked the question, without censure or anger or judgment, was nothing short of miraculous.

  “How the hell did I get so fucking lucky and find you?” he asked, swallowing against the lump in his throat.

  “Because you’re the kind of person I deserve.”

  Her soft words brought a smile and a wave of relief. He would figure this out. They would figure this out. But before he could think about the future, he had a very grim present to deal with. Christ, how the hell was he going to get to Boston, to Savannah, with a bogus rape charge hanging over his head?

  What if they told him he couldn’t leave town? Leave the country? Suddenly, the genius of Steve’s fucked-up plan became crystal clear. Rhian gets to the NHL, Steve gets his blackmail money, and Garrick is trapped in New Brunswick without a team to own or play for, for which Rhian would never forgive himself.

  Son of a bitch.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Garrick lay awake in bed hours later. His mind churned over his situation, trying to come up with a way to stop Deena and Steve. He refused to look at the clock, knowing only a few minutes had passed since the last time he’d checked. Confirming he was wide awake at three in the morning wasn’t going to make him feel any better. Or help him sleep.

  The house was quiet, without so much as the creaks and groans the wind could pull from the antique frame and clapboard. Even Mother Nature seemed to be holding her breath, waiting to see what would happen next.

  He startled when he heard the distant but distinct squeak of his kitchen door opening.

  It could be burglars. His luck was just about that shitty right now. Or the police, coming to get him. Or Deena, hoping to entrap him. Or Steve. That last thought was the only one that truly worried him. But none of those people knew where he hid his key.

  He was hardly surprised when Rhian appeared in his bedroom doorway, shucking his clothes as he crossed the room. Garrick wanted to yell at him, to throw him out. He should have done both. But he just lay there in mute fascination as his heartbeat picked up, his belly warmed, and he stopped denying all the signals he’d been studiously ignoring as they worked their way through his body.

  He was so screwed.

  Rhian stopped next to the bed and stared down at him. “I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted quietly.

  Garrick lifted the covers. Rhian slid in and rolled toward Garrick without hesitation. Their lips met. Their legs and arms twined to bring each other closer.

  Garrick wasn’t used to the Rhian who came easily into his embrace. It had been days, and he was still surprised. Felt a little awe, every time. He thought about what he’d told Savannah and wondered if he was the kind of man Rhian deserved.

  And what did it say about Rhian’s feeling toward him that Rhian welcomed his touch, this quiet intimacy, in a way he’d been incapable of only a week ago?

  He shied away from that thought, afraid to know the answer. He could be some grand experiment. A fling. It was all they’d ever agreed to, after all.

  He scraped his fingers over Rhian’s scalp and cupped the back of his head, enjoying the soft brush of silk. Rhian opened beneath his lips and he delved into the hot recesses of Rhian’s mouth, tasting the lingering hint of toothpaste.

  Big hands dug into Garrick’s back, strong arms holding so tightly he fought to breathe. It was perfect. He wanted to be held like this, almost desperately. He wanted Rhian to cling to him the way he was trying to wrap himself around Rhian. Like he might never let go. Like he could keep him forever.

  Rolling, he pressed Rhian’s back to the bed and reveled in Rhian’s acquiescence, the way their tongues danced together, the way Rhian’s hold didn’t loosen even as he melted beneath Garrick.

  For the first time since he’d thrown Rhian out of Rupert’s office and—he’d believed—his bed, Garrick felt something akin to calm. The worries were still there, the fear about what would come tomorrow, but the taste of Rhian on his lips, Rhian’s hard body beneath his, soothed him.

  Rhian shouldn’t have risked coming here, let alone in the middle of the night, but Garrick wasn’t sorry. He would never be sorry about any of it.

  Rhian drew his legs up around Garrick’s hips. Garrick shuddered. It felt like Rhian was trying to pull him right into his body. Their kisses edged toward frantic. He curled one hand around Rhian’s hip. Rhian cupped both hands over his ass.

  Lightheaded from the blood rushing through his veins and a lack of oxygen, Garrick tore his mouth from Rhian’s. He worked his way across Rhian’s morning beard to his jaw, behind his ear, and down his neck. His lips fastened over corded muscles and sucked a moan up from deep inside Rhian’s chest, the only sound to interrupt the rough saw of his breath.

  Garrick grabbed a condom and lube from the bedside table, his mouth never leaving Rhian’s shoulder, his chest. His hands shook, but he managed to prepare them both, all the while worshiping whatever parts of Rhian he could reach with his mouth.

  Chest. Biceps. The palm of the hand that came to rest on Garrick’s cheek.

  He looked up to find Rhian staring at him with clear blue eyes.

  He lodged the head of his cock against the entrance to Rhian’s ass and stared back, rubbing his cheek against the hand still holding his face.

  They should not be here. Doing this. The risks were enormous, and only some of them had to do with Steve and his plans to punish Rhian.

  But the heart wants what it wants.

  Without breaking their locked gazes, Garrick eased forward and sank all the way into Rhian’s beautiful body.

  Rhian knew he should keep what he was feeling, what he was thinking, off his face, but he couldn’t be bothered. As the heavy thrust of Garrick’s cock stretched him open, he bit his lip and fought the need to close his eyes against the wave of bliss rushing up from where they were joined.

  This was it. One last time, he promised himself as he took a deep breath and relaxed, allowing Garrick to come another centimeter closer. This was what he’d wanted. Needed so badly he’d driven out here in the middle of the night rather than lie awake, denying it any longer.

  He slid his thumb over Garrick’s cheekbone and wondered what his friend was thinking. He stared at Rhian with those deep brown eyes like he’d never seen him before. Perhaps confused. Or sad.

  Rhian wouldn’t ask. He didn’t really want to know. They both understood this was goodbye. It had to be.

  He curled up to meet Garrick’s mouth, their kiss slow and erotic, their circling tongues mimicking the slow rotation of Garrick’s hips. He wasn’t thrusting so much as grinding himself as deeply into Rhian as he could get. Exactly where Rhian wanted him.

  They stayed like that for a long time, Rhian’s head resting on the bed, Garrick’s broad body a comforting weight above him. He slid his hands into Garrick’s hair and lifted his legs higher and inviting Garrick to
move.

  Rhian needed him to move. He needed to do more than lie there and kiss Garrick while he was buried to the hilt in Rhian’s body, or he might never leave. He had to leave. He had to go to Boston and never look back.

  Garrick lifted his hips and let them fall again slowly, gently. Over and over. Rhian kept expecting him to pick up speed, increase the intensity and depth of his thrusts as he’d done in the past, but he didn’t, damn him. Rhian kissed him harder, squeezing his eyes shut against the burn building behind his lids.

  He would not embarrass himself, or Garrick, that way.

  Garrick shifted, and on the next thrust he hit that sweet spot deep in Rhian’s body. Their kiss ended only for the length of Rhian’s gasp. The next thrust, the next burst of pleasure, was swallowed by Garrick’s mouth, licked up on his tongue.

  Rhian rode the waves, his cock a steel bar against Garrick’s belly, leaving a trail of moisture as it rolled over the hard ridges of muscle. Garrick kept to his steady, maddening pace as Rhian climbed to the brink of some cliff, one he was desperate to hurl himself from and yet wouldn’t as long as he could hold onto this feeling. To Garrick.

  At last he dove off, the muscles in his ass clenching fiercely around Garrick’s cock. Their lips parted on a mutual gasp, Rhian’s back bowing as Garrick shuddered above him. The clockwork snap of Garrick’s hips drew out Rhian’s pleasure, the quiet grunt of his name on Garrick’s lips drawing his eyes to enjoy the shocked ecstasy on Garrick’s face.

  He’d been right to come here, to take this last memory with him. He caught Garrick’s weight and pulled him to his chest.

  He held on while they both caught their breath, biting his lip and suppressing his moan of disappointment when Garrick slid from his body for the last time. Garrick disposed of the condom, then rolled onto his side and pulled Rhian against him in their now familiar set of spoons.

  Garrick would normally help Rhian clean up, a ritual that had once embarrassed the hell out of Rhian but which he’d learned to appreciate. Neither moved to do it now. Garrick’s breathing turned slow and even, the once-strong hold around Rhian’s ribs going lax as Garrick slid into a deep sleep.

  Rhian lay there, unmoving, and stared at the picture of Savannah on the bedside table until he feared dawn was coming. Then he slid out of the bed, into his clothes, and out of the house.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Garrick woke after a few short hours of sleep and told himself he was neither surprised nor disappointed to find Rhian was gone. It was for the best.

  He dragged his ass out of bed and took a stinging hot shower—a failed attempt at reinvigoration. He would have complained about how little sleep he’d gotten, but in truth, if Rhian hadn’t come over, he would have been up all night. All in all, a mind-blowing orgasm and four hours of sleep wasn’t bad.

  Now he just had to convince the league, and possibly the police, that he wasn’t a rapist and he’d be all set.

  Right.

  He went to the arena first. He wanted to tell Rupert his intentions, if for no other reason than he might need bailing out and there was no way in hell he was going to call his mother or sister. And since Savannah was in Boston and Rhian was forbidden to acknowledge his existence, Rupert and Reese seemed like his best bets.

  A commotion echoed down the corridor from the direction of the gym and locker room. Garrick made his way around the curved passage, stuttering to a stop when Rupert, Reese, most of the Moncton Ice Cats, and four of Moncton’s finest came into view. Badges flashed in the fluorescent lighting, two winking from the chests of the uniformed officers, the others from the belts of the plain-clothes detectives.

  “He did nothing of the sort!” Rupert yelled, remarkably brazen in the face of the youngest and shortest detective.

  “Sir, I appreciate you don’t believe the charges levied against your friend, but we still need to speak with him. Do you know where we can find Garrick LeBlanc?” He enunciated the question, obviously having asked it before.

  Garrick’s first instinct was to run. In a choice between fight or flight, flight seemed like a better option when he had to enter the fight with nothing but the truth and no alibi.

  A voice came from the crowd. “There he is!”

  Bodies shifted to look at the traitor, revealing Steve and Deena hidden amongst the players.

  The cops turned to Garrick, and he held his hands out in front of himself in the hopes of keeping everyone calm. He’d planned to go to the cops if it came to this. He just hadn’t planned on an audience. Had someone sent out invitations?

  As if on cue, Jack ran up behind him. “I just heard. Stay cool, man. We’re going to fix this.”

  Garrick tried to smile at his friend, the ex-con who’d done a five-year stint in prison for being a dumb and confused kid. Not a lot of reassurance there.

  He continued toward the crowd and the cops. “Officers, Detectives, I’m glad you’re here. I’ll cooperate however you need me to. I want to clear my name.” He spoke in a strong, level voice. Heads nodded. In particular, his coach, Rick, appeared approving, and for some damn reason, this lent him confidence.

  The detective Rupert had been shouting at turned suspicious eyes on him. “Garrick LeBlanc?”

  “Yes.”

  “We need you to come with us, sir.”

  “Okay. Tell me what you need. I want to help.”

  “And why is that?” the detective asked with what passed as humor, but reeked of cynicism.

  “Because I didn’t do it.” The crowd shifted and he caught a glimpse of Deena’s delighted smirk. “Because I’m determined to prove I’m innocent and Deena Lewis is a manipulative bitch and a liar.”

  The detective’s eyebrows weren’t the only ones that went up.

  Deena’s screech echoed in the hallway. “You bastard!”

  Wow. That worked better than he’d hoped.

  The crowd parted as Deena shoved people out of the way. The detective and his partner looked surprised and annoyed to see her there, but she didn’t seem care. Her entire focus was on Garrick, her face red and eyes wild.

  “You did this to me!” she yelled, pointing at her battered face.

  Garrick winced. God, that must hurt. His stomach churned at the idea that even one of his teammates might believe he’d done that.

  Deena stepped forward, boldly displaying the damage to everyone before turning back to Garrick. “You did this. You forced yourself on me. I said no! I said no at least five times!”

  To Garrick, it sounded like she was reciting her prepared story, but he didn’t trust that anyone else heard it that way.

  There was no stopping Deena now that she’d warmed up to her audience. The drama went full tilt as she gasped and howled accusations. The crowd around her shifted with growing unease, her words echoing around them.

  Garrick stood frozen, trapped in a nightmare and unable to wake up. The awkward stares, or worse, the men avoiding any eye contact, filled him with a potent mixture of sadness and rage. How could they possibly believe her? They knew him.

  The only bright spot was the unexpected support from Tim, Dave, and Chris. They lined up, shoulder to shoulder with Mike and Alexei, forming a wall behind Deena, their expressions ranging from incredulous to disgusted.

  Jack and Rupert moved to Garrick’s sides.

  The support was heartwarming. Too bad it wouldn’t make one bit of difference.

  Deena was going all out now, flailing her arms, and he flinched at the terrible things she claimed he’d done. He had no idea how to end this. He thought she might actually squeak out a tear, her next baleful cry of dismay over his cruelty still ringing in the air, when a deep voice boomed over all their heads.

  “Enough!”

  Everyone, even Deena, went silent.

  Rhian plowed through the crowd. He looked as exhausted as Garrick felt. He also had a very big, very dark hickey on his neck.

  Garrick tried not to cringe. He vaguely remembered latching onto that exact spot last night
, but he hadn’t realized what he’d done. And he would have felt bad about it but he was too busy staring daggers at Rhian. If Rhian had any capacity for reading his expression or his mind, he would understand the message loud and clear.

  Don’t. You. Fucking. Dare.

  Deena’s eyes narrowed on Rhian as he came to stand in the middle of their insane tableau, the hatred in her gaze unnerving.

  The detective in charge looked Rhian over. “And you are?”

  Rhian didn’t hesitate.

  “I’m his alibi.”

  Rhian stood calmly as thirty or so pairs of eyes landed on him. Not on his face, which he kept bland. Not on his lips, which had just uttered potentially the most disastrous words he’d ever uttered. But on his neck and the glaringly obvious love-bite—the first of its kind to ever grace his person—emblazoned there.

  Yep, this was going to be a real cluster fuck.

  His entire life, from age six when his first foster family had put him on skates until now, had been focused on one thing. One goal. The NHL. And that goal was a mere twenty-four hours away from being a dream come true. But here, now, he was putting that and everything else he had on the line. A decision he was remarkably comfortable with, regardless of being scared witless.

  He’d been shocked when Garrick had made him promise not to alibi him. Then pissed. Then, sitting in his apartment staring at that stupid TV, he’d been ashamed to feel relieved. He could pull up stakes. Take off. Leave it all behind. No attachments. No things.

  Garrick would understand. Hell, Garrick was insisting on it. And it was what he should do. What he should want to do.

  Only, as he’d driven to Garrick’s farmhouse, he’d known it was a lie. He’d never leave it all behind. There would always be this attachment, even when he was in another city, on another team, in another person’s arms—though the latter was impossible to imagine at this point. There was this thing. Love. And he finally understood what it meant. Love, in its simplest form, was what his mother had never been able to give him. What no family had ever found a way to offer.