The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  Too late, she realized Craig had stopped speaking and was staring up at her as she applied a butterfly bandage to his head with rather more force than necessary.

  “Sorry,” she muttered, gentling her hands and wiping his face clean to see if she’d missed anything. His eye was going to blacken, but that was nothing new.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Craig said kindly. “You okay?”

  “Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” she lied.

  This season couldn’t be over soon enough. Two days. She’d hoped the B’s would make it into the post-season, but given the extraordinary number of injuries they’d suffered in the first half of the season, it wasn’t a surprise they weren’t a part of the play-offs this year. And secretly, she was relieved. She had a busy summer ahead, with her first full season with the Bruins to plan.

  The last thing she should be doing was chasing her boyfriend’s erstwhile lover around the city of Boston. But she would.

  For Garrick.

  And because her pride damn well demanded it.

  Chapter Six

  Rhian sat on the hard couch in his cold apartment and stared at the truly hideous seascape painting on the wall. He’d been here a couple months now and it still struck him as the worst painting he’d ever seen. But then, why should he care?

  This wasn’t home. Such a place didn’t exist.

  He ran a finger over the rough, vaguely plastic, industrial-strength upholstery beneath him. The indestructible carpet was cool and unwelcoming against his bare feet. He hadn’t bothered to turn on the heater, though its persistent rattle normally blocked out some of the sounds from the rooms around his.

  No amount of air circulation would rid his apartment of the smells. Cleaning agents barely disguised the stench of mold most days, but today all he could smell was an endless, delicious waft of curry emanating from the apartment across the hall. It smelled fantastic.

  His stomach agreed, protesting loudly.

  He ignored it. Couldn’t eat. He’d tried to choke down breakfast before going to the arena and playing the last game of the season, probably his last game ever for the Boston Bruins. It hadn’t gone well.

  He frowned at his phone on the coffee table. He should probably turn it on in case Sergio called with news. His agent was talking to the B’s about keeping Rhian on, while reaching out to other teams about picking him up. Rhian didn’t care where he landed. It didn’t matter.

  It had, for a while. For the week after Garrick’s visit, he’d believed there might be a reason to want to stay in one place. In Boston. But he’d let that go. And he wasn’t going to give anyone a chance to change his mind.

  It would be so easy to change his damn mind.

  His laptop sat on the bar separating the tiny kitchenette from the rest of the room, shut off for days. He couldn’t stand the chime of another incoming Skype call any more than he could tolerate seeing Garrick’s number on his phone screen.

  He wasn’t trying to punish Garrick. But he refused to drag Garrick through the shit his life consistently fell into. He was toxic. He couldn’t bear to put that stain on Garrick, too.

  Rhian had no home. No team. No idea where he’d be next month. Next week. He had nothing to offer anyone and wouldn’t sponge off the happiness and generosity of others, no matter how genuinely they seemed to offer. He’d been here before and learned. Survived. He had focused on the game, his career, and attained the kind of financial and personal security he’d craved his entire life. Finally.

  What he hadn’t realized was that to make it work, he needed something he’d always taken for granted.

  His health.

  He blinked hard, trying to push them back, but the tears fell anyway. He didn’t bother to brush them away. He could recall, quite vividly, the last time he’d cried, over a decade ago. His foster “father” at the time hadn’t believed that was appropriate behavior for a teenage boy. Rhian hadn’t made the mistake again.

  This was different than those pitiful tears over some middle school slight. It felt like a truck was parked on his chest and he struggled to breathe through it, his chest heaving to release the sobs he fought like hell to contain.

  He wasn’t going to lose his shit.

  Maybe if he kept telling himself that, he could make it true.

  He cursed Garrick for changing him, though he knew that wasn’t fair. He’d always been weak this way, incapable of shutting off his emotions. He should have known being with someone like Garrick, who made him feel and want so damn much, was a huge mistake.

  Now he wasn’t just alone. He was lonely.

  The tears came faster.

  He wanted to rage, to punch the wall and howl his frustrations, but a strong self-preservation instinct held him in check. A certain Florida forward had already done enough damage, and Mother Nature seemed determined to do the rest.

  He flinched when someone pounded on his door.

  Whoever it was meant business. They didn’t bother to knock, skipping directly to a slamming fist.

  What if it was Garrick?

  His heart lurched and he muffled his racking breaths, holding on to the couch like an anchor in rough seas.

  It couldn’t be Garrick. He was in New Brunswick.

  “Rhian Savage, open this goddamn door before I kick it in!”

  His mouth fell open and for the first time in hours, grief took a backseat to another emotion. Shock.

  “Rhian! I mean it! Let me in, goddamn it!”

  The doorknob jiggled. Then it sounded like Savannah Morrison was, indeed, kicking the door.

  Rhian stood.

  “Lady, you need to leave.” Rhian recognized the hotel manager’s distinct three-pack-a-day voice and hoped that Savannah would give up.

  “I’m not leaving until I see Rhian.” She struck his door again, making it shudder. Had she hurled her entire body against it?

  “I’m calling the cops!” the manager bellowed.

  This didn’t slow Savannah’s assault on his door in the slightest.

  Rhian wavered.

  He imagined Savannah explaining her behavior to the cops. To the team and the league. Crap. She’d worked as hard as Rhian had to get where she was—the only female athletic trainer in the NHL.

  Rhian yanked open his door.

  Savannah stood in front of him, fist raised, her face twisted in a furious scowl. Funny how that didn’t make her any less beautiful.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Rhian asked.

  Savannah’s jaw dropped and too late it occurred to Rhian he must look like hell. Covered in bruises, his eyes scratchy and swollen, cheeks wet.

  Way to make a spectacle of yourself, Savage.

  With an apologetic smile for the manager and his neighbors, he hauled Savannah into his room and slammed the door behind her.

  “Are you out of your damn mind?” he snapped.

  She stood her ground, her nose just inches from his. “You have the nerve to ask me that question?”

  She planted her hands on her hips and he noticed she still wore her game clothes. Her tight ponytail and black yoga pants were a futile attempt to disguise her long legs and innate beauty. Total fail, Savannah, I still see you.

  He dragged his eyes back to her fierce green gaze. “I’m not the one beating down doors. What the hell do you want?” He hated how high his voice had become, betraying his emotions. Now, of all times, he needed to be a goddamn hard-ass.

  She’d obviously come to deliver an epic tongue lashing and Rhian prepared to forcefully eject her from his apartment. Her eyes searched his face and the blaze of fury faded.

  He felt as if she looked right through him. Saw it all.

  “Good god, Rhian, what the fuck have you done to yourself?”

  Rhian’s shoulders sagged. Savannah grabbed his arm before he could storm away or shove her back out into the hallway.

  She’d made it through the door on a full head of steam and a mountain of outrage, intending to beat the truth out of him. Now, instead of the a
sshole she’d put up with for the past few weeks, she was faced with this quiet mess. It dug at her heart.

  Goddamn it. She could never stay mad when men cried. Six goddamn brothers and any one of them could reduce her to a puddle of goo with a single tear.

  A hint of ire resurged. She was going to have to revise her beat-it-out-of-him strategy, damn it. She didn’t want to let go of the towering and entirely righteous anger that had fueled her trip across the city and delivered her to his door. For Christ’s sake, this guy was breaking her boyfriend’s damn heart. Why should she be nice?

  Because I’m a sucker, that’s why. Tear tracks stained his cheeks, his not-already-blackened eye red and puffy. Some evil part of her took comfort that even someone as gorgeous as Rhian Savage looked like shit when he cried.

  The question remained, though, why was he crying? Something told her this wasn’t about a break-up that he’d instigated in the first place.

  “What’s going on, Rhian?”

  His jaw worked side to side and he focused on something over her shoulder. “Please go.”

  “No.”

  “You don’t want to deal with this. With me.”

  He was right. She almost nodded, but stopped herself. There was something about the way he said with me.

  “I’m not leaving. Not until you tell me what’s going on. And, while you’re at it, you can explain why you’ve hurt Garrick.”

  He swallowed hard and screwed his eyes shut. A tear squeezed out of the corner of one eye and she fought the urge to wipe it away. Not her job. It killed her to watch it track down his cheek. She wanted to screech at him to tell her the truth so she could fix it and leave.

  She took some deep breaths.

  “Look at me,” she demanded.

  He did, his dark blue eyes swimming. Her heart lurched, and empathy kicked into overdrive.

  Sucker.

  He wavered on his feet and she caught his arm.

  “Come on, you idiot. Let’s sit down.”

  He grunted at the insult, but let her tow him to his couch.

  She took in the room for the first time and grimaced. Freezing, dark, and butt-ugly. What a lovely combination.

  She dropped her bag on the floor and nudged him onto the couch. “Sit. Stay.”

  One brow popped up at her imperious tone, but he did as she asked. Had it been one of her brothers, they would have panted like a dog and offered her a paw.

  At least Rhian didn’t look like he was going to cry anymore.

  She turned on a lamp, dialed up the heat, and sat on the coffee table in front of him, her knees tucked between his. He was a damn mess. His blond curls stuck up in all directions. Face blotchy. Silent, sullen. Depressed.

  A little of the anger seeped back in.

  How in the name of all that is holy has it become my job to fix this shit?

  Then she pictured Garrick’s face each time he’d admitted he hadn’t heard a word.

  Fucked up as it was, they both needed to know if this thing with Rhian was over and this jerk was going to break Garrick’s heart.

  The growing silence was interrupted by a loud and fairly rude noise from Rhian’s stomach.

  She gave him an exasperated look. “When was the last time you ate?”

  He shrugged. “Not hungry.”

  Of course not. She rolled her eyes.

  She had no desire to stay here any longer than necessary, but it was late and he hadn’t told her jack shit yet, so it wasn’t like she was going anywhere.

  “Well, I am,” she said. “I haven’t eaten since before the game. Do you have any food?”

  He shook his head.

  Comfort food was clearly in order. If he didn’t need it, she did. “Chinese okay?”

  “Uh, sure.”

  She frowned. “You going to shake yourself out of your funk long enough to pick something, or should I guess?”

  “Steamed chicken and vegetables, please.”

  She smirked. “And men complain about women ordering salads.”

  His brows drew down and he looked completely confused.

  She almost laughed. Duh, Savannah, he’s gay. He doesn’t take girls on dates. “It’s the end of the season. Why don’t you splurge a little?”

  The ghost of a smile passed over his lips. “Only if you promise not to tell my trainer. She’s a real hard ass.”

  She smiled a genuine smile. It hardly hurt at all. “I promise your hard-ass trainer won’t give you any shit about this.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll have egg rolls, General Tso’s chicken, pork fried rice and extra fortune cookies, please.”

  She chuckled. “Coming right up.”

  Once he listed all his favorite Chinese food dishes, Rhian felt like eating for the first time all day, despite knowing he’d feel like dog crap if he ate it all.

  He watched Savannah wander around his tiny apartment while she ordered them dinner. Bizarre didn’t begin to describe it. He considered trying to boot her out, but had no illusions that she would go willingly. He didn’t need or want another scene in the hallway.

  So what the hell was he supposed to do with her?

  She wanted explanations he wasn’t interested in giving. Maybe she and Garrick should have taken the hint about that when he’d been ignoring them.

  Savannah tossed her phone on the counter, opened the fridge and bent to check its contents.

  Geez, make yourself right at home.

  She stood and reached for the freezer door.

  Rhian nearly shot out of his seat. There was no way in hell she could miss the butt plug Garrick had left in there. That and a pint of Ben & Jerry’s were the sum total of the freezer’s contents.

  Holy hell, this was awkward. Never in his life had there been something more awkward than this. He had the hysterical urge to laugh.

  Man, this was ridiculous.

  Savannah shut the freezer door and returned to the living room with two bottled waters and two beers. She sat on the coffee table and gave him a considering look.

  The desire to laugh fled. He slumped back into the couch.

  She pointed at him. “You have until the food arrives to explain what the hell is going on, then we’re going to eat. After that, we’ll see. Got it?”

  Still picturing the toy in the freezer, he nodded. Mute.

  Dinner with Savannah. Right.

  “Great.” She nodded, the logistics settled. Then she cocked her head. “Does it feel good? Frozen?”

  Rhian was sure he hadn’t turned this particular shade of red since leaving puberty happily behind. “Jesus.”

  “Is that a good Jesus or a bad Jesus?” she asked in a throaty, suggestive voice.

  “Guh—”

  Chapter Seven

  Savannah doubled over with laughter at Rhian’s inarticulate gurgle. His face burned. What the fuck was he supposed to say?

  “Okay, sorry. Sorry!” She warded off any response from him with flapping hands. “I’m just teasing. I couldn’t resist. I mean, you have to admit, this is all kind of…” Her hands waved around again, as if trying pluck the right word from the air.

  “Fucking bizarre?” he offered.

  Her hands dropped into her lap. “I was going to go with surreal.”

  Rhian huffed out a laugh. “Yeah.”

  She opened the bottles of beer, handed him one, took a sip of hers and waited, gaze direct, not giving him an inch. Damn. He liked it better when she was screaming and shouting.

  He swallowed hard. “I found a lump. A couple weeks ago.”

  He said the words too fast, the confessional equivalent of ripping off the Band-Aid.

  She paused with the bottle halfway to her lips, then gently placed it on the table.

  “Where?”

  “In my...my testicle.” The stutter wasn’t because he was embarrassed. He was petrified. Somehow saying the words out loud to the very efficient nurse on the phone hadn’t been this scary. “I have an appointment in a few days to see a doctor to have it l
ooked at.”

  “Where?”

  “The right.”

  Savannah paused and cocked her head in confusion. Then she chuckled. “No, not where…okay, good to know. Thanks.” She shook her head, smiling wryly. “Where’s the appointment?”

  He turned that awful shade of red again. “Dr. Kantov at Dana Farber.”

  Savannah nodded. “You can’t do better for cancer care.”

  Bright lights burst to life before his eyes and he swayed in his seat.

  “Whoa!” Savannah lunged forward and grabbed his arms.

  “I don’t know if it’s cancer,” he choked out.

  “What?”

  “I haven’t been tested yet. Maybe it’s nothing.”

  Savannah sat back, watching him. That see-right-through-you stare again. Why on earth had he told her?

  “It’s okay to be scared.”

  Rhian nodded. There was no denying he was terrified. It didn’t mean he wanted to admit it. Or discuss it. God, she was just like Garrick. She was going to want to talk about it.

  “I don’t talk about my feelings.”

  She blinked, eyebrows lifting.

  He sighed. “Ever.”

  It brought back painful memories of sitting in the state-funded shrink’s office in Chicago, the stranger behind the desk searching for a reason to pull him out of his foster family and place him in a group home. To move him again. The family hadn’t liked him—an entirely mutual feeling—but they’d coped by sending him to the rink to play hockey every minute he wasn’t in school or asleep.

  He was startled from that memory when Savannah snorted with laughter and dropped her forehead into her palm.

  “God help me, only Garrick.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Nothing. Forget I said it.” She waved a dismissive hand and sat up. “The only thing that matters is that he’s in love with you.”

  Rhian’s heart squeezed painfully in his chest. “Don’t say that!”

  “What?”

  How could she be so nonchalant about it? “It’s not true. It’s not—”

  “Rhian,” she snapped, and he flinched. Her glare held him in place when he wanted to run from the room. “Garrick loves you.”