The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  He pulled Garrick’s jersey over his pads. It was too long, but it fit. Barely. He’d be sure to give Garrick shit about how tight it was in the shoulders.

  As each player left the locker room, they kissed Mary’s cheek, including Chance. What the hell, Rhian thought, before he did it too.

  She patted his cheek and grinned. “Such a nice boy.”

  He grinned back.

  Stepping onto the rink, he went automatically into his usual pre-game routine, starting with stretching out on the ice next to Savannah. It was hard not to notice just how flexible she was. Wow. Her dad dumped a bag of pucks and they took shots at the goals, warming up their goalies and their arms, just like any night at the Boston Garden or any other hockey arena in the world. The familiarity was soothing. Rhian was at his calmest right before a game.

  Tonight, the best part was watching Savannah skate. She floated on the ice, in total command of her skates and her body, setting her edges, shifting forward and back effortlessly, and speeding into the corners with confidence. She was fantastic.

  And why the hell was that so fucking sexy?

  He tore his eyes away from Savannah and looked around. There was a shitload of talent on the ice. This wasn’t going to be some easy pick-up game. His first face-off was against Callum, of all people. Mary skated up to begin the game, puck in hand, and Rhian dropped into his game brain.

  From there, it was pure heaven. There was no checking. No threat of a fight. And no second or third line to back them up. But there was something he hadn’t heard on the ice in a damn long time. Laughter. Better yet, it came with genuine friendship. An arm slung around his shoulders. A stern lecture from the referee for “accidentally” hooking her son’s legs right out from under him. Her eyes dancing with amusement at his attempt to appear contrite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d skated as long or hard, or enjoyed it more.

  He was probably the only NHL player who had just figured out he loved to play hockey.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunday morning came early. Savannah stifled a groan as she rolled out of bed, her body stiff from the long, grueling game the night before. She was in excellent shape—what the hell kind of trainer would she be if she wasn’t?—but it had been a while since she’d played so much, so hard, and her body wasn’t entirely amused.

  She laughed when Rhian stopped packing to stretch his back. “Wishing we had enough Morrisons to form a second line so we had some time on the bench?”

  He smiled at her as he thrust the last of his clothes back into his bag. “I think there are plenty enough Morrisons as it is,” he teased. “But yeah, I’m feeling it today.”

  They lugged their bags downstairs and Rhian ran them out to the car while she helped her brothers get organized.

  She had just kissed Doc goodbye when Callum caught her hand. “I’m going back to Denver just long enough to pack up some shit, then I’m headed to Moncton.”

  She spun to look at him. “Really? That’s great.”

  “Yeah, I’ll help out with the draft, see what I can do with the construction.”

  “Thank you.” Relief coursed through her. “Garrick is running himself ragged.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned, since I’m booting his ass out of Moncton as soon as I get there.”

  “What?” Savannah grabbed her brother’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “With the team? Nothing. But you need Garrick in Boston.” He glanced meaningfully over her shoulder as the door opened. She knew without turning around that Rhian had reentered the house.

  She sighed. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

  Callum nodded toward Rhian, who had paused to chat with Angus by the front door. “You know what you’re getting into with all this?” he asked quietly.

  Panic surged through Savannah. He couldn’t know anything. No one did. Not even Garrick.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not getting into anything.”

  Callum smirked. “Uh-huh. Keep believing it, sis.”

  She bit back another response, knowing she would only dig herself a deeper hole.

  “You be careful,” Callum said, serious now. “I’d hate to have to beat Rhian or Garrick up. I’m growing pretty fond of both of them.”

  You and me both.

  What the hell was she going to do? The idea of passing Garrick back and forth between her and Rhian was untenable. It would drive her crazy and it would never satisfy Rhian’s deep need for a family. A need she was increasingly invested in seeing fulfilled.

  He deserved to be happy. They all did.

  Shaking her head, she shoved those thoughts aside. There was something else she wanted to talk to Callum about before he left.

  “Can I ask your advice about something?”

  Callum cringed, looking from her to Rhian with wild-eyed alarm.

  “I don’t know what you think I’m going to ask you about, dear brother, but it’s not that.”

  He blew out a deep breath and she laughed. She snagged Chance’s arm as he walked past. “I need you, too.”

  When she had their attention, she explained, “There is a young woman—a girl, really—who has been following Rhian around…”

  Rhian slouched on the sofa in the family room, watching the hockey game with Chance, Angus and Bruce. Lachlan came into the room and dropped down on the cushion beside him.

  “How about drinks this week?”

  Lachlan lived in Cambridge, taught at Harvard, and was, apparently, counting on their friendship continuing after this weekend.

  It killed Rhian that he should cut all ties to the Morrison clan as quickly as possible. This was Savannah’s family, soon to be Garrick’s. He had no place here.

  And yet, he heard himself agreeing. Hell, he was looking forward to it. “Sure, what night is good for you?”

  “Tuesday?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll check with Savannah to be sure she doesn’t have anything going on.”

  Lachlan gave him a funny look but Rhian didn’t bother to explain. They all knew about the lump by now, he was sure. The Morrisons were good people and he didn’t doubt they could be discreet, but somehow, that didn’t translate to them being good at keeping secrets.

  “Even if Savannah has plans,” Lachlan said with a little smile, “we can still hang out.”

  “Sure. Yes, of course.”

  Rhian was saved from having to sound any more stupid when Mary joined them and sat down on his other side. He smiled at her, then at Lachlan when he patted Rhian on the shoulder before leaving them alone. Rhian was still trying to sort out what the hell he’d gotten himself into when Mary took his hand in both of hers.

  She was focused on the game, petting the back of his hand, probably without conscious thought, just as she did with any of her children. Rhian had to fight to swallow past the giant lump lodged in his throat.

  He held her hand tightly. Staring at her profile, smiling when she smiled at something her husband was muttering about one of the players. He realized with a jolt that he might just love her. It wasn’t the huge, frightening thing he had with Garrick, but a quieter, gentler emotion. He’d do anything for her. Anything at all she asked. He wanted to put his head down on her lap and tell her everything.

  Not that he would. He couldn’t. But he wanted to, so that was something, wasn’t it?

  God, how he wished for someone like her in his life. A weekend in her home had stripped away years of conviction that this kind of love and acceptance was something he hadn’t missed. That he could happily live without it. It was a terrible, gut-wrenching pain to recognize what he’d lost. What he would never have. It hadn’t hurt like this since he was a kid hoping to be placed in one of the miraculous happy, safe, welcoming foster homes the kids talked about, though none of them had ever found.

  He couldn’t change the past. And he doubted the future would be different. But for the ten minutes he got to sit and hold this woman’s hand, he enjoyed the hell out of it.
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br />   He tried to let go of her when Savannah and Callum came into the room, but Mary didn’t cooperate. He felt foolish, having been caught clinging to their mom like the orphan he was. That she clung to him all the tighter made an achy warmth bloom in his chest, rekindling hope where there hadn’t been any in more years than he could count.

  Callum sat on the coffee table in front of them, his expression serious. Rhian didn’t know what to think when Chance sat beside him on the table, while Savannah curled up at his side and took his other hand in both of hers.

  He was pinned.

  Callum was the first to speak. “Savannah told us about the girl that’s been following you around.”

  Rhian wished she hadn’t, and he couldn’t fathom why Callum wanted to talk about it. His confusion must have shown because Callum leaned in, his voice gentle. “Why don’t you let Chance do some investigating, see if he can figure out who she is and why she might be following you?”

  Rhian shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure she’s just an overzealous fan. I’ll steer clear, that’s all.”

  Callum arched one brow. “Savannah also told us how much luck you’ve had with that in the past.”

  Rhian didn’t need a reminder of Deena, the crazy fan who’d tried to destroy both him and Garrick in Moncton. He looked at Savannah, tucked into his side, holding his hand tightly enough to cut off the circulation. She mouthed the word sorry. He wasn’t pissed. Or particularly surprised. Hadn’t he just thought to himself that this family was lousy at keeping secrets?

  “Okay, maybe I’ll report her to the police?” He didn’t love that idea, but he wasn’t sure why.

  Callum grimaced. “Rhian, Savannah told us the young woman bears a striking resemblance to you.”

  Rhian had been trying awfully hard to forget about that.

  “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  Both of his hands got a firm squeeze for that piece of bullshit.

  Callum sighed. “Look, man, I know it might lead to shit with your biological family, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to ignore it.”

  Rhian appreciated Callum making the distinction of biology and refrained from pointing out he didn’t have any other kind of family, so it hadn’t been necessary. He frowned at Savannah. Telling them about a stalker was one thing. Airing all his dirty laundry was another.

  “Sav didn’t tell us anything except that finding connections to your bio family might not be fun for you,” Callum said, pulling Rhian’s attention back to him. “But this woman knows where you live. You need to address it.”

  Rhian tried to think rationally about it, but he couldn’t. This was like a trip to the haunted house. When he was a kid, he’d loved the anticipation when he approached a turn, knowing someone or something was going to spring out at him.

  Funny how the experience wasn’t nearly as pleasant now.

  “I can just look into it and not tell you what I learn unless there is something you need to do,” Chance offered gently.

  Chance McCormick was owner and president of McCormick Associates, the largest private security firm in Boston. If anyone could manage a discreet inquiry, it would be Chance.

  Rhian sighed. “Okay, do it. But tell me what you find. I might as well know.”

  The Morrison women squeezed his hands again, and he supposed he’d done something right. He smiled reassuringly, he hoped, at Mary, while rubbing a thumb over Savannah’s hand. He wondered if he’d have the guts to do this if they weren’t here beside him.

  Callum and Chance were getting to their feet when Rhian blurted out the truth. “My mother’s name is Diane Lynch.”

  Callum eased back to his seat slowly.

  Chance fell onto the table with a thump. “From Boston?”

  Rhian shrugged. Why did Chance sound surprised? “I’m not sure. I think maybe so. I was really young when…when I last saw her.”

  Kieran walked up behind Chance. “Did someone say Diane Lynch?”

  Chance’s hand clamped over Kieran’s on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, it’s my mother’s name. Why?”

  Kieran frowned down at Chance. “Uh, just a common name in New England, I guess.”

  Chance eased his grip on Kieran’s hand. “Was your father’s name Savage?”

  Rhian rubbed his thumb in double-time over Savannah’s while he considered how to respond. Shit, in for a penny…

  “No, not Savage. I don’t know who my father is. If I ever met him, I don’t remember.”

  Everyone absorbed this information in silence. Rhian contemplated explaining his random last name, but he couldn’t get it out. He’d said enough.

  The concern on everyone’s face, the encouraging looks, the tight grasps on his hands, kept him steady. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to be surrounded by people who cared.

  It was a gift he could never repay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Bell-in-Hand Tavern was established in 1795, making it the oldest pub in America. The beautiful corner location in the heart of the city made it the perfect place for locals and tourists to stop for a drink. Tuesday night was no exception and it was packed to the rafters with people of all ages, college students rubbing elbows with bankers.

  Savannah and Rhian stood in the door, searching the crowd for Lachlan. She smiled and waved when she found him defending his claim to the high-top table he’d somehow managed to score. The moment he spotted them, his expression pleaded for the reinforcements needed if they had any hope of retaining the precious real estate.

  Rhian chuckled close to her ear. “You go save Lachlan. I’ll get us a round. Beer okay?”

  She turned toward him, their noses almost brushing. “Yes, thank you. That’s great.”

  He smiled, his blue eyes dark in the dim light, and she shivered. His hand brushed her back and trailed along the strip of bare skin between her shirt and jeans as he turned away. Her toes curled in her boots.

  Was he driving her crazy on purpose?

  If Lachlan hadn’t been desperate for her help, she might have followed Rhian and asked him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the little touches, the surprising but fleeting intimacies, had increased since their return from Connecticut. Or maybe she was just more aware of them.

  Lachlan shooed away another group and Savannah shook off her reverie. Weaving through the dense crowd, she fastened her smile in place, aware that Lachlan was entirely too perceptive.

  They chatted about work, but Savannah kept her answers vague. She was struggling with a few things at the office, but she didn’t want to get into them with Lachlan. He would be happy to listen, she was sure, but she wanted to relax. A few beers, some dinner, and then shutting herself into her apartment sounded like the perfect way to end this day.

  Provided Rhian would shut himself in with her.

  She wasn’t sure how to convince him to come to her place tonight. He’d stayed with her Sunday, after they returned from Connecticut, but last night he’d insisted on going back to his ugly little apartment. She’d tossed and turned all night.

  She jumped when Rhian slid up to the table beside her. Her brother watched her curiously.

  Way too perceptive.

  Rhian handed out their drinks and she took the excuse to look away from Lachlan’s penetrating stare. And Garrick claimed she could see through people?

  Rhian and Lachlan fell into an easy conversation, and she listened idly. She was unaccountably aware that they had the entire table to themselves, but Rhian chose to stand next to her, their shoulders brushing.

  Lachlan laughed at something Rhian said and the woman standing to his right smiled up at him. Lachlan caught her eye and the laughter died.

  Uh oh.

  His admirer’s smile brightened. “Hi,” she said loudly enough to be heard over the din of the crowd.

  Lachlan was locked up tight, frozen where he stood. He swallowed hard before managing a weak, “Hello.”

  “I’m Sarah.
” She turned to face him fully, her back to the pack of girlfriends watching with wide grins.

  Lachlan’s eyes flickered to their shining faces and his cheeks turned a dull red.

  “Lachlan.”

  “What’s that?” Sarah asked.

  “Uhh…Lachlan. My name is Lachlan. L-A-C-H-L-A-N. It’s Scottish for land of lakes.” Her brother’s blush deepened with every word.

  Sarah’s confident expression faded, replaced by mild confusion. She was a beautiful woman. She was probably used to at least a slightly warmer response from any man she chose to flirt with.

  Rhian cocked his head while he watched the scene unfold. “What the hell is wrong with him?” he asked in a low voice only Savannah could hear.

  She sighed. “Lachlan is really shy.”

  Rhian looked at her. “Really?”

  “When it comes to women, morbidly so.”

  Lachlan stammered through a painfully long and wooden-voiced answer to Sarah’s question about where he was from. By the time he was done telling her about Harvard, Connecticut, their parents, Scotland and god-only-knew what else, Sarah’s eyes were glazing over and Lachlan was an alarming shade of scarlet.

  “When he’s nervous, he either turns into the babbling professor or goes mute,” Savannah muttered.

  As if to prove her point, Lachlan tried to answer another question, but no sound came out. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he coughed to clear his throat.

  Rhian grimaced. “God, it’s awful. I can’t watch.”

  “She’ll be gone soon,” Savannah predicted morosely.

  She was startled when Rhian grabbed her arm and dragged her around the table. He muttered, “We have to save him,” then smiled at Sarah and raised his voice to be heard. “Hi. I’m Rhian. This is Savannah.”

  He threw his arm around Savannah’s shoulders, and she tucked herself into his side. She prayed to god no one from the Bruins saw them, but there was no point interfering if Sarah turned her sights on Rhian instead. At least, that was what Savannah told herself as she curled an arm around his ribs and cuddled closer.