Benched: Gold Hockey Book 4

by Elise Faber

  Sammy slid from the carrier and began twining around her ankles.

  It was early Saturday, and she had the whole day—hell, the whole weekend—ahead of her.

  No plans.

  Lame.

  Maybe she’d reorganize her sock collection? Currently, she had them ordered alphabetically by movie title, but maybe she should group them by genre?

  “Oh, my God,” she groaned.

  Was she seriously considering grouping her socks by genre?

  That was a hundred times worse than having no plans.

  Maybe she should go out, walk around the city. There was a new art exhibit at the de Young that looked really interesting. Except . . . just the thought of going somewhere she hadn’t planned for, somewhere she’d only been to once before, was terrifying. The vet was one thing—Angie had spent years getting comfortable with taking Sammy there, and plus he needed to go. She wouldn’t put an innocent creature at risk just because she was scared.

  But dammit, she hadn’t gone to years of therapy, working through the attack, her childhood, to not do something she wanted.

  Fuck fear. She was going and that was the end of it.

  So there.

  “And who am I trying to convince, huh?” she muttered, stashing the carrier in her hall closet and storming into her bedroom. “Why am I still like this? Why do I hide in fiction when I want to live?” She paused in front of her mirror, staring at her reflection. A pretty face, nice skin, pale brown eyes, and what books would describe as kissable lips.

  She’d enjoyed kissing once. It had been an escape, a way to get lost in feelings that were pleasurable instead of terrifying.

  Until the attack had made her a writhing ball of nerves.

  Until every date she’d forced herself to go on since then had been a disaster.

  Even if she did manage to get to the kissing stage, she felt . . . nothing.

  Until Max.

  One look, and she’d felt. One touch, and her skin had been on fire. One email, and he’d punched a giant hole in her barriers—

  Enough.

  Because truthfully, she’d lowered her barriers the moment Mandy had reached out.

  That was why—

  “I’m going to that fucking art exhibit. And I’m going now.”

  Her expression was grim but determined.

  “Fuck all this fear shit. I want to live.”

  Nine

  Max

  Sparky was able to come home after a few hours at the vet. He’d received something called subcutaneous fluids, which basically meant he had a hump of liquids under the skin between his shoulder blades that could rival Quasimodo. It wobbled and jiggled with every step he took, poor guy.

  But he was medicated, on a prescribed bland diet, and most importantly, Sparky was no longer puking.

  Turned out their adopted pooch had Irritable Bowel Syndrome—he hadn’t even known dogs could get IBS—and the special chew treat Max and Brayden had given him the night before in his crate at bedtime had caused the poltergeist of puking this morning.

  The vet had told them he was lucky that it hadn’t been the other way.

  And Max was more than inclined to believe her.

  Anna had cleaned the house and his car before coming back to pick up Brayden from the vet’s office, so he wasn’t cooped up while Sparky was being treated. They’d gone to the park, eaten ice cream, visited the library . . . basically Anna had pulled out all the stops in order to distract him.

  Eventually, the vet had asked Max to go back into an exam room and explained what was going on. After the vet’s debriefing, Max had passed on the news to his little minions and so Brayden and Anna had made one final stop at the pet store for a new cushy bed and what looked like a hundred new toys, if his living room was any indication.

  “Come here, Sparky,” Brayden said, coaxing the pup over to his new bed. He sank down on the floor and began scratching behind the dog’s ears. “Are you feeling better?”

  Sparky rolled over to his side and soaked up the attention.

  “I’m ready with all his new food and wrote up a strict diet plan,” Anna began.

  Max squeezed her shoulders and guided her to the front door. “No game tonight,” he reminded. “This is your chance to go out and party hard like the young’un you are.”

  Anna snorted. “I’ll be back tomorrow around ten to watch the boys.”

  “Thanks, Anna,” he said. “You’re the best.”

  A smile. “That I know.”

  “Here.” He handed her a couple of bills. “For your overtime today and to reimburse you for all the cleaning.”

  “Max, this is way too much—”

  “Hush,” he told her. “Enjoy your Saturday.”

  She shook her head at him but pocketed the money and waved. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Movie night?” Max asked once the front door had closed.

  “Yes!” Brayden fist-pumped. “We’re on Empire Strikes Back! I need to find out what happens with Luke.”

  “I’ll make popcorn, you get the blankets and pillows. I think we should watch down here with Sparky, don’t you?”

  Brayden barely nodded before sprinting up the stairs.

  By the time he was back with the popcorn and drinks, Brayden had the king of all blanket forts set up, Sparky was passed out on his new bed, and the movie was cued up on the TV.

  He handed Brayden a bowl, pressed play, and felt his heart melt all over again when his son snuggled close.

  God. He loved his kid.

  Post-game after a loss was never fun, but some of the guys from the team had made dinner plans in order to celebrate Blane and Mandy’s pregnancy, so they all compartmentalized that away and focused on the fact that Blane was about to be a dad.

  “He’s totally going to lose it when he has to change a diaper,” Brit teased, as they all settled into chairs around a large table in a private room. They were at their favorite burger place, complete with campy decorations and red velvet drapes.

  The burgers were loads better than the décor.

  “Am not,” Blane retorted.

  “Are too,” she countered, a smile tugging up the corners of her mouth.

  She and Blane had grown up together, the latter having a crush on the former for many years, but when Brit had started seeing Stefan several seasons ago, Blane had spent some time reevaluating his life. Eventually, he’d paired up with Mandy and now they were ridiculously happy.

  “Diapers aren’t going to do him in,” Stefan added. “He’s going to pass out in the delivery room.”

  Mandy scowled. “No talk of delivery rooms. I’ve blocked that part out.”

  Brit lifted her glass, tapping it with Mandy’s. “I would too, dude. I would, too.”

  Max almost said, “It’s not so bad,” but luckily, he caught himself just in time. That particular sentiment would earn him no favors at this table. And rightfully so. It hadn’t been bad . . . for him. But he’d done the easy lifting, ending up with the best kid anyone could ask for.

  “As the only one with a kid who’s currently sitting at this table,” he said, “I can say they are worth all the angst and worry and pain. Your heart . . . it just . . . expands somehow when they come into your life.”

  Mike grinned. “That’s deep.”

  Sara, his wife and a former champion figure skater, smacked him across the chest. “Stop it, you.”

  Stefan rolled his eyes. “Brayden seems to have settled in. This season is better than last?”

  “Yes,” Max said. “Anna has made all the difference. Total lifesaver. How did you find her again?”

  “She was the girl who helped my mom when she was sick the first time in Minnesota”—Stefan’s mom had fought and beat cancer twice—“When I heard she’d moved to California, I knew she would be awesome for you and Brayden.”

  Max topped off his beer. “Thank you. I literally don’t know how I would do it without her.”

  He’d nearly lost his mind before Anna.
He’d already worried about Brayden while he was on the road with Suzanne not in the picture, but unreliable babysitters and a string of nannies who’d wanted to be more than nannies, hadn’t helped matters.

  Thanks to Suzanne, his reputation had preceded him.

  Unfortunately for the nannies, his reputation wasn’t true. He didn’t diddle with the staff, hadn’t cheated on his wife, and he sure as hell wasn’t the father to anyone aside from Brayden.

  As the DNA test had proven.

  But while the media tended to be really good at getting a scandal out there, they weren’t so great at spreading the news of retractions.

  He got it.

  The juicy bits were way more fun to read than boring legalese.

  It had just been easier when those juicy bits weren’t about him.

  “ . . . since we’re all here, Mike and I . . . well, we have something to tell you, too.” Max tuned back into the conversation right as Sara finished her soft statement. “I don’t want to take anything away from your special night,” she continued. “But Mike and I—”

  Brit squealed. Yes, the tough, super fit, first female player in the NHL clapped her hands together as she released a high-pitched squeal. “You’re pregnant!”

  Sara nodded.

  There were hugs and congratulations and fist bumps all around, and by the time they had all settled themselves back into their chairs, their entrees had arrived. Just as they dug in, Brit tapped her fork to her glass.

  They all glanced up at her. She peeked over at Stefan, her lips curving. “Just since we’re on the topic of news . . . Stefan and I—”

  “Oh fuck,” Blue, the only other single man at the table, said. “You’re not pregnant, too? What about our season?”

  Max took it upon himself to smack Blue on the back of the head. “Dude.”

  “What?” he asked, rubbing at the spot.

  Brit rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not pregnant. We have this funny thing nowadays called birth control. Super effective, Blue. You should look into it.”

  “Ew,” Mandy said.

  “Hey. Shut it, you. You’re supposed to be a medical professional,” Brit countered, pointing a finger at her. “Plus, I got that shit locked up tight. No swimmers making themselves at home in my uterus until we’re ready.”

  Max blinked. “Okay then.”

  Blane smirked. “What was your news, Brit?”

  She held up her hand, and Max saw she was wearing a second silicone ring. One was glittery pink and the other pale white, because while Brit might be tough and talented, she could and did embrace her feminine side—damn all the haters saying she was too weak and female to play hockey or on the inverse that she was too masculine to still be considered a woman.

  Brit found her own way and she always had.

  “Stefan and I eloped!” she said.

  And so more congratulations erupted, followed by more hugs and fist bumps, until they made such a ruckus their server came to check on them.

  Their burgers were lukewarm by the time they finally settled down to eat.

  Being surrounded by his friends, his family, meant they tasted as good as ever.

  Despite losing the game, it was a great night.

  Because over the last few seasons, Max had learned that hockey wasn’t everything.

  Family was more important.

  Ten

  Angie

  Okay, she was doing this. She could totally do this.

  Blowing out a few breaths like she was a prizefighter readying herself to enter the ring, Angie pressed the call button on her cell.

  It rang once before the panic took over and she ended the call.

  “Dammit,” she hissed, throwing her phone onto the couch. “Come on. You can do this. You just need to suck it up and—”

  But before she could get herself good and psyched up for round two of attempted calling, her cell started ringing.

  “Oh shit,” she said, making a little panicked circle in her living room. “Oh shit, oh shit. Oh—”

  She needed to answer the phone.

  She grabbed it, swept a finger across the screen, and put it up to her ear.

  “Hello?”

  “Angie?” Kelsey said. “I answered your call, but there wasn’t anyone there. Is everything okay?”

  “Of course,” she replied hastily. “I . . . um . . . was just driving through a tunnel and . . . uh . . . I guess the call dropped.” Angie shrugged noncommittally, even though Kelsey couldn’t see it.

  “Okay.”

  Cue silence.

  “What were you calling about?” Kelsey asked after a moment.

  “Oh. Um. I just wanted to see if you wanted to grab lunch or dinner,” Angie said. “Or maybe just a coffee? I’m open. I . . . uh—”

  “Sure,” Kelsey said. “I don’t have any plans. What time is good for you?”

  “Want to meet me in an hour or so?”

  “Does that give you enough time?”

  “Huh?”

  “From wherever you’re driving to.”

  “Oh.” Angie sank onto her couch, dropped her forehead into her free hand. “For sure. I’m heading home now.”

  “Great. Do you know Dean’s? Their omelets are so good.” Kelsey chuckled. “I went to yoga this morning and was trying to be good, so I’ve only had this disgusting green protein shake thing, and I’m starving. They have killer brews of coffee, too.”

  The next words that came out of Angie’s mouth would have been impossible several years before.

  But she’d come a long way.

  She just needed to remember that.

  “I’ve never been,” Angie said, “but I’m game to try somewhere new.”

  Of course, she’d Yelp the shit out of the restaurant beforehand, pick her top three menu items, research the brew types, and be totally ready to order so her anxiety wouldn’t smother her when she was sitting at the table and already forced to make one-on-one conversation.

  Conversation.

  One-on-one.

  Oh shit, why was she doing this again?

  “Awesome! I’ll see you in an hour.” Kelsey hung up, stopping Angie from blurting out an excuse to forget the whole thing. Perhaps she could get stuck in that fucking made up tunnel and not emerge until next year. Yeah, that could work.

  But then her cell pinged with a text.

  That almost-crippling panic chilled.

  Kelsey had sent her a link to Dean’s Yelp listing.

  Damn, she was good.

  Angie was just giving her name to the hostess when Kelsey walked in. “Hey,” she said, after the girl had told them it would just be a couple of minutes. Her blond hair swung around her shoulders in soft waves, and she wore a warm smile on her lips.

  “Hi,” Angie said and tried not to freeze when Kelsey gave her a quick squeeze.

  God, she was so out of practice with the friend thing.

  “Oh no,” Kelsey said, releasing her. “You’re doing fine.”

  Angie groaned, realized she’d spoken the last statement verbally. “Don’t you see? If I wasn’t out of practice being a friend, I wouldn’t have said that aloud.”

  “Hush. You’re fine—”

  “I can seat you now.”

  Kelsey smiled at the hostess and they followed her to a table. “So, why are you out of practice being a friend?” she asked after they were settled.

  Angie sucked in a breath. “Well, my childhood wasn’t conventional”—being the secret love child of a famous hockey player was hardly normal—“I was kept pretty isolated, homeschooled, and then I did the online college thing.” She shrugged. “But after my mom died, I was alone in the world and I . . .” Her words trailed off.

  “You don’t have to tell me.”

  She shook her head, took a breath, and kept her gaze focused on the green-checked tablecloth. “I was assaulted and after that, all of my anxieties just amplified. It took me a few years to understand that I was in trouble and a few more in therapy to feel semi-n
ormal again. And that’s saying something for how far I’ve come because I’m really fucking weird still.”

  Kelsey frowned. “But you seem fine. I mean, I wouldn’t have noticed anything if you hadn’t said. I mean . . . we’re scientists, engineers, and we come with our own special brands of socially awkward.”

  Angie snorted.

  “But you manage the department so well. You’re great with all of us, the number of different projects, finding a way to pivot between them. And how you handled the situation with Bailey.” She shrugged. “I mean, you were so good, dude.”

  “Thanks,” Angie murmured. “For whatever reason, work has always been fine for me.” A shrug. “I mean, I guess it makes sense. It’s my happy place, for sure.” She unfolded her napkin, dropped it in her lap. “Plus, I’ve had a few years now to get used to managing. It’s gotten easier.”

  Kelsey nodded. “Honestly, I just assumed you were shy.”

  Angie smiled. “I’ll take that.”

  “Did they—” Kelsey broke off, picking up her menu and starting to look through it. “Never mind. That’s too nosy. So, I always get the Denver omelet and the dark brew, but I don’t think you can really go wrong here.”

  Angie used her finger to tip the menu down. “Isn’t being nosy what friends do?”

  Kelsey tilted her head to the side. “I guess.”

  “So, ask,” Angie said. “It’s okay.”

  “I was just wondering if they got the guy.”

  “Oh.” Angie blinked away the memories of that night—the rain, rough fingers tearing open her jeans, pain from her head colliding with pavement. “Yes. Luckily someone came and interrupted my attacker. He detained the guy until the police showed up.”

  “Wow.”

  “I was really lucky, all things considered. The guy is still in prison and will be for a long time. My attack wasn’t his first rodeo.”

  “Holy shit, dude. That’s crazy.”

  Angie picked up her menu, though she’d already memorized it beforehand. “I know. And that’s not even the craziest. My childhood was—”

  Kelsey clapped her hands together. “Oh my God. What? Are you a princess in disguise? A former child star? Maybe a fugitive on the run?”