by G. K. Brady
As he moved about the house, he tried not only to ignore the imposing Jack shrine but surprising mini ones that seemed to be scattered everywhere.
Hours after Daisy’s stomach bug had first started wreaking havoc inside her, Lily had him run a load of laundry while she helped Daisy through another puking jag. How so much could come out of one small girl was beyond him, but eventually the hurling and heaving stopped, and she fell asleep in her bed, exhausted, cradled in her mother’s arms.
It must have been four in the morning—he didn’t dare check—and he sat facing them in a too-small rocking chair. Surveying the room, he found nothing else that needed to be done. “Can I get you anything?” he whispered to Lily, who looked as exhausted as Daisy. She shook her head and closed her eyes, mouthing, “Thank you,” a ghost of a smile playing on her lips.
Leaning his forearms on his thighs, he watched the pair, searching for a sign they needed him to do something, anything. The peaceful picture touched him deep inside, turning his gut as gooey as glucose gel.
When they didn’t stir after several minutes, he stood and pulled the comforter around Lily’s shoulders and sat back down, wedging himself in the uncomfortable chair.
Next thing he knew, Lily was whispering in his ear, her hand on his shoulder, her hair tickling his ear. “Gage? Gage?”
“Mmmph?” As he came to, he tried to shift, but the chair was hugging his hips, and his neck was on fire from being bent over.
“You fell asleep, Gage. I didn’t mean to make you stay.”
He blinked at the vision standing beside him. It occurred to him she hadn’t called him Professor, and he liked the sound of his name on her lips. “You didn’t make me do anything. I wanted to stay. How’s Daisy?”
Lily nodded toward the bed. “I think she’s through the worst of it.”
“Good,” he mumbled.
“You can probably guess I won’t be bringing her to hockey this morning.”
Shit. Mites. That’s right.
He pressed the heels of his hands into eyes that felt like they’d been sandpapered. “Good,” he mumbled again. Wrestling the chair off himself, he stood and steered Lily out of the room. “Now her mom needs to get some sleep.”
Lily went quietly, letting him lead her to her bedroom, where she climbed under the covers and sighed into the pillows. He didn’t allow himself to linger. Just tucked her in, leaned down to kiss her forehead, and crept out the front door, pulling the locked doorknob behind him.
Late that afternoon, after a nap and a shower, he returned to Lily’s—no warning, taking a chance—armed with three different soups he’d picked up at a favorite restaurant. It paid off because, Jesus Christ, the smile she gave him when she opened the door made him feel like he was a damn superhero.
Sudden nerves made him shuffle with awkwardness, and he thrust the bags at her. “I thought Daisy might like some chicken noodle … or turkey and wild rice. The guy said this other one’s good for the stomach flu too—it’s something like miso.”
Lily took the packages from him, beckoning him inside with a head tilt, and he followed her into the kitchen.
“What she’d really like, Mr. Cage, is for you to read to her again. It’s all she can talk about.” She gave him a backward glance as she unloaded the soup containers.
His eyes popped wide. “Seriously?” Lily nodded. “So she didn’t freak out over me being here?” he whisper-shouted. Lily’s head shook. “Or playing tonsil hockey with her mom?”
A laugh burst from her as she pivoted and faced him. “Tonsil hockey? That’s a new one on me. But no, catching her mom and Mr. Cage playing tonsil hockey didn’t seem to faze her. In fact, she asked if you could come over for dinner.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight.”
“So she’s not sick anymore?” How was that possible? Christ, he’d seen the volumes that had erupted from that little girl’s body.
“Nope. Just napping. I’m pretty sure it was the arena food that didn’t sit well. She bounced right back once it was out of her system. Children are resilient like that.” Lily gave him that sassy pose that made his inner caveman want to drag her off to his lair. “So, Mr. Cage, are you staying for dinner? Looks like we’re having soup.” She winked at him.
Oh, this made him all kinds of happy, and he was sure he wore a shit-eating grin that broadcast it. He pulled her into his arms. “I might need some convincing.”
She looped her arms around his neck and wiggled her eyebrows. “I can do that.”
Chapter 26
You Know What They Say About Assuming
Weeks went by in a blissful blur. When he wasn’t training, playing on the road, or playing at home, Gage spent every spare minute with Lily and Daisy. Trips to the zoo and the aquarium, sitting through Disney on Ice, and outings to all kinds of kid-oriented places he never knew existed. The Butterfly Pavilion. Santa’s Village. Who knew? He even spent a few entertaining hours in Daisy’s kindergarten class for Career Day, where she put him on display and declared that she too would be a “hockey player like Mr. Cage” someday.
Life was sweet. In-fucking-credible. He devoured it whole.
Idle time that wasn’t consumed by hanging with “his girls” was expended in one of Gage’s favorite pastimes: lingering in bed with Lily. Morning and afternoon delight when Daisy was in school, with a rare whole night of delight whenever Daisy stayed with family. Gage paid little attention to the timing of these interludes, simply taking advantage of every chance to make love to Lily. The day before a game, the night before, an hour before. Didn’t matter. He was like a dry camel, drinking his fill, and life was damn good.
Lily seemed to be warming to the idea of a “we.” Even so, Gage held himself in check. He teetered on the edge of a skate blade, wanting to tell her how he felt but wary she’d dash off like a scared rabbit if he acted too soon. Let her get more comfortable. Dillon would be a good measure of where their relationship stood and how far he could push.
If anything could poke Gage’s idyllic bubble, it was the thorn he labeled his “slumping play.” Coach had demoted him to the third line, where he couldn’t get enough ice time to bring his play back up to its usual first-line level. A vicious cycle that frustrated the hell out of him, especially as he watched Hunter replace him and tear it up. Guy was unstoppable, and Gage couldn’t keep a lid on his mushrooming dislike. Didn’t help that the few times Gage brought Lily around, Hunter looked her over like she was a juicy piece of prime rib.
While Gage managed to ignore criticism about his play in the press, he couldn’t ignore the guilt whenever he faced his team. Not that anyone said anything. They didn’t have to. His speeches about bringing their A-game replayed in his head constantly, ringing hollow. Playing better started at his doorstep. His club was counting on him, for fuck’s sake. But the harder he worked, the more his A-game plummeted into D-territory.
As he was turning over his crappy play on his way to practice, his phone rang, and a different kind of guilt clobbered him over the head.
“Hey, Mom. What’s going on?” he answered breezily.
“I’m calling to ask you the same thing, Gage. Where have you been? Why haven’t you called?”
Ah, shit. He folded inside. “Been busy, Mom. Playoffs are almost here and—”
“That’s never stopped you before.” Her voice carried a hint of hurt.
True, but he hadn’t had Lily before. Not that his mom knew she existed. Not that he was about to tell her. “I’m sorry, Mom. I just—things got away from me. So how are you? How’s Grandma?”
A typical long-suffering sigh came through the phone. “About the same, except there was an incident—”
“What kind of incident?” Alarm bells clanged in his head.
“Grandma tried to jailbreak in nothing but a pajama top.” His mom actually laughed.
“What? I take it she’s okay?”
“She’s fine. I swear, if I didn’t laugh about this, I’d be crying instead
.”
He puffed out a breath. “Yeah, I hear ya. I should call her.”
“May be better to wait until you see her next week.”
His attention had been wandering to his grandma but came slamming back. “Uh …”
“You’re still coming out, right? I’m getting everything ready.”
Shit! He’d put off telling her for so long that he’d completely forgotten.
“I, ah, I’ve got some bad news, Mom. There won’t be time this year. I have to stick around and put in extra time. My play’s been off lately, and, uh, the coaching staff wants me to work it out.” Another white lie.
Not giving up the ice castles with my girls.
“What? They can’t do that!” Indignation rattled the phone. “You work so hard, and you never get a break. That’s not right.” Guilt pinched him when he heard the disappointment in her voice.
“I do get breaks, but this time of year a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do.” Hearing her sigh again made him wince. “I miss you guys, but I’ll have to wait until the season’s over. It’s only a few more months.”
Maybe less if we keep playing like shit.
Gage soon put the conversation—and his guilt—behind him and lost himself on the ice. A charged practice where Hunter and Grims nearly got into it after Grims fired a puck at Hunter’s chest. Hunter deserved every bit of crap coming his way, but even that move seemed over the top. Though Gage resented the hell out of Hunter’s surging play, the team needed the guy’s scoring streak to continue.
T.J. caught his eye and jerked his head toward the pair, and he and Gage exchanged a look. Yeah, chemistry on the team had taken a nosedive. When a club was playing well, winning games, things worked a lot more smoothly. Instead of a well-oiled machine, they were a boiling pot of chunky stew.
Gage carried the blame on his shoulders.
But if Gage was spiraling downward in his play, his captain was doing the same in the locker room. Keyed-up and half-cocked, Grims’s messages to his teammates had devolved into barking and snapping. Gage had heard rumors Grims and Nicole were having problems. Figuring it was none of his damn business, he kept his mouth shut and shouldered more of the leadership role, diffusing the growing unrest in the locker room, but it wasn’t enough. The wheels were coming off the team’s bus, and it showed in their slide in the standings with a three-game winless streak. Only Hunter and Quinn seemed to be racking up points.
“We need to talk to Grims,” T.J. said after practice. They sat in the locker room, where only a few guys milled around out of earshot.
Gage yanked at his skate laces hard, breaking one. “Yeah.” He blew out a breath. “Let me do it.”
T.J.’s eyebrows flew to his forehead. “Alone?”
“Don’t look so surprised,” Gage chuffed. “You two going at it is a volatile mix this locker room doesn’t need.”
“Who says we’ll go at it?”
“He’s become a hothead, and you’re already a hothead. ’Nuff said.”
T.J. regarded him a moment and nodded. “Yeah, that makes sense. Let me know if you need my help.”
“Don’t worry,” Gage chuckled. “You’ll be the first person I call for backup.”
“Want me to stick around?”
“Nope. I got this.”
Gage showered, dressed, and was loading up his bag, waiting on Grims to finish up in Coach’s office. The locker room was practically deserted.
As he was practicing what to say and how to say it in his head, the main door opened. Gage looked up. One of the trainers, a young guy named Bobby, was scanning the room with wide eyes.
Gage gave him a chin jerk. “’Sup, Bobby?”
“Uh, Hunter here?”
The guy was fidgety, and Gage narrowed his eyes on something he seemed to be holding out of sight in his hand. The object almost looked as if it was tucked up his sleeve. “Hunts is getting cleaned up.”
Bobby wiped his nose with his free hand. “I’ll come back.”
“Want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”
“No, no!” Bobby let out a shrill laugh. “It’s a surprise. I’ll find him later.”
Gage frowned. “Yeah, okay.”
Bobby scampered out the door, and Gage left to take a leak. When he returned, he thought he caught sight of Bobby leaving as the main door was snicking shut. He glanced around, his gaze snagging on Hunter’s backpack gaping open. Huh. He sidestepped over to it and glanced inside.
What the actual fuck?
Shock electrified Gage’s body, and his blood surged to a boil. Lying on top of the backpack’s contents was a capped, full syringe. He reached down to touch it and stopped himself.
“What are you doing?” Hunter stood in the doorway between the locker room and showers, his eyes traveling from the backpack to Gage’s face.
Gage clenched his fists while anger vibrated up his arms. “You son of a bitch! Now I know why you’ve been playing out of your mind, you fucker!”
Hunter was beside him in a heartbeat, staring down into his backpack. He let out a gasp. “That’s not mine,” he said hoarsely.
“Of course it’s yours! Bobby left it here for you.”
“Bobby?” Hunter’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open. “Bobby was in my backpack? When?”
“Just now. As if you didn’t know he was leaving you PEDs. Fucking lowlife.”
Hunter’s mouth flattened into a grim line. “This isn’t what you think, Nelson.”
“No? A trainer leaves you a fucking syringe, and I’m supposed to believe you’re not doping? You make me sick!” It all made sense now. Hunter’s stellar play was one big lie built on juicing.
Gage’s mind traveled back to the confrontation on the airplane. “Grims knows, doesn’t he?” he gritted out.
Hunter’s eyes hardened. “Yeah, he knows.” He paused and pulled in a breath. “Because he’s the one doping. Bobby’s his source.”
The frustration and resentment that had been building detonated inside Gage, and he slammed Hunter against the open locker.
“Motherfucker!” Hunter shouted. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?”
“Oh. Did that hurt?” Sneering, Gage pushed off him, giving his shoulder an extra shove. “Take your HGH, or whatever the fuck that is, asshole. You’ll recover in no time.”
“What the fuck’s going on?” Quinn yelled behind them.
“Ask him,” Gage jabbed his thumb over his shoulder, snatched his bag, and stormed out of the room. He marched to Coach LeBrun’s office, but the door was closed. He dropped his bag, dragged his hands over his face, and began pacing the corridor.
One of the assistant coaches popped his head out of a different office. “Waiting for Coach LeBrun?”
“Yeah, I need to talk to him.”
“He’s in there with the GM. Might be a while.”
This both surprised and confused Gage. “He’s not meeting with Grimson?”
The assistant shook his head. “No, he left a while ago.”
Gage threw his back against the wall and expelled a huge breath. “Well, fuck.”
“Something I can help you with?” The assistant was frowning at him now.
Straightening, Gage opened his mouth to ask the guy for a sit-down when Hunter appeared in the hallway, eyebrows a dark slash above his eyes. “We need to talk, Nelson.”
The assistant looked between them before pointing at Gage. “You two going at it again? Look, you’re the assistant captain. Fix this.” He pivoted and retreated into his office.
Gage turned to face Hunter, his insides on simmer. For an absurd instant, the scene reminded him of two gunmen in a western showdown. “All right,” he growled and trailed Hunter to the parking lot.
“Let’s go someplace less conspicuous.” Hunter gave the arena a sidelong glance. “Follow me.”
They climbed into their respective cars and wound up in some dive bar Gage had never been to. Hunter ordered a beer; Gage passed.
“What’
s with the cloak-and-dagger?” he grumbled.
“Did you say anything about what you saw to anyone?” was Hunter’s reply.
“Didn’t get the chance,” Gage scoffed.
“Look, I know you don’t like me, Nelson. I don’t much like you either. But this isn’t what it looks like.”
“You already said that. So tell me what it is.” Gage laid his hands on the table, only to pick them up when his fingers brushed something sticky.
Hunter ran a hand through his hair, and his expression shifted from a scowl to something unreadable. “I caught Grims,” he said on a long exhale. “On our last road trip. I saw him using. He begged me not to say anything.”
Now Gage wished he had ordered something to drink. Although he might just hurl it back up again for choking on Hunter’s bullshit.
“At first, I didn’t say anything,” Hunter continued. “He told me he’d only used the one time and wouldn’t do it again, and I wanted to believe him—so fucking bad.” He shook his head. “I found out he lied, so I rode him about it. What you saw on the plane? He was pissed because we’d just had it out.”
Gage held back a skeptical smirk. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”
“And what? Shit all over the team?” Hunter hissed. He looked around and dropped his voice, leaning in a little closer. “We’re about to start the playoffs, for fuck’s sake. So I rat Grims out, and the team suffers along with him? I couldn’t do that to my teammates. Besides, plenty of guys dope.”