Hard Lines & Goal Lines
Stephanie Julian
Contents
The odds are stacked against them…
Know more
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Also by Stephanie Julian
The odds are stacked against them…
As the backup goalie for the Philadelphia Colonials, Tim Stanton earned his nickname “Tank” by being an immovable force in net. Hockey has always come first in his life but, at thirty-one, he has an expiration date practically stamped on his ass. It’s time to make hard decisions about his future. Retire on his terms or play until his body gives out? And if he stays in net, will he miss his shot to pursue the woman he loves?
As the daughter of an NHL Legend and the Colonials' GM, Gabby Mitchell has had to work twice as hard to prove herself as the team's public relations director. Dating a player could be career suicide, especially one on her own team. But no one have ever matched up to the quiet, broody hunk of a goalie who’s her brother’s best friend. When Gabby dumps her most recent mistake, a chance encounter with Tim leads to a stolen, steamy kiss…and a full-blown secret affair.
Gabby and Tim have skated around their feelings for years, but now their passion is reaching a boiling point. Will Tim’s uncertain future and a scandal involving Gabby’s brother tank their relationship before they have a chance to score their happily-ever-after?
Want to know more? Join Stephanie in her private Reader Salon on Facebook. And don’t miss these other stories in the Fast Ice series:
Bylines & Blue Lines
Hard Lines & Goal Lines
One
“These kids are gonna be the death of me. I thought I was in good shape, but damn, I need to spend a few more hours at the gym every day if I’m going to keep up.”
RJ Mitchell skated to a stop beside Tim Stanton, slapping his stick across Tim’s pads before turning to lean against the boards next to him. The rest of the Philadelphia Colonials players were headed for the locker room, except for a few guys taking last-minute shots at the other end of the ice.
“Mik skates circles around me,” RJ continued, “and I swear Marchenko laughs at me every time we do sprints. Okay, maybe he doesn’t laugh, because I’m not sure the guy ever cracks a smile, but still.”
Tim slid a glance at RJ before resuming his study of the twenty-one-year-old Russian goalie currently occupying the net at practice.
“You already spend five hours a day at the gym. And fuck you, golden boy. No one on the team can touch your points total. So what if two of the youngest players on the team are faster than you? Suck it up. I’m the one who needs to watch my back.”
Tim nodded toward the player in goal. Kirill Alexeyev had a great glove hand, needed some work with the blocker, and had a tendency to drop his left shoulder. But damn, he was limber as fuck, weighed at least as much if not more than Tim, and stood a full two inches taller than him.
Tim had earned his nickname “Tank” years ago during his first year in training camp, but Kirill might actually be better suited for the title.
“Kid’s getting good.” Tim watched Kirill take another shot, this one going five-hole. “Needs work, but he’s getting better every day.”
RJ’s attention narrowed as he watched Kirill take the next few shots. “Still young. Few more years in the ECHL and he’ll be ready to move up.”
Tim shook his head. “I’m not so sure about that. DeAngelo and Pilon are killing it in Reading. A couple teams have been sniffing around both of them, and Pilon’s contract’s up next season. He’ll be gone. Another club’ll offer him more money and an NHL contract. I figure Alexeyev’ll be called up to Reading then. And with my contract up at the end of the season…”
He didn’t need to finish that thought. RJ knew the situation. Shane Conrad, the Colonials’ starting goalie, was one of the hottest goalies in the league. He’d had a few bad games this season, but Shane knew how to fight his way out of a potential slump. His nickname was Brick because, when he was in net, he was a goddamn brick wall.
But Conrad couldn’t play every night.
“You’re the best damn backup in the league.” RJ tapped his stick against Tim’s skate. “Still at the top of your game. No way they don’t sign you for another season, at least.”
Tim leaned against the boards, considering his response. RJ’s praise was a nice pat on the back, but he and RJ had been friends for years. And Tim was a practical guy. He was thirty-one. And he was a goalie. He practically had an expiration date tattooed on his ass. And that date wasn’t as far away as it had been a year ago.
He wanted to go out on top or, at least, go out while he was winning. He’d had a good year. Good enough to consider extending his contract if the Colonials were receptive.
Maybe.
Or…maybe he was ready to finally have a life beyond the ice. Maybe date a woman for longer than a couple weeks. Maybe, you know, have a girlfriend. Hell, maybe even settle down and get married.
The image of one woman in particular flashed through his mind and, not for the first time in recent days, he let himself consider what if.
What if he finally called it quits with hockey? What if he actually took a job selling insurance or cars? What if he finally asked her out? What if—
What if you just stop thinking about her and actually do something about her?
Yeah. Why didn’t he?
Practice was over for the day and Tim wanted a hot shower, a meal, and ten hours of uninterrupted sleep. He could already be halfway home. But he’d been standing here for at least fifteen minutes, analyzing his replacement, and yeah, he had thoughts. And since RJ was his oldest friend…
Even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to say the words out loud, he forced himself to put them out there, spoken low enough that only RJ could hear.
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Without hesitation, RJ snorted. “Fuck that. You’re having your best season ever.”
No, he wasn’t. He was having his third best season ever. Maybe. His goals against average was down from last year. Not by much, but it was enough to make him think this was the year. After this season, maybe he hung up his skates.
When he didn’t respond, RJ leaned forward, getting in his field of vision. “Wait. Are you serious?”
RJ’s question begged an answer he didn’t have. The season wasn’t even half over, and the Colonials were on track for a playoff run. He should be pumped.
And he was. When he was on the ice, it was still home. When he wasn’t on the ice? He considered his options. Most involved starting over, leaving behind the career he’d spent most of his life working toward. Learning to do…something else. So yeah, he didn’t have any answers.
It didn’t help that he didn’t have a life partner, someone to talk to about this. Someone who wasn’t another hockey player. A girlfriend. A wife.
Shrugging, Tim shook his head. “Honestly, I don’t know. I just know I’m having a lot of thoughts about the subject.”
He watched Kirill drop his shoulder again as he lined up for a shot.
Tim liked the kid. Truly. He enjoyed the hell out of him. He was a goofball with an adolescent’s sense of humor. Everybody loved him and if they didn’t, they were an asshole. Two years ago, when Kirill had been drafted by the Colonials, he and t
he then-eighteen-year-old had spent a lot of time at training camp together. They’d worked together, trained together, spent hours talking and, despite their twelve-year age gap, had become friends. No, it’d gone deeper than that. They’d become as close as brothers, and Tim took the position of big brother seriously.
“Hey, man, we all get those thoughts,” RJ said. “I just don’t want you to throw away a career over a few points. This team is relatively young. They need a few veterans around to keep them in line.”
Another shot, another dropped shoulder. Another puck behind.
Kirill’s head dropped forward, and Tim swore he could hear the kid sigh from across the ice. Tim straightened, but before he skated over to talk to Kirill, he heard RJ laugh.
Turning, Tim frowned. “What?”
RJ continued to shake his head, mouth curved in a grin. “You’re a decent guy, Tank. Too decent for your own good.”
That was a joke. “No. I’m really not.”
Before he skated across the ice to show Kirill what he was doing wrong, he heard RJ mutter under his breath.
“Bullshit.”
“No, I’m not going to change my mind. This relationship isn’t working for me, and I don’t think it is for you, either. I don’t think we should see each other again.”
“Where is this coming from, Gabrielle? You’re acting totally out of character.”
“You’re not hearing me, Rich. This isn’t working. We’re not working. It’ll be better for both of us if we call it off now.”
“I think you’re having a bad day and are going to regret this in the morning. Did something happen? Is RJ’s situation becoming more problematic? Why don’t you let me—”
“This has nothing to do with RJ. It has nothing to do with anything other than us. We’re not working. I’m sorry but—”
“It’s obvious you’re not at all sorry. But you will be if you decide to go through with this.”
Standing outside Gabrielle Mitchell’s office on the top floor of the Broad Street Arena, Tim’s hand tightened on the doorknob, ready to turn it and yank it open.
He’d come to the third floor of the arena to talk to Gabrielle in private before he left for the day. He had a few questions about the upcoming fundraiser for his pet charity and, since she was the club’s marketing and promotions department head, she was the person he needed to talk to.
Yeah, right.
Okay, maybe he’d had an ulterior motive. Or two. Maybe that conversation with RJ had given him thoughts.
Maybe you’ve been having those thoughts for a while.
Yeah. Maybe he had. Didn’t mean he had to do anything about them.
He’d come up to talk to her, just wanted a few minutes of her time. But whoever the hell this douchebag was, he’d gotten here first. And as soon as Tim had heard the guy’s voice, he’d known he wasn’t going anywhere until this asshole left. He’d heard that tone before. Heard it used against a woman he loved. It raised his blood pressure and the hair on the back of his neck every time.
He’d been listening to this circular conversation for the past couple of minutes. Yes, he should’ve left when he’d realized this was a private conversation. No probably about it. He shouldn’t still be standing here. But there’d been something about the guy’s voice that set off Tim’s asshole radar. He’d honed that radar during the first ten years of his life and now it was practically foolproof.
He’d learned to control his initial impulse to grab guys like this by the throat and toss them against a wall. But this one was testing his control. Gabby must’ve told him at least four times that they were through, that she didn’t want to see him again. Every time, the guy had turned her argument around on her. He talked a good game, had a comeback for everything, and was probably used to getting whatever the hell he wanted in life. So far, Gabby hadn’t wavered, and Tim hadn’t been worried about this guy crossing a line.
Until now.
He gripped the doorknob, ready to barge in, when it turned in his palm.
Shit. He took a few steps backward but wasn’t quick enough to make a clean getaway. At least he wasn’t standing right outside the door when it opened.
Maybe Gabby would think it was a coincidence, that he’d been walking by her office at that exact second. Or maybe she wouldn’t even notice him because she stood with her back to him while she stared into her office as she held open the door.
“We’ve said everything there is to say.” Her voice held absolutely no give. Tim wanted to pump his fist in the air on her behalf. “I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy day to stop by, but we’re finished.”
Tim stilled, living up to his nickname. His teammates called him Tank for his style of play. He set up in front of the net and he did his damnedest to make sure nothing got by him. He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t move around a lot, and he wasn’t as fast or nimble as some of the younger goalies in the league. But he was a fucking huge, immoveable object in goal. Pretty much the same off the ice, as well.
He wasn’t going anywhere until this guy was gone.
After a few long seconds, Gabby finally moved slightly away from the door as a man emerged from her office. Expensive suit. Short, dark blond hair. Not even a hint of a whisker on his weak chin. And his mouth pressed into a thin line.
Tank didn’t recognize him, and he was pretty sure the other man didn’t see him because the asshole’s head never turned. But Tim could tell from the way he walked like he had a stick shoved up his ass and the set of his shoulders…the guy was pissed.
Not upset.
He was pissed the fuck off.
The urge to grab the guy by the throat and make sure he got out of the building burned like acid in Tim’s gut. But he was quick to cap it off because as soon as the guy had crossed the threshold from Gabby’s office into the hall, she glanced over her shoulder and caught sight of him.
For several seconds, she just stared.
Anger. Frustration. Hurt. Determination. All written so clearly on her face.
He totally understood that she’d be upset he’d witnessed her breakup. No one wanted an audience for something so personal and potentially painful, especially not Gabby. She was always so careful to keep her private life separate from her professional life. Something she had to work extra hard at now because her father had recently been hired as general manager of the club and both of her brothers played for the team.
For the past five years she’d worked for the Colonials, Gabby had walked that fine line every day. He admired the hell out of her for doing it and doing it well. But it meant she never dated anyone associated with her professional life. No coworkers. No sponsors.
Definitely no hockey players.
Which absolutely fucking sucked for him.
A familiar heat built in his gut, spreading like quicksilver through his blood. His cock wanted to harden, and he had to will away an erection that would’ve given him away. Given away this secret he’d kept for years. Didn’t think anyone had any idea how much he wanted this woman. He’d never admitted his attraction, not to anyone.
But sometimes he wondered if she ever looked at him and considered what it’d be like. How they’d be together in bed. Because he sure as hell thought about it a lot.
“Did you need something, Tim?”
Everyone called him Tank. Coaches, players, media. Hell, his dad called him Tank half the time. No one except his mom, sister, and Gabby called him by his given name. And when she did… He got a hard-on. Every damn time. She didn’t do it often, so that was a good thing. But he couldn’t help wondering what it’d be like to have her say his name without a layer of frost coating it. That frost should’ve shriveled his balls now.
Gabby had a backbone of titanium and you rarely saw her sweat. She hated showing any kind of vulnerability with a burning passion. But now… She looked rattled. And that pissed him off.
“Yeah. You can tell me if I need to go have a talk with that asshole.”
Of course, th
at was the absolute worst thing for him to say. He wanted to take the words back the second they left his mouth. Not that he didn’t mean them. He’d meant every word.
But as Gabby’s eyes narrowed down to slits of cool blue, her beautiful lips pressed into a flat line, he knew she didn’t appreciate him sticking his nose in where she thought it didn’t belong. That’s where they differed in their opinions.
“I don’t believe I need to tell you anything.” That frost had morphed into a layer of ice. “What can I do for you, Mr. Stanton?”
Now, isn’t that a loaded question?
For the past five years, since she’d started her position with the Colonials, he’d lusted after Gabby with a passion that burned steadily in his gut. A passion he’d never done anything about.
Of course, she’d never given him an opening. Probably would’ve shut him down at every turn. Hell, she’d shut him down even when he hadn’t been thinking about asking her out.
Maybe it was time to rattle her cage. Now. Here. Tonight. Spill his guts and tell her exactly what she could do for him. Fuck the fact that she’d just gotten rid of one guy and probably didn’t want to even consider going out with another.
But that guy hadn’t been the right guy. And neither of them was getting any younger. He was thirty-one. He could see the writing on the wall. He hadn’t been lying to RJ earlier. He had more aches and pains than he’d had last season. And who the hell knew what the next year would bring. He could be traded across the country or to a team in Canada. Or he could finally decide to throw in the towel and—
“Tim?” Her voice held a question, but the ice was still there. “Is something wrong?”
Fuck it. Crossing his arms over his chest, he rocked back on his heels slightly and raised his own brows. “I don’t know, Gabby. Why don’t you tell me why that guy acted like he owned you?”
Hard Lines & Goal Lines (Fast Ice Book 2) Page 1