by Lisa Childs
“They’re not the only ones,” she remarked.
“You drank the Kool-Aid, too,” Maureen reminded her with a chuckle. Then she primly recited, “‘We’re lucky to have Mr. Hoover coaching our hockey team this season.’”
Priscilla bit her lip, holding in a laugh over her sister’s prissy imitation of her. From working with teenagers, she knew not to encourage their childish behavior.
“You’d be luckier if you just had Brooks,” Maureen remarked, then gave a wolfish whistle. “I could never understand why you didn’t have a crush on him growing up. I was a lot older and still thought he was adorable. Then. Now.” She whistled again.
Priscilla shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.” And that was why she could never share what had happened with Brooks with her sister or anyone else.
“And you’re boring. You need to live a little. Have some fun.”
Priscilla shifted uncomfortably as she remembered how much fun she’d had with Brooks.
“I’ll have fun at the mall,” she promised, “once I make this call.” She pulled the social worker’s card from her purse and punched in the woman’s office number. Margaret Everly had left her cell number on Priscilla’s machine, but she might pick up that phone.
“So are you calling Brooks?”
“No. And you’re starting to act like the kids you serve lunch to,” she accused.
“Hey—”
Priscilla held up a finger as the answering service picked up. After the beep, she said, “Mrs. Everly, I’m sorry. I know I assured you that I’d check in on the Hoovers. But I don’t really feel that I can be objective about them. From everything I’ve seen, Faith is being taken care of very well. If you need any other information, you should really talk to the Hoovers directly.”
Maureen shook her head, disgusted. “You were spying for the social worker?”
Priscilla sighed. “Yes. But not anymore.”
“Why not?” her sister asked. “Change of heart?”
She hoped like hell that wasn’t the case. No way did she want Brooks Hoover to have an effect on her heart.
“WHERE’S MISS PR—ANDREWS?” Brad asked, glancing up at the empty stands of the Icehouse. “She’s usually here spying on us.”
“She’s not spying, she’s supervising,” Brooks said in her defense. “And I’m sure she had other things to do today.” Like avoiding him. No doubt she considered the other night a mistake. So did he, despite—or maybe because of—how amazing making love with her had been. She was too distracting. The last few nights Faith had spent at Myrtle’s, but still Brooks hadn’t slept.
He wanted to blame his uncertain future for keeping him awake. Or the tough challenges he’d taken on. But it was Priscilla’s face that he’d seen every time he’d closed his eyes.
“Coach!” Wes called out, impatient for the next play.
He forced his focus back on his team. “Okay, guys, you’re looking better out there.” Safer. One good thing to come of the leaked footage was that the helmet straps were always tightly clasped now.
“We’re better because we got Erik back,” Brad remarked. “It’s cool that Miss Pr—Miss Andrews lifted his suspension.”
Maybe between Erik and Ryan defending the net, no shots would get through to the goalie. But Brooks couldn’t play both boys every minute of every period, not unless he wanted to damage their bodies. “We need to discuss the game we played earlier this week,” he said, turning his attention to Wes. “We have to cut down on the penalties.”
“We gotta be slicker, so the refs don’t catch us?” Brad asked.
Brooks grimaced. That was the way he’d played. Fast and aggressive and, when the game had been too close, dirty. “No, we gotta play cleaner.”
“But you’ve spent a lot of time in the penalty box,” Ryan scoffed.
He knew his brothers would call him on any hypocrisy. “But that doesn’t make me a badass. It makes me an idiot for handing the other team a chance to score on a power play.” That was how the Trout Creek High team had lost their first game of the season.
“We need a better goalie,” Brad said, shooting a glare at Adam. “Then they wouldn’t be able to score on the power play.”
“Hey, look who’s here!” Ryan shouted.
Brooks turned toward the stands again, searching for Priscilla—hopeful that she’d changed her mind. It used to annoy him when she’d showed up to watch, because he figured she didn’t trust him. Now he missed her. He scanned the bleachers for her.
But their visitor walked onto the ice.
“Hey, D., you gonna play?” Ryan asked Debbie, his voice cracking with excitement. “Adam sucks in the net. We need you out there!”
“He’s right,” Brooks added. “We really do need you back on the team.”
“I know,” she said matter-of-factly.
“Are you ready to come back?” he asked.
She shrugged shoulders nearly as broad as Ryan’s. “I’m not sure I should,” she said with a glance toward that particular player. “I really want to focus on my grades.”
But she’d been drawn back to the ice.
“I give the guys study time,” Brooks said, an initiative he’d just started after learning Brad was doing Ryan’s homework. “We even have tutoring.”
“Me,” Brad said with a snort. “I’m the tutor.”
Debbie nodded. “That’s cool.” She glanced around the stands. “Where’s the baby? I hear that you sometimes bring her to practice.”
“Just once,” he said, flinching at the memory. It was a wonder Priscilla hadn’t called the social worker on him. “I didn’t know that Buzz doesn’t use the heat much anymore.”
And Brooks had figured out why; the old man could barely afford to run the arena. Brooks would hate to see the Trout Creek Icehouse shut down. But he couldn’t imagine who would buy the money pit. With the economy in the toilet, hardly anyone could afford to pay for ice time anymore.
“I can watch her sometime,” she offered. “If you want me to…”
He didn’t want to hurt the girl’s feelings, but he preferred to have someone older watch Faith—like Myrtle. Or Priscilla.
But the expression on Priscilla’s face every time she looked at the baby was so wistful, so pained, that it reached deep inside Brooks. It affected him as not much else ever had. She affected him.
“I’m cutting back on my shifts at the store,” Debbie added. “So I can be available.”
“I’d rather have you as a goalie,” he persisted. “Would you consider coming back?”
Debbie glanced again at the ice, and she wore that expression of longing Priscilla had when she looked at Faith.
He needed to talk to her again. No, he needed to follow through on his promise to just listen. There was more to that look than her failed marriage. But even if he learned what it was, he doubted he could help her get over it. He already had more responsibility than he could handle.
He was the one who faced failure now. At fatherhood, at being a coach. And it wasn’t just Trout Creek watching him. The reporters had been at the kids’ game, recording his defeat. He’d caught a bit of the coverage. Someone had remarked that the prize-winning fish mounted on the walls of the Trout Creek Inn would have done a better job coaching and playing. The fish showed more life.
“You love the game, Debbie,” he reminded the girl.
“Yes,” she admitted, but she wasn’t staring at the ice. She was ogling his clueless brother. She definitely had it bad.
But Ryan was too much like him: shallow and self-absorbed. Just as Brooks had never noticed how special and beautiful Priscilla was back in school, neither would Ryan realize that Debbie was more than a great goalie.
But Brooks couldn’t think of any advice for the girl. He knew nothing about teenage relationships. Hell, he didn’t know anything about adult relationships. All he knew was hockey. Playing it.
Maybe he should stop wasting his time in Trout Creek and try to get back in the game himself.
He could talk to some neuro specialists and figure out if he had a future on the ice.
And if he didn’t, then he’d have to figure out a future off the ice. Hell, maybe he could identify with these teenagers more than he’d realized. Just like them, he needed to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.
Chapter Thirteen
Priscilla winced at the deafening volume of the music and the blinding flash of the strobe lights. She could only imagine Brooks’s headache. The decorating committee had gone a little overboard. But then there was so little to do in Trout Creek that every sport and every dance had more importance than in other cities, like the one where Priscilla had previously worked.
Maureen, standing next to her in her new yellow pantsuit, gestured at the girls’ dresses. The silks and chiffons, some floor length, would have been more appropriate for a prom. In the city, the girls had worn cocktail length or shorter outfits for homecoming.
Shouting to be heard over the music, her sister asked, “Aren’t you glad I talked you into that new dress?”
“I know I am,” Brooks said, coming up to join them. His dark eyes gleamed with appreciation and his usual mischief as his gaze traveled up from her black sandals, over her legs to the low bodice of the green dress.
Priscilla felt the sudden urge to tug up the neckline. She shouldn’t have listened to Maureen, who insisted it was demure enough for the assistant principal. Because there was nothing demure about the heat streaking through her.
Of course, that might have more to do with Brooks. He’d done as she’d asked and worn a dark suit with a crisp white shirt that set off the remnants of his summer tan. The tie seemed to be a problem, though. It looped around his neck undone.
“Do you need help with that?” Maureen offered.
Disappointment flashed through Priscilla that her sister had beaten her to the task, but then she felt Maureen’s hand on the small of her back. “Help the man out,” she ordered, shoving her close to Brooks, before slipping off through the crowd.
Priscilla forced a smile. “Subtle, huh?”
“Just like my dad when he wants his way,” Brooks agreed with a grin. “But I could use a hand.”
Heart pounding hard, she reached for the silver silk. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she concentrated on tying the tie. As she tightened the knot, his throat rippled with a deep swallow. “Too tight?” she asked.
“Just right.” But when his pupils dilated, she knew he was talking about something else entirely.
“You look so beautiful,” he murmured. “Green is my favorite color.”
She smiled with amusement. He was trying to charm her again. “That’s because it’s your team color.”
He shook his head and stepped closer, sliding his fingers across her cheek. “It’s because of your eyes.”
She released a shaky breath she’d meant as a laugh. But she couldn’t laugh when her pulse was racing with excitement. She brushed his hand away from her face and glanced around to see if anyone was watching them. Well, besides Maureen.
They seemed to be attracting too much attention.
“You need to behave,” she admonished him.
He grinned. “You know I’m a bad boy.”
She shook her head. “No, that’s just what you want everyone to think.” So that they wouldn’t expect much from him.
“Don’t believe my press,” he warned her. “It’s only good right now thanks to my baby brother’s spin. And your interview. You blew your chance to set the record straight about who actually made the mistake of hiring me.”
“Correction,” she admonished. “It was my mistake not to give you a chance.”
“Yeah, right. We lost our game the other night.”
“That was just the first scrimmage,” she reminded him. “And you showed promise.” Not just the team but him.
“So you saw the game?”
“I was there,” she admitted.
“I didn’t see you.”
She’d made certain he hadn’t. No way did she want him to think that she expected more from him personally.
“It’s my job to be there,” she reminded him.
“You haven’t stopped by to watch a practice in days,” he said. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve been busy with homecoming and Halloween next week.” And trying to avoid him so she wouldn’t think about their night together and want more.
“You can’t avoid me tonight,” he warned her.
Someone called out her name, and she smiled at Brooks. “Wanna bet?” she teased before heading off into the crowd of teenagers.
Most of the night passed in a blur—consoling heartbroken girls, guarding the punch bowl and separating overamorous couples. And every time Priscilla passed her sister, she glared at her for talking her into buying heels that had her feet aching.
Every time she passed Brooks, her heart ached with longing. As she passed the punch bowl again, he caught her hand and entwined their fingers. “Come dance with me.”
Twelve years ago, she might have been thrilled if he’d asked her to dance at their homecoming. But now she didn’t want her students watching and wondering what was going on between her and Brooks. Hell, she wouldn’t have wanted that in high school, either. She had been a smart girl—a good girl. She shook her head and planted her heels, refusing to be tugged onto the floor with the gyrating couples. “No, we’re supposed to be chaperoning.”
“Chaperones can’t dance?” he asked. He pointed toward the floor. “I think they could probably use a chaperone out there more than here on the sidelines.”
When Priscilla glanced at the dancers again, he pulled her out on the gym floor. As if he’d given a cue to the DJ, a slow song started to play, and Brooks wrapped his arms around her. She could have just stood there, stiff and tense in his embrace, but that might draw more attention.
Not that everyone wasn’t already watching them. She glimpsed her sister, grinning. When he spun her around, Priscilla noticed two students in particular. Brooks’s brothers were staring at them, but they weren’t smiling.
“See, it was a good idea to come out here,” Brooks said, his mouth close to her ear.
Her heart thumped hard against her ribs. “This was not a good idea,” she argued, surreptitiously wedging some space between them before she melted into the hard muscles of his chest.
“Why not?” he asked. “We’re both out here doing our job.”
She didn’t dare glance at the kids on the floor for fear they would realize how turned on she was. “We are?”
“Sure, it’s a great spot to watch them. You can make sure everyone keeps their hands where you can see ’em.” His palm skimmed down her back to the curve of her hip. The heat of his touch penetrated the thin material of her dress, making her want nothing between them.
She caught his wrist and tugged on it to lead him off to the side of the floor. Dancing with him had been a very bad idea. “I’m more worried about your hands.”
“Hey, I’ve gotta prove I deserve that bad-boy reputation,” he teased, that mischievous glint as bright as the strobe lights.
“I knew I shouldn’t have asked you to come,” she said. “That I’d wind up chaperoning you.”
“Then why did you ask?”
She shot a glare in her sister’s direction. “Maureen talked me into—” Her sister was waving her arms wildly, gesturing for them to come quickly. “Come on, she needs us.”
Priscilla rushed off, half hoping that Brooks would not follow as she pushed through the crowd.
“What’s going on?” she asked Maureen. Or had her sister just picked up that Priscilla needed an excuse for some distance from Brooks?
“What’s up?” he asked from behind her.
“There’s a fight,” Maureen replied.
“Where?” Priscilla asked.
“Boys’ bathroom.”
Priscilla started in that direction, but Brooks tugged her back, his hand entwined with hers again
. “I’ve got this,” he said. “It’s the boys’ bathroom. And I don’t think Mr. Drover can handle a fight.”
He couldn’t handle anything from home, which was exactly where the principal had decided to spend the evening. “I’m the assistant principal,” she reminded Brooks. “I can go in the boys’ bathroom.”
“One of you better go before they kill each other,” Maureen urged. But as Priscilla started forward again, her sister grabbed her arm. “Let Brooks handle it.”
“But it’s my job.” And the only thing she’d ever been really good at.
“You take too much on yourself.” Her sister was in mother mode again. “He can handle a little fight on his own. He’s good with those kids. You stay here and I’ll grab you some cold punch. I know if I’d been dancing with Brooks Hoover I’d need some cooling off.”
The minute her sister walked away, Priscilla fanned herself with her hand. She hoped no one had noticed how much Brooks had affected her. But she wasn’t only worried about her chances of taking over Mr. Drover’s job one day. She was worried that Brooks knew how much she wanted him.
She glanced around. Fewer couples crowded the dance floor now. More students gathered in the hall outside the bathroom where the fight raged. With a sigh, she headed toward the action. She didn’t doubt that Brooks would be able to break up the boys, but it was her job to dole out the punishment: suspension for fighting.
Before she could walk through the doors of the gym, someone caught her arm. “Miss Andrews, uh, can we talk a minute?”
Surprised, she turned toward Ryan Hoover. In a dark suit, the boy was nearly as handsome as his older brother. “So you’re not one of the boys in the bathroom?” she teased.
He didn’t realize she was joking because his face tensed and paled. “’Course you’d think I was causing trouble. If something goes wrong, you always blame a Hoover.”
“Most of the time I’d be right,” she reminded him. But neither he nor Brad had committed any serious offenses, nothing like the kids at the previous school where she’d worked. Skipping classes, cheating on tests and TPing her house were probably the extent of their crimes.