by Elise Faber
“What?” Blue eyes widened innocently. “You guys are perfect for each other. You know I’ve been telling you that for months.”
Mandy sighed. “And I’ve been telling you that I have no interest in a relationship right now. This isn’t the time, not with my plans to expand my role here, to focus more on keeping the team healthy.”
“It’s not that I don’t want us healthy,” Brit said and wrapped her fingers around Mandy’s wrist. “It’s just—”
“That you want me to be happy.” She pulled free, bopped her friend on her good shoulder. “And I thank you for that, but—”
“You’re too scared to take a chance.” A piercing look. “Work is a convenient excuse.”
“It’s not an excuse.” Okay. Or not much of one.
Brit’s expression said that she saw through that lie.
“Look,” Mandy said. “I’ve dated around some since I’ve been in San Francisco. The schedule is too much to build something serious. I’m gone more than I’m here for half the year and even when I’m in town, the days are long.” She shrugged. “And I’m not one for a casual fling.”
“Which is perfect.” Brit clapped her hands. “Blane doesn’t do casual. You shouldn’t worry about him and me, you know. He never looked at me the way he looks at you.”
Her breath caught. “How does he look at me?”
Brit grinned. “Like he wants to get you alone in the PT suite and bend you over one of these tables.”
“Oh, my God,” Mandy said, her eyes shooting to Blane—who thankfully snored on—and then around the room to make sure that no one was in hearing distance. “You did not just say that.”
An unrepentant shrug. “So what if I did. It’s true, and plus Stefan and I—”
“La. La. La.” Mandy covered her ears.
Brit pulled one hand off. “Seriously though, if you ever decide that it’s the right time, give him a chance okay? He’s solid. And attractive, if you like the built, super sexy but sweet athletic type.”
“Brit,” Mandy sighed.
“Okay, fine,” her friend said. “I’ll leave it alone. For now.”
Considering that Brit had been bringing up Mandy dating Blane like clockwork every few weeks for the last six months, she knew that her friend’s for now really meant for now.
“So he’s not hurt too badly, right?” Brit asked as Mandy helped her stretch out her shoulder.
“No. It was a lucky thing that he ended up with just muscle pain.”
Brit nodded. “Yeah, lucky for sure. I don’t like seeing any of the guys get hurt, but it was especially bad to see him. He’s like my brother.”
Mandy paused, helped Brit move to another stretch. “I get that.”
“He’s always just seemed so infallible, you know? Like, he’s my best friend, Stefan aside of course, but I mean, I’ve known Blane practically forever, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him stay down.” She shrugged, dislodging Mandy’s hands. “It just reminds you that everyone’s place in this game is fleeting, you know? It can be lost”—she snapped her fingers—“like that.”
Mandy knew that. Viscerally. Had experienced it in her own family.
“I just . . . it’s—”
“Shut up, Brit.” Blane turned his head toward them.
Brit grimaced. “Shit. Sorry, Blane. I was talking loudly again, huh?” She bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
He slowly rolled to his back and pushed to sitting. Mandy moved to help him, and neither of them clued Brit in to the fact that she had not, in fact, been talking loudly. Rather, Blane had been saving Mandy. Again.
Saving her from rehashing in her mind the fact that her father had been paralyzed on the ice from a hit very similar to Blane’s.
That he hadn’t been okay.
That he’d been plagued with health problems until his death.
That the paralysis had left him angry and hurtful.
Well, he’d always been that way. Being unable to play hockey had just ramped up the volume on each and every one of his horrible characteristics.
But she didn’t really want to get into that with Brit, not when mentioning her father always brought around the same lamentable reactions. First, before his injury, her dad had been a great PR perk for the NHL—he’d been good-looking, charming, the perfect exceptionally talented but down-to-earth family man.
Which just basically meant that he’d hid his abuse and affairs really well.
He’d been popular enough to have big advertisers with primetime commercials. He even had a movie cameo or two.
And on the ice, he’d been well on his way to smashing scoring records.
Then the hit came.
He’d put on a good show afterward, broadcasting a bit, keeping himself in the public eye, until health complications had made even that impossible.
Which was the point when it got really bad at home.
She’d been fifteen, old enough to understand a bit of what he lost, but still young enough to want his approval and love.
It was not meant to be.
No matter how hard she tried or how many A’s she brought home or serves she hit.
Approval from her father was not to be had.
But Blane didn’t know any of that. He’d just made the connection that she, Mandy Shallows was the only daughter of Roger Shallows, former NHL great to most, but drunken, abusive asshole of a father to her.
“How’s the neck?” she asked softly.
“Better.” He squeezed her hand as Stefan came over to talk to Brit, then he leaned close to ask. “You okay?”
She slapped a little more pain-relieving gel on his neck. “You need to stop worrying about me. You’ve already got enough on your plate.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think that’s possible.” A beat. “Have dinner with me tomorrow.”
Mandy straightened. “You know I can’t.”
“It’s easy,” he said. “You just say three letters.”
“A. B. C.” She sighed when his face fell. “You know there are a lot more than three reasons for me to say no.”
“I don’t know,” he said and stood. “But I get that this is probably not the time or place for this discussion.”
Her shoulders relaxed when she realized he wasn’t going to push. But there was also a drawback to him being so intuitive and thoughtful, and it wasn’t one she wanted to admit, not when some of the armor that she held so tightly around her heart was weakening.
Hell, it might as well be cheesecloth when it came to Blane.
“Hey!” Brit called. “I wanted to ask if Blane could come on Saturday. Stefan can’t make it, and Blane is more into HP than Stefan anyway.”
Mandy glared at Brit. So much for leaving it alone. Her friend just shrugged as if to say, “It’s later.” Sighing, Mandy turned back to Blane, expecting him to give her another out.
That wasn’t to be, however.
His lips curved into a smirk. “What’s Saturday?”
“Harry Potter marathon!” Brit said, one hand taking the ice pack Mandy shoved back at her, the other waving an imaginary wand. “Come on, do it! Blane might know more random movie and book trivia than I do, and that’s saying something.”
“Oh.” Her eyes flicked to his. “Really?”
He pointed to his chest. “Nerd central. I love the little lightning-scarred dude. I can’t help it.”
Stefan snorted.
Blane extended his finger—not the pointer one this time—in Stefan’s direction. “You, my crazy American, don’t know what good literature is.”
“Hey,” Brit said. “I’m American.”
“Well, you lived in Canada with me long enough to be an honorary Canadian.”
“Also, your mom is American, dude.” Stefan pulled his phone from his pocket. “And I think that she needs to know that you think Canada is better.”
Since this was a typical argument-slash-chirp-slash-threat between Blane and Stefan, Mandy and Brit ignored them
for the time being.
“You going to be up for it?” Mandy asked. “We could reschedule—”
“Are you kidding?” Brit exclaimed. “I’m dying to see how you decorated my old apartment. The pictures of the floors looked incredible. I bet the space looks so much bigger now.”
Mandy couldn’t stop herself from smiling, even though she felt slightly embarrassed, as though she were bragging, when the only reason she’d been able to afford the apartment at all—student loans were a big ol’ bitch—was because Brit had cut her a spectacular deal.
“It looks good. Brit—”
“You’re not allowed to thank me again,” her friend said. “I needed to get rid of the apartment, and you needed somewhere permanent to stay.”
“I guess. But—”
“Wingardium leviosa.”
Mandy frowned.
Brit shrugged, dislodging the ice pack. “I panicked,” she said. “Couldn’t think of the spell to stop someone from talking.”
Mandy paused, wracking her brain.
There had to be such a spell and further that, it was probably very obvious.
“Damn,” she said after a moment. “I can’t believe it, but I don’t know it either.”
Blane broke away from his argument with Stefan long enough to say, “I think the spell you’re looking for is Silencio.”
Her gaze flicked to Brit’s, who grinned. “Told you he was good.”
“That I know,” she muttered.
“So?” Brit asked after Mandy had strapped the TENS machine to her shoulder. “Is he in?”
“Yes.” Blane had come behind her and his mouth was very close to her ear. “Is he in?”
She shuddered, turning to face him . . . or rather to glare at him because the tone of his question had been decidedly wicked, and he knew it. Of course, he knew it. She pressed her fingers to her cheeks, attempting to will away her blush. “You can co—”
Come.
Mandy had been about to say come.
The fucker saw right through her hesitation, too.
Except how could she finish the sentence now?
Thus far, he’d managed to turn way too many of her sentences from something innocuous into something very dirty.
He would definitely do that if she told him he could come. Or in. Or—
Got it.
“You’re invited,” she said triumphantly.
“Yes!” Brit fist-pumped as Blane merely smiled, his eyes amused.
“Looking forward to it.” A wave to Brit and Stefan. “See you all tomorrow.” He brushed his fingers across hers before walking out of the PT suite.
Mandy couldn’t help but feel like a piece of her heart went with him.
Ten
Blane
* * *
Thanks to Mandy, his neck pain was near to nonexistent the following morning and he practically skipped into his follow-up evaluation with Dr. Carter.
“Much better, Blane,” the doctor said. “So long as you stay symptom-free, I’ll clear you to play on Friday.”
Which meant he would miss another game, but considering the alternative—that arguing with Dr. Carter tended to get players more time off the ice than on it—Blane clamped his jaw closed and accepted the doctor’s orders.
He had just sat on a stationary bike when he spotted Mandy walking into the PT suite.
Fuck, but she was beautiful.
There was something about a woman who was comfortable enough to wear T-shirts and sweatpants, her hair pulled back into a ponytail that spoke of a certain confidence.
Don’t get him wrong. He’d loved women in all shapes, sizes, and colors, dressed up or down or in between.
But women in athletic wear—and yoga pants in particular—were hot.
Or maybe that was just Mandy.
He had the feeling that she could be wearing a plastic garbage bag and she would still be the most beautiful woman in the world to him.
So yeah, he had it bad.
Now what to do about it?
She was into him, that much seemed obvious, but it wasn’t like he could push her. This was where they worked and attraction or not, he couldn’t risk making her uncomfortable.
So what?
Wait around for her to make the first move?
It had taken her close to three years to kiss him.
He shook his head and started peddling, acutely aware that while they’d worked together for three years and while he’d thought her pretty and competent from the get-go, he’d been nursing a broken heart for much of that time. It had only really been the last six months that he’d been obsessing over her.
Despite her grumbling from the evening before, she loved salads, though she never put dressing on them, the weirdo.
She was, obviously, super into Harry Potter.
Her favorite color was orange and she had a pair of bright orange sun-shaped earrings that she wore when she was feeling really happy.
Her eyes were brown, but they were more—milk chocolate with streaks of dark and gold.
So no, he didn’t think he had another six months’ worth of patience in him.
And he was right back at square one. How was he going to convince her that—jobs aside—he was worth taking a chance on?
The door swung open, and Brit and Stefan strolled in. Blane quickly tore his eyes from Mandy and focused his gaze on the screen in front of him that was counting miles and calories.
“We missed you at our run this morning,” Brit said, claiming the bike next to him.
“I don’t think my body can take another beating at this point,” he said.
Brit’s marathon sprints up and down the arena stairs were as legendary as they were brutal . . . and the woman simply flew. His best hope was just not to be left too far behind.
“True,” she said, blowing on her nails and mock-buffing them on her shoulder. “You’re slower than a tortoise.”
He shook his head. “You need to work on your chirps.”
“I know. I’m hopeless.” Her nose wrinkled. “So did Doc clear you for tomorrow?”
Blane made a face. “No. But Friday, as long as things are good.”
Stefan had stopped for towels, and he reached across Blane to hand one to Brit before taking the bike on the other side of him. “Don’t rush it.”
“I’m fine.” Blane peddled a little faster, feeling a bit like the filling of a very talented sandwich. “I’m getting better every day.”
“I agree with Stefan,” Brit said, hanging up the towel and starting to move on her own bike. “The season’s young. We’ll need you more later on.”
“Yes.” Stefan nodded. “Exactly what she said.”
“Right.” Brit flashed a smile at her boyfriend. “And those are the words every woman dreams of hearing.”
He blew her a kiss. “I love you.”
“I know you do.” A nod that made Brit’s blond ponytail fly forward.
Since Blane was feeling like a seesaw trying to keep up with the couple’s banter on either side of him, he kept his eyes forward and satisfied himself by simply rolling his eyes. “You two are disgusting. You know that, right?”
Brit reached over and threatened to press a button on his screen. He batted her hand away and then froze.
The pedal hit him in the back of the leg. “Is that—?”
She bit back a smile and nodded.
A year ago, he would have expected to feel bittersweet, perhaps a little sad. But all Blane felt in this moment was joy. His best friend was happy, and that was all that mattered.
“Congratulations,” he said, jumping off his bike to pull her into a hug.
“Careful,” Brit warned. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“Shut it.” He folded her in his arms, smelling the familiar floral scent of her shampoo. “I’m so happy for you, Peanut.”
“You realize that I have way more embarrassing material on you than a bad nickname, right?”
“Damn right, you do.” He stepped back
. “But seriously”—he shook Stefan’s hand before punching him on the shoulder—“It’s about time that you made an honest woman out of her.”
Brit rolled her eyes.
“I’m kidding,” he said. “I’m happy for you both.” When her expression clouded slightly, he asked, “You okay?”
“I think I should probably ask you that. Is this”—she pointed between the three of them—“all right?”
He snorted. “It’s about three years too late to be asking that question.”
“Blane!”
He tugged on the end of her ponytail. “I’m fine. I promise,” he added when it looked as though she would protest. “I’m happy if you’re happy.”
“Good.” She wrapped her arms around him for a quick squeeze. “Now, get your ass back onto that bike so you can be in shape to backcheck for me on Friday.”
“So bossy,” he joked as he returned to his bike.
“I think you mean, so right,” she said.
Mandy popped her head in at that moment. A few of the guys were behind her and they all wore curious expressions. “I saw hugging. What’s wrong?”
“This.” Brit held up her hand, showing off the giant diamond that had first caught Blane’s eye.
Mandy squealed. There was no other word for it. She turned to Stefan. “You did it!”
He gave a little shrug.
“About time.” She pushed into the room and hugged Brit. “I’m so happy for you guys.”
The rest of the team piled into the weight room, filling the space with congratulations and gentle ribbing.
“Brit will poke her eye out with that,” Mike Stewart, Stefan’s D partner, joked.
Blue, his hand still wrapped but thankfully not broken, asked innocently, “Do you even have any money from that big contract left? That ring could feed a small nation.”
“Finally you’re going to make an honest man out of him, Brit,” Max, another defenseman and a total kid at heart, complete with an obsession with video games and figurines, teased.
Blane slipped to the side, looking on with a smile on his face. Brit and Stefan’s happiness was a palpable force in the room.
“All right, all right,” Brit finally said after a few more minutes. “Let’s get back to work, people.”