Skirting the Ice (The Bannister Brothers #3)

by Jennie Marts

  “I know. And I appreciate that. But an Uber’s fine. Really.” She looked down as his stomach rumbled with a low gurgling growl. “And it sounds like food is more of a priority for you now. Help yourself to whatever you can find in the fridge.”

  Gee, thanks.

  She turned at the sound of a car pulling up. “Gotta go.”

  He waved and turned back to the dismal offerings in the kitchen as the door shut behind her.

  Several hours later, he swore as he turned into the arena parking lot. Traffic had been terrible, and he was late. Really late. And he hated being late.

  He’d called Murphy to let her know he was running behind, and she’d said she was fine and would be waiting for him by the practice doors. The players had their own exit they could use in the back of the arena. It helped give them some privacy, especially on game days when they were often the targets of either enthusiastic fans if they won or angry fans if they lost.

  Turning the corner, he noted the parking lot was deserted and dimly lit. One light shone above the doors illuminating the area directly around the exit. He spotted Murphy leaning against the wall, her equipment at her feet, her phone propped in her hand and her head tilted down as she appeared caught up in whatever treasures the tiny lighted screen held.

  He tooted the horn, and she jumped, then waved as recognition lit her face.

  Chuckling, he put the car in park then got out to help her with her gear.

  “That horn is an insult to cars everywhere,” she teased, as she gave him a hug and a quick kiss. “In fact, horn is too strong of a word. It barely registers as a toot.”

  “Hey, leave my car alone. The great gas mileage it offers more than makes up for its meek-sounding honk. And I use that feature way more often than I use the horn.” He laughed as he opened the passenger door and shoved her gear into the back of his car.

  The strap of her bag caught in the door, shifting his focus to freeing the bag. His hands were busy with the strap, but he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.

  It happened so fast.

  He didn’t even have time to process what was occurring.

  A man in a dark hoodie—the man from the video in Murphy’s yard—rushed out of the darkness, his arms spread wide as he tackled Murphy, shoving her into the side of the car.

  Her head hit the window with a sickening thud, and she crumpled to the ground.

  Before Jack could even react, the man threw a roundhouse punch, clipping him in the side of the cheek and knocking his head back.

  Pain soared through his face, and stars swam in the air around his eyes. He struggled to stay upright, his knees buckling as he slumped against the side of the car.

  Shaking his head, he fought the blackness that threatened the edge of his vision, terrified that he’d pass out and not be able to help Murphy.

  The man landed another punch in Jack’s stomach before turning and taking off, running across the small back parking lot and into the parking structure across the street.

  Jack couldn’t think, could barely catch his breath, but he knew he couldn’t let the bastard get away. He pushed off from the car, stumbling as he struggled to gain purchase on the asphalt in his slick dress shoes.

  The blood roared in his ears, and his heart pounded hard against his chest, but his legs knew what to do. They didn’t fail him as he broke into a run, chasing the assailant into the garage.

  He saw him go into the stairwell to the second level, and Jack sprinted up the stairs behind him then lost sight of him as he ducked behind a car. Lungs burning, Jack ran through the dimly lit parking structure, scanning the rows of cars, his senses on high alert for any sound or movement.

  A scrape of gravel sounded to his right.

  Veering his course, he raced toward the sound, but saw no one.

  He spun around, his gaze flicking back and forth as he yelled, “Come out and face me, you fucker!”

  A flash of movement caught his eye, and he doubled back, racing toward the stairwell.

  A door opened behind him, and he twisted back around, his lungs tightening as he wheezed for breath.

  Where was everyone? Anyone?

  Surely someone had to come looking for their car. But what if that’s who he’d heard? Just someone walking out to their car.

  How long could he afford to look for him?

  A terrifying thought struck him.

  What if the creep had given him the slip and gone back to get Murphy?

  His chest constricted with terror and exertion as he sprinted down the stairs and back across the deserted parking lot.

  Struggling to breathe, wheezing out sharp gasps of air, he struggled to get to his car.

  Fumbling in his pocket for his inhaler, he fought to keep going as his legs threatened to give out. A sudden coughing attack hit him, and he stopped, bending forward as he labored to control the cough.

  His fingers tightened on the inhaler, and he pulled it out, his hands shaking as he brought it to his lips. In between coughs, he drew in a puff of medicine, but it didn’t seem to have its usual effect.

  Screw his breathing, he needed to get back to Murphy.

  But his panicked thoughts only increased his symptoms.

  A few more steps, and he would reach the car. Three more strides.

  He reached out, his hand holding onto the hood for support as he rounded the front of the car. The passenger door was still open, blocking his view of her.

  But he knew, if he could just get back to Murphy, he’d be okay.

  He’d be able to breathe.

  If he could just know that she was all right.

  Grabbing the door, he hauled himself around it, and looked to the ground where she had fallen.

  With a gurgled cry, his knees buckled and he fell, the hard asphalt tearing a hole in his khakis and sending a jarring jolt through his leg.

  The edges of his vision went black, and he labored to take in even a single breath.

  The ground by the car was empty.

  Murphy was gone.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jack lay on the ground by the car, his breath coming in hard wheezing gasps.

  He couldn’t believe it. Didn’t want to believe it.

  Where was Murphy?

  Where had the bastard taken her?

  He mentally cursed both the stalking creep and his own inabilities to protect her.

  If only he’d run faster or not had a stupid asthma attack, he might have caught him. If only he were tougher, he would have punched the guy back when he originally attacked them.

  And why the hell had he left Murphy in the first place?

  He was an idiot.

  And now he was an idiot that couldn’t breathe.

  He dug his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling and stiff. Every movement felt like slow motion, as he used every ounce of his energy and concentration just to pull his phone from his pants pocket.

  It was too much. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t get air into his lungs. He couldn’t breathe.

  He turned his head at the sound of a door opening and light spilled onto the concrete in front of him.

  He heard panicked voices and footsteps running toward him and then everything faded to black.

  Jack startled awake, confused and encumbered by the weight on his face. He tried to take in his strange surroundings—the grey concrete walls, the smell of plastic, and the hiss of oxygen that pumped into the mask he wore strapped across his mouth.

  He struggled to sit up, but a strong hand gently pressed him back down.

  “Hold on there, partner. Just take it easy. I’m a trained medical professional, and I’m here to help you.”

  Jack tried to focus on the man’s words, but all he could think about was her. He pulled the mask from his mouth and wheezed, “Murphy. Where’s Murphy?”

  “She’s okay. She’s got a bump on the head and some bruising, but she’ll be all right,” the man explained. “She’s in the next room.”

>   Relief flooded him. She was okay.

  “How?” he gasped, as the man pressed the oxygen mask back across his mouth.

  “Lucky break, I guess. I’m on staff with the Summit, on their medical team, and happened to be working late tonight. I walked out the back door and saw Murphy on the ground. I recognized her from the women’s team and brought her inside. She said you’d been attacked, so I grabbed one of our security guys and went back out to look for you, and we found you on the ground by the car. Your inhaler was clutched in your hand so it wasn’t hard to guess you were having an acute asthma attack. I’ve got you on a nebulizer to open up your airways, and we called 911, so the police and an ambulance should be on their way.”

  Jack tried again to sit up. “I don’t need an ambulance,” he said, his voice muffled by the thick mask. “I just need to see Murphy.”

  “Not until the EMTs check you out. But I promise you she’s okay.”

  Jack peered at his surroundings. They were in the men’s locker room; he recognized it from the times he’d been here with either his brothers or his clients. He was on one of the exam tables in the area where they did physical therapy and the medical staff worked on the players.

  This guy’s story must check out, otherwise he wouldn’t have access to get into this room.

  He heard a commotion in the hallway, then the door burst open and Murphy barged into the room.

  “Where is he?” she yelled, then ran toward him as she spotted him on the table. “Oh my gosh. Jack, are you okay?” Mindful of the oxygen mask, she lightly touched his cheek. “I was so worried about you. I needed to see you for myself.”

  And because she was Murphy Ryan, she’d stormed her way in—in to him. Which is what he should have done. Instead of laying on this damn table like a weakling, he should have torn this mask off and charged through the halls until he found her.

  Except he couldn’t do much charging if he couldn’t breathe.

  Fucking asthma.

  Misery filled him. He didn’t try to find her. And he’d left her alone to chase after the bastard that hurt her. What the hell was wrong with him?

  She gingerly laid her head on his chest as she tried to give him an awkward hug. “I’m so sorry.”

  He pulled the mask out so she could hear him speak. “What the hell are you sorry for? I’m the one who screwed up. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

  Her head snapped up, and she cringed at the pain the sudden movement must have caused. “What are you talking about?”

  Reaching up, he touched her cheek. A dark smudge of bruising was already evident on the side of her face where she’d hit the windshield and a cut across her eyebrow looked like it had been recently cleaned. “I didn’t get him. I didn’t get the guy. I tried. I chased after him.”

  “I know. It’s okay.”

  Anger flooded his chest. “It’s not okay. I left you behind. You were hurt, and I left you alone. Left you to run after the guy, and then I didn’t even catch him.”

  She picked up his hand, holding it tightly in hers. “Jack, I don’t blame you for taking off after the guy. I would have done the exact same thing. If I’d been conscious.”

  “That’s the point. You were knocked out, and I left you there, defenseless. Left you to go run aimlessly around a parking garage. He could have come back for you, and I wouldn’t have been there to help.”

  Not that he would have been much of a help anyway.

  “Stop it. Stop talking like that. You wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for me. You had an asthma attack trying to chase after the guy that hurt me.”

  “Don’t remind me.” He couldn’t look at her. He turned his gaze toward the wall, avoiding contact with her eyes.

  But she wasn’t having it. She tilted his chin to turn his face back toward her. “Jack, you risked your life for me. You need to quit beating yourself up for what you didn’t do or that you didn’t catch him. All I see is a brave guy that ran blindly after some asshole that just knocked out his girlfriend. And that asshole was there because of me, not you. So, if you’re looking for someone to blame, you need to blame me.”

  No. He knew where the blame lay. He knew in his heart that if he would have been a different kind of guy—a guy like his brothers or like Rich—he would never have even had to run after the guy. He would have thrown back a few good punches and wrestled the guy to the ground. He would have taken care of the girl that he loved.

  His self-pity threatened to swallow him, and he half wished it would. Then he wouldn’t have to try to look Murphy in the eye knowing that he failed her. Not even the fact that she’d just called herself his girlfriend was enough to deter his despair.

  “I’m not blaming you. I should have done something more.” His chest tightened with a mixture of anger and grief and he was wracked with another round of coughing.

  Murphy pressed the oxygen mask back toward his mouth, but before she could say anything more, the doors to the locker room burst open again and the room was filled with EMTs, firemen, and arena security.

  The EMTs went to work checking out him and Murphy, curtailing their conversation.

  Within a few minutes, two police officers also arrived to take their statements.

  Jack was surprised they’d gotten there so fast. Probably because it was at the ice arena. They probably hoped they’d get to see some of the Summit players.

  Great. One more example of how he was going to disappoint someone today.

  They spent the next few hours getting checked out and released, both of them refusing to go in the ambulance and promising to see their own physicians to follow up. He assured them he had a nebulizer at home and could give himself another treatment if he needed it.

  He was done talking. He’d repeated his story about what happened at least five times, and he was ready to go home.

  They finally released them, and they trudged to the car.

  Jack held the door for Murphy, gingerly helping her into the car.

  “You don’t have to baby me. I’ve been roughed up worse during a game,” she told him.

  The drive home was quiet.

  Jack just wanted crawl into bed and lick his wounds. He wanted to forget about how Murphy had needed him and he hadn’t come through for her.

  He wanted to forget that his body had crashed and had needed the help of the first responders.

  Because spending time in the company of so many real heroes only served to remind him of how he’d failed to be one.

  Murphy ignored the ache in her shoulder as she climbed out of the shower and reached for a towel. It wasn’t that hard. She was used to her body aching. And she’d been pushed into the boards harder than that asshole—she refused to call him her stalker—had pushed her into the car.

  Except she usually had on a helmet and pads. The only reason she passed out was because she’d hit her head against the windshield.

  She could take the pain to her body, the physical aches and throbbing muscles. What she couldn’t take was the ache that this incident was having on her heart.

  Or more precisely, to Jack’s heart.

  He’d agreed to stay the night, so that was something, but he’d been quiet and pensive all night.

  They’d grabbed burgers on the way home, but neither had eaten much. He’d picked at his food as they tried to watch television, and both agreed to turn in early.

  He kept his shorts on when he crawled into bed, sending a clear signal that he wasn’t interested in much beyond sleeping. Which was okay with her. After a rough day, she was happy to crawl into his arms, and cuddle on the bed with both of their dogs curled at their feet.

  But she’d never felt him relax, never heard his breathing settle into a steady rhythm of sleep. She’d felt him toss and turn throughout the night, and he’d been up and out of bed early, leaving her to sleep.

  She knew he was struggling with what had happened the night before, but she didn’t know how to help him.

  She finished drying her
hair and pulled on her clothes. Luckily, she didn’t have a practice scheduled for today. Instead, they were supposed to work on the house.

  Jack’s parents and his youngest brother, Beau, had agreed to help with the kitchen renovations. She remembered Beau as a scrawny kid, always tagging along after his older brothers and trying to prove that he was good enough to hang with them. He was relentless whenever they played any kind of sports, wildly throwing himself into every game.

  He was the only one who had followed his dad into the construction business. Jack had told her that Beau was actually the best hockey player of the family and would have had a career that rivaled his older brothers if not for a car accident his senior year that destroyed any chance of a career in the NHL.

  Hearing the doorbell and the barking of the dogs, she finished tying her sneakers and headed down the stairs.

  Jack’s parents were just walking in as she entered the room.

  Barb set down the bags of food she carried to exclaim over the dark bruise that had appeared around Jack’s eye.

  His dad tilted his chin to give it a cursory examination before patting Jack on the shoulder. “Looks like you’ll live.”

  Jack brushed his dad’s hand away. “I’m fine.”

  The fact that he wouldn’t meet her eye did not escape Murphy’s notice.

  “Thanks for coming over,” she said as Jack’s parents turned to her. They took turns giving her a hug, both offering their own brand of support.

  “Holy crap. It’s Murph the Smurph.” Beau Bannister walked through the door, breaking the solemn mood as he teased her with the old nickname.

  Beau was no longer the scrawny kid that had trailed after his brothers. She wasn’t sure if she would have even recognized him on the street. He’d grown taller than Jack and was built solid with the muscled arms of a guy used to swinging a hammer. His hair was dark like his mom’s, but he still had the crystal blue eyes the Bannister brothers were known for.

  “Beau,” was all she could get out before he grabbed her around the middle and engulfed her in a huge bear hug.