She opened her eyes and bit back a gasp, then tried to brush it off with a small laugh. Her dad was leaning against the railing, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest as he stared down at her. One brow raised in silent question but he didn't say anything. He just stood there, silently waiting. Watching.
How had she forgotten how quiet he could be? All those years of military training, all those years in the Marines doing God-only-knew-what before transferring to a post just outside of DC. Jake Evans may have been retired for a few years now but it didn't matter, he could still be deadly silent when he wanted to be, even with his limp.
Lori looked over at him then quickly looked away, tried to school her expression into a carefully blank mask. Her dad was too observant, too adept at tuning into her thoughts and moods. She had hated it during her later teen years, when he had moved back home from his station in California and she could no longer get away with...well, with anything. Not that she really could with Aunt Kayli and Uncle Ian but it was worse with her dad.
"You trying to catch pneumonia, sitting out here all by yourself?"
"No. I just needed a break from all the noise."
"A break? You've been out here for thirty minutes."
Lori frowned, not quite believing him, even though he had no reason to lie—or exaggerate. Had it been that long? If her dad said so, then it had been.
He pushed away from the railing then sat next to her, sending the swing swaying with the motion. Lori grabbed the arm, her gloved fingers squeezing the smooth wood worn down by years of use. Not because the swing was suddenly moving from side-to-side, but because she needed something to anchor her against whatever her dad was getting ready to say.
"Do you want to talk about whatever's going on?"
"Not really, no."
He grunted, the sound low and rough, then used his foot to push the swing back and forth. Squeak, squeak, squeak.
Lori sighed and slammed her foot against the porch, stopping the swaying motion, stopping the squeaking noise that suddenly changed from hypnotic to nerve-wracking. "I think the swing needs to be oiled."
"I'll get right on that."
Lori laughed at the lazy drawl in her father's voice, a drawl that clearly said oiling the porch swing was far down on his long list of to-dos. Then, to her horror, the laugh turned into choked sobs. She tried to swallow them back, tried to hide her embarrassment by taking an angry swipe at her eyes, but it didn't help.
And then her dad's strong arms were around her, holding her, comforting her as he made quiet noises of reassurance. Several minutes went by before her sobs quieted, finally ending in a choked laugh when she pushed away and wiped her face.
"You know, that's the same way you talk to the cows."
"Is it? Well, whatever works, I guess."
She laughed again, the sound still strained and tight. "Gee, thanks."
"You sure you don't want to talk about it?"
Lori shook her head. Nodded. Shook it again and shrugged. "I'm not even sure where to start."
He clasped his hands together and folded them behind his head, then stretched his legs out with a soft grunt. Settling in to get comfortable, giving her time to get her thoughts in order.
"You could always start with whatever's going on between Ian and you."
"It's nothing."
"Is it? Because I could have sworn there was some heavy tension there. And so could your aunt. And Alyce. Would you rather she come out and talk to you?"
Lori laughed and shook her head. She loved her step-mom dearly, but Alyce tended to take a new-age, kumbaya approach to everything. "Um, no. I don't think Alyce would be able to help with this."
"You'd be surprised."
"Yeah, I know." And she did. Alyce had helped her dad come back from his dark place after he'd been injured, had helped him heal.
Had helped him learn to laugh and love again. For that alone, she'd always be grateful to her step-mom.
"What's going on, kiddo? Why the sudden tension between you and Ian?"
"It's..." She hesitated, finally sighed and shook her head. "I don't even know where to start."
"I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess it has something to do with the Banners' new goalie. What's his name?"
"Corbin. Corbin Gauthier."
"Isn't he the one you used to have that crush on all those years ago?"
"Oh God, Dad." She hid her face behind her hands, mortified at being made to feel like a teenager again. "Yeah, I guess."
"You guess, hm?"
Lori dropped her hands and rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine. Yes. Maybe a little."
"And maybe it was a little more than a crush?"
"Dad, that was a long time ago. It's not...we haven't seen each other in almost eight years. I'm not the same person. He's not the same person. He's..." Her voice drifted off, her gaze dropping to the toe of her boot where it rested against the lower railing. No, neither one of them was the same. And it hadn't been a crush—it had been so much more. She had loved him. She would have dropped everything and moved to Vegas with him when he was traded, if only he had asked her.
But he hadn't, and eight years had gone by. They had both changed. But her feelings hadn't. If anything, she thought they were stronger now. And how was that even possible? He'd only been back here for a few weeks, she had only seen him a few times. God, not even that, not really. How could she even think she still loved him?
Her father kept talking, unware of the torment tearing her apart inside. "He's the one that's been in the news, right? Ian said something about assault."
She didn't miss the way his body stiffened ever-so-slightly, the natural predator that always lurked inside him—always part of him—coming to the surface. It wasn't just the way he tensed—she heard it in the coolness of his voice, too, in the slight edge to the words. In the underlying tone that reminded her of the warrior he had always been.
"Dad, it's not...it's more complicated than that. And there's so much more to the story that isn't coming out." She hesitated, then told him all the details, every single last one, including how it was her fault and how Corbin was adamant that he was guilty.
He was quiet for a long time afterward, his face carefully blank, his gaze focused at distant point somewhere in the darkness. She knew her father, knew he was weighing every word, running scenarios in his head, looking at every possible angle.
He finally sighed, dropped his arms to his side, then turned to face her. She watched, not daring to breathe, not daring to hope. He was her father, she respected his opinions—but it was more than just that. She knew he was able to see things others couldn't, knew he could look beneath the surface and find the details others missed. And she knew, with a certainty that scared her even as it gave her hope, that his next words had the power to crush her—
Or encourage her.
"You do know he's right, don't you? That what he did was assault."
"But it wasn't. I mean, yes, it was. I get that. God, do I get that. But there's so much more to it than what's being told. And he won't say anything, he's just letting himself be smeared all over the place and I don't understand."
"Have you stopped to think that maybe he can't say anything? Especially if lawyers are involved?"
"I—okay, yeah, I get that. But Dad, I was there. He didn't hit Shane because of her, like she said. She's lying. And I don't understand why he won't let me say anything. And if she's lying about that, what else is she lying about? Something's not right. I know it. And it's all because of me. Because he thinks he's protecting me."
"Which says a lot about his character." She didn't miss the hint of admiration in her father's voice, but it didn't give her the hope she needed.
"Yeah, except his character is being dragged through the mud because he won't open up about anything."
"Because he's protecting you."
"I don't need protecting." Lori pushed to her feet and started walking across the porch. A few steps in one direction, turn, a f
ew steps in the other. Back and forth, her anger broadcast by each heavy clomp of her boot heels against the wooden planks. "And who, exactly, is he protecting me from? The media? Please. Like I care about that. The media wouldn't care either, not when they realized there was nothing to care about. Which means it's because of Uncle Ian. Because Corbin is worried about...about—"
Lori broke off with a strangled cry, one filled with anger and frustration. She ran her hands through her hair then tilted her head back, searching for a calmness she hadn't felt in over a week. "God, I want to hit something. This is stupid. So stupid. If Uncle Ian wasn't—"
"If I wasn't what?"
Lori dropped her hands with a surprised gasp and turned toward the door. Her uncle stood just outside, his hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans, his face hidden in shadows. When had he come outside? She hadn't heard the door open, hadn't heard the screen door slam shut.
How long had he been standing there, listening to her rant?
It didn't matter. Maybe it was for the best, maybe it was time they brought everything out into the open.
She stepped toward him, not bothering to hide her anger or impatience. "If you weren't so unreasonable. So overprotective. So...so bullheaded, none of this would be happening right now."
"What wouldn't be happening?" His voice was low, carefully controlled, letting her know that he knew exactly what she was talking about. She uttered another growl of frustration and stepped even closer, until she could make out the features of his chiseled face, the lines that bracketed his tired eyes.
"You know what. You've never liked Corbin. Never. Not since that very first time he said hello to me."
"Because he's too old for you. And because he knew better, knew the rules about—"
"Oh God, stop. The rules? So he couldn't even talk to me because I'm your niece? That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard. And you've held it against him all these years. You've kept that grudge for so long that it's clouding your own judgement and—"
"I'm not getting into this with you." He stepped back, his hand reaching for the screen door handle. "You're too young to understand—"
"Too young? Uncle Ian, I'm twenty-eight. Don't you get that? I have a house of my own. A job. A life. I'm an adult, not some little kid—"
"Then maybe you need to stop acting like one."
Her father stood and took a slow step toward them, his gaze filled with warning. "Ian—"
Lori sliced a hand through the air, silencing her father. This was her battle and it was time she finally took control of it. She stepped toward her uncle and rested a hand against his arm, surprised at the tension thrumming through him, surprised at the way his muscles bunched under her touch.
"Uncle Ian, I love you and respect you but in this, you're wrong. Do you want to know why Corbin slugged Masters that night?"
"I don't—"
"Because of me. Because Shane ran his mouth like he always does and Corbin got pissed off about it. He was defending me." She squeezed his arm, kept talking before he could interrupt. "It had nothing to do with Dawn. The only reason she was there was because she asked me to take her. Because she was hoping to meet some of the players."
"That doesn't—"
"And that kiss? That stupid, stupid kiss? He let it happen because he didn't want anyone to focus on me. Because he knows how you feel about him and he didn't want you to find out that I was there. Because he respects you too much. Because he respects me too much."
She stepped back, her throat raw from unshed tears. Only they weren't unshed because she could feel the cold tracks along her cheeks. She reached up and swiped them away, took a deep breath and let it out. "So yeah, there's the scoop on your bad-boy goalie. The one who's taking full responsibility even though I think there's something else going on. The one you hate so much. The one you were so quick to throw in front of a firing squad."
"Lori—"
"No, don't. Just...don't." She took another step back, jammed her hand into her coat pocket and grabbed her keys. She glanced at her dad, tried to read the expression on his face and failed. "I'm going home. I didn't mean to ruin everyone's evening. Tell Alyce and Aunt Kayli and the kids I said goodnight."
"Lori, you don't need to leave."
"Yeah, I do." She offered him a small smile then risked one last glance at Uncle Ian. His face was back in the shadows, carefully hidden. Unreadable.
Lori shook her head then headed down the steps, the heels of her boots hitting each tread with a hollow thud. Then she was hurrying across the drive, gravel crunching under her feet until she was safely inside her car and driving away.
Chapter Eleven
Corbin stretched out in the recliner, surrounded by darkness as he tried to decide if he wanted to move. His right foot was tingling, the limb asleep from being in the same position for so long.
How long? Hours? At least.
But there was no reason to move. No place for him to go, not even to the kitchen to replace the warm beer still clutched in his hand.
Shane and Hunter had called earlier, inviting him out with a few of the other guys. Not to a club—there seemed to be an unwritten moratorium on any nightlife for now, and Corbin wondered if either of the men had told the others a little bit more of what had happened that night.
Maybe. Probably, since the attitudes of his other teammates seemed to have subtly changed over the last few days. It didn't matter, he still didn't feel like going out, not even to the safety of The Maypole, where he knew they wouldn't be bothered. Where there wouldn't be much of a crowd on a Sunday night.
He'd still feel the stares, though. See the speculative glances aimed his way when nobody thought he was watching. Feel their silent judgment and condemnation. Hear the whispers, never pitched quite low enough.
Did you hear what he did?
I can't believe he's actually going out in public.
I used to think he was a nice guy.
Didn't you hear the stories about him? He has a reputation, you know.
I can't believe no charges have been filed.
They need to make an example of him and throw his ass in jail.
When do you think that woman will finally file charges?
Corbin squeezed his eyes shut, pushing away the phantom voices, pushing away the dread that followed him everywhere. Would she file charges? He didn't know, couldn't be sure. The lawyers were still talking—arguing. Still trying to reach an agreement. Offer and counter-offer, back and forth, over and over. His attorney had told him not to worry. It had only been a week. These things took time. In the meantime, don't worry about it. Let them handle it, that's what he was paying them for.
Corbin swore beneath his breath then lifted the warm bottle to his mouth and took a long swallow. The beer was bitter, flat. He didn't care about the taste, didn't care enough to get up and get a fresh one.
He didn't care, period, not even enough to follow-through and ask his agent's opinion on Corbin's most recent idea. Could he be traded again, so soon after coming back to Baltimore? No, probably not. But maybe the Banners would release him from his contract. It would cost him, more than he cared to admit, but it might work. They would be glad to get rid of him, glad to be free of the public relations nightmare that had exploded around him. He didn't even care that he wouldn't be picked up by another team. He could go to Russia, play over there for the next few years until he was ready to retire.
Dread filled him at the prospect. He didn't want to play in Russia. He wanted to play here, in Baltimore, with the team that had given him his first shot with the pros.
And he was very much afraid that wasn't going to happen. He'd been back for a little more than a month and already he'd become a liability. That didn't exactly make for a promising future.
A knock sounded at the door, hard and insistent, pulling him from his morose thoughts. He ignored it, not in the mood for company. Not in the mood to do anything but sit here, in the quiet darkness of his empty apartment.
B
ut whoever was out in the hallway kept knocking, the annoying noise echoing around him. A dull throb started at the base of his skull, growing stronger, keeping time with each thud against his door.
Was it Shane or Hunter? Probably. The two men had somehow appointed themselves his keeper. And how odd was that? His keepers. He'd never needed a keeper before. He didn't need one now, but the novelty was the only thing capable of bringing a smile to his face—even if it was only brief and empty.
Would they eventually go away if he ignored them? A week ago, he would have said yes. But too much had happened this past week, too many twists and turns that had somehow forged a bond among the three of them—whether Corbin wanted it or not.
He pushed himself from the recliner, wincing as the rush of blood sent a thousand sharp needles stabbing at his foot. He hissed, pushed the pain from his mind, then hobbled over to the door. He'd assure them he was fine, tell them he didn't want company, then get rid of them—
Lori pushed her way past him before his mind even had a chance to register it was her. She paused by the recliner, muttered something under her breath, then leaned over and turned on the light. Corbin blinked against the sudden brightness, realized he was still standing in the open doorway. He closed the door but kept his hand braced against the knob, wondering if he was simply dreaming.
Lori dropped two large grocery bags in the middle of the small dining table, then placed her tote bag and a backpack on the single chair. She glanced at him over her shoulder, simply watching him for the space of a few heartbeats.
He opened his mouth, ready to tell her she shouldn't be here, ready to ask her to leave, but she spoke before he could get any words out.
"Do you have a corkscrew? Because the bar where I had to buy this didn't have one."
"A corkscrew?"
"Yes, a corkscrew." She reached into one of the bags and pulled out two bottles of wine. "I know a trick to get the cork out if I need to, but considering how much I had to pay for this, I'd rather use a corkscrew."
Game Misconduct_A Baltimore Banners Hockey Romance Page 8