Sin Bin (Denver Rebels Book 3)

by Maureen Smith

  “Your Zen master?” Logan growled in disbelief. “I don’t want—”

  “Did I sound like I was asking your permission?” Hunter exploded. “I don’t give a shit what you want! You’re going, and that’s all there is to it!”

  Logan clamped his mouth shut.

  During a station break on the radio, a news alert announced to listeners: “Sources are reporting that Denver Rebels right winger Logan Brassard was a no-show at practice this morning. Team sources are confirming that Brassard will be fined, but no word yet on whether he’ll be scratched from tomorrow night’s opening game against the Golden Knights. The star winger is no stranger to controversy and disciplinary—”

  Hunter punched off the radio and glared at Logan. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it was to be answering questions about your whereabouts the day before a playoff game?” His voice sliced at Logan like cold steel. “Don’t ever put me in that position again.”

  Logan swallowed hard, his chest aching as he stared out the window for a long time. “She exploded like a supernova,” he whispered.

  Hunter frowned at him. “What?”

  “That day at your house when we were meditating together. I saw Jupiter in a vision. She was glowing so brightly, like a beacon in the dark. I started running toward her. Faster…and faster. Just as I reached out my arms to hug her…she burst into stardust.” Logan swallowed tightly and closed his eyes. “It must have been a sign. Our relationship…what we had was too good to last.”

  Hunter said nothing more as he drove to Dunwoody’s. Reid and Viggo parked beside them.

  When the four of them entered the diner, Mrs. Dunwoody took one look at Logan, clucked her tongue and gave him a soothing hug. “It’s gonna be okay, baby. Trouble don’t last always.”

  Logan was too depressed to argue with her.

  They piled into their booth and placed their orders, not talking much. When the food came, the guys made him eat every last morsel on his plate, their eyes fixed on him with grim, watchful intensity. They radiated menace, leaving no doubt in his mind that they would deliver a no-holds-barred beatdown if he even thought about not complying.

  When their plates had been cleared away, Reid leaned forward across the table, his blue eyes lasering into Logan. “So here’s what’s gonna happen at morning skate tomorrow. Before we hit the ice, you’re gonna stand up before the guys and apologize for putting yourself above the team.”

  “I can do that,” Logan mumbled.

  “Damn right you can. And you will.” Reid rapped his knuckles on the table. “First thing tomorrow. Got it?”

  Logan nodded sullenly.

  Reid finished his drink, set the glass down and folded his hands on the table. “Look, man,” he said gruffly, “I’ve been in your shoes before. You guys remember how I fucked up with Nadia and almost lost her. I know what it’s like to make a split-second dumb decision that you immediately regret. I was in bad shape when I thought Nadia would never take me back, so I definitely understand how you’re feeling right now. But you’ve gotta hold it together, man. Self-destructing won’t change anything. Give Meadow time to work through her feelings. If you guys are meant to be together—which I think you are—then she’ll forgive you when she’s ready.”

  Hunter and Viggo nodded in agreement.

  Logan crossed his arms, leaned back in the booth and stared broodingly out the window.

  A few minutes later, Mrs. Dunwoody brought them generous slices of her famous caramel apple pie. “Just wanted to give you boys a sweet sendoff and wish you good luck on tomorrow’s game,” she said with a twinkling smile.

  They thanked her enthusiastically and dug into their warm slices of pie, groaning in appreciation. Even Logan managed a few delicious bites.

  Mrs. Dunwoody beamed and patted his back. “When are you gonna bring your pretty little girlfriend around again? Ambrose and I really enjoyed meeting her.”

  An awkward silence fell over the table.

  Mrs. Dunwoody looked around at everyone’s downcast eyes and then nodded wisely, rubbing Logan’s back with gentle, soothing motions. “Do you know what I saw when I looked into Meadow’s eyes? I saw goodness and warmth, such a beautiful spirit. I also saw an old soul. Life has brought her so much pain and sorrow. Trust doesn’t come easy for her, and she probably thinks happiness is reserved for everyone but her. But God brought you together for a purpose. You’re each other’s miracles. So you need to nurture her soul, Logan. Be a rock she can depend on. Be that safe harbor she needs. Water her like a precious flower, and when she blooms, she’s going to make you happier than you’ve ever imagined. And you’re going to do the same for her.”

  By the time Mrs. Dunwoody finished speaking, Logan wanted to put his head on her lap and bawl like a baby. Even the guys looked visibly moved by her words.

  She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and hugged him close. “Don’t give up on her,” she whispered into his hair. “Don’t give up on yourself. And don’t ever, ever give up hope.”

  Mrs. dunwoody’s affirming words were like a lullaby to his battered soul. When he got home and crawled into bed, he was able to fall asleep for the first time in two days.

  But all too soon, he was dragged out of the dark cocoon of slumber by an annoying sound.

  The doorbell. Someone was ringing his fucking doorbell like the building was on fire.

  Groaning and cursing, he rolled out of bed and scrubbed his hands over his face, then trudged out of his room and down the hall.

  When he yanked the door open and saw the Duchess standing there, he scowled. “What the hell do you want?”

  She smirked. “Hello to you too, grumpy.”

  “I was taking a nap, and now I probably won’t be able to get back to sleep. Thanks a fucking lot.” He looked behind her, saw the Louis Vuitton suitcase and gave her a bleary glare. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What do you think? I talked to Mom yesterday morning and she says you’re not returning her calls. Her bestie Trish told her all about the shitstorm in Canada and now she’s worried sick about you.” Cynara smirked. “Just be glad it wasn’t Meadow’s father on your doorstep. From what I hear, he’s not too happy with you right now.”

  “Coño.” Logan left Cynara standing at the door and stalked off toward the kitchen. “How the hell’d you get up here anyway? You don’t have a keycard.”

  “Didn’t need one. Your concierge was most accommodating.” She wheeled her suitcase inside and closed the door behind her. “Never thought I’d say this, pretty boy, but you look like shit.”

  Logan scowled over his shoulder. “Are you here to gloat? Did you come to tap dance on my fucking grave?”

  She took offense. “Really, Logan? You think I enjoy seeing you miserable and pathetic?”

  “I don’t think. I know you do.” He stalked into the kitchen and yanked open the fridge, pulled out a jug of beetroot juice and took a long swig.

  Cynara entered the kitchen and made a disgusted face. “I see you still drink right out of containers like an uncouth pig.”

  He flipped her the bird and shoved the beet juice back in the fridge, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and glared at her. “So you just hopped on a plane and flew halfway around the world to be a pain in the ass? Don’t you have a dissertation to write?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not going anywhere. Besides, I could use a change of scenery.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “What does that mean? I hope you’re not planning to stick around.”

  “What if I am?” She gestured around her. “It’s not like you don’t have enough room to accommodate me.”

  “That’s not the point,” he growled. “I’m not in the mood for houseguests, especially uninvited houseguests.”

  “Well, I’m here now so deal with it.” She gave a haughty sniff. “If you get me a ticket, maybe I’ll even go to your game tomorrow for moral support. What are big sisters for?”

  “Gee, don
’t do me any favors,” Logan said sarcastically. “And newsflash: The game is in Vegas.”

  Her jaw dropped and she blinked stupidly. “Are you telling me I could have flown home instead of coming here?”

  “Bingo.” He smirked. “Bet you feel like a real dumbass right now.”

  She scowled, flapping a hand in the air. “I knew you guys were playing the Golden Kings—”

  “Knights. Golden Knights.”

  “Whatever! Anyway, I just assumed the first two games were here!”

  “Nope.” He sneered mockingly. “See, that’s what happens when you don’t follow hockey. You end up flying into the wrong city like a fucking idiot.”

  “Bollocks,” she hissed. “I knew I should have told Mom I was coming.”

  “Why didn’t you?” Logan grumbled, dropping heavily onto a stool at the center island.

  “I was waiting to see what condition you were in.” She folded her arms, leaning her shapely hip against the edge of the counter. “Seriously. I wanted to make sure you hadn’t fucked or drank yourself to death. I know how you love to anesthetize your pain with cheap pussy and booze.”

  He flipped her off.

  She laughed. “I’m just saying, Logan. Your coping strategies aren’t the best.”

  “Yeah, well, thanks for your concern, but I’m fine.”

  “Bullshit,” she retorted. “Anyone can see you’re most definitely not fine. You’re so far from fine—”

  He held up a hand. “I get it. I’m a fucking wreck. What’s it to you?”

  She shook her head at him. “Pendejo.”

  He scowled. “Vete al carajo.”

  “You go to hell. Oh, wait, you look like you’ve already set up shop there.”

  Logan shot her a murderous glare, which only made her laugh.

  “Sorry. I couldn’t resist that zinger. It’ll be my last one, I promise.” She gave him another headshake. “Boy, you’ve really landed yourself in the mother of all sin bins, haven’t you? Maybe I should start calling you ‘Sin Bin’ since you can’t stay out of trouble.”

  Logan glared at her. “One more crack and I’m putting your ass out.”

  She threw back her head and laughed.

  He scowled, bouncing his leg under the counter.

  Cynara sobered after a few moments, her dark gray eyes examining him until he frowned irritably and snapped, “What?”

  Her expression softened. “Remember that time Mom went out of town and Dad couldn’t get off from work, so he had to take me with him to the group home? This was before you were adopted. We met for the first time that day. It was also the day Dad took all of us hiking in the mountains. Do you remember?”

  Logan nodded mutely.

  “You don’t know this,” Cynara went on, “but I was watching you that day. You and Meadow. I saw the way you stole looks at each other when the other wasn’t paying attention. I saw how tender you were with her, the way you helped her over the rocks so she wouldn’t hurt herself.”

  “I helped other girls, too,” Logan grumbled.

  “Not that I remember. You certainly didn’t help me.”

  He snorted. “You had a stick up your ass. You would have refused my help.”

  “Probably.” A smile softened her lips. “My point is that you’ve always been super protective of Meadow. Because of what I saw that day, I know you would never deliberately hurt her. You’d sooner cut off your right arm than cause her any pain.” She paused. “But the reality is that you did hurt her, Logan. You hurt her and betrayed her trust.”

  “You think I don’t know that? It’s all I’ve been thinking about since Saturday night.” He raked his fingers through his hair, scraping hard over his scalp. “I’m not responsible for that broad hitting on me, but I knew what she was after as soon as she showed up. I should have gotten the hell out of there the second she touched me. But I didn’t, and I’ll have to live with the consequences for the rest of my fucking life.”

  Cynara studied him sympathetically. “I didn’t come here to make you feel worse. I can see you’re drowning in an ocean of guilt and self-recrimination. You certainly don’t need me to pile on.”

  Logan swallowed a hard lump and stared down at the countertop, his leg bouncing faster.

  “I’m sorry,” Cynara said quietly.

  His eyes snapped up to her face. “Sorry for what?”

  She looked mournful. “I’ve spent so much time hating you and blaming you for my parents’ divorce, and that was incredibly unfair to you. You had a horrific childhood. You were abandoned by parents who should have been there to take care of you and protect you. You were as much a victim as I was—more, actually, because you suffered in ways I could never imagine.” Her voice softened with regret. “My anger and resentment have been terribly misplaced. I was wrong to cast you as the villain in my Shakespearean family tragedy. My father is the only one who bears responsibility for hurting my mother and me. I hope you can forgive me for the way I’ve treated you all these years.”

  Logan stared at her for a long, stunned moment.

  She stared back at him, her eyes shiny with tears.

  When he rose from the stool, she gathered him close and hugged him tightly. It was the first time she’d ever shown him such kindness and warmth. It broke him down a little.

  “I love you, brother,” she whispered.

  His chest tightened with emotion. “Love you, too.”

  When she released him, he was embarrassed to feel tears pressing against the back of his eyelids. He coughed gruffly to clear his throat.

  Cynara sniffled and dabbed delicately at her eyes, trying to blot her tears without smudging her perfect makeup.

  When they finished composing themselves, they shared a sheepish grin, recognizing that they’d just made an important breakthrough in their relationship. Roxanne would be overjoyed.

  “So,” Cynara said casually, “do you want me to talk to Meadow?”

  “No way. Absolutely not.” Logan paused a beat. “What would you say?”

  Cynara grinned. “I’m sure I could think of something. I’m extraordinarily gifted with words.”

  “True,” he agreed. “You’ve always been a master bullshitter.”

  She punched his arm, and he laughed.

  She gestured to his scruffy face. “So what’s up with that?”

  He blinked at her. “What?”

  “The beard.” She wrinkled her nose. “I realize you hockey players have your stupid traditions, but must you go around looking like some deranged lumberjack? If you want a shot at getting out of the sin bin—”

  He scowled. “I’m not cutting my playoff beard. That’s a big fucking no-no.”

  She rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Then could you at least get it trimmed? Not every woman is into beards, especially when they grow long enough to have woodland creatures dwelling in them.”

  Logan grunted, scratching his beard. It had gotten a tad unruly. But she was totally exaggerating about the length.

  She grinned wryly. “Meadow has a big heart. If she decides to take you back, you don’t want her to do it out of pity just because you look like some poor hobo.”

  “You’re not talking to her. I forbid it.” He turned away, running a hand down his beard. “I’ll see what I can do about getting a trim.”

  Cynara let out a knowing laugh.

  He hung his head. God, he was pathetic.

  “Just promise me you won’t talk to her until I say you can,” he grumbled.

  Cynara gave him a look of amused indulgence. “When have I ever taken orders from you?”

  He scowled at her.

  “Seriously though, Logan.” She cupped his cheek, her eyes boring into his. “You know I don’t believe in happily-ever-afters. But if anyone deserves a fairy-tale ending, it’s definitely you and Meadow.”

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  MEADOW

  “I wish you were going to the games with us, Meadow,” Bianca lamented over lunch with the girls late
r that afternoon. “I mean, obviously, I know why you’re not going. But I wish…well, I wish things were different.”

  “So do I,” Meadow mumbled, picking at her avocado salad and trying not to think about Logan’s surprise ambush that morning.

  Over the past two and a half days, she’d cried herself dry and now felt like an empty husk with nothing inside. She was mentally exhausted, emotionally battered. Completely wrung out.

  “It’s okay that you’re not going back to Vegas with the girls.” Jess draped an arm around Meadow’s shoulders. “I’m not going either, so you and I can hang out.”

  “I don’t think so,” Scarlett interjected with a snort. “The last time you and Meadow hung out together, Logan went berserker at some club, broke a dude’s nose and got suspended for one game. Don’t get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoyed the carnage, and I’ve watched the viral video more times than I’ll ever admit. But Logan’s suspension was hella costly to the team, and we really can’t afford to lose him again. Seriously, y’all. We’re so close to winning the Cup I can taste it.” She turned beseechingly to Meadow. “I would never ask you to take Logan back just for the sake of the team. That would be horribly selfish and insensitive, and I’m not that kind of girl. But as a lifelong Rebels fan, I implore you not to do anything to mess with his headspace. Like, don’t tell reporters you hope his dick gets frostbite during the game. Don’t show up anywhere with another guy. And for the love of God, please stay away from clubs!”

  Jess huffed indignantly. “Meadow is a grown woman. You can’t tell her what to—”