Shot on Goal

by Jami Davenport

  His parents made a striking couple. His father was a handsome man who hadn’t let himself go, despite his penchant for drinking too much.

  Hauling in a calming breath, Drew walked toward them, a welcoming smile plastered on his face. His mother spotted him first and leaped to her feet. She closed the few steps between them, threw her arms around him, and hugged him tightly. He hugged her back, just as tightly. Despite all their issues, he loved his parents, and he knew they loved him.

  She released him and stood back, looking him over. “How are you doing, Drew?”

  “I’m good.”

  “You played a decent game last night,” she commented.

  “Better than his last two,” his father admitted, one of the most positive things he’d said to Drew in a long time.

  “Why didn’t you tell us you’d been demoted to second string?”

  Leave it to his dad to get right to the point.

  “I was embarrassed,” he admitted.

  “You should be. You could skate circles around that kid who replaced you, but you don’t apply yourself.”

  “Stafford,” his mother warned, “we talked about this. Let’s have a nice breakfast without being overly critical. You can’t blame Drew for avoiding us when all we do is bark at him.”

  Stafford nodded, but the harsh line of his mouth was grim. Drew caught the disappointment in his father’s eyes and experienced a pang of regret. They wanted what was best for him, even if they didn’t approach it well. They were too controlling, but he’d allowed them to control his life for several years, which made the situation they were in as much his fault as theirs.

  “Let’s go to the dining room,” Stafford said.

  Drew followed them to the large room on the water. His father asked for and got a private table in a secluded corner away from the other diners. They made small talk until their order was taken and drinks delivered. Coffee for Drew and his mom, a Bloody Mary for his father.

  His mother looked him the eyes, and he braced himself. “Drew, how’re things going with Marina Sanders?”

  “I thought we were going to have a nice breakfast first?” Stafford pointed out. Cassandra shrugged. She always got her way.

  “Marina?” Drew blinked several times, not sure he understood what his mother was getting at. He stalled for time, trying to formulate an innocent response.

  “How’s she working out?”

  “With the team?”

  “Of course, with the team. What else would I be referring to?” Cassandra said.

  He caught the quick look between his mother and father.

  “She’s working out well.”

  Stafford scowled, and his mother glared at him.

  “I’m happy to hear that. She was a lovely girl. I was sorry she fell prey to the wrong people after her parents died. I think things would’ve turned out differently for her if she’d stayed with a coach who truly cared about her as a person, even if that coach wasn’t me.”

  “You’re not unhappy the team hired her?”

  “No, not really. She’s probably grown up a lot and learned some valuable life lessons.”

  “Enough about her,” Stafford interrupted impatiently. “What are we going to do about your deteriorating game, Drew? I’m here to help, you know that. I think we can turn you around, but we have to start right away.”

  “Dad, I appreciate the offer, but I have coaches, and my problems aren’t easily solved with shooting drills or stick-handling work.”

  “Take my word for it, son, chances like this don’t come along often. You have to seize the opportunity when it strikes.”

  “Dad, I know. I’m aware of how difficult it is to win the Cup, just like I’m painfully aware neither you nor Dave will ever get the chance to hoist the Cup.”

  “But you can. The moment is right here, right now. The Sockeyes are a capable team, but they need you at the top of your game, not floundering in mediocrity.”

  “Dad, I have to do this on my own.”

  “Are you saying you don’t want my help?” The hurt in Stafford’s voice reverberated through Drew like an earthquake through unstable soil.

  “I’m saying I have to work through this on my own without your interference.”

  His father sat back in his chair as if Drew had slapped him.

  “Is that how you really feel?” Stafford asked. Hurt laced in his voice, and his gaze was dark with betrayal.

  “Yeah, it’s how I feel.”

  “Your brother asked you to win the Cup for him—for us.”

  “I’ll do what I can.” Drew clenched his jaw and steeled his resolve. He couldn’t back down now and give in one more time. This time he’d hold steady.

  “Dad, Mom, I love you both. I’ve tried so hard to be the best person I can be for both of you. For Dave. But I’m not being who I want to be.”

  “That’s ridiculous. You’re running scared because things aren’t going your way. It’s easier to quit than to fix problems.”

  Well, that fucking stung. Drew lifted his chin in a gesture of defiance. “For the first time, I’m not going to run. I’m facing my problems head-on. I’m not Dave. I never will be. I can’t keep living his life.”

  “And what about winning the Cup?”

  He leveled his father with direct stare. “I don’t know if I want to play hockey anymore after this season.”

  They gaped at him in shock, blinking rapidly, their mouths hanging open. He waited for the explosion, the guilt trip, the usual feedback he’d gotten every time he’d tried to break away.

  “You don’t mean that,” his father finally said, his voice deadly quiet.

  “I do.”

  “You don’t know if you want to play hockey? How—how did we not see this coming?” His mother’s face registered shock, and her eyes filled with tears. His admission hit her harder than he’d imagined. He almost took the words back and promised to be the perfect son, but he forced himself to remain strong.

  “I’ve felt this way for a long time. If you’d stopped trying to lead me where you wanted me to go just once and noticed—really noticed—me, maybe you would’ve seen the warning signs.”

  “Notice you? You’re the most important fucking person in my life, along with your mother. Of fucking course, I notice you.” His father stood and deliberately folded his napkin, placing it on the table. Patrons at nearby tables stared at them. “I’ve heard enough. Drew doesn’t want our help any longer. He doesn’t care about his brother’s dying words, the brother who gave his life to save Drew’s.” Stafford lashed out like a wounded animal.

  “Stafford.” Cassandra shot a murderous glare in her husband’s direction.

  “Drew, why didn’t you say something?” Cassandra glanced from Drew to his father and back, as if she were torn.

  Stafford hesitated, as if waiting for something. Mustering every ounce of courage he had, Drew didn’t back down.

  “Fine then,” Stafford said. He gestured to Cassandra. “Drew doesn’t want us bothering him anymore. I get it. Let’s go.”

  Cassandra sighed and leaned toward Drew. “He’ll be OK. Give him time.”

  Drew nodded grimly and gave her a quick hug while Stafford stood by impatiently. He watched them walk away.

  That empty hole in his heart where his brother had once been opened wider, and he swallowed hard. They’d get over their hurt. They’d come around. They had to. They were all he had, and he was all they had.

  Standing, he threw a hundred-dollar bill on the table and left, not knowing where to go. He ended up at the SHAC, hoping Marina might be there. He found her working with Cave and Gibs and sat in the bleachers to watch. She was so good with those two clowns, so patient, more patient than either deserved. Cave had all the grace of a Neanderthal and was easily frustrated. Gibs, on the other hand, didn’t take anything she was telling him seriously and tended to argue. They had to be her two toughest customers.

  Drew gripped the bleacher seat in frustration. He couldn’t interv
ene, or she’d lose face with the boys. She had to deal with them. Right now, she wasn’t doing such a good job.

  Cave muttered several choice words and stalked off the ice. He glanced at Drew as he walked by. “Fucking stupid. Fucking figure skating? Is Gorst fucking nuts? I’m done. Screw this bullshit. It’s not going to help us win the Cup.”

  Gibs was right on his heels, just as pissed. “It’s fucking bullshit. Isn’t it, Deli?” He paused to get Drew’s approval.

  “Practicing your edges will help your skating.”

  Gibs rolled his eyes and flipped him off before disappearing down the tunnel.

  Marina skated over to him. She looked visibly shaken.

  “They’re tough cookies, but they’re good guys,” he said lamely.

  She shrugged. “Coach wants me to work with them. Says they need it, but how do I get them to believe me? How do I show them they’re improving when the improvements are subtle, and neither of them are the type to pay attention to subtle details?”

  Like he had an answer for that?

  “I’ll talk to Coop. He’s the captain, and if they’ll listen to anyone, they’ll listen to him.”

  “Thank you.” She slumped down next to him and sighed. She raised her eyes to his. Dejection and defeat shone in her deep brown eyes, and he couldn’t help being sucked into their mesmerizing depths.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I want to help, but there’s resistance, as if I’m evil or something. I guess some people think I am.” She sighed deeply.

  He wanted to grab her hand and hold it or wrap his arms around her to comfort her… Fuck, to comfort himself. He couldn’t—and wouldn’t.

  They didn’t have a relationship beyond friends. He knew that. She knew that. She was struggling to regain her reputation. Sleeping with him would destroy everything she’d worked for. He was struggling to find himself. His contract was up after the playoffs, he didn’t know if he wanted to play anymore, and he wasn’t sure the Sockeyes wanted him back. His life was up in the air, and so was hers. Not the time to embark on a new relationship, especially when they both had so much to lose.

  “What’s up with you? You look as down as I feel.” The concern in her voice threatened to destroy his resolve. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in her silky hair, breathe in her sweet scent, and forget the rest of the world existed.

  “I just came from brunch with my parents. It wasn’t pretty.”

  “Was it about your demotion?”

  “Partially, but more about me, who I am, and who I want to be. I told them I didn’t know if I wanted to play hockey, and that they had to stop trying to control my life. My dad didn’t take it well.”

  “Oh, Drew, I’m sorry. I’m sure he’ll come around. Change is hard for all of us. They’re hanging on tight to you because they’ve already lost one child and can’t stand the thought of losing another.”

  He raised his gaze to hers. He hadn’t thought of it that way, but what she said made sense. “I suppose that’s true.”

  “Give them some time. They’ll be back. They love you.”

  He nodded grimly, still recalling the devastation and shock on their faces. He wasn’t so sure.

  They did love him. He knew that. And he loved them. But love wasn’t always enough.

  * * * *

  Drew was hurting, and Marina’s heart went out to him, even if so much of this was his own doing. He’d allowed them to control his life with little complaint for a long time. Now he was trying to exercise his freedom, and they weren’t reacting well. No surprise there. Drew also carried the added guilt of his brother’s last words. She racked her brain for words of comfort and knew none would suffice.

  She wasn’t callous, but she couldn’t afford to be seen hanging out with him outside of practice. He’d come looking for her, and while she was flattered, she was also worried. They couldn’t have that kind of friendship. Everything had to stay casual and on the surface. No deep attachments allowed, which was hard enough without the fires they’d fanned last night.

  “I need to go, Drew. Aunt Mina needs to see me,” she lied. He was so dejected, he didn’t seem to notice.

  “OK, I’ll catch up with you later. Text me when you want to practice.” He frowned and shuffled his feet while studying the concrete block wall as if it were a priceless painting.

  “We won’t work on our routine today. You have to get ready for the game tomorrow night, and we both have hockey practice in an hour.” They needed distance more than he needed to get ready for the game, but she didn’t state the obvious.

  He glanced at his watch. “Crap, I hadn’t realized the time had flown by so quickly.”

  “See you later.” She stepped off the ice and bent down to slip on her skate guards.

  “Later.” He waved casually and hurried to catch up with a few teammates walking by.

  Marina stared longingly after him but turned away quickly when she noticed Coach Gorst. He was watching her watch Drew. His eyes narrowed, and his mouth set in a grim line of disapproval.

  “Coach,” she said as way of greeting and attempted to skirt past him, but he stepped in front of her and blocked her exit.

  “Marina, I don’t need to tell you how important it is that you keep your relationships with the players strictly professional. I warned Ethan that having the two of you work together so closely might not be the best idea. Drew is vulnerable right now. Would you prefer to pick another player for the pairs exhibition?”

  She read between the lines and knew what he was telling her. He wanted her to choose someone else, and he’d put her in a hard spot. If she jumped at his suggestion, he’d believe his concerns were warranted. If she insisted on staying with Drew, he’d still believe his concerns were warranted. Damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t.

  “Drew is the obvious choice. He’s the one you’re most concerned about. This routine was designed with him in mind. I’ll stay with him. You can rest assured, we aren’t having any kind of unprofessional relationship.”

  Gorst’s face was impassive. “I’ve put a lot of faith in you, Marina. Don’t let me down.”

  “I won’t.” She looked away, unable to meet his gaze for fear he might see the worry in her own eyes.

  The head coach stood aside, and Marina fled down the corridor. She took the elevator up to the floors inhabited by the team business offices for lack of anywhere else to go. Mina sat behind her immaculate desk, concentrating on her computer.

  “Aunt Mina.”

  “Hello, Marina.” Mina turned back to her monitor.

  “Would you—uh—like to get lunch?” As far as she knew, Mina never left her post for lunch, but she didn’t want to be alone right now, and Kaley was tied up in meetings all day.

  Mina finished tapping out a few sentences, clicked on a few things, and placed her hands in her lap. “I suppose we could do that.”

  Marina nodded. She needed to get out of here for a while and gather her wits about her. Aunt Mina might not be her first choice, but she would have to do. Marina had never been close to her aunt, even after her parents died, even though she was Marina’s only close living relative. She’d stayed with her for a month when she’d first come back to the States. Her aunt had helped her get the job with the Sockeyes, and she’d loaned her enough cash to get into her own apartment. The loan was probably more to get her out from under foot than any burning desire to help her.

  They ordered sandwiches and took them to the only empty table in the crowded shop. Mina ate hers like she did everything—with quiet efficiency and little wasted motion. When she finished, she wiped her mouth with a napkin, folded it neatly, and placed it under the edge of her plate. In contrast, Marina’s napkin was scrunched in a messy ball, there were crumbs on the table, and she was constantly wiping mayo off her face.

  “I understand Ethan is pleased with your performance so far,” Mina said. Her pale, lined face gave nothing away. Marina abandoned her messy sandwich. The clerk had slathe
red it with mayo to the point it was dripping with the stuff. She loved mayo, but as a condiment, not the main dish.

  “He is? I’m so glad.” She sighed. “Coach Gorst is going to be tougher to win over.”

  “Mike is open-minded and progressive. The idea of a figure skater helping his players improve their skating has been on his radar for a while. When Ethan approved the hiring on a trial basis over a month ago, I, of course, recommended you. So, you see, he’s not disagreeable to the idea.”

  “Just to me,” Marina finished for Mina. Not wanting to leave those unspoken words hanging between them.

  “He might be pensive. You can’t blame him. Drama has followed you the past four years.”

  “I know. It’s just—I want a fresh start. I want to prove myself, and there are obstacles every step of the way.”

  Mina cocked a brow, and Marina knew she wouldn’t be getting any sympathy from her. Mina saw things in black and white. If you did something bad, you paid the consequences. If you wanted forgiveness, you worked your ass off to earn it. Marina had done four years of penance, but she’d done it in Europe. She should’ve realized the US would still see her as the girl who partied away her chance at an Olympic medal.

  “How is the routine going with Drew?”

  “You know about that?”

  “I know everything that goes on in this organization, sometimes before the people it’s happening to know it.”

  “Drew is a talented skater. It’s been a pleasure to work with him.”

  “It that all there is to it?” Her aunt had an uncanny gift for seeing things no one else saw.

  “As long as I’m employed by the team, I’m not having an unprofessional relationship with any team member.”

  “You’ve always been impulsive and one to follow your heart instead of your head.”

  “Not this time.”

  “Let’s hope not, dear.”

  In Mina’s world, the head was always followed. Many staff swore she didn’t have a heart. Marina wasn’t so sure. She’d seen moments of softness, such as when her parents died and Mina came to the Olympics to watch her skate in their absence, despite her aversion to large crowds. When Marina’s world came crashing down a second time four years later and she lost the only other thing she loved—figure skating—Mina was there. She wasn’t happy with Marina’s screw-up, but instead of belaboring the point, she came up with solutions, one of which was Europe.