Shot on Goal

by Jami Davenport

  “There was a tipping point. I’m not sure when, but after my brother died, and I became my dad’s sole focus, hockey ceased to be anything but work.”

  “That’s what this figure skating thing is all about, isn’t it? Getting back to your roots, to the reason you played hockey in the first place?”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure it’s going to work.”

  She considered his words for a long moment, rubbing her index finger across her lips. He suppressed a groan and thanked the powers that be he had a table to hide his erection.

  “If you could do or be anything, what would it be?”

  “You’ll laugh.”

  “I would never laugh about someone’s life passion.” She squeezed his hand, and as if remembering their pledge to keep it friends-only, she jerked her hand away.

  “I would love to work with my buddy, Bronson. He’s former Army Special Forces, and he started a PI agency about six months ago that specializes in finding missing people. I’ve helped him out on occasion, and we make a good pair. I do the digging on the Internet, and he does the personal legwork. He’s also my karate instructor.”

  “Karate?”

  “Yeah. Something he does on the side. He teaches a few classes and has a couple dozen pupils. He’s done some self-defense classes for the WAGs. I’m not great at karate, but I could hold my own in a fight.”

  “I had no idea.” She looked him up and down as if assessing him all over again. “You’re a man of many levels, aren’t you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When you were telling me about the PI work and karate, your face lit up like it never lights up when you’re talking about hockey.”

  Drew shrugged. She was right, but he had no idea what to do about it, so he decided to keep quiet.

  He nodded, at a loss for words. Words seemed so inadequate when someone went from having a loving family to having no one in the blink of an eye. They sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft rock playing on the speakers.

  “Drew?” she asked finally. “Do you ever worry about traumatic brain injury?”

  “I never did until last year. I got hit fucking hard against the boards. In fact, my helmet flew off. I was out with a severe concussion for weeks. When I came back, what little passion I had for the game was gone. As if that injury was the last straw. The final nail in my hockey-playing coffin.”

  “I’m sorry, but have you considered how unfair it is to your teammates that you’re not playing up to their intensity level?”

  “All the fucking time. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I’m trying not to think of my future, just concentrate on the Cup. Once that’s won, I’ll achieve something my father never has, and my brother never had the chance. It’s as if winning the Cup will set me free from guilt and expectations.” He pointed at his chest. “I wear my brother’s number, so he’ll always be with me on the ice. Did you know that?”

  “No, I didn’t.” She placed her hands on her chest and tears welled in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m overly sensitive about stuff like that. It’s an incredible gesture.” She sniffled and wiped her face on a clean napkin.

  It took everything he had not to wrap her in his arms and kiss those tears away.

  He wanted more of what they had last night. Craved more. Needed more. Just another month or so. He could wait. Marina was worth waiting for.

  “Marina, if one of us wasn’t with the Sockeyes, do you think we could make this work between us?” He gazed directly into her eyes, not blinking, not showing any emotion. He wanted a straight answer without his body language affecting what she said.

  She clasped her hands in her lap, stared down at them, and sucked her lower lip between her teeth, something she seemed to do when she was seriously considering her words. He waited patiently, not hurrying her. Finally, she looked up.

  “Yes, I do.”

  His heart sang with joy, and he wanted to shout his good luck out to the world, but he maintained his stoic expression. “I won’t be with the team forever, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Someday, you and I.”

  “We’ll see. Depends on how far away that someday is. Our futures are murky at best. I don’t know where I’m going or what I’m doing.”

  “Your turn. What would you be doing if you could do anything?”

  She laughed. “I love working with hockey players, don’t get me wrong, but my ultimate goal would be coaching world-class skaters.”

  “You have the talent and the teaching ability.”

  “Coaching the best isn’t something a skater does once they quit competing, no matter how good they were. You still have to work your way up through the ranks. In my case, I have my reputation to overcome, too. It’s definitely an uphill battle.”

  “My money is on you.”

  “And my money is on you.”

  They stared into each other’s eyes for a long while, not needing any words to express how they felt for each other. Drew would wait for her. Someday the time would be right, and they’d explore this thing between them. He just hoped he didn’t have to wait too long, because the waiting was killing him, especially now that he knew what he was waiting for.

  * * * *

  Drew walked Marina to the elevator just as Rush, Gibs, Ziggy, and Cave staggered into the lobby. Their gazes flicked from Drew to Marina and back again. Then they exchanged glances with each other.

  “Been out partying?” The disgust in Drew’s voice came through crystal-clear.

  Cave’s eyes narrowed. “I could ask you the same thing? Private party, maybe?”

  Drew visibly bristled and fisted his hands, as if ready to wipe that smirk off the drunken asshole’s face, but Cave was too drunk to notice threats subtler than a Harley-riding motorcycle gang bearing down on him.

  Rush nudged Marina. “You should party with us sometime, Reena. We have fun together.”

  “In your dreams, Rush.” She rolled her eyes, gave him a hard jab in the ribs, and moved closer to Drew. Rush grabbed his side with a groan and eyed her with grudging respect.

  “I hear she loves to party,” Cave added, leering at her. He made a step toward her but didn’t get far.

  Grabbing him by the collar, Drew shoved him up against the wall. Cave blinked several times at him as if not sure why his teammate had done that.

  “Get the fuck out of my sight, you asshole.” Drew turned to his teammates. “You better get upstairs before Coop and Smooth do a bed check.”

  The guys grumbled and stumbled into the elevator.

  “You better go with them. I’ll catch the next elevator.” The last thing Marina wanted was to be on an elevator with inebriated hockey players and Drew.

  Marina blew out a long breath as the doors slid shut on the guys with Drew riding herd on them. The last thing she saw were his eyes pleading with her to rescue him. So not going to happen.

  He’d have been one of them a few years ago. She was well aware of his rep as a party-boy. He’d been the guy staggering in drunk and getting his picture plastered all over the social media sites. He’d played better then, despite his drunken escapades, and the team had overlooked his bad-boy behavior.

  Now he was the model player off the ice and an enigma on the ice.

  She’d never met a professional athlete at such odds with his career choices. On one hand, her heart went out to him. On the other, she found his lack of interest in his sport annoying as hell. She’d give anything to be competing again, and he was struggling with his indifference. Sometimes, life wasn’t fair. Make that all the time when it came to her career.

  To be honest, she’d done it to herself with a little help from her so-called friends.

  The elevator doors opened, and Marina stared into the empty box waiting to take her to her room. She backed away. Going to her room and staring at four nondescript walls didn’t appeal to her. Going back to the bar didn’t, either.

  She left the bank of elevators and walked to the lobby,
finding a private seating area behind some potted plants way taller than her and sat down. Hiding had become a common practice with her before she left for Europe. Even though the Europeans loved good gossip as much as the next region, they also had other things to focus on, such as a love triangle scandal between two soccer players and the wife of one. As an American, Marina had been old news within twenty-four hours. She’d been pleasantly surprised that she hadn’t gotten much press in her return to the US. Even after it was announced she was working for the Sockeyes, there hadn’t been much interest. She’d gotten a few calls for interviews, but nothing of the magnitude she’d seen before she’d left. Nor was the press following her around and hounding her night and day.

  Of course, all that could shift in a flash, she knew that as well as anyone. If she kept her head down and avoided all appearance of scandal, perhaps she’d survive.

  “Marina, what are you doing down here by yourself?” Ethan asked as he slipped around the edge of a potted plant. He was carrying a small grocery bag.

  Marina gave a guilty start even though she didn’t have a reason to feel guilty. “I couldn’t sleep. Just needed to get out of the room for a while.”

  “Not waiting for anyone?” Ethan asked innocently, but Marina cringed inwardly. How could he possibly know? He thought she had a secret rendezvous scheduled. “Not that it’s any of my business.” He narrowed his eyes and studied her. “It isn’t my business, is it, Marina?”

  Marina shifted uneasily, knowing her behavior had to appear suspicious, even though she was innocent, unless she was condemned for her dirty thoughts about a certain hockey player. “No, not meeting anyone.” She looked at the sack and back to Ethan. “Needing a midnight snack?”

  He looked at the bag as if he’d forgotten about it. “Oh, this? It’s for Lauren. She wanted ice cream.”

  “Ice cream? She’s not—”

  A huge smile spread across Ethan’s face, and he nodded. “Yeah, but keep it quiet. We don’t want to announce anything until after the playoffs.”

  “OK. I can do that.”

  “She’s almost four months along.” He looked away as if seeing into his future and liking what he saw. “You’re doing a good job for us, Marina. I know some of the guys can be tough, but you’re making progress, just what we wanted to see.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are things going OK? None of the guys are giving you a hard time?”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Ethan breathed out a sigh of relief. “Good. I wouldn’t want anything to distract my players right now, and Drew can’t afford the distraction least of all. He’s struggling, and Coach can’t seem to find the key to unlock his potential. Gorst is a master at getting the most out of his guys, but Drew, well, he’s a head-scratcher. We can’t figure out what his issue is. Even now that his father has disappeared from the scene, things haven’t improved.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She wouldn’t betray Drew’s trust by letting Ethan in on his inner struggles. With Ethan the team came first, and the last thing he’d want to hear is that one of his players wasn’t in love with the sport Ethan lived and breathed.

  “You don’t have to say anything. Keep doing what you’re doing. I’ve seen glimpses of some changes in Drew, and I’m thinking you helped put them there.”

  Marina had no idea if Ethan was giving her the go-ahead for a secret affair with Drew or talking strictly business. She decided she’d best take him at face value and not read too much into his words.

  “I’d better get this to Lauren. Nice chatting with you.” Ethan smiled at her and left. Marina waited a few minutes and took the elevator up to her room.

  She spent the rest of the night in fitful dreams about blowing her shot at Olympic Gold along with her shot at happiness with Drew.

  Chapter 15—Chirping

  The next night in Game 7, Drew skated like a man on a mission. He was everywhere, stealing the puck, passing to his teammates, shooting for the net. No one could match his speed or accuracy when he was giving everything he had. He was in the zone. He could see the puck before it got to him, see scoring opportunities a split second before they materialized, and predict where his teammates were going before they went there.

  It was like an out-of-body experience, a natural high he’d never had before in hockey. This had to be what his father had been referring to when he’d said over and over that hockey was better than the best orgasm. Drew wouldn’t go that far, but playing at this level with this intensity had energized him in ways he’d never imagined.

  Drew scored at the beginning of the third period to tie the hard-fought game at two to two. As the clock wore down, the first line had been on the ice a little too long, but this was do or die. Gorst knew his guys were gassed, and Drew readied himself for the shift change. As soon as Gorst gave the signal, he leaped over the boards and streaked toward the puck. He had it in his possession before the San Jose defenseman realized what had happened. He raced to the other end of the arena with a good two strides on the closest San Jose player. Their goalie crouched down, watching and waiting. Drew didn’t analyze his options, just let his instincts take over, something he’d been getting better at thanks to Marina’s figure skating lessons. As he neared the net, a slight movement from the goalie to the right gave him all the advantage he needed. He shot the puck to the left and it slid between the goalie’s elbow and thigh pads. The red light behind the net lit up, and Drew pumped his stick in the air. His teammates surrounded him with hugs and slaps on the back.

  Five minutes were left in the period, plenty of time for San Jose to score, but they didn’t, and the Sockeyes won three to two, moving on to the Conference Finals against Nashville. One last stepping stone to the Stanley Cup. They’d made it this far once before when they were still a Florida team.

  Drew shook hands with the San Jose players and skated to the exit. He couldn’t help glancing in the crowd for his father. Even he had to be impressed with Drew’s performance, only he didn’t see him anywhere. He could’ve been in one of the boxes, but usually he liked to be right down on the ice, reliving the experience of playing hockey. Drew’s heart ached just a little that his father didn’t appear to be present.

  He glanced over at Marina, who was standing near the bench, congratulating guys as they walked by. She gave him a broad smile. He wanted to hug her, but he couldn’t, not in front of an arena full of fans, teammates, and staff.

  He grinned back at her.

  “Good job,” she said, still beaming. The words were simple, but her proud smile was just for him.

  “Thanks.” He forced his feet to carry him past her as if her praise meant nothing to him, when it meant the world, especially in his father’s absence.

  When Drew walked through the door, he was mugged again by his cheering teammates. He was grinning from ear to ear and enjoying every minute of the evening.

  Gorst entered and stood in the middle of the locker room. He, too, was wearing a huge smile. He waited until the group quieted, which took several minutes, but he didn’t seem to mind. Marina stuck her head in the door then slid inside, leaning against the wall.

  “Guys, I can’t tell you how good it was to win this game. You fought hard, you didn’t let up. You attacked the puck and played like champions. We still have a long way to go before claiming that title, but we can do it. I have faith in every one of you.” He turned his gaze on Drew. “One of you performed beyond expectations. His two goals in the third sealed our win and moved us on to the Conference Finals.”

  Drew could feel his face getting red, but he couldn’t stop grinning. He felt good. Really damn good.

  “I’m going to award Socks the Fish to Drew Delacorte.” Gorst tossed Socks, a large salmon mounted on a wooden plaque and purchased at a thrift store by Mina. Rumor had it Socks was over a hundred years old and had been caught by Chief Sealth himself. Nobody really believed it, but it made a good story. The fish had seen better days, but none of the guys car
ed. Drew gratefully took the plaque and held it above his head.

  “Thanks, guys. I’m humbled. This was a team effort, and none of us can do it solely on our own. I’m glad I could help. I’d like to thank Marina for all those figure skating lessons. They did make a difference. If you think they aren’t, you aren’t trying hard enough.”

  The guys cheered Marina, and it was her turn for her beautiful face to turn bright red. Drew forced his gaze away from her, afraid any guy here could see he was falling for her. His feelings were probably written on his face as clear as a neon sign. He hoped they’d chalk it up to the win.

  Coach hustled them off to the showers, as they had a plane waiting for them. It was time to go home and start this all over again in a few days against Nashville, a team which had proven tough in the playoffs, winning round one in five games and round two in four games. They’d been resting at home while the Sockeyes played three more games.

  Drew hoped that would be to their disadvantage. They’d hopefully start out flat and lacking energy. If the Sockeyes could steal one or two games from them before they hit their stride, they had a good chance of winning.

  Surely, Coach would move him back to the first line now. Drew missed playing with Coop and Smooth. He’d played with them for so long, he knew all their idiosyncrasies and could easily predict their next moves. More surprisingly, he cared about being on the first line. He wanted to be there. Funny how you never missed something until it was gone, like his father.

  Stafford hadn’t been at the game, but Drew would bet his right arm his father watched it. Drew almost smiled as he thought of the look on his father’s face when he brought it that third period. Knowing Dad, though, he’d be pissed Drew didn’t score in the other two periods.

  Drew sighed. He couldn’t win with that man, and it was pathetic he kept trying.

  He had Marina to thank for his renewed play, not just the skating lessons, but the sex. He’d been relaxed instead of wound tight. She’d done that for him. He’d find a way to convince her to work her brand of magic through the remainder of the playoffs. For the good of the team.