Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Game on.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Fuck!

  They were losing. How the fuck was that even possible?

  Caleb clenched his jaw and stared up at the scoreboard. Giant red numbers stared back at him, taunting him. Two-to-one. How? How the fuck had that even happened?

  Yeah, that first goal was a fluke, coming at twenty-eight seconds into the game. They hadn’t been ready for it. Hell, they hadn’t been looking for it. This was an exhibition game, nothing more than a casual, relaxing, friendly game.

  Yeah. Sure. It may have started that way for the Banners…for the first twenty-eight seconds. Something told him it had never been that way for the Blades, though. And Christ, he still couldn’t believe it. They were actually giving them a run for their money—and winning. Skating fast, shooting hard. Playing hard.

  Like they had every intention of winning.

  Caleb glanced at the scoreboard again, his eye on the clock. Fuck. If they didn’t do something soon, the Blades would win. And how fucking embarrassing would that be? To be bested by a women’s hockey team. A brand-new women’s hockey team.

  Fuck.

  He wasn’t the only one sitting there in disbelief, the only one feeling the pressure. They all were: Shane, Logan, Hunter. Even poor Ilya Semenov, who had made the mistake of reaching for Jordyn Knott to keep her from falling on the ice, only to faceplant himself when she tripped him during that first play.

  This wasn’t supposed to be a physical game. No hitting, no boarding, no cross-checking or tripping. Somebody must have forgotten to give that memo to the Blades because damn if they weren’t doing exactly that. Not blatant, not enough to draw any penalties. Either that, or the refs were simply turning a blind eye to it. And their fucking hands were tied. No way in hell could the Banners pull half the shit the ladies were pulling. The arena had erupted in a chorus of boos the one time Christian Harper had bumped into Taylor. It really had been an accident—one look at the mortification on Christian’s face was enough for everyone to see that. But Taylor had played it for all it was worth and dropped to the ice. And damn if the whistle hadn’t blown. Christian had been sent to the penalty box for two minutes on a tripping call, when it should have been Taylor sitting in the bin for embellishment.

  That had been enough to give the Blades their second goal of the afternoon on the power play. Because fucking Connelly still wasn’t paying attention, still didn’t have his head in the fucking game.

  Coach had finally pulled him, put Dan Lory in. And how the hell Coach wasn’t having a fucking fit right now was beyond Caleb. He glanced over, wondering if maybe he was just missing the signs. No, he wasn’t. Donavan was leaning against the glass partition separating the players’ benches, looking relaxed and at ease, like he didn’t have a care in the world. The Blades’ coach leaned over, said something with a smile on her face, and damn if Donovan didn’t start laughing.

  What the fuck?

  Caleb turned back to the ice just as Jacob Riley sent a hard shot toward the Blades’ net. He leaned forward, holding his breath, waiting for the puck to go in. It had to go on, no way could it miss.

  And fuck. Shannon stopped it with a quick twist to the left, catching the puck with her glove hand and pulling it into her chest. The whistle blew, signaling a stop in play.

  “Holy shit. I wish to fuck she played for us.” Logan muttered the words under his breath, low enough so Connelly wouldn’t be able to hear him from his spot at the far end of the bench. Caleb grunted, unwilling to agree. If the Blades had been playing any other team, he would have said it himself. But they weren’t playing any other team—they were playing the Banners. His team.

  And fuck if he could get over the fact they were losing long enough to appreciate the saves Shannon had been making all afternoon.

  Time for the face off, then more scrambling for the puck. Donovan leaned forward, motioning for a line change with a few quick hand signals. Caleb jumped the boards, his skates hitting the ice as he took Jacob’s spot. Taylor whipped past him, chasing the puck as it cleared center ice. He didn’t hesitate, just tore off after her, knowing he couldn’t wait for an icing call.

  Damn if he could let her score—none of them could. Ilya and Parker Gibson obviously realized the same thing because they were close behind her as well, moving in to defend the net.

  And yes, finally! Ilya slid behind her, reaching with his stick and knocking the puck free. It slid straight toward Jaxon Miller, who took off with it. Taylor swore, her voice easily heard from where Caleb was, a few feet away. Let her get frustrated. It was time to show them who was the better team.

  Calen spun around, doing a one-eighty as he followed Jaxon down the ice. There was no open shot, they’d have to set this one up. Cycle it. Wait for the right second then shoot toward Shannon’s weak side.

  But she didn’t have a weak side, that was the fucking problem. She anticipated every shot, never moving until it was time. She had to be fucking tired by now, blocking as many shots as she had so far, just in the third period. It would have been funny, the way the Banners kept ripping them toward the net, almost like they were desperate to score.

  Yeah, it would have been real fucking funny…if it wasn’t the truth.

  Caleb slid closer to the net, spraying snow on Shannon’s legs as he turned, waiting for the pass. He heard her mutter something, ignored her as he watched Jaxon and Shane pass the puck back and forth. Closer, closer still.

  He slid back, just a few inches, crowding Shannon. She said something again, her voice a little louder, the words still indistinguishable. But there was no mistaking her anger, her impatience.

  Caleb clenched his jaw, ignoring her, focusing on the puck. Waiting…

  Watching…

  He leaned over, getting into position, let himself move back another few inches. Definitely crowding her, getting in her way, blocking her view.

  “Get the fuck out of my crease!” He heard her words that time, low and angry. Something smacked him across the lower back and he stumbled forward, caught himself at the last minute. What the fuck? Had she just shoved him?

  He shook his head, ignoring everything but the puck as Shane shot it toward him. Caleb caught it with the edge of his blade—barely—and spun around, flipping it toward the net. Once, twice. Once more, only to have Shannon block it each time. One more shot to her right, his breath held as she dove for it.

  Close. So fucking close…

  He didn’t think, didn’t stop to think, was only reacting. That’s all he had time to do: rely on his instinct and react. He lunged forward, swiped at the puck with the flat of his stick just as Shannon moved to cover it—

  And caught her in the wrist with the edge of his blade, hard.

  He ignored the flashing light, the horn signaling the goal, the boos of the crowd filling the arena. He dropped his stick and bent over, reaching for her—

  She jumped to her feet, brown eyes flashing in anger as she threw her helmet to the ice. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “I didn’t—”

  She lunged forward, both of her hands pushing against his chest hard enough to cause him to stumble. “Don’t ever fucking get in my crease like that again. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  “Shannon, I—”

  She wasn’t listening. And holy shit, she looked like she was ready to tear him a new one. And if this had been a real game, he’d expect nothing less. If this was a real game, they’d be two seconds away from a major brawl.

  And maybe they were because her teammates were suddenly surrounding her, pushing him away. Taylor was waving her arms at the ref, getting in his face and yelling about slashing and goalie interference.

  Caleb moved closer, looked down when another hand shoved him in the chest. It was Sammie, the petite, quiet, newlywed. Only not so quiet as she jammed a finger in his face.

  “Back off!”

  Holy fucking shit, they were out for blood. Caleb opened his mouth
, slammed it shut when he realized he had no idea what to say. This shit didn’t happen in real games.

  Yeah, because instead of all this verbal back-and-forth, they’d be fighting. And that so wasn’t going to happen. Not here, not tonight.

  Someone yanked on the sleeve of his jersey, tugging him back. He looked over his shoulder, frowned at the wide smile on Jaxon’s face as he led him toward the bench. “Dude, they’re out for your blood.”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean—”

  “Bullshit. You meant it. I just hope the fuck it was worth it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to be mean?”

  Jaxon stopped, right there at center ice, and leveled such a look of incredulity at him that Caleb actually considered skating away. “Was that goal so fucking important that you actually slashed your fucking girlfriend?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “The hell you didn’t.” He nodded toward the giant screen hanging above them, at the larger-than-life slow-motion replay. Caleb watched, his stomach twisting each time they showed the play from different angles.

  “I wasn’t thinking—”

  “No shit.”

  Caleb clenched his jaw, brushing off the guilt. “It’s no different than what I’d do if we were playing anyone else. It’s a game, that’s how you play it.”

  “Hey, asshole. This is an exhibition game. It doesn’t count. And there’s something more important than what the fuck is showing on the scoreboard. Maybe if you weren’t so fucking focused on winning all the time, you’d realize that.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Just what I said.” Jaxon shook his head in disgust and skated over to the bench. Caleb slowly followed, wondering what the fuck he meant.

  Had he gone overboard? Yeah, probably. He’d lost his perspective for a split-second, had acted on intuition and instinct, like he would in any other game. Yeah, okay, maybe he’d gone a bit more than overboard, but he really hadn’t been thinking, had forgotten it was Shannon in the net, had focused solely on tying the game.

  And he had—the officials were letting the goal stand. Caleb nodded, climbed over the boards and dropped to the bench. But there was no congratulations, no pats on the back. Even the crowd seemed less than enthusiastic about the goal.

  What the fuck was that all about?

  Caleb reached for a water bottle, shot a stream into his mouth and started to spit off to the side when he noticed Shannon skating toward the bench. Her left arm was held loosely against her chest, her jaw tight with anger and frustration.

  Fuck. Oh fuck. No, she wasn’t hurt. She couldn’t be hurt.

  He jumped to his feet, pushed past his teammates to reach the glass partition dividing the two benches. He started to lean over the boards, to call out to her, but Donovan pulled him back.

  It didn’t matter, not when Shannon shot him a withering look laced with disgust. Regret churned in his stomach, twisting it inside out.

  “Shannon—”

  She simply turned away, ignoring him as she headed into the tunnel. The Blades’ backup goalie, Karly Durant, headed to the net, taking Shannon’s place. Caleb didn’t care, all he cared about was seeing Shannon, making sure she was okay.

  “Let it go, Johnson. Give her time to cool off.” Coach Donovan’s voice was low, meant for his ears only.

  “I just want—”

  “And I said let it go. She needs time to cool off. And you need time to think about what the hell you did out there.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Johnson, do me a favor. Just sit the fuck down and think.” Donovan turned away, effectively dismissing him. Caleb hesitated then moved back to the bench, trying to understand what the fuck Coach was talking about.

  He was still trying to figure it out when the game ended, the Banners winning three-to-two. The handshake line was little more than a blur, the same with the quick meeting in the locker room, followed by a hasty shower. Everyone was talking about heading to the Maypole—not just the Banners, but a few of the Blades as well. Caleb brushed off the invitations. He already had plans, plans that included Shannon and nobody else.

  He just needed to find her first.

  That part was easy. She was just coming out of the locker room for the visiting team, her gear bag and a small duffle slung over her shoulder. He glanced at her wrist but couldn’t tell if it was bandaged because the sleeve of her coat hung past it. She wasn’t cradling it, though. That must be a good sign.

  He hurried up to catch her, wondering where she was going when he knew she had seen him. Hadn’t she? Maybe she hadn’t, maybe she’d been too busy listening to Taylor to notice him. He moved in front of her, turning around and walking backward because she wasn’t stopping.

  “Hey. How’s the wrist?”

  “Fine.” Her voice was short, the word clipped and a little frosty. He tossed a curious glance at Taylor then kept talking.

  “So. Good game, huh?”

  Shannon finally stopped, anger flashing in her eyes as she stared up at him. “Yeah. Fan-fucking-tastic. You won. Happy?”

  “I—” He paused, frowning. “Are you actually pissed we won?”

  “No, Caleb. Not even close.”

  “Then what am I missing? Because you look pissed.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t get it. Why are you angry?”

  “Why? You really have to ask me why? After that fucking cheap shot—”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean—”

  “Yeah. Sure you didn’t.” She tried to move past him but he blocked her.

  “Shannon, it was an accident.”

  “Maybe you should watch the replay again. Really watch it.”

  Caleb swallowed, his gaze shooting to Taylor for assistance. She simply stared at him, saying nothing. He looked back at Shannon, not bothering to hide his confusion. “You don’t honestly think I slashed you on purpose, do you? It was an accident, Shannon. I got carried away—”

  “You were pissed.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I wasn’t pissed. I was just playing hockey, like I always do. It got physical. It wasn’t deliberate.”

  “Really?” She stepped forward, anger flashing in her eyes. “Are you honestly saying you weren’t pissed that we were beating you?”

  “I wasn’t pissed, no. A little frustrated maybe—”

  “Like I said, you should watch the replay.” She tried to step past him once more, but he blocked her again. Impatience and irritation—and yes, maybe even a little anger—were bubbling to the surface and he pushed them away, tamped them down.

  “It’s a game, Shannon. It gets physical. You know that—”

  “Is that why you think I’m angry? Because it got physical?”

  “Aren’t you?”

  “No, I’m not.” A muscle jumped in her clenched jaw, finally stopped when she took a deep breath and let it out—slow, like she was struggling for control. “It was the look on your face, Caleb. You were pissed we were winning and you were going to do anything to make sure that didn’t happen.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Bullshit.” The word came out in a sharp hiss, forced through clenched teeth.

  “I can’t believe we’re even talking about this. Yeah, maybe I forgot myself for a second. That doesn’t mean—”

  “Tell me, Caleb. Why were you pissed? Because you were down by one? Or because you were being beaten by a bunch of women?”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “You heard me. I’ve seen you play, remember? How many times have you guys been down by one? By more than one? Especially this season. And not once—ever—have you gone after another player like you did out there. So tell me, Caleb: why? What were you so fucking pissed about?”

  “I wasn’t—” He snapped his mouth closed, shook his head and ran a hand over his face. Had he gone overboard? Yes, he’d been angry, filled with disbelief. But would that have pushe
d him to do something on purpose? To deliberately go after Shannon? No, he didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it.

  His gaze darted to Taylor, wondering why she was still standing there, still listening to every single word. Didn’t she know he’d prefer some privacy? Yeah, probably. But this was Taylor so he shouldn’t be surprised.

  He turned to the side and leaned closer to Shannon, lowering his voice. “Listen, can we talk about this later? Grab some dinner and go back to my place like we planned?”

  “Yeah, that’s not happening.”

  “But—”

  “Forget it, Caleb. I’m done.” She started to push past him. He caught her arm, quickly dropped it at the withering expression on her face.

  “I thought—”

  “You thought wrong. I’m done. We’re done. Over.” She readjusted her grip on the bag then stormed off, not once looking back. Caleb watched as she disappeared around the corner, disbelief and anger mingling in his gut.

  And below that, something else. Something that cut deep, deeper than he could have imagined: hurt. Confusion. A sense of loss he didn’t quite understand. And none of it made sense. That was it? She was walking away, just like that? Calling it quits?

  Because of a fucking accident?

  He turned, nearly knocking Taylor over in his hurry to get away. She stepped back and he expected her to give him shit, too. To say something caustic and biting or sarcastic. What he didn’t expect was the understanding in her eyes—or the pity.

  “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

  Caleb shook his head, thought about pretending he had no idea what she was talking about then, for reasons he didn’t understand, changed his mind. “I don’t get it. I don’t know what I did, Tay-Tay.”

  She watched him for a long minute, her whiskey-colored eyes sizing him up. Making him feel small. Inadequate. He expected her to walk away, to not say a word—and she almost did. But she must have changed her mind at the last second because she spun around, her gaze still filled with pity.

  “You need to watch the replay, Caleb. And I mean really watch it. Watch your expression during the play. Hell, watch your expression throughout the entire game. And if that doesn’t answer your question, then you don’t deserve her.”