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

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “You going to sit there and fucking mope all night?”

  Caleb ignored Jaxon’s question and kept staring into his untouched mug of beer. Why the fuck was he even here? He wasn’t in the mood to hang out at the Maypole, wasn’t in the mood to hang out with the team while they commiserated yet another loss. How many in a row was this now? Four? Five? He frowned, counting back. Yup, five. Five losses in a row—because he wasn’t counting that clusterfuck of a game that they won against the Blades four days ago. Yeah, they had won the game. So fucking what?

  He’d lost a lot more in the process.

  Caleb had finally watched the game film, an exercise that had left him sick to his stomach. When the fuck had winning become the only thing that mattered? When the fuck had he become so consumed by winning that he’d willingly cross the line and do whatever he had to do in order to win?

  Watching his face, his expressions, his anger staring back at him from the screen—it was like watching a totally different person. He hadn’t recognized himself at first, had refused to believe that was actually him. Jaw clenched, anger and frustration flashing in his eyes as he swung his stick at Shannon.

  Swung? No, not even close. He’d been hacking at her wrist with the blade of his stick. Not just once, like he’d first thought. Shannon had actually covered the puck; the play should have been stopped. But the furious stranger on the screen didn’t seem to care, had just kept hacking at her wrist, over and over until she finally moved her hand and he shoved the puck across the line.

  Why the fuck didn’t he remember it that way? He had told himself, at the time, that he was simply acting on instinct. That he was doing what he’d do in any other game. That he was simply playing like usual. Why did it take actually watching the footage on the screen to see all the little details he had no memory of?

  Talk about fucking up.

  He started to raise the cold mug to his mouth for a long swallow, needing something to wash down the taste of bitterness filling his mouth. Beer sloshed over the thick rim, drenching his wrist when Jaxon elbowed him in the arm.

  “Well? Are you?”

  Caleb ignored the damp cuff of his shirt, ignored the small puddle of beer gathering on the polished bar in front of him. And he tried to ignore Jaxon as he finally took that first swallow—except the other man wasn’t taking the hint.

  “You need to come sit with us, stop hanging over here by yourself.”

  “Not in the mood.”

  “Yeah, no shit. Ask me if I care.”

  “Doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. I’m not in the mood.”

  “You can mope over there just as well as you can over here. Come on.” Jaxon tugged his arm, trying to get him to move. “Join the crowd. Get to know the new goalie.”

  Caleb swallowed back a sigh with more beer then looked over at the noisy crowd in the far corner. Luke Connelly was gone, traded to Columbus then immediately sent down to the minors, where he would no doubt disappear into oblivion. Corbin Gauthier had been picked up from Colorado in exchange for a draft pick and who knew what else, had flown in two days ago to join the team. Nobody knew what to make of that, what to make of him. He had played for the Banners once before, leaving when Vegas had picked him up in the expansion eight years ago. And there was some kind of history between him and Coach Donovan, some kind of tension nobody understood.

  Not that Caleb cared. Right now, he didn’t care about much of anything.

  Jaxon swore under his breath then finally sat on the empty stool beside Caleb. He leaned forward, motioned for a beer, then settled in. Getting comfortable—like he was prepared to sit there all night and bug the living shit out of Caleb. Until Caleb gave in.

  Or until he just got up and left.

  “Why don’t you just fucking call her and apologize and get it over with?”

  Caleb grunted, the sound filled with every ounce of disbelief he could muster. Apologize? It would take a hell of a lot more than an apology to fix this. He could apologize until he was blue in the face and it wouldn’t help. Why the hell should Shannon forgive him, when he couldn’t even forgive himself?

  “You’re not even going to try to call her, are you?”

  “Why, when I know she won’t answer the phone?”

  “How do you know if you don’t try?”

  Caleb twisted on the stool, leveling a flat glare at Jaxon. “I did try.” And he had—at least two dozen times. And every single time, his call had gone straight to voicemail. Had she blocked his number? Probably.

  He’d even gone over to her place but she wasn’t home. Her brother had come out while Caleb was standing in the driveway and made it very clear that he wasn’t welcome there. That Shannon wanted nothing to do with him. That he should leave and not bother coming back.

  Caleb didn’t miss the silent or else tacked onto the end of that last suggestion.

  “Then try one more time.”

  “What good would it do?”

  Jaxon made a little humming noise then slowly nodded. “Fine. I’ll call her myself.”

  And damn if the asshole didn’t pull the phone from his pocket and pretend he was dialing a number. Except maybe he wasn’t pretending, maybe he was really doing it—

  Caleb reached for the phone, his fingers slipping off the sides as Jaxon held it out of his reach. “I don’t need you intervening for me.”

  “Who the fuck said anything about intervening? I’m calling to ask her out. Shannon’s hot, man. And funny. And—”

  Caleb’s hand shot out, closed around the other man’s collar and twisted. “Do it and I will fuck you up.”

  Jaxon didn’t even flinch. He simply stared at Caleb, his dark blue eyes totally void of emotion. Several seconds marched by, quiet and tense. Then he reached up and slowly, calmly, pushed Caleb’s hand away.

  “Don’t ever grab me again.” There was something in the other man’s low voice, an eerie calmness that made Caleb sit back with a frown—and more than a little wariness. An apology hovered on the tip of his tongue but before he could get it out, Jaxon’s demeanor changed. In the blink of an eye, he was the same man Caleb had known for two years: the laughing jokester, the one who always saw the silver lining.

  Had Caleb imagined that lethal stillness? Had he read more into it than what had been there?

  Fuck. Maybe he was just losing his mind. Maybe he was so caught up in the realization of how big an ass he really was that he was starting to see things.

  “You can’t have it both ways, Johnson. If you like her, if you really think there’s something there, then fucking call her and apologize. Better yet, go see her and grovel. I’ve heard that works.”

  “Like she’d even take the time out to see me.”

  “See her. Don’t see her. Apologize or don’t apologize. Doesn’t bother me one way or the other.” Jaxon slid off the stool with a careless shrug. “But don’t cry foul when someone else decides to move in and she moves on.”

  Caleb watched him as he walked away, wondering what the hell the words meant. Were they a warning? Was there someone else interested in Shannon? His gaze moved to the corner of the room, where loud conversation and laughter rang out. Had one of his teammates already asked her out? More than one of them had made a comment about Shannon’s looks, about how they wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Like Shane, all those weeks ago. Like Jaxon, just now. Were there others?

  Why the hell wouldn’t there be? It wasn’t just Shannon’s looks, but her attitude, too. Her sense of humor. Her sarcasm. And yeah, even her talent in the net. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who appreciated that—even if he had been the only one having a meltdown on the ice during the exhibition game.

  And hell, could he blame any one of them if they did ask her out? He had fucked up. Totally. Royally. Publicly. Shannon deserved better. She deserved to be with someone who wasn’t so fucking insecure around her.

  He looked over at his teammates once more, anger simmering ins
ide him at the mere thought of anyone else being with Shannon. Not just his teammates…anyone. The image of Shannon laughing with anyone else—of spending time with anyone else, of being with anyone else—curled his stomach. The bitterness of loss filled him, churning his gut until he wanted to heave.

  Fuck.

  Fuck.

  He had to make this right. Had to apologize.

  What was it Jaxon had said?

  Grovel.

  The idea that he would grovel for anything would have made him laugh a few weeks ago. But not now. Not anymore.

  And if that’s what it took, then so be it. He’d grovel. Hell, he’d do more than grovel. He’d do whatever it took to win her back.

  Caleb stared into the half-empty mug and frowned. Yes, he’d do whatever he had to do.

  But something told him it wouldn’t be enough. It would never be enough.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As far as distractions went, Shannon had put up with worse.

  When she was younger, playing on the same team as her brother, the guys—the boys—from the other team would taunt her. Call her names. Get in her face or deliberately get too close, crowding her. Trying to distract her, to make her lose focus enough to miss a save. The first few times, it had worked. Not because she had been upset—although she could reluctantly admit now that part of her was—but because she had been angry. Furious. All she wanted to do was play hockey, to be a goalie. They didn’t torment the other goalies the way they did her. Why was she different? Why couldn’t they just let her play?

  The name-calling and taunting didn’t stop, even when she got older. Instead, it became more personal, almost threatening. Not by everyone. For the most part, she wasn’t treated any differently. She was just another goalie, except she had long hair and was starting to fill out in ways the other guys on her team weren’t. She’d have a locker room all to herself because they weren’t little kids anymore, because it wasn’t appropriate for her to be in the same locker room with her teammates when they were changing. She was different—but she was still one of the guys.

  For the most part.

  As for the small-minded jocks who couldn’t see past her looks—she’d simply smile at them, laughing when they got flustered, then put them in their places the only way she knew how: by beating them on the ice.

  She thought the time for the juvenile tactics was over, that it had been over for years. That was just one of the reasons why Caleb’s stunt last week hurt so much. Not because he was upset about losing—Shannon could understand that, could even relate to that.

  What she couldn’t understand was the anger etched so clearly on his face as he crowded her. Shoved her. As he slashed at her wrist, repeatedly. He had reminded her so much of all those boys who taunted her, teased her, convinced she couldn’t play the game because she was a girl.

  Who became angry and threatening when they learned not only could she play—but she just happened to be better than they were. She knew Caleb was competitive; what she didn’t know, not until that exhibition game, was that he also happened to be just like those boys from years ago.

  That he was insecure. That his ego couldn’t let him accept that maybe, just maybe, they were on equal footing.

  Someone yelled, catching her attention. Shannon blinked, her gaze darting to the action on the ice just ahead of her. Holy shit, what the hell was she doing? Standing here, getting lost in her thoughts when there was a fucking game going on right in front of her.

  She exhaled, forced all thoughts and memories from her mind as she focused on the game. Her gaze darted to the puck, watched as one of the players from Philly dodged around Sammie, moving closer. There was something almost desperate about her actions, about the speed she was building as she approached the net.

  Shannon narrowed her eyes, bracing herself for the collision even as she prepared to block the shot. They happened almost simultaneously—the puck hurtling toward her, hitting the pocket of her glove with a sharp thud just as the body drove into her chest.

  Shannon tossed the puck to the side, away from the net, then crashed backward, arms and legs tangling together with the other woman’s as the net slid into the boards behind her. The air rushed from her lungs, leaving her breathless for an agonizing few seconds. A shrill whistle split the air. Hands reached for her, pulling and yanking and tugging until she was finally resting on all fours, sucking frigid air into her struggling lungs.

  More hands reached for her, pulling her to her feet. Voices, bombarding her with questions.

  Are you okay?

  Did you get hurt?

  Can you breathe?

  Shannon nodded, shook her head, shrugged. Yes. No.

  Maybe.

  She bent over at the waist and gulped, sucking in more air until finally, thank God, her lungs stopped seizing and started working on their own.

  A hand gripped her elbow and she looked up. Taylor was watching her, concern etched on her frowning face. “Need a minute?”

  Shannon shook her head and finally straightened, shrugged off Shannon’s hold. “No. I’m good.”

  Taylor shifted, looking up in the stands, then turned back to Shannon. “Are you sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Positive.” Shannon reiterated her words with a sharp nod, doing her best not to look over.

  Doing her best to ignore Caleb.

  It had worked, for the most part. There had been a brief moment of confusion and surprise—of anger—when she first came out on the ice and saw him sitting in the stands with a few of his teammates. She felt his eyes on her, had to force herself not to look, even though she wanted to shout and scream and ask him why he was here. But only for the first few minutes. Once the game started, she put him from her mind. Ignoring him. Forgetting he was here.

  Right up until a few minutes ago, when Caleb’s presence had somehow mingled with unbidden memories of her childhood games. Distracting her, when she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  She nodded at Taylor again, then nudged her in the side. “I’m good. Stop worrying.”

  “You sure?”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely.” Shannon adjusted her helmet. “Come on, we’ve got a power play. Let’s finish this thing so we can go grab some food.”

  Taylor hesitated then finally nodded, a crooked smile on her face. “Sounds like a plan.”

  Five minutes later, the game was over and they were back in their musty locker room, celebrating another win. How long could they keep the streak going?

  As soon as the thought entered her mind, Shannon pushed it away. One game at a time. They couldn’t think in terms of streaks—if they did, they might jinx it.

  Coach Reynolds finished up her postgame speech then caught Shannon’s attention. “Wiley, don’t forget your interview after cleaning up.”

  Shannon’s excitement immediately dimmed. Shit. How had she forgotten? TR was out in the stands somewhere, waiting for her.

  Maybe she could postpone it again, come up with some excuse. Tell TR she wasn’t feeling good, or that she had other plans. That wouldn’t exactly be a lie—she did have other plans: food and drinks with the team. That counted, right?

  Except Shannon had been blowing TR off ever since the exhibition game a week ago. She didn’t want to finish the interview. Didn’t want to answer any more questions. Didn’t want to take a chance that TR might ask about—

  No, TR wouldn’t do that. Shannon was fairly sure of that. But she still didn’t feel like finishing the interview. Maybe she could convince TR to pick someone else. Like Dani. Or Sydney. Maybe Maddison. Anyone but her.

  That wasn’t possible, though. Yes, she could probably get out of it if she wanted to—she had a feeling TR would understand. But the idea left a hollowness in the pit of her stomach. She wasn’t a quitter, never had been. She couldn’t start now.

  Shannon hurried through the shower, drying off and getting dressed in simple black pants and a tailored blouse that didn’t need to be tucked in. She didn’t bother with he
r hair, just simply pulled the damp length back into a ponytail. Then she grabbed her bag and followed everyone else out of the locker room—

  And froze when she saw Caleb standing there against the boards, waiting for her.

  A dozen different emotions churned inside her, none of them good. She wanted to ask him why he was here. Wanted to ask him why he kept calling, why he showed up at her place the other day. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone.

  Most of all, she wanted to ask him why he had acted the way he had last week. Why? She still didn’t understand. Or rather, she was afraid she understood too well.

  She did none of those things. Instead, she turned away, ignoring him as she searched for TR. Caleb didn’t take the hint because he followed her, his hand reaching for her. She shot him a withering look and his hand dropped to his side. But he kept staring at her, those deep green eyes filled with remorse. With loneliness. With sorrow.

  She almost snorted. Yeah, she was definitely seeing things.

  “Shannon, can we talk?”

  “No.”

  Surprise flashed across his face and she almost laughed—except it wasn’t funny. None of this was funny.

  “Shannon—”

  “Can you just leave me alone? I have nothing to say to you.”

  “Fine. Don’t say anything. I’m just asking you to listen.”

  She hesitated, feeling herself giving in. And how totally stupid would that be? “I’m busy. I’m meeting TR—”

  “She had to step out for a phone call. She said to tell you she’d be a few minutes.”

  Was he telling the truth? She didn’t know. And she wouldn’t put it past him to ask TR to disappear for a few minutes, not if it would help him get what he wanted.

  Shannon looked around, not quite willing to believe him. There was no sign of TR, not up in the bleachers, not by the benches near the front doors. But she did see Mac, leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his broad chest, a scowl on his face. The man seemed to be everywhere TR was lately, always hovering in the background, always watching.