Playing Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 3)
Page 20
The impulse that had seized her more than two hours ago was suddenly gone, replaced by an even stronger urge to turn and run. How stupid was that? It was because of the strength of that stupid impulse that she was even here. How long had she tried to ignore it as she lay in bed, tossing and turning? Ten minutes? Twenty? No, longer than that.
It was a stupid idea, no matter how she looked at it. That apparently didn’t matter because here she was, dressed in a sweatshirt and track pants and her freaking slippers because the impulse had actually driven her from her bed and out of her small apartment above her brother’s garage before she realized that wearing slippers with track pants probably wasn’t a very smart fashion choice.
Giving in to that impulse wasn’t a very smart choice, either, but here she was.
And all she wanted to do was turn around and run back home.
Shannon ran a hand through her hair, frowning when her fingers encountered a few tangles. Holy hell, she hadn’t even thought to run a brush through her hair. What had she been thinking?
She hadn’t been, that was the problem.
Which was why she was standing in a deserted hallway in front of Caleb’s door after midnight, when she should be home in bed. Asleep. Alone. She had to get up in five hours to go to work. She didn’t need to be here, staring at a stupid door.
But she couldn’t quite make herself turn around to leave. TR’s words kept replaying in her mind: I just think you’d regret it if you didn’t at least talk to him more. That’s all. Shannon didn’t want to think the other woman was right, didn’t want to admit that maybe she had a point. But what if she did? What if Shannon was overreacting? What if she didn’t at least try and talk to Caleb some more? What if…
Too many what ifs.
That was why she finally rolled out of bed and got dressed in the first thing her hands had wrapped around. That was why she hurried from her place so fast, she forgot to put shoes on.
And that was why she was still standing here like some kind of idiot, afraid to turn around and leave, but afraid to knock on that door.
A wave of frustration washed over her—frustration at herself, for being so indecisive. So uncertain. That wasn’t like her. Why now? Why was she standing here, arguing with herself now?
Because she was afraid. Afraid of giving Caleb a second chance. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of not taking a chance. Because what if she didn’t, and it turned out there really could be something between them?
What if she did, and he turned out to be just like everyone else? What if he tried to change her then walked away when he realized he couldn’t?
A little voice piped up inside her head. But what if he’s not like that?
And that was the problem. That stupid little voice inside her head kept reminding her of all the fun they’d had the last two months. Taunting her with the memories. Reminding her that Caleb had never given any indication of wanting to change her. At all.
Except for the exhibition game, when he got so pissed that the Banners were losing to a bunch of women.
Wouldn’t you be pissed, too, if you were losing?
Shannon told that stupid voice to shut up but it was too late. Would she be pissed? Yeah. She hated losing. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t the fact that the Banners had been losing that pissed Caleb off—it was who they had been losing to.
And she was abso-fucking-lutely losing her mind because she was still standing out in the hallway, arguing with herself.
Fine. She’d knock on the door, wait ten seconds. If he didn’t answer, she’d turn around and go home.
She raised her hand, dropped it. Raised it again.
Dropped it again.
This was ridiculous. Caleb was probably asleep. His huge bedroom was on the second level of the sprawling waterfront condo, no way would he hear her knocking on the door. She’d just go home, come back later.
Maybe in a week or two, after she had time to really think this through. Or maybe she’d just call him. That would probably be better than just showing up unannounced. Safer.
No. She’d send a text. That would be the safest thing to do.
She nodded and turned around, willing her feet to carry her to the elevator. One foot in front of the other.
Except her feet weren’t moving.
She swore under her breath, turned back to face the door. Paused, turned back around and actually managed to move. Just a few inches, but it was progress.
Then she stopped. Hesitated. Was she really going to just quit? She wasn’t a quitter.
But this wasn’t quitting. This was just being smart. Regrouping so she could come back later.
Or text him later.
Something.
Coward.
Shannon paused, her head tilted to the side. She really was losing it because she could have sworn she just heard that in stereo. It was the little voice inside her head, piping up once again.
But it was also deeper than usual. A little gruff, a little sleepy.
And it didn’t just come from inside her head, it came from behind her.
Shannon spun around, surprise and embarrassment filling her at the same time. Caleb was leaning just inside the doorway, one bare shoulder propped against the frame. Tousled hair fell into deep green eyes. Those same eyes watched her, sleepy but still intense. Freezing her in place when all she wanted to do was run for cover.
She raised her chin a notch, forcing bravado into her voice. “I’m not a coward.”
“Then why haven’t you knocked yet?”
“Because I thought you’d be sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I was sleeping—”
“See? All the more reason for me to leave—”
“—Until they called me to let me know someone was coming up.”
“Oh.” Shit. She hadn’t thought of that. Hadn’t given the guy at the lobby desk any thought at all when she hurried past him with a wave, telling him she was going to see Caleb and wouldn’t be long.
“They asked if they should come up and escort you back down.”
“Oh.” That made sense, if she stopped to think about it. Probably one of the perks of living here. “Did you tell them yes?”
“No.” He stepped to the side and opened the door a little wider. “You coming in? Or are you going to run away?”
Shannon narrowed her eyes, told herself not to take the bait. “I wasn’t running away.”
“Looked like it to me.”
“I told you, I figured you were sleeping and didn’t want to bother you. I was going to come back later.” She wasn’t, but she wasn’t about to admit that to him.
“I’m not, and you aren’t. And you’re here now so you might as well come in.”
Dammit. Dammit, dammit, shit. She was stuck now. There was no way she could leave without looking like a coward.
But it was tempting. So tempting.
Shannon hesitated, but only for a second. Then she squared her shoulders and marched right past him, trying not to brush up against, trying to ignore the sleepy determination in his eyes, trying to ignore the expanse of flushed skin that heated her as she walked by. Why couldn’t he have put on some clothes, instead of answering the door in nothing but a pair of loose gym shorts that were in danger of falling off his lean hips?
The door closed behind her with a soft click, plunging them into gray shadows broken only by the dim light spilling out from the kitchen. Caleb brushed past her, turning into that very kitchen. She heard another click and bright light spilled into the hallway.
She slowly followed him, heading straight for one of the stools sitting at the granite-topped island in the middle of the gleaming room. She pulled the stool out, climbed up, then propped her arms on the cold granite.
A bottle of water appeared at her elbow. Unfortunately, a hand was wrapped around the bottle. And that hand was attached to Caleb, who stood entirely too close to her.
“Nice shoes.”
She didn’t bother looking down,
barely bothered looking at him. She simply smiled and nodded, like she always wore her slippers out when she visited people after midnight. “Thanks.”
Caleb lowered himself onto the stool next to her. Too close. Crowding her. His bare leg brushed against hers and she wanted to move to the side, away from him. Away from his heat. But she couldn’t, not without looking like she was trying to avoid him.
He propped his elbow on the counter and leaned forward, his face entering her peripheral vision. Again, too close. “So what brings you out this time of night?”
Shannon twisted the cap off the bottle, took a quick sip, then shrugged. “Oh, you know. Just driving around.”
“Shannon.” He leaned even closer, crowding her, and this time she did move. Just a few inches, so they weren’t touching. It didn’t work because he simply moved with her, closing the distance she had just put between them. He cupped her chin in his warm palm and eased her head to the side so she was facing him. Dark green eyes pierced hers, holding her in place, silently willing her not to look away. Not that she could, even if she wanted to. “Talk to me.”
“I just…” Her voice trailed off, her mind dangerously blank. What had she come here to say? She didn’t know, hadn’t thought that far ahead. Not when the impulse to come see him had finally pushed her from her bed and out the door. Not during the drive over here. Not even when she had been standing outside his door, arguing with herself.
She took a deep breath and yanked her gaze from his, focusing on the granite countertop. Polished black, with swirling veins of white and gray. Soft, smooth. Cool beneath her fingers.
She pressed her hand flat against the surface, spread her fingers wide then drew them together. Again and again, until Caleb’s hand closed over hers. Warm, heavy. He turned her hand over, cradling it in his before slowly threaded their fingers together. Then he gently squeezed, silently encouraging her.
Shannon kept staring at their joined hands. If she focused on them instead of the man sitting next to her, maybe she’d be able to get the words out. “I was always the oddball growing up. I never fit in with the girls, never understood why they wanted to play with dolls or dress-up when it was more fun running and climbing and getting dirty. But I never really fit in with the boys, either.”
“Shannon—”
“It wasn’t so bad when I was younger. We were just little kids, you know? But when I got older, the boys realized I was different. And different wasn’t good.” Shannon paused, raised the bottle to her mouth and took a long swallow. Caleb didn’t say anything, just sat there holding her hand. Waiting.
“My best friend growing up was Russell Matthews. He lived a few doors down and we were always hanging out together, doing stupid stuff. Building forts, climbing trees, that kind of thing. We played hockey together, too. Until I turned thirteen.”
“What happened then?”
“Puberty.” Shannon laughed, the hollow sound just a little too loud. “Well, that, and Russell decided he wanted to be a goalie. It was a new travel team so we had to try out, not like the previous years, when we were just playing rec.”
“Let me guess: you kicked Russell’s ass.”
Shannon laughed again, the sound sad and bitter, devoid of all humor. “Yeah. And my best friend, the one I had done everything with for the last six years, turned on me. He told me there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t normal. That girls shouldn’t play hockey and that I scared all the boys. And then he never spoke to me again.”
The room fell quiet, filled with nothing more than the sound of their soft breathing and the low hum of the shiny black refrigerator standing in the corner. Caleb finally squeezed her hand, his heavy sigh echoing around them.
“Russell was an ass.”
“True.”
“So am I.”
Shannon laughed again, the sound surprising her. “True, too.”
“But I’m not Russell. And you don’t scare me, Shannon.”
She turned her head and their gazes met, held. She didn’t look away, didn’t try to hide the doubt and worry she knew he could see. “Maybe not, but I pissed you off. Is that really any different?”
He opened his mouth and Shannon held her breath, knowing he was going to say it was. Knowing he was going to make an excuse or blow it off. But he surprised her instead.
“No, it’s not.”
“Oh. I thought—”
He squeezed her hand, silencing her. “The difference is that I know I was wrong and I’m willing to admit it.”
“What if it happens again? I meant it when I said I can’t change, Caleb. I don’t want to change.”
“Nobody is asking you to.”
“But what about next time?”
“If there’s a next time—and I don’t think there will be because I don’t think I’m really as bad as Russell—you’ll just have to sit me down and lecture me.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“Then you can take me outside and beat me up.” And damn if he didn’t smile when he said that, the devilishly crooked smile that deepened that damned dimple in his cheek.
“I think you’d enjoy that too much.”
His smile widened, danced in his eyes. “Maybe.” The smile faded and he leaned closer, reaching out with his free hand to tuck the hair behind her ear. He caressed her cheek, traced the line of her jaw, ran his thumb along the fullness of her lower lip. “What we’ve got going here, Shannon…I’m not sure what it is, but I’d like to see where it goes.”
Her heart pounded in her chest, a steady thump-thump-thump that echoed in her ears. This was it, the chance she had been so afraid of. She could either take it…or she could walk away and always wonder what if.
She didn’t want to wonder. And if it didn’t work—well, that was a chance she’d have to take. A chance she wanted to take.
She leaned in, brushed her mouth against his, felt her body soften and melt as his arms folded around her and pulled her closer.
“Me, too.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
“What the fuck do you mean, he’s not available? Where the fuck is he?”
Coach Donovan’s desperate voice echoed down the hallway, bouncing off the concrete walls and spilling through the open door of the locker room. Caleb rested his arms on his knees, trying to pretend he couldn’t hear every single word.
Just like the rest of the team.
His gaze slid across the room, stopping to rest on Corbin Gauthier. His eyes were closed, his head tilted back and resting against the wall. His chest rose with each deep breath, fell with each silent exhalation. If Caleb didn’t know better, he’d think the goalie was sleeping. But he did know better, knew the man was simply meditating, or doing whatever the hell that whole breathing thing was to mentally prepare. He’d done the same thing before every game since he’d been back. The only thing that surprised Caleb was the fact that he was doing it here, instead of the spare room down the hall where Dan Lory usually went before games. Gauthier was going to be in net tonight, not playing backup like he had been, so there was no reason he couldn’t use that room now.
Because Dan certainly wasn’t using it, not when he was in the bathroom, throwing his guts up.
Another loud retch drifted in from the bathroom. Ryan Grant paled just the tiniest bit and looked away, a damp sheen breaking out on his forehead. He noticed Caleb watching him and forced a brittle smile. “I wish he’d just go home before he gets us all sick.”
Caleb was pretty sure that Ryan was more concerned about puking his own guts up instead of catching whatever the hell Lory had, but he didn’t say anything. And Christ, how many times could one man hurl? He’d been at it for the last hour, ever since he finally made it to the arena. Pale, sweating, shuffling like a condemned man taking his final steps to the gallows.
Donovan had taken one look at him and swore—then swore some more when Lory admitted he’d been throwing up since this morning and had just barely made it through game-day skate.
Ryan winced when more loud retching drifted from the bathroom. He got up and moved to the door, slamming it closed just as Dan started dry heaving—but not quick enough to hide the sound of bowels exploding.
“Oh for fuck’s sake, you have got to be kidding me.” Ryan hurried to the other side of the room, his face paling even more. “There’s something seriously fucking wrong with him.”
“Food poisoning.”
Everyone turned to look at Jaxon. He shrugged, his gaze focused on the blade of his stick as he wrapped it with tape. “Vomiting. The shits. Just saying it sounds like food poisoning, is all.”
More yelling drifted in from the coach’s office, the words unintelligible. Caleb didn’t need to hear them to know they were in trouble—none of them did. They were down a goalie and they couldn’t play without a backup. Normally they’d pull someone up from the Bombers but the Bombers were a few hundred miles away. No way could either of their goalies get here in time for the game, not when puck drop was in forty-five minutes. If Lory had come clean this morning…maybe. But even then, it would have been cutting it close.
And apparently the team’s EBUG—emergency backup goalie—was MIA. Listening to Coach Donovan’s desperate yelling was enough to clue everyone into that little newsflash.
Hunter leaned forward. “You think he’ll use Mitch Halterman?”
“No idea. Wouldn’t be the first time a goalie coach was used as backup.”
“True. Of course, he could always use one of us. That’s happened before.”
Evan Leeds laughed, the sound short and sarcastic. “Yeah, but how long ago has that been? And who would he use? The only one of us who ever played in net was Ilya.”
The other man’s eyes widened and he shook his head. “Da nyet. Too many long ago. Not good.”
Caleb wasn’t sure if Ilya meant not good in that he wasn’t any good, or not good in that the whole situation sucked. He didn’t have a chance to ask because Coach Donovan barreled into the room, with the assistant coaches John Solon and Terry Dreistadt right behind him. John kept going, straight into the bathroom—probably to check on Lory. Hopefully to take the man to the hospital.