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

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Or at least get him out of earshot before everyone else started hurling.

  Donovan’s fingers tightened around the papers curled in his hand as his gaze swept the room. He pulled in a deep breath then ran his free hand over his jaw, the rasp of his beard whispering in the silence surrounding them. “We need an EBUG.”

  Nobody said anything. And Caleb had to choke back a laugh when Ilya actually slid down on the bench, trying to hide behind Jacob. Did the big Russian think that would work, when Jacob was at least a head shorter and fifty pounds lighter?

  The laughter Caleb had been choking back abruptly died. He started to speak, swallowed back the words, shook his head. No. It was ridiculous. There was no way—

  “Got something to say, Johnson?”

  He started to shake his head again, thought about joining Ilya in hiding behind Jacob. Then he stopped. Why not? The worst thing that could happen was everyone would laugh at him and think he’d lost his mind.

  But he hadn’t. And the more he thought about it—

  “Well, Johnson? Out with it.”

  “I just remembered that the Blades are here tonight. For that whole intermission thing they do.”

  Silence descended over the room, quick and complete. Heat filled his face but he refused to back down, refused to shrink under the weight of every single gaze focused on him.

  Shane was the first one to speak up, his voice filled with surprised laughter. “You’re out of your fucking mind. No fucking way.”

  A few more voices joined in, echoing Shane’s words. But only a few, their tone not quite as disbelieving.

  Coach Donovan wasn’t one of them. In fact, the man said absolutely nothing. He just stood there, staring at Caleb, his expression carefully blank.

  Then surprisingly thoughtful.

  “They’re here now?”

  Caleb glanced at the clock hanging on the back wall then nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”

  Donovan ran a hand along his jaw again then shifted, turning back to exchange a look with Terry. “Are you coming up with anything else?”

  “Not a fucking thing.”

  “Coach, you can’t be serious.” Disbelief filled Shane’s voice as he started to stand, his hands waving frantically in front of him. Donovan leveled a dark glare in his direction and Shane quickly sat back down, not saying another word.

  “Gauthier, how are you feeling tonight?”

  Corbin opened his eyes, meeting Coach’s direct gaze with his own. “Fine.” The chilly tone in his voice matched the coach’s and Caleb wondered once more what had caused the tension between the two men.

  It didn’t matter, not now. Not when Coach Donovan was watching him now. And why the hell was he looking at him that way, like he’d suddenly grown two heads? Caleb wanted to look away, to drop his gaze and pretend he hadn’t said a fucking word. But he didn’t, because Coach was suddenly talking to him, asking him a question he never thought he’d hear.

  “You going to be okay with her sitting on the bench?”

  Her. Shannon. Because holy shit, Coach was actually considering using her as the EBUG. He had to be, or he wouldn’t ask.

  “Yes, Coach.” Caleb didn’t try to hide his smile. “I’m more than okay with her being on the bench with us.” Because unless something happened to Corbin, she wouldn’t leave the bench. She’d be there as a backup only, just in case something did happen. And if something happened and she ended up in the net? He’d be fine with that, too. Shannon was a great goalie, he knew that from firsthand experience.

  Donovan glanced around the room, his gaze resting on each player before moving to the next. “Anyone else have a problem with it?”

  Nobody said a word, not even Shane.

  Donovan finally nodded, almost like he was trying to convince himself, then turned toward Terry. “Find her and get the paperwork signed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Seven minutes left in the game.

  Seven minutes.

  Her nerves had lasted this long. Surely they would last seven more minutes.

  Shannon still couldn’t believe it. The last two-plus hours were still fuzzy, cloaked in that dream-like quality that filtered everything in shades of wispy gray. But this wasn’t a dream—not in that sense, anyway. This was reality…a reality she had never thought would happen.

  She was playing in a real, professional hockey game. In an arena filled with close to twenty thousand people. On a bench surrounded by players who made millions of dollars a year.

  Not in a quasi-semi-pro league that still struggled to sell tickets.

  Not in a charity exhibition game that was supposed to have been played more for fun than anything else.

  A real game.

  Her. Shannon Wiley. Goalie for the Chesapeake Blades.

  And now the emergency backup goalie for the Baltimore Banners.

  She was wearing one of Dan Lory’s jerseys, number thirty-seven—which just happened to be her own number. The nameplate from her Blades jersey now sewn over his—because they didn’t have time to get her a jersey of her own. Everything had happened too fast. So fast, her head started spinning every time she thought of it.

  She had been downstairs in the back hall of the arena, not doing much of anything except hanging out with Taylor and Sammie and Dani while they waited for everyone else to show up. TR was there, joking about doing a live broadcast from one of her social media accounts during the intermission—and teasing Shannon about her new mission to convert her into a social media junkie. Shannon had been ready to toss the soccer ball at TR when Coach Reynolds had come running up to them, followed by some man she didn’t recognize.

  Then Coach Reynolds looked at her, something glinting in her dark eyes, and told her to grab her gear, that she was going to be playing some hockey.

  Like an idiot, Shannon had simply stared at her. Had almost said, “Duh.” That was why they were here, right? To play some hockey during intermission.

  Then the man stepped forward, explaining everything to her as he led her down a long hall. The Banners were short a goalie and their normal EBUG was out of town. They needed someone else to fill in.

  And hey, by the way, sign this ATO and suit up because the Banners needed to be on the ice in twenty minutes.

  Shannon had stared at the paperwork, completely baffled until Coach Reynolds leaned in and explained it was an amateur tryout contract. That, for one night, she’d be playing for the Banners.

  Now. Tonight. Here.

  Then she was whisked away to some office so she could change, while someone else—the equipment manager maybe, she wasn’t sure—grabbed her jersey and disappeared with it. He came back a few minutes later with another jersey and pushed it toward her. She glanced down at the ball of blue material in her hands, frowning when she noticed her nameplate had been sewn over someone else’s name.

  Because that was all they had time for and she needed to hurry up, now, because it was time to hit the ice.

  Then Caleb was there, his face close to hers, his brows pulled in a low frown as he watched her. His voice had been quiet, meant for her ears only when he spoke.

  “Are you okay?”

  And Shannon had looked at him, shook her head, and in a clear voice that still surprised her, told him she thought she was going to hurl.

  Caleb had simply chuckled and said that was why she was here to begin with, then nudged her into line ahead of him.

  And then she was on the ice, skating around for the pre-game warmups with everyone else. The Banners’ new goalie, Corbin Gauthier, urged her into the net with quiet words of reassurance. There was something about him—his penetrating eyes and softly accented voice—that calmed her. And that was what she needed—calm reassurance.

  After that, things settled a bit. At least, everything besides her nerves. She had time for some breathing exercises, time to relax just a bit during the first intermission as she sat in the locker room with everyone else—the locker room, not by herself in some small mus
ty office with barely enough room to move.

  Coach Donovan came in, talked about strategy and sticking to the script and keeping their heads in the game. Shannon almost laughed because Coach Reynolds did the same thing at every Blades’ game, only with less colorful language.

  The second intermission was a little more tense—which was odd, because Shannon’s nerves had lessened just a little bit. They were going into the third period leading the game two-to-one, they needed to go out shooting hard to keep the lead. Instead of focusing on Coach Donovan’s words, she let her mind drift, searching for her zone. She wouldn’t need it—she was the backup in name only, there only if something horrendous happened and Gauthier couldn’t play. She knew enough about these guys to know that wasn’t going to happen, that they’d play through anything short of a heart attack or a sliced carotid artery.

  And now the game was nearly over. Seven more minutes. She only had to last seven more minutes. And yeah, that was a long time in a hockey game, anything could happen. She hoped it didn’t, at least not on Pittsburgh’s part, because she didn’t want the game to end in a tie and be forced to go to the three-on-three overtime and then, God forbid, to the shootout. She was fairly certain her nerves would finally snap and she would hurl if that happened.

  She closed her eyes and took another cleansing breath, surprised she wasn’t hyperventilating from taking so many. It was the only way she knew to make certain she looked calm on the outside. That, and frantically chomping down on the gum Coach Donovan had given her.

  To help settle her nerves, he had explained with a quick wink.

  Shannon reached up to adjust the Banners ballcap on her head then settled into her perch against the boards, watching as the play moved toward them.

  As it moved closer to the net.

  Two guys from Pittsburgh were passing the puck between them, getting closer and closer even though Ilya Semenov and Parker Gibson were right there, trying to stop them. They shot the puck, missed, moved in for the rebound and missed again. Shannon held her breath, leaning forward as she watched Gauthier make yet another save. Instead of covering the puck and killing the play, he whipped it to the side, toward Caleb. It hit the blade of his stick, bounced over, and slid toward the boards. Caleb spun around, pure poetic motion on ice, and passed the puck behind him.

  The pass was intercepted by someone from Pittsburgh, who charged toward the net—

  And barreled straight into Gauthier just as he’d been dropping into a butterfly position. Bodies collided, loud grunts echoing in the cold air as the net slid free. The officials were already there, pulling bodies apart, separating players before a brawl could start.

  But Gauthier just lay there, not moving except for the hands grabbing his upper thigh.

  The bottom of Shannon’s stomach dropped open and an icy blast of dread rushed in, numbing her as she looked on. The Banners’ trainer hurried out to the ice, slipping and sliding before finally reaching the goalie. Minutes stretched around them, each passing one pulling tighter on Shannon’s nerves.

  Get up. Get up. Get up.

  But the goalie still wasn’t moving. Two more people from the Banners’ bench made their way out to the ice. They were talking but Shannon couldn’t hear. They were too far away. It didn’t matter, she wouldn’t have been able to hear even if they had been right next to her, shouting. The blood was pounding through her veins, the noise escalating until it was nothing more than the loud beat of a bass drum filling her ears.

  Someone tapped on her shoulder, hard, making her think the tapping had been going on for a while. She swallowed, nearly choking on the gum, then turned to meet Coach Donovan’s gaze.

  “Get ready. You’re going in.” He nodded at something behind Shannon and she looked over her shoulder, trying not groan out loud when she saw Corbin Gauthier being helped back to the bench.

  Oh shit. Holy fuck. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, shit.

  This couldn’t be happening.

  This was happening.

  She pushed the ballcap from her head, turned to reach for her helmet—and saw at least a dozen sets of eyes staring at her from the bench. Surprise. Disbelief. Disappointment. Encouragement. So many different emotions. Too many. She couldn’t look, couldn’t let them get to her. If she did, she’d collapse before she could make it past center ice.

  She closed her eyes, breathed in, held it for a count of five. Then she dropped the helmet on her head and secured it, grabbed her stick, and started for the ice. A hand grabbed her arm and she turned around, surprised to see Coach Donovan leaning so close to her.

  Surprised at the quiet encouragement in his eyes.

  “I had other options for EBUG tonight but you were the best one. Just remember that.”

  Shannon nodded—at least, she tried to—then stepped onto the ice and skated toward the net. There would be no chance to warm up, no chance to settle in and get her legs under her. No chance to clear her head and get into her zone. This was it.

  Six minutes and twelve seconds left to go in the game. And the faceoff would be right in front of her.

  Talk about pressure.

  She choked back a nervous laugh and got into position, ignoring the increasing noise level around her. She had to ignore it, couldn’t get caught up in wondering if the crowd was cheering—or jeering.

  Breathe.

  Focus.

  This was no different than any other game. No different than any other time she had played goalie for the last seventeen years. She could do this.

  She had to do this.

  Caleb slid up to her, his green eyes focused on hers from behind his mask.

  “You okay?”

  Shannon exhaled, forced a smile to her face. “Yeah. I think.”

  “You got this.”

  “Abso-fucking-lutely I have this.”

  “I know you do. And we’ve got your back.” Caleb grinned then tipped his head toward her, tapping her helmet with his before skating off. Then, one by one, the other players did the same. Ilya and Parker. Marc Sanford. Even Shane Masters. All tapping their helmets against hers, all giving her words of encouragement.

  And then the puck dropped and the game exploded into action. Shannon held her breath, trying to find the puck, trying to follow the game but holy fuck it was fast. Faster than she expected.

  And shit, she needed to breathe. Breathe, dammit. Focus.

  Shane cleared the puck and play moved away from her, giving her a chance to draw breath. What the fuck was her problem? She was fucking freaking out for no reason. She couldn’t afford to do that. Couldn’t afford to let the Banners down.

  To let her team down.

  Yes. Her team. For the next five minutes and eighteen seconds, the Banners were her team.

  And she abso-fucking-lutely would not let them down.

  The minutes seemed to drag on, though she knew that wasn’t the case. There hadn’t even been a line change yet, though she suspected one was coming soon. Maybe now—

  No, not now, because dammit, Pittsburgh had the puck again and they were heading her way.

  Shannon narrowed her eyes, focused on the puck hurtling toward her and nothing but the puck. Knees bent, arms relaxed, not moving, just watching. Watching…

  The guy—she wasn’t sure who it was, hadn’t been paying attention—shot the puck, hard and fast, aiming top shelf. And oh please, was he trying to take it easy on her? Not even.

  She snagged the puck midair, bringing her arm across her body and tossing it to the opposite side, right to Marc Sanford. And she couldn’t help it, she was smiling. She knew she was smiling and figured that was probably bad form but what the hell.

  She’d just made her first save in the big leagues.

  Now if the Banners would actually score that insurance goal. Two would be better. Please let them score. But no, Pittsburgh’s goalie blocked each shot, sending it back into play. How many minutes? How much longer before a line change? The guys had to be getting tired, she could see it on the strained lin
es of their faces, in the way their skates dug even harder into the ice, propelling them forward because shit, Pittsburgh was going to try to score again.

  She blocked the shot again, then the rebound, then one more. She almost pulled it into her chest to stop the play. Almost—until she saw Caleb hovering near center ice, his stick at the ready, his gaze on hers.

  And nobody else around him.

  He tapped the stick against the ice, just once. She didn’t stop to think, didn’t hold her breath, didn’t question the enormity of the risk she was taking. It would either work—

  Or it wouldn’t.

  She dropped the puck right in front of her, saw a flash of white and gold and black dart toward her, like he couldn’t believe she was actually giving him this sweet chance to score. And she wasn’t, not even close. She gripped her stick and hit the puck, sending it flying straight toward Caleb just as something heavy bumped into her. She staggered, caught herself at the last minute, then turned to look into a pair of soft brown eyes.

  And damn if the guy wasn’t grinning.

  “Ballsy move.”

  Then he took off, racing toward the other end of the ice, trying to catch Caleb. But it was too late because Caleb was already shooting the puck, fast and low, right past Pittsburgh’s goalie.

  And yes! Finally! The red light flashed, the horn blaring as close to twenty thousand people jumped to their feet.

  Three-to-one. The Banners had that insurance goal. Now all Shannon had to do was keep blocking shots, keep Pittsburgh from scoring. For another…she glanced up, wondering how much time was left in the game. Two minutes and forty seconds.

  Dread filled her. More than two minutes? And she’d be facing six players now instead of five, because she had no doubt that Pittsburgh would pull their goalie to give them an extra man.

  She could do this. She had to do this.