Centered (Gold Hockey Book 9)

by Elise Faber

  “Eighteen months.”

  “Old enough for me to get her into the karate studio for a real sport,” Mia teased. “That one’s”—she nodded at Coop, who was talking to Gabe Carter, a former M.D. and their current head trainer—“daughter has a few more months to go yet.”

  “You do karate for kids that small?” Mandy asked, eyes wide.

  “It’s more like controlled playtime for kids aged eighteen months to three years,” Mia said. “But yes, they get a little karate thrown in. Mom and Ninja class meets Wednesdays and Fridays at 11:30 am.”

  “That sounds awesome.”

  “It’s fun. Never without tears or chaos, but that’s the age, right?” Mia smiled when a shrill cry rang out, exactly on cue. “My dad started the program, and while I think he regretted it, I like getting my baby fix.”

  Mandy’s eyes drifted over to Blane, where he was walking their daughter, back and forth. “Dads are great.” A slice of sad invaded. “Or at least, they can be.”

  Mia went still, and when she spoke, her voice had gentled. “Looks like your daughter has a great one.”

  Mandy nodded. “Maddy is lucky to have him. I’m lucky to—”

  Max popped his head around the corner. “Ugh! So much sap in this room! Can we cool it on the love speak?” His gaze flicked to Mia. “Hi, Ms. Caldwell!”

  “Hi, Max,” Mia said with a smile.

  Mandy shook her head, but Liam noticed the sad had faded. “You’re just as bad about your Angel, Max Montgomery, so I don’t want to hear it.”

  “True.” Max smacked a kiss on her cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Don’t forget your stretches,” she called as Max disappeared back around the corner. “How do you know Max?” she asked Mia.

  “I teach his son, Brayden.”

  Mandy’s expression softened. “Love that kid. Oh, shoot.” She set down the roll of tape she held. “Excuse me for just a second,” she told them, glancing over Liam’s shoulder. He saw that Coop had wrapped up his conversation with Gabe and was trying to slip from the room, but Mandy didn’t miss much, and her voice rang across the room, “Cooper Armstrong. A word.”

  “Sorry,” she said in an undertone to Mia. “Herding cats.”

  Liam’s lips twitched. “Should I be insulted?”

  Mandy patted his cheek. “No, you’re one of the few who actually listens to me.”

  “Gold star for the day,” he said, lacing his fingers with Mia’s. “We’ll get out of your hair.”

  “It’s no trouble,” Mandy said. “I like having people around.”

  Mia stepped away from Liam and extended her hand. “Thanks for letting me hang with you.”

  “It’s not too often that I meet a person who knows the difference between athletic tape and KT tape, so as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired.” She batted Mia’s hand away. “And I don’t do handshakes. I do hugs.” A beat, already mid-hug when she paused. “Sorry, I should have asked if that’s okay.”

  Mia’s arms wrapped around her in turn. “It’s okay. I can handle a hug.”

  “Just be careful,” Liam said. “J.B. here is a fifth-degree black belt.”

  Mandy pulled back. “Really?”

  A shrug. “Yeah. It comes with the territory when you’re in the studio as much as I am.”

  “And with hard work.” Liam didn’t like her discounting the effort, minimizing what she could do or the commitment it took to get there. “You should see some of the kicks she can do, and the other day, she flipped me with barely any effort.”

  Blane chimed into the conversation. “I’m not sure I want my daughter to know that—”

  “Oh, hell no,” Mandy said, interrupting him. “She needs to know all the things. Do you teach groin shots?”

  Coop, who’d drifted back over on Mandy’s orders, stepped back.

  Probably because she sounded positively gleeful.

  Hell, Liam was having a hard time not covering himself with his hands.

  “Yes,” Mia said laughing, chocolate eyes filled with mirth. “We teach many different self-defense techniques.”

  “Great.” A clap of Mandy’s hand. “How do I sign up?”

  “Her up,” Blane said. “This is for Madeline, not you, right?”

  At Mandy’s considering expression, Mia laughed again, the sound settling into Liam’s heart. God, he loved these people for making her laugh. “I do teach adult classes,” she said. “But if we are talking about Maddy, then eighteen months is a little early for groin kicks. The rest of it, however—” She reached into her purse and pulled out a business card. “There’s the studio information and my email. We can work out the details, and Maddy can have a trial class to make sure she likes it.”

  All the talk of groin shots aside, Liam made a mental note to send Brit a case of beer for getting Mia around Mandy. The trainer was warm and funny and made everyone feel welcome, even stubborn bastards like himself, who tended to hang on the fringes. He was starting to understand what he’d been missing by staying removed. In an attempt to protect himself when he left, he’d neglected to realize that there were good people here, ones who might become good friends.

  Like Brit. Like Mandy.

  Like Coop and Max and Blane.

  Maybe he didn’t have to be an outsider.

  And Mia didn’t have to be either.

  He knew that he didn’t want that for her. He wanted her surrounded by people who could see the soft inside, who could tease and joke. That was important for his woman, and he didn’t think she’d had enough of that in her life.

  And maybe thinking about someone other than himself for a change was going to help him pull his head out of his ass.

  Less moping and worrying.

  More living. More playing. More finding things that filled instead of deflated.

  Mandy gave Mia another hug, this time without the qualifying, and then pulled back and fixed Coop in place with a glare. “Now, how are those ribs?”

  “Mandy,” Coop groaned.

  “No fuss,” she said. “Get your ass on the table and strip.”

  Mia glanced up at Liam, her pretty brown eyes dancing. “I like your friends.”

  Liam touched her cheek, knew that even a week ago, he wouldn’t have considered them close enough to be friends. But it had started with Brit at practice. Hell, it had started well before that, he’d just been too closed off to see it.

  Now, though, he was going to build it, strengthen it, nurture it—

  Because he wasn’t going to let these new connections go.

  Because he wasn’t going to let Mia go.

  Ten

  Mia

  This was some sort of fairy tale, and she was terrified that she was going to wake up and find out it had just been a dream all along.

  How else could she explain the transformation?

  Liam was her fairy godmother—or father, or fairy hockey player. Hell, she didn’t know. All she could do was feel.

  This will all come crashing down. You’ll see.

  Her breath caught. The cynical words coming from the part of her that had witnessed the pieces come crashing down. First, when her mom had died. Then—

  “Hey,” Liam murmured. “You okay?”

  Blinking, shoving down the heavy weight of all the mistakes, she just nodded and returned her gaze out the window.

  “Where are we going?” she asked a few minutes later. At first, she’d thought he was driving her home, but he’d just driven past the studio. She also knew that it was a question she would have expected any of her students to ask before getting into a car with a person they’d only met recently, but . . . she trusted Liam, even after just a few days. Maybe it was stupid, but she had to face facts, this man was different.

  She was different with him.

  She felt a hundred pounds lighter. She felt like a twenty-something woman for once, instead of an old lady whose memories were heavy weights, bowing her back more and more every year.

  So, Mia was jus
t continuing on with the same vein of how she’d been proceeding all night—do as she said, not as she did.

  “My condo,” Liam said.

  Oh, shit.

  Well, clearly the do as she said, not as she did was the wrong tact.

  She opened her mouth—

  “We’re not going to stay there,” he told her, expression concerned. “Shit, I wasn’t thinking how that sounded or expecting—” A sharp shake of his head. “We don’t even have to go in. I just—parking is difficult around my place and—”

  She relaxed.

  Good man.

  Liam was a good man.

  Mia reached over and snagged his hand, feeling sparks at the contact, heat slide up her arm, seep into her heart. “It’s fine,” she said.

  He blew out a breath. “I’m sorry,” he told her. “I wasn’t thinking. I was on post-game autopilot. There’s this place nearby I always go.”

  “Is it a bar?” She narrowed her eyes, slid her fingers from his, and crossed her arms over her chest.

  “No.” Confusion dragged his brows down. “Why would I go to a bar?”

  A shrug, arms dropping as relief flowed through her. “I don’t know. Just seems like a very hockey player thing to do.”

  “What are other”—he took one hand off the steering wheel and made air quotes—“hockey player things?”

  She knew he was teasing her, knew her words would probably make him tease her more. But know what? She liked the teasing, and she damn well liked teasing him right back. “I don’t know.” A tap to her chin. “Spitting, fighting, drinking, cursing, missing teeth,” she rattled off. “Stinking, beards, nice butts. Did I miss any?”

  Silence.

  Then he burst out laughing, taking the hand he’d made air quotes with and lacing his fingers with hers. “No,” he said when he’d gained control. “I don’t think you missed any. Though, I’m not sure I can be the one to realistically quantify my ass as nice or not.”

  She grinned. “It’s nice.” A light squeeze of his hand. “Better than nice in those slacks.”

  “That’s one you missed.”

  “What’s that?” she asked as Liam maneuvered into an underground parking spot.

  “Suits,” he said. “We hockey players have a lot of nice suits.”

  She made a face, not sure she’d call some of the suits she’d seen his teammates wearing as nice.

  “Okay, so the rookies sometimes make some bad choices,” he admitted.

  “Which were the rookies?”

  “Kelly green and sky blue.”

  Those were two she’d seen and winced at. “Both nice colors,” she said. “Just—”

  “—not on suits,” they finished at the same time, sharing a grin before he pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car. “One of the best things my dad did for me was help me spend my first paycheck on nice suits.”

  “All of it?”

  Liam nodded. “All of it. I was living at home, had no other expenses, and those five suits we had made are still with me in my rotation seven years later. One navy, two gray, a black, and a brown.” He grinned. “No Kelly green in sight.”

  She chuckled and unhooked her seat belt. “Maybe not the most prudent financial decision for a first paycheck, but I can understand the need.”

  “Me, too.” He unbuckled then reached into the back seat for his bag. “Especially since I wanted to dump all my money into a nice car.”

  Since she was sitting in a very sleek, nice car, she asked, “How long did that take?”

  “Oh, ages,” he said and opened his door. “All the way until my third paycheck.”

  Mia laughed as she pushed out of the passenger’s seat. “What did you use the second for?”

  “First and last month’s rent, plus a security deposit on my first place.”

  “How old were you?”

  He rounded the car and took her hand, bleeping the car locks and leading her to a set of stairs. True to form, he didn’t take her up to his condo. Instead the stairs led to a lobby, and they walked over to a set of large glass doors. “Eighteen,” he said. “I was drafted and had the choice for college or straight into the pros. I chose hockey. I loved it, wanted as much time with the sport as I could.”

  “So young,” she said. “Is that why—?” She cut off the question she’d been about to ask.

  Liam had just held the door so she could walk out. When she stopped herself, he frowned, slipped through the opening, and took her hand. “Is that why . . .?” he prompted.

  “No,” she said. “It’s a stupid question.”

  He crowded her, just turned and crowded her against the wall of the building, one hand going to her waist, the other to her cheek. “What, Mia?”

  Any other man crowding her like this, and he’d be on his ass.

  This man.

  She caved.

  “What kinds of suits did you buy after the first round?”

  Well, partly caved because while she asked a question, it wasn’t the question she’d planned on asking.

  Which Liam knew.

  Because while he grinned and said, “Several plaids, a pinstripe, and even a paisley,” his eyes never left hers. He bent until his mouth was a hairsbreadth away, his hot breaths puffing against her lips. This man made her want . . . so many things she’d never allowed her brain to even contemplate, let alone hope for. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he said, shifting closer, his lips brushing hers as he spoke in that roughened velvet of his voice, the one that dripped down her stomach, rolling in a trail of hot, liquid honey.

  Straight to her pussy.

  “Fuck,” he growled. “What put that expression on your face, J.B.?”

  Yeah, no. Not sharing with the class.

  He smirked, the hand on her waist sliding down, slipping in an inch.

  Her breath caught.

  “What question were you going to ask?” The hand on her neck slid up and down, tracing light patterns on her skin and making her shiver.

  It also loosened her tongue.

  “I was going to ask if that was why you were sad about your contract maybe not getting renewed,” she said softly, gently, because she didn’t want to hurt this man. “If it’s because you love the game so much and you’re worried that losing it will . . .”

  She trailed off, not sure how to finish the thought.

  Liam was quiet for a while, eyes not leaving hers, the stormy pools made darker by the moonlight. Then he shifted slightly, stopped crowding her. For a minute, her heart skipped a beat, stomach sinking, thinking he was retreating. But then he slid his hand from her waist to her shoulders and tugged her against his side.

  “I do love the game,” he said, starting to walk again, taking her alongside him. “But my sadness came not from losing the game—or at least not solely losing it. These last years in the league have been tough. I had a three-year contract when I was initially signed. Now, I’ve been with four teams in as many years, shuffled around more for better trade picks than because I was a hot commodity.” He sighed. “I started to hate playing. Hated the games, the practices, the competition. My teammates, my coaches. I despised the whole process.” A shrug that slid his side along hers, that lifted goose bumps on her skin, but she was too intrigued by this man, worried about the shadows in his eyes to do more than obliquely acknowledge that the attraction between them never seemed to dissipate. It only grew larger, wound tighter, burned hotter.

  Only this was more important.

  His words. His expression. His body language.

  All told her that she could ask him anything and he would tell her.

  “Why?” she asked. “What happened?”

  He sighed, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, holding him tightly and wanting to take the flare of pain in his eyes away. She could take it. She’d dealt with plenty of pain in her life. Her spine was strong, her shoulders capable of hefting the extra burden.

  “It would be easier if I could pinpoint one thing,” he said. �
�But it was such a combination of factors. I had a really difficult coach at my first team. He was a screamer, and his technique was to break players down in order to build them back up.” Another sigh. “Maybe that would work with some guys. With me, knowing that after every game I would have a meeting highlighting my errors then have homework to watch multiple videos breaking down every single thing I did wrong during a game—from a missed stride to a bobbled puck to a legitimate issue with my play that needed to be addressed—well, it wreaked havoc with my confidence.”

  “That sounds like a lot at once.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “But look, I’m from a family of hockey players. My brothers, my dad, my grandfather were all in the league. I’d had tough coaching my whole life. I should have been able to handle it.”

  Something clicked in her mind. “Like they handled it.”

  “Yes.”

  “How good are they?” she asked. “I started watching hockey when we got the Gold, mostly because my dad was into it. I know our team, but I’m not familiar with many players from the others.”

  He tugged her to the right, down a darkened alley that would normally have her dragging her heels and refusing to go. But she was familiar with this neighborhood, so close to where she’d grown up, and had an inkling where he was leading her.

  “Dad and Grandpa are in the Hall of Fame. My older brother Laich is probably going to be in next year, and Luke as soon as enough years have passed.”

  “So, they were good.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And you’re struggling.”

  Silence, then, “Yeah.”

  “What happened after the first contract?”

  “I got traded. Coach was better. Team was not.”

  Shit.

  “Rinse. Repeat two more times. Except, the middle two were terrible. Decent coaches and teammates, but my family was in preservation mode. I’d get off the ice and my cell would be filled with messages.” His fingers clenched then released on her hip. “I should be grateful. They called because they cared. They knew I was talented, wanted to help me find the potential.”

  “But it only made things worse.”

  “Yeah,” he whispered, and she let her eyes go to the street, the gray, almost colorless walls at this time of night of the buildings on either side of the alley. Mia flicked her gaze to the sky, the moon, not wanting to see the bleakness in his own gaze. “It was worse. I was imploding. Fourth line, if I was lucky. Scratched from the roster almost as much as I played. Some of the guys who were battling injuries got more ice time than I did.” He sighed. “I just couldn’t get out of my head.”