He opened the gate and parked the car. Eric stormed to his side and blocked Zac’s access to the front door.
“You’re an idiot,” Eric shouted. “I seriously haven’t had to deal with such bullshit since Gunther brought the hooker back to his mother’s house.”
Eric never lost his cool. Yet here he was screaming at his best-paying client. Shit.
“What’s happened now?”
Eric shook his head and handed him an iPad. Zac stared at the picture filling the screen. What he saw knocked his breath away as effectively as a baseball bat to the rib cage. The smutty image was guaranteed to rip apart not only his life, but Heather’s as well. One fucking night with her was all he’d wanted. One fucking night.
The photo, from a celebrity gossip site, showed Heather and him next to her car in the garage. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders. Her fingers raking through his hair. And damn it all, his hands cupping her rear as though he had ownership of it. The angle of her face broadcast her pleasure and her identity. Zac’s face was buried in her neck like a vampire at dinner. He was instantly recognizable because of the tattoo on his forearm, a Flying Fortress, acquired one late night with several other members of his high school team to symbolize their mascot, the Bombers. The story headline was Lucky Number Seven Takes a Bite Out of Ryan’s Daughter.
Molten lava erupted through him. His anger constricted every muscle in his body until his head throbbed from the pressure. Someone was going to pay for this, with blood. “How the hell did anyone get those shots?”
“Who cares? Your bigger problem is her father. If he doesn’t release you after this, I’ll be amazed. Granted, I think you could get a decent deal with another team, but you were on the verge of something pretty big here…”
As Eric continued to babble about the damn contract negotiations, Zac’s only concern was Heather’s well-being. He needed to speak to her. Pulling out his phone, he turned away from Eric and dialed her number. No answer. He left a message for her to call him as soon as she was able, then he sent her a text. Did she even know about the photo? Several minutes lapsed, and he called her again. No answer. The lack of contact after weeks of instant communication crushed his spirit. She needed to contact him, and soon.
And just as important as touching base with Heather, Patrick had to hear his intentions as soon as possible. He told Eric to start damage control and jumped back in Sequoia’s truck. When he arrived at the rink, the press stood at the door looking for his car. Jackals, every one of them. He drove around to the loading area and entered without a camera in sight. He avoided the lobby and the possibility of running into his teammates and slid into the executive offices.
Patrick’s secretary looked up from some paperwork and puckered her lips. Without saying a word, she nodded toward the door. The sour expression didn’t bode well for this meeting.
Zac entered, as he’d done several weeks before, but the room was empty of everyone but Patrick. His boss stood at the window staring out toward the ocean.
He shut the door behind him. “I’m sorry.”
Patrick’s face never left the view out the window. Silence filled the space. Hostility was there, too, as was disappointment. Zac remained still and awaited his scolding. His boss finally turned to face him with a weary expression and heavy eyes. His posture had deflated from proud billionaire to worried parent.
“Nothing in my life, including this team, is as important to me as my daughter. Heather is admitting to fifty percent of the blame, but I’m placing all the blame with you. Your control on the ice makes million-dollar plays week after week. You’ve never been caught up in a scandal with drinking, drugs, or even speeding violations. And yet you compromise my daughter. My Heather.” He rubbed his fingers from the bridge of his nose over to his temples and continued.
“It would be one thing if you had serious intentions toward her, but in the past four years, I’ve never seen you with the same woman longer than two weeks.” He sat down at his desk without offering Zac a seat. “She’s stayed out of the limelight and focused on making something out of her life. You ruined all of that. Her name will now be listed with a dozen bimbo heiresses who focus more on sex and fame than on careers.”
“I am serious—”
“Save it for your priest. I can’t have her in danger. I won’t have her in danger.” Patrick, the owner of a pro hockey team, nicknamed the Bull for his intense management style, tried to hide shaking hands.
“Danger?” Zac’s mood shifted from dark and stormy to black and raging. “What are you talking about?”
Patrick picked up a pen, no doubt to stabilize the tremors in his fingers. “Someone hit her car as she left her apartment this morning and threatened her to stay away from you. This was before the picture hit the internet.”
Ice froze Zac’s veins. He rushed to Patrick’s desk and leaned toward him. “Is she all right?”
“Her mother met her at the hospital. She has a concussion and is sporting a pretty big egg over her ear, but she’s okay. The police are looking into it.”
Zac automatically picked up his phone to dial her. How could so much occur in the two hours since he’d left her place? He needed to see her.
“Don’t bother. She’s not allowed to contact anyone until she’s out of town and in a safe location.”
“I want to speak with her to make sure she’s okay.”
“No.” Patrick’s hands stopped shaking and his brows lowered into a threat. “Stay the hell away from her.”
The intensity of Patrick’s worry for his daughter punched Zac in the gut. If only he’d shown Heather the same concern and had left her alone. Instead, his selfish needs had trumped her safety. And he’d ended up putting her life in danger. Guilt over his actions combined with fury at the bastard who had threatened her. The storm of emotions intensified the pain in his head. “I’ll respect your wishes, but not because of any fear over my career and my relationship to this team. I genuinely care about your daughter. If staying away from her is what’s best for her safety, then that’s what I’ll do.”
Zac left Patrick’s office with a headache, a hole in his heart, and acid churning in his gut. He managed to get inside the training room, where he texted Heather.
No response.
He called her.
No response.
The sound of twenty athletes talking over one another droned in his ears. A hulking defenseman passing by hip-checked him into the unforgiving side of a metal whirlpool tank. “Sorry, asshole,” the team’s oldest veteran sneered.
Zac’s arm automatically reached out and pushed Andre into the wall. “What the hell was that for?”
“Patrick’s family is off-limits.” He faced Zac, two steps away and three inches taller. “I don’t give a shit if you are Boy Wonder around here. She gets hurt, man, and so do you.”
“You threatening me, Andre? Because…” He wanted to strike him to dull the intense anger that had blackened his morning. His hand curled into a fist. He wanted to rip something apart for the crappy cards he’d been dealt. He stepped closer to Andre. His fear over Heather’s safety needed an outlet as well, and Andre was only an arm’s length away, begging for a fight.
Sequoia came out of nowhere and stood in between them. The man made some of hockey’s heavyweights seem like figure skaters. “It’s us against them, fellas. Us against them.” He faced down Andre, his voice calm and even. “Zac would never do anything to hurt a woman, especially someone like Heather.”
Sequoia stepped back, and Andre moved toward Zac again. “Your relationships don’t last longer than the weekend. Heather’s not some trophy to use and leave behind. She’s Patrick’s only child, and if Patrick’s unhappy, we all are. Stay the fuck away from her.”
A few men behind them laughed until Andre growled. “Seriously, if Heather’s hurt, plan on me knocking your ass into the ground.”
“I would never hurt Heather. Ever.” Zac spit out the lie. The truth was he had hurt her, and he hated hi
mself for it. Perhaps she was better off without him screwing up her life. He glanced down at the large hand gripping his shoulder. “If you don’t move that hand, you’ll be finishing the season on the injured list.”
Andre removed his hand, but his other fist flew in a right hook to Zac’s jaw. Pain rocketed through his head. When he found his balance, he pressed toward him. Instead of Andre, however, he ended up nose-to-nose with his best friend.
“Get out of here, Zac, before you force the whole team against you.” Sequoia pointed to the door and blocked his access to the rest of the men in the locker room.
As Zac left, he heard an angry rush of words and threats hurled toward him. The taste of blood covered his tongue. He spit into a nearby wastebasket and continued walking.
Shouts echoed off concrete walls, amplifying the tension. The cohesiveness of his team, the only family he had left, disintegrated, and Zac’s dream of a relationship with Heather faded. This wasn’t just about what he wanted. He had to do what was best for her, and for his team. These people counted on him. They were his family, and he was an ass. He’d make it right, but not until he had control of his temper. And at the moment, there was no sign of that happening.
This crap was unreal. But he’d do whatever it took to protect the one person he cared most about. He just wished she’d answer his call.
…
Heather closed herself off in her aunt’s guest room, her claim of exhaustion only half-feigned. New York City’s noises filtered through the window, adding to her stress. The welt on her skull, combined with her aunt’s frazzled worry and her mother’s concerned glances, caused her head to ache. The presence of the huge security guard thrust upon Heather the moment she’d stepped out of the hospital that morning didn’t help. Declan, with his imposing linebacker’s build, had maneuvered her and her mother out of County General and into a car bound for New York with the precision of an army general.
Fear numbed some of her pain. Although the threat placed a target on her back and forced her into a level of security she desperately wished wasn’t necessary, nothing was worse than seeing her and Zac’s intimate encounter broadcast to the world. A private moment made public in the most sordid way and smeared with scorn, ridicule, and hate.
The media and fan reaction gutted her. She’d never been hated, never had her reputation dragged through the mud, never had such harsh judgment over her morals. It hurt. God, did it hurt.
Unable to resist, she opened her laptop and searched for the image she’d first seen on the TV in the ER waiting room. The horrible photo had been shared and re-tweeted hundreds of times. Every celebrity gossip site and Hustlers’ fan forum denounced her as the evil witch hell-bent on screwing the team’s chances of winning. They lashed out at her character, her integrity, and her morals, yet they painted Zac as an innocent bystander caught under her spell. It wasn’t his fault, but that didn’t keep her gut from churning.
Comments left on the sites and forums, vicious, sharp barbs, and veiled threats left her curled into a ball on the floor. She rocked back and forth. Tears pricked her eyes and shifted the images on the screen into colorful prisms. Stabbing a knife into her back would hurt less. Cruelty knew no bounds. Sniffling, she swiped her fingers under her eyes. How in the world could she fix this mess?
She touched the sensitive swell above her ear. The threats had turned to physical intimidation. At what point would Zac no longer be perceived as an innocent bystander and his safety be at risk, too? If the team lost too many games and didn’t reach the playoffs? Her stomach twisted into knots. She had to contact him and make sure he was okay.
Talking to her father, however, was another story. What could she say? Every article dragged her family name through the mud. The thought of her father’s displeasure with her and his own suffering from the media reports burned her cheeks with fresh humiliation. They hadn’t spoken since Sunday dinner, but his silence telegraphed his anger. Knowing she’d disappointed him crushed her. Had he spoken to Zac?
Stepping out onto the chilly balcony to ensure privacy, Heather dialed Zac’s number.
“Heather?” He answered on the first ring, and tension coated his voice. “How are you? Where are you?”
The combination of the cold, starry night and the sound of his voice slashed a fresh wound through her heart. “I’m in New York, staying with my aunt.”
“Are you okay? I’ve been so worried about you. I’ve never been so glad to hear a voice.”
His words rushed out, and she closed her eyes, imagining he was right there on the balcony with her. “I’ve been better.”
“Your dad told me about the threat.”
“I’ve been ordered to lie low this week, but I’m coming back on Saturday morning. Nothing will keep me from attending Career Day.”
“As much as I would kill to see you, stay away. Your safety comes first.”
“The girls look up to me. They’ll be disappointed if I’m not there.” She paused. What did they think of her now? Zac’s sigh cut into her thoughts. Currents of misery and longing forced fresh tears to her eyes and a lump in her throat. “Are you okay? I’m sorry about everything.”
“What are you sorry about? I’m just worried about you. God, Heather, I don’t want anything else to happen to you. This is my fault. I should have never put you in this position. I should have stayed away like we talked about. I…just care so much about you. I need to know you’re really okay.”
She swallowed hard. The desperation in his voice pushed forward her need to soothe. “I’ll be fine. Practice hard this week. I want you to do well in your games. Don’t let the media distract you.”
“I wish I could hold you right now.”
“I do, too. I’d better go. Good night, Zac.” Heather ended the call before her tears thickened her voice. Holding her arms around her middle, she walked back inside the bedroom, unable to get warm, and unable to hold back her tears.
She picked up the small shell she’d found on the beach at her secret rendezvous with Zac and rubbed her thumb over the smooth surface. A perfect memory marred by the cruel intentions of others.
Wrapping herself in a cocoon from the comforter on the bed, she ignored her mother and aunt’s pleas to join them shopping, dining out, and taking in a show. Maybe hiding from the world for a few days would ease the hurt from her soul.
…
Early Saturday morning, Heather sat next to her mother in the back of a rental car driven by Declan. She stared at the landscape passing in a blur. Despite her mother’s attempts to distract her, dread grew with every mile closer to home. For most of the week, Heather avoided the TV and computer, hoping the frenzy would die down, but not knowing what to expect raised her tension level.
Would Zac be able to perform at his best with the media circus? Would her father ever be able to look at her with respect again? She concentrated on Declan’s singing as he drove the car down the Atlantic City Expressway. His brogue thickened when he switched to an Irish ballad about a girl who moved through a fair. The strains of harps and pipes streaming out of the speakers soothed her.
The foundation’s headquarters came into view. A throng of reporters and camera crews cluttered the sidewalk. Flashbulbs and questions fired at her from all sides. The knots tightened and started to strangle her. Clinging to her mother’s hand, Heather followed Declan, sticking close to his back. She pushed through the heavy double doors. Amid the colorful signs advertising careers and positive self-image affirmations stood mostly empty tables. A handful of girls sat huddled around the few speakers.
Her mother’s secretary rushed over to greet them. She glanced at Heather without acknowledging her, then shook her head as she faced her mother again. “Mrs. Ryan, more than half of our scheduled speakers have canceled or are no-shows. And I’ve heard from a large number of the girls’ families. Many are considering pulling their daughters from our program permanently.”
Shame burned through the shock. Unable to look the secretary in the eyes
, Heather turned to her mother. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, sweetie.”
Stomach clutched into a ball of nerves and unease, she fought the pinpricks of tears stabbing her eyes. “No, it’s not. I’ve ruined this event and the foundation’s reputation. I’ve hurt you and Dad, and I’ve damaged Zac’s reputation and his chances at a fair contract.”
“Stop blaming yourself. You aren’t responsible for this media circus. Not many women would be able to resist Zac’s charm, although this seems like more. You really care for him, don’t you?” Her mother’s features softened. “Come on, let’s go home. I’ll make some tea, and we can talk.”
“Thanks, but I want to go to my apartment. I need to be alone for a while.”
“Declan can drop me off at the practice facility, then he’ll take you home.” She raised her hand, silencing Heather’s protest. “For now, Declan goes everywhere you do. I’ll check on you in a few hours.”
After the fastest drive-by drop-off she’d ever been a part of, and a media-dodging ride to her apartment, Heather swore as Declan drove into her building’s parking garage. Reporters hovered around the building and inside the lobby. Someone had tipped them off. Cameras flashed in her face. She ducked her head low and leaned on Declan as he guided her through the media mess.
“Damn vultures.” He snarled at a photographer as the elevator door closed them in and the press out.
Heather studied his chiseled features, completely unruffled from the chaos. Her father hired only the best. “Thank you for fending them off.”
“Keeping people safe is my specialty. No one will get near you as long as I’m here.” With a nod and a smile, he followed her to her door. “You want space. I understand. Unless we venture outside, you won’t even know I’m here.”
“Help yourself to anything in the kitchen.” After showing him to a guest room, she closed herself in her bedroom, dropped her overnight bag on the floor, and texted Zac.
Flirting on Ice Page 6