Trainwrecks & Back Checks: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 6)

by Heather C. Myers

  But just like he could tell I spoke different when I was keeping something from him, I could tell with how he spoke as well.

  “You’ve done more for me than you realize,” I insisted. “If I’m being honest, I’ve never told anybody what I’ve told you. Not my closest friends. Not even my family. They know bits and pieces but they don’t know the deep, dark secrets I have about Tim. About everything he’s done to me. I mean, you don’t know everything either but you know more than they do. You know more than anyone.”

  “And what made you decide to share that information with me?” he asked. His voice was husky; it was low, no louder than a grisly whisper.

  It gave me goosebumps and I was wrapped up in pajamas and my comforter. The things his voice did to me... and he wasn’t even in the same room as me.

  “I just.” I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.” I paused. “I trust you.”

  I held my breath. He was silent for a long moment. And then: “I trust you too, kid. More than you know.”

  16

  Art

  We won the fourth game but it was a tough win and we lost Solis because of a cheap hit and no fucking penalty call.

  Brandon Burr was a third line winger who was not really an Enforcer and not really a scorer but he had decent hands and he had a decent size so he could do both things but he wasn’t exceptional. Solis took a cross-ice pass from his partner, Erik Larsson. His head was down - which was his fault. He should have been looking. This was hockey 101. Burr was crossing the ice just to make contact with his body - it should have been a charging call, at the very least. On top of that, however, Burr left his feet and his shoulder mades contact with Solis’s head, snapping it back and knocking him down. The kid managed to skate off the ice but he didn’t return to the bench and had to be checked out by our medical staff.

  Turned out, Solis had a concussion and would be out for the rest of the season. If we did manage to make it to the next round, and I was adamant we would, he wouldn’t be able to play.

  What a cheap, dirty hit.

  Naturally, I planned to go after Burr the minute his skates touched the ice after that shift. I think Cherney knew I wanted to too, because he threw me in even though it wasn’t my typical line I skated with. For good measure, Morgan was put in with me. Before I could even get my hands on Burr, Morgan went after him. He didn’t even pretend to go after the puck first. He skated straight for Burr casually, so it wasn’t exactly a charge. If you could stroll on ice skates, that was what Morgan did.

  Morgan was tall with a long reach and managed to get in a good amount of punches before the referees and the linesmen pulled the two skaters apart.

  I loved fighting in opposing buildings. It motivated me more to beat the shit out of my opponent so as we skated off the ice and to our respective locker rooms or penalty boxes - depending on how much time there was left in the period - the only sound that could be heard from the stands was silence and the occasional cheer from a Gulls fan on the road.

  I lived for moments like that. As did Morgan.

  Of course, he got an extra two for fighting but I didn’t think he - or the team - actually cared, considering they were tapping their blades on the side of the bench as a sign of respect as he skated to the sin bin, a cocky smile on his face. Burr had blood flowing from his nose and running into his mouth and I was pretty sure he’d have bruises on his face tomorrow.

  We flew back that night. I felt like a kid waiting for Christmas morning. I had already talked to Chloe about picking me up at the airport and I was excited I would get to see her after a short flight.

  I wanted to see her - needed to see her.

  I didn’t necessarily understand this anticipatory desire I had for her, why there was this desperate need to get her within my sight again. At first, I thought it was to make sure she was okay, that nothing had happened in my absence. That she was still safe, even if I wasn’t there. But there was more to it, whether I wanted to admit it or not. I wanted to see her because I wanted to see her. I didn’t want to remember the shade of blue in her eyes or the wrinkle on her nose or how she always missed that second step on her porch so she had to grab the wooden rail or else she’d face plant on the cement.

  I wanted to see it.

  I wanted to watch her.

  I wanted to be able to touch her, to curl hair behind her ear and hold her hand and kiss her mouth.

  The minute the plane touched the runway at John Wayne, I unbuckled my seatbelt - rules he damned - and tapped my foot until the plane finally came to a stop. Morgan sat next to me and gave me an annoyed look, like he knew why I was so impatient and was practically disgusted with it. I had to bite back a smile.

  Because our trip was short, I hadn’t checked any bags so all I needed to do was walk off the plane and head to my car. I told Chloe exactly where I would be so she would be able to meet up with me easily.

  And there she was.

  The weather for May was surprisingly cold. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky so Chloe had on a white trench coat and black skinny jeans. Her blonde hair was pulled back from her face in a high ponytail and she had black sunglasses on. The minute she saw me walking to her, her lips curled into a smile that had to rival the sun because I couldn’t stop staring at it and I couldn’t shake just how warm it made me feel on the inside and out.

  She didn’t run to me. I almost wish she had, but she still wasn’t sure what we were and what was expected of her.

  I, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit. When I reached her, I wrapped her up in my arms and pulled her into a long kiss. She was surprised. I knew she was surprised and that was fine. That was okay because I was surprised by my own goddamn actions but I couldn’t help myself if I tried. She looked fucking beautiful and I wanted to touch her again because I did. That was it. There was no reason in particular about why except that I wanted to and that was enough.

  I felt her body slowly relax and ease into the kiss. I knew she probably assumed that I was doing this for show because we were supposed to be dating and after time apart, we wouldn’t be able to keep our hands off of each other. The truth of the matter was, I wasn’t doing this because we were playing some dumb game. I did this because I wanted to kiss her. I did this because I liked kissing her and touching her. Did that mean I was taking advantage of the situation? I didn’t know how to answer that. Possibly. And maybe I would think on that and figure out how to rectify that situation but, for now, I wanted to kiss her so I did.

  The drive was too slow to get home even though our place was only a few miles away.

  Our place.

  Like we suddenly lived together.

  I was almost bothered by the fact that my mental diction didn’t bother me as much as it probably should have.

  Chloe was unusually quiet, her head turned away from me so she could peer out the window. It was only when we got home did I understand why.

  She had bruises on her face. Even with all the makeup she caked on, she had bruises there.

  “When we get to the house,” he said slowly, carefully, “you are going to tell me what the fuck happened that caused you to get all those bruises on your face.”

  I hoped I wasn’t being condescending. I hoped I wasn’t being a dick. I wasn’t trying to be a parent or anybody who would ever judge her for what she had endured, for what she was enduring now. But I needed to know what happened. I needed to know how long I would keep this fucker alive and in pain before I snapped his neck. The fact that this guy attacked her, knowing I wouldn’t be there to protect her, made my entire body bristle.

  What a fucking coward.

  Chloe sighed. “I had hoped to keep that from you,” she said.

  I furrowed my brow. “Why the -“ I bit my tongue to keep from swearing at her - “would you want to do that?”

  She sucked in a deep breath. “Because you have a lot on your plate already,” she replied, turning her head back so she could look at me. “Because you and your team are on the
precipice of making it to the Stanley Cup Finals from not having made the playoffs. That’s a big deal, Art.”

  “So are you,” I insisted.

  Did she think a Cup was worth more than her well-being? Did she honestly think this was all pretend? Maybe she did. I hadn’t really told her otherwise. Maybe I should change that just so she knows.

  When we got to the house, I could feel her tense and there was part of me that felt guilty for putting pressure to confess something she shouldn’t have to tell me if she didn’t want to. I pulled my car up her driveway and shut it off, the keys tinkling lightly as they bumped into each other, and there was a moment where neither one of us moved, where the silence kicked in.

  The thing was, it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. It was heavy but it didn’t make me feel as if I didn’t want to be there. I would endure the tension if it meant sitting with her quietly for a few minutes. I would do everything I needed to ensure that she had the support she deserved from me.

  I heard her take a deep breath. My eyes caught sight of her mouth moving and I realized she was counting backwards from five, like she pushed all thoughts of Tim to some dark place in her mind and when she had to recall those memories, it was almost too much to take, so she slowly counted to herself in order to calm her nerves. In that moment, I felt like a jackass for forcing her to share this, and even though I wanted nothing more than to learn and to understand, I reached for her hand and I told her, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

  The relief that flooded her eyes just reignited how much of a jackass I was but she shook her head. “I don’t want to keep this to myself anymore,” she murmured slowly. “I want to tell someone. I want to tell you.”

  And she did. She told me how she decided to file a police report against Tim that morning before work for violating the restraining order she had in place, preventing him from making any sort of contact with her. When she came out of work, she was assaulted by a man. Chloe made sure to skip the details, which I appreciated. I could tell it was a brutal assault, judging by the bruises that still littered her face but also because of the way she wasn’t able to look at me when she told me. How her fingers curled into tight balls. How her voice got low and I had to struggle to hear what she said.

  Apparently, the bastard refused to get his own hands dirty, instead paying someone to attack her and swooping in to be the one to save the day. He had offered to take her to the hospital and she refused, even telling the officers that Tim was probably the one responsible for this in the first place.

  “When I told them who he was, they had this look on their face,” Chloe said, finally turning to look at me. “Like I was screwed. Like there was no way we could get this guy because of his name.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I said.

  “I know,” she agreed. “Obviously, I know. And a report was filed and is probably being written as we speak. I have a business card with a case number and the officer’s contact information. I have documentation of this. At least, it’s something.”

  “Yeah, but a piece of paper isn’t going to protect you,” I pointed out.

  “No,” she agreed, shaking her head. “It won’t.”

  “Come on,” I said. “Enough of this. Let’s go inside.”

  Before I could say anything else, Chloe pushed her lips on mine.

  17

  Chloe

  I woke up feeling refreshed. I woke up with a tingle down my spine and pulsing in my pelvis and desire in my eyes. I turned to look at Art, sleeping peacefully besides me, snoring lightly, and I felt my heart clench and burst and the fact that something had happened between us. Something serious. Something that took us from pretend to something... more. I didn’t know what that was. I couldn’t put a label on it just yet and maybe that was okay. Maybe I didn’t need to do that just yet. Whatever it was, it made me happy. I felt good about it.

  I also knew he would be leaving soon in order to participate in the morning skate. He didn’t push himself as much during practices, especially with his age, but considering he got banged up the last two games, I couldn’t blame him.

  As such, I slipped out of bed and decided to make us breakfast so he had something in his system before he left. I wasn’t domestic by nature but I could cook eggs and sprinkle shredded cheese on it. I also had bagels and cream cheese so maybe that would be light enough but also still filling.

  I heard him pad down the stairs a half hour later in nothing but his boxer briefs and I had to stop myself from turning red - impossible - and staring too long at him.

  He headed straight towards me and wrapped me up in his arms. He leaned back slightly and cupped my face with his hand, caressing my skin with his thumb. His tawny gaze looked deep into my eyes and I swear he could see into my soul. No one had ever looked at me this way. Not Tim, not my high school love. No one. But Art looked inside of me like he wanted to see inside of me, even the messy bits, I tried to hide from everyone including myself.

  “Good morning,” he said.

  I mumbled it back but I didn’t think he heard me.

  I stepped back from him and waved at the dining table. “I made breakfast for you,” I told him.

  “Thank you,” he said, his eyes flickering over to the table.

  We sat and proceeded to eat in silence. I was trying to figure out if it was comfortable or not but since he didn’t seem to care one way or the other, I wasn’t about to worry too much about it.

  “I have morning skate,” he told me, taking a sip of his coffee.

  “I know,” I replied.

  “I want to ask you to come with me but I don’t want to be...”

  “I should probably stay here anyway,” I told him in a soft voice. “I mean, I appreciate your concern, I do, but we have to live a normal life too. We can’t let Tim control our decisions, our actions. We can’t let him change who we are.”

  Art took a long sip of his coffee, his large hand over mine, caressing the back of my hand and leaving goosebumps up and down my arm. I had no idea what I was going to do with myself. Not when he touched me like that.

  “I still like having you around me,” he said slowly, after he set his coffee cup down. His eyes burned into mine and I could feel my face flush under his scrutiny. “Whether Tim was in the picture or not, I still like being around you.”

  I swallowed but there was nothing in my mouth. I could feel myself start to smile like an asshole but I couldn’t pull it back if I tried. I wanted to be that cool girl with the easy smile that said, I like what you said but I’m not going to react much to it because I’m fucking cool. But instead, it came out looking like a grimace mixed with a smile mixed with I didn’t know what and I felt like an asshole.

  “So,” I said and I could feel my voice crack. I could feel how dry my throat was and I hated it because I had to clear my throat. “What happened...”

  “Last night,” he stated.

  I couldn’t tell if he was tense because we had to talk about what happened or if it was more he wasn’t sure how to communicate how he felt about what happened. Regardless, I couldn’t tell if this was going to be a good conversation or a bad one. But I wasn’t going to stop it. We needed to have this conversation. I needed this conversation. I needed to know what was going on between us. I couldn’t continue to label it and pretend I was okay with the facade of being practically in love with him when I was really practically in love with him.

  “Not just last night,” I told him.

  “I shouldn’t have -“

  “I wanted you to.” I probably shouldn’t have interrupted him. I knew it was difficult for him to communicate his feelings anyway and I didn’t want to scare him off. But I needed him to realize that this thing, last night, wasn’t his fault. I wanted it just as badly as he did, if not more so. “I wanted you, Art. I want this, whatever it is. I don’t want to have to pretend anymore.

  “Last night was perfect.” I could feel my eyes tearing up and I almost hated myself for acting s
o... I didn’t know the right word. I wanted to say it was cheesy or dramatic but I knew that what I felt was genuine. And I knew I wanted him to know that I felt this way, even if I did turn into a blubbering idiot. “I... I loved it. It was satisfying and remarkable and I definitely want to do it again. If you want to do it again. Obviously. But there’s more that I feel for you than just attraction. There’s more here that I want to feel with you. And it’s not just because of what you’re doing for me. With the whole let’s pretend because of Tim. I mean, that’s how it started but it’s not that way anymore. I really, really, really like you, Art. And I totally get you’re this gorgeous hockey player and there’s a good chance I’m not even on your radar because I’ve seen the type of women you date and I do not fall into that category. Like, at all. But that’s okay.” I took a breath, realizing I was babbling again. I forced a smile, glad that none of my tears had fallen. “Anyway, I just wanted you to know that.”

  Art looked at me for a long time. He took a step towards me, and then another, before cupping my cheek with his hand. I immediately leaned into it, like I was a child who needed his comfort, and before I realized it, he leaned in to kiss me softly on my lips.

  My eyes closed and I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to me. I felt my entire body melt into his. He had this effect on me. He had this way with me that I hadn’t expected, that I couldn’t plan for.

  When his tongue slid past my lips, I knew things would get heated and I opened my mouth, wanting nothing more than just that.

  - -

  Tim showed up later that night. I shouldn’t have been surprised, especially with what happened a couple of days ago. There was no way he was going to let that go unpunished, how I defied him, how I blatantly told the officers that he was responsible. I wasn’t sure if he knew he was named in a police report but that probably wouldn’t help his anger with me if he did.