I grin. “Pretty sure we’d all fit in either Colt or Dyl’s Malibu houses.”
“No doubt.”
Colton is the star tight end for the California Cougars, and Dylan is the starting quarterback. The Cougars didn’t win the Super Bowl this year, but they did a hell of a job trying to defend their trophy, and Dylan won his first-ever league MVP award. Add that to the Super Bowl MVP that he won last year, and the guy’s rolling in success. Nobody works harder or is more humble. But his level of fame and the pressure to always be on are things I’ve never craved. And that’s a reality my father just won’t hear.
“Text me when you land,” I say.
“Of course. So what’s happening on the women front? Anyone new?”
“My answer’s the same as it’s been for a year and a half, man. No.” I haven’t been able to risk someone getting attached to me the way Amy did, trapping me and making me feel guilty as shit for ending things. I loved Amy when we were teenagers, in the way kids love for the first time. Then I grew up and moved away from Louisiana.
But Amy just held on tighter. She was so sure we’d get married once college ended even though I’d never promised her anything along those lines.
When I finally broke things off for good, she acted like it hadn’t really happened. It took me months to get her to see the truth. I never want to go through that again with anyone, and so I don’t get close to women. Casual dating actually isn’t my style, but my style was forced to adjust after my breakup.
Then I met Savannah. She’s serious and shy and everything I’m not. She’s also the kindest, most genuinely caring person I’ve ever met, and the kicker? I’m insanely attracted to her.
Every time I’m around her, I fight a hard-on. And she doesn’t have a clue what she does to me. No amount of gentle flirting on my part has gotten her to loosen up. I’ve had to hustle for every work-related coffee and every little chat in her office.
And I love it. I never have to work this hard for anything.
But my friendship with Savannah is something I’ve kept to myself. After Amy, my sex life has consisted of casual hook-ups, one-night stands and…nothing more.
My cousins know this. They also want to fix this. They’re constantly on the look-out, and if they meet Savannah, they’ll catch on right away.
So I don’t say anything to Brayden, and I sure as fuck don’t plan for any of my cousins to meet Savannah. I don’t want them getting too close to whatever she and I are building. It feels sacred in a way even I can’t understand, and I don’t want anyone getting in the middle of it.
Chapter Six
Helmet in hand, I step out of the locker room and head for the rink. Time for practice.
“Hey, brother.”
I’d know that voice anywhere. I do a slow turn on purpose, my gaze landing on Declan leaning against the wall a few feet away.
His gray eyes light up as I grin.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” I say as he grabs me in a hug.
My only sibling and ten years older, Declan was always a hundred steps ahead of me. He’s a big-league hockey star, thirteen years in the pros, and he lives in Colorado. And I could never live up to my father’s expectations to be just like my big brother.
Declan never put that kind of pressure on me, but I was always closer to my cousins than I was to him. He was so much older, and out of the house by the time I turned eight. But after college, he and I started talking more, and I’ve enjoyed getting to know him as an adult.
“We played in Winnipeg last night, and I took a separate flight here to see you. I have to take the red-eye to Denver.” He runs a hand through his dark hair, his dark stubble accentuating his square jaw.
“You need a haircut,” I joke with him. “And a shave.”
“I need to retire,” he says without a trace of humor.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” I lower my voice as my teammates walk around us.
Several stop to stare at Declan. One takes a photo with his phone, and another asks for a selfie. Declan obliges with that easy smile I’ve grown accustomed to seeing him use with fans, the same one Dylan puts on when we’re out in public.
Once we’re alone again, Declan resumes our conversation like we were never interrupted.
“Dead serious,” he says. “I stopped by the house to see Mom and Dad. I floated the idea past Dad. Wanted to see how he’d react.”
“And?”
“He was surprisingly chill about it.”
“Dad and chill should never be used in the same sentence,” I say.
Declan chuckles. “True. But you know, it’s been a good thirteen years. Won a title, a few awards…”
“You’ve had an incredible career,” I say. “You should be fucking proud of yourself. If you’re ready to call it quits…”
“One more year,” he says to me. “Right now, I’ve got no one to retire for.”
“So step into a bar one of these days, and you’ll have your pick of women. You avoid dating like the plague.”
“You’re one to talk. You think all women are going to be like your ex.”
“I said I didn’t want commitment. I didn’t stop speaking to the opposite sex.”
He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe one day I’ll meet someone I want to spend time with. But until then? I’m not going to waste my time when I know it’s going nowhere.”
I shove McLain into the boards and steal the puck away from him. Three quick strides, and I’m nearly there. This may only be practice, but we’ve been playing all out tonight.
But then my gaze lands on the net in front of me. And I pull up. I draw my stick back, but miss the goal badly. The puck ricochets off the boards behind, and McLain scoops it up.
“Hell, no!” Coach Craig blows his whistle. “Wild, what the fuck was that? You’ve been missing the net too much. You’re better than that.”
I don’t answer him. Instead, I unsnap my chin strap and storm over to the side of the ice. Not bothering to open the door, I hop over the wall and take a seat on the bench.
I rip off my helmet and toss it to the side. I’m breathing heavily, and I’m so in my own head that I don’t notice I’ve got company until I hear the clearing of a throat a few seats away.
I shift to the right. Savannah’s green eyes are fixed on me.
“Hey,” I say, trying to force myself to calm down. “Have you been watching the whole practice?”
“Most of it,” she says. “So what happened out there?”
I groan. “Not you too. Can’t a guy just miss a shot without everyone trying to fix him?”
“That wasn’t just a missed shot.” She purses her lips, and I resist the urge to lean closer to her. “You’ve been doing that on and off since you joined the team.”
I don’t want to ask her what she means, but she’s actually helpful about hockey. She’s helpful about everything.
So I take off my gloves and gesture for her to continue.
“You’re the most talented player we’ve ever had on the team,” she says matter of factly, and I bite back on a grin. “We’re already winning more than we have in forever. But you’re so good, Cam, that whenever we take the ice, I actually feel like we’ll never lose. And yet we do. We have a couple of bad losses this month against teams we’ve outcompeted for most of the game. And then…”
She tugs at her ponytail, a gesture I’ve learned means she’s worried about how to express herself. Because she’s worried she’ll be yelled at, maybe.
“And then…what?” I prompt her. “You can tell me.”
“And then it feels like you sabotage it.” Her eyes flare as she waits for my reaction.
And I admit her words burn. I open my mouth to tell her off.
But the truth is…she’s a thousand percent right.
And not one fucking soul has ever called me out on it. Not like this.
I exhale, the comeback dying on my lips.
“You’re right,” I tell her inst
ead.
Another tug of her ponytail. “Do you know why you do that?” she asks me.
“Uh-huh.” I lightly bang my stick against the boards.
She scoots closer to me, taking the stick out of my hands. “Why? You don’t have to say if you don’t want to. But maybe I can help.”
I raise my eyes to meet hers. And the connection between us—fuck. I swallow and lean back.
“Savannah, look. My dad wants me to be a hockey star. Me? I don’t give a shit about it.”
“So this is your passive-aggressive way of winning the war with your dad—play just shitty enough to lose so you won’t get brought up.”
“I know it’s not a good plan,” I say defensively. “And it’s not the only way I’m spending my time. I’m using contacts from my sales job to build a custom furniture business so I can quit for good, but I’m not quite ready. So I need time.”
Savannah tilts her head and assesses me in silence. “I get it,” she finally says, her tone softer than normal.
“You do?”
“Of course. And if you decided to quit today, I would fully support you.”
I stare at her. “Really? Even if I left the Cannons in the lurch?”
“Cam,” she says with certainty. “I want you to be happy. And if leaving hockey makes you happy, then you should.”
Without thinking, I reach over and grab her hand. Her eyes widen as she pulls away from me.
“The thing is,” she says quickly. “As long as you’re here, I don’t think losing is going to make things work out for you any better. You’ll just get traded again or moved to another league, and that’s always stressful. And then your dad’s on your back even more.”
“That’s true.”
“So. If this is going to be your last year playing, why not go out with a bang?” She raises her eyebrows at me. “Play your ass off.”
Before I can answer her, Craig pokes his head into our conversation. “Vannah, did you take a look at the team stats for this month?”
“I did,” she says. “They’re definitely up from the previous month.”
“We need more wins,” Craig mutters. “The seats are selling better, but they’re still nearly half-empty. And you know what that means.”
He gives her a stern look, one I can’t decipher, and turns to me. “Back on the ice, Wild. Your little tantrum’s lasted long enough.”
He heads back to the middle of the rink, and I reach for my helmet.
“What was that about?” I ask Savannah.
“Nothing important,” she says, but her tone tells me otherwise.
“I know this is technically above my pay grade,” I say to her. “But you’ve gone pale. What’s Coach’s angle?”
She shifts awkwardly on the bench. “Money’s tight. He may not be able to pay my salary next year, not unless…”
“Not unless…what?” I hold my helmet in my hand and study her face.
“Not unless the Cannons start filling up the arena.” She says it quickly, so quickly I almost don’t hear her.
But I’m starting to catch on. “And people are more likely to come to a hockey game if their team has a winning record.”
“People love scoring,” she says. “They love watching their team put the puck in the net. Last year, it felt like we went weeks without a legitimate shot on goal. But since you joined us, it’s been…exciting.”
Her cheeks flush, and I grin.
“Just on-the-ice exciting, or exciting in other ways?” I tease her.
She crosses her arms over her chest and puts on her professional face, the one she always gives me when I get too close or push too far. “The games,” she emphasizes. “And our ticket sales have gone up. I know that’s not good news for you, though. And I do understand your position with your dad, more than you know.”
I can tell she’s sincere even though I have no clue what she means by that last part. So I focus on the previous statement. “If us winning saves your job, then I’ll do everything I can to make sure we never lose again. I’ll go out with a bang like you said. In fact, I think we should go for broke and try to win the whole damn thing. What do you say?”
Her mouth drops open. “Cam, by ‘bang’ I meant maybe aim for the playoffs. We haven’t even made the postseason in years. Trying to win it all is too much. The Cannons have never won the title. Not in their entire history.”
“That’s because they’ve never had Cameron Wild on the team.” I laugh at her eye roll, and she smiles.
“You really think you can bring the championship trophy to Climax?” she says to me, her chin rising in challenge.
“I know I can.” I put on my helmet, buckle my chin strap, and stand up. But before I return to the ice, I lean in and whisper in her ear, “And the best part? I’ll be doing it for you.”
Her green eyes turn the color of the Minnesota forest as she stares at me in silence.
I wink at her and hop over the boards.
For the rest of practice, I’m single-mindedly focused on hockey. No more getting caught up in thoughts of my dad and his dreams for me or dwelling on the war he and I have been engaged in since I was a kid. The battle between us has been going on for so long I hardly remember what it’s like to have a non-combative relationship with my father or with the sport of ice hockey.
I flick my wrist and the puck at my feet sails off my stick and into the net.
“That’s it!” Coach shouts as he steps into the middle of the ice. “You’re getting it. Wild, you’ve hit a groove!”
As he calls for the end of practice, I take off my helmet. My hair’s plastered to my head with sweat, and I’m breathing hard. I feel good, though, better than usual.
“Hey, Wild.” McLain skates next to me as we reach the boards and leave the ice. “You coming out for beers?”
Normally, I would say no. Like I told Savannah, I’m trying to build a business while working a day job and playing hockey. All I usually do when I finish for the day is go home, head for my garage, and work on the furniture pieces I’m making for my clients.
But I have a second agenda tonight. One that involves learning more about the coach’s assistant.
“One beer,” I agree.
An hour later, I buy a second round of drinks at the Climax alehouse down the street from the ice rink. Fifteen of us are seated at a long wooden table in the back of the bar, and conversation turns to our coach.
“He’s not so bad,” Wayne, the oldest guy on the team and long-time captain, says. “None of us were here when the last guy ran things, but I heard he was brutal. Bruce knows a lot, and it doesn’t sound pretty.”
My ears perk up.
“But he sure could coach, man,” Wayne adds with a shake of his blond head. “Took the Cannons to the finals three times. Just couldn’t get over the hump until he moved to Colorado.”
“Coach Craig seems kind of threatened by him,” McLain says.
Wayne laughs. “He should be because Craig’s never fucking won anything. Supposedly, the last coach was an up and down kind of guy—a real surly, nasty type, but he was also gregarious. Charismatic, you know?”
“Savannah’s dad?” I ask him. “That’s the coach you’re talking about?”
Wayne points a finger at me. “Fuck, Wild. No getting involved with the staff. Especially Savannah. Coach’ll kill you.”
I shoot him what I hope is an innocent look. “Savannah and I are just friends. We’re friendly.”
“Uh-huh.” Wayne and McLain both start laughing. “Sure.”
Chapter Seven
Savannah
My oldest sister, Nadine, calls me from Chicago right as I’m about to lock up for the day.
“Guess what?” she gushes.
“You’re pregnant.”
“How’d you know?” Her voice drops in disappointment.
“I’m sorry, honey,” I say. “But every time you’ve been pregnant, and only then, do you sound this way.”
“What way?”
&
nbsp; “Excited. Gushy. Mushy.”
“Vannah!” Nadine says. “I thought you’d be the most excited for me—that’s why you’re the first sister I called.”
“You know I love you. And I’m so, so happy for you and Brad.”
We talk about her pregnancy—she’s just over ten weeks and isn’t planning to tell anyone else until three months. “So no blabbing, even to Mama,” she warns me.
“I’m a good secret keeper—you know that. So no worries.”
“Thanks, baby sister. So, how are things with Cam?”
“He’s just so hot!” I let out the confession in a gust of air. “But I can’t date a player. Chapter closed.”
“I say go for it,” she advises me. “Life’s too short for what ifs, Vannah. Tell him how you feel about him.”
The very idea turns my stomach into knots of nerves.
“It was super sweet what he said to you last week,” she says.
I couldn’t believe Cameron made that promise to me about the Cannons not losing another game.
But so far, he’s been accurate. And he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.
“I’m sure he didn’t really mean the part about winning for me,” I say to her. “I’m just giving him a good reason to play his best.”
“It sounded like he did mean it,” she says. “You shouldn’t be so modest, Vannah. You’ve been a good influence on him.”
“I’ve got to go to class, Nadie. I love you, and congratulations, and tell Brad the same. Keep me posted.”
I turn off the computer and lock up. But like always, I leave the wall lights on, and the pair of hockey sticks unused. Just in case Coach McMann decides to come home.
Savannah
When I reach Climax Dance Studio, I hurry to the bathroom to change into yoga pants and a cut-off tank, and then I wrap my hip scarf around my waist.
“So are you ready to perform?” Clarissa asks me as we warm up for my private lesson. I catch her pointed look in the massive mirror filling one entire wall of the small studio.
I stretch my arms over my head. “Yeah, right. You know I come to the studio to dance, not for the show.”
Cameron (Wild Men Book 7) Page 4