Bonds of Courage

by Lynda Aicher

  “I can only imagine.” He laughed along with Liv as he pictured the icy PR manager letting her anger out. “So she’s had that control thing going on for a while then?” He was fishing for information, but all was fair in... Well, this wasn’t love or war. Whatever.

  “For as long as I’ve known her.” Liv gave a wistful sigh. “But there’s always hope that she’ll find someone who’ll show her how to loosen up a little.” She pointedly scanned Holden up and down before ending with a corny wiggle of her brows.

  He wiped a hand over his mouth to hide his grin and looked away. “I don’t think she’s interested. Rumor has it she never dates athletes.”

  “Well, don’t take it personally,” Liv said, turning away. “I don’t think she dates, period.” She flashed an apologetic smile and shrugged. “We should get those boxes.”

  “I really need to head out,” he said as they walked around the side of the building toward his car. “I can help you carry the stuff in, but I can’t stay.”

  They’d only unloaded the sticks when he’d arrived. Liv had thought it’d be better to keep the rest of the items hidden till the end of the day. He trusted her expertise on that.

  “Okay.” She reached into the back of his SUV, grabbing the biggest box before he stopped her.

  “I’ll get that one.” He shoved the smaller box with the water bottles and stickers toward her. She smiled and took the box without a word. Her entire demeanor was so opposite of Vanessa’s that he wondered if they were really sisters. But they looked too much alike for him to doubt it.

  “So,” he started as they reentered the building. The distant chatter of kids filtered down the hallway from what he assumed was the kitchen. The scent of cleaner blended with the warmer smell of cooking food that had his stomach grumbling. The artwork adorning the walls ranged from messy crayon drawings to excellent paintings of dragons and wizards and went a long way in eliminating the sterile feeling that usually accompanied this type of place.

  She turned into a small room, flicking on a light before she set her box on a table. “Yeah?” She looked at him expectantly, reminding him that he’d started to ask her a question.

  He set his box down next to hers. “Any chance you’d want some extra help for a bit?”

  She eyed him, skepticism etched into the lines above her brow. “Are you offering?”

  “Well, yeah. If I won’t be in the way.”

  “You’re serious?”

  His few short hours there had given him a sense of purpose that he missed in the off-season. It felt good. “Yes.”

  “Look.” She sighed as she opened her box and dug through the bottles until she found the packet of stickers. “It’s nice of you to offer, but this isn’t something you can do for a few days then stop when you get bored. These kids come to count on you, then I’m the one who has to deal with the disappointment and heartbreak when you stop showing up.”

  It sounded like the voice of experience talking, and he understood where she was coming from. He’d grown up listening to his dad’s promises. “I’ll be at the game, son.” Only to have his dad be a no-show when he worked overtime instead. Yeah, it’d been to support their family and the expense of Holden playing hockey, but he would’ve rather had his dad at a game than a new pair of skates or gloves or a spot on another travel league.

  “Then why did you agree earlier when I offered to come back?” She’d been enthusiastic about the idea fifteen minutes ago.

  She busied herself unloading the jerseys from the box he’d brought in. “I didn’t think you were serious.” She glanced at him then focused on stacking the jerseys into piles by size. “I get lots of offers to help or to come back for another demo or whatever. Very few actually follow through.”

  He moved the now-empty box off the table and set it by the door. Could he truly commit to being there? He wanted to help out. More than a few of the kids had shown a real interest in learning and playing more of the floor hockey. Plus there were other sports he could help with.

  He thought through his schedule and the empty time every day between his morning workout and evening ice time that had him bouncing off the walls. All that free time drove him nuts. Maybe the crazy, itchy feeling that had driven him to apply at The Den would ease if he stayed busy.

  “I get that,” he said and waited until Liv looked at him again. “But I’m serious. I don’t like free time and I have too much of it right now. I can’t promise every day, but I can do three days a week from now through the end of July. That’s when the camps start and training ramps up for the start of the season. I can probably do some time in August, but I can’t promise until I know my schedule.”

  She straightened from where she was hunched over the table, studying him intently. It was a look he recognized from Vanessa. Yeah, they were definitely sisters. “What time are you thinking?”

  He scratched his jaw to give him a moment. “I can commit to eleven to three Monday, Wednesday and Thursday, if that works for you. More if I’m available.”

  “Through the end of July? That’s, what—” she frowned “—seven weeks? You don’t have anything better to do during that time?”

  “Ouch.” When she phrased it like that, he sounded like a real loser. He rubbed his chest and winced. “You don’t pull your punches, do you? I guess you learned from Vanessa, huh?”

  “I am not like V.” The indignation in Liv’s voice told him as much as the defensive clench she had on her hips. He laughed, and her shoulders slumped.

  “Gotcha,” he said around his chuckle.

  It was another moment before she grabbed a water bottle from the box and whipped it at him. “Go away.”

  He easily caught the bottle and tossed it back in the box. “I’m serious. I want to help.”

  She gave him that hard-edged eye that reminded him of his own mother. Where did women learn that? She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  He raised his hands in defense. “I won’t.” Then he added a solemn, “I promise.”

  “Don’t promise. Just do it.”

  “What are you? A Nike ad?”

  She sighed and stared at the ceiling. “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

  “I hope not.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “I gotta go. I have ice time across town at four. But I’ll be back tomorrow. At eleven.”

  “I’m not saying anything to the kids until you show up.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  He went to the door and glanced down the hallway. Jimmy stood just down the way, a huge grin on his face. The kid gave a small wave. The little shit had been listening to their conversation. Holden could see Jimmy was itching to run back to the others to tell them what he’d heard. There was no way he’d disappoint the kid now.

  Holden turned back to Liv. “Should I bring anything?”

  “Just yourself. Oh.” She snapped her fingers. “Wear something you don’t mind getting dirty.”

  He glanced down at his polo and khaki shorts. “This isn’t okay?”

  “It’s fine, but T-shirts are good, too. We’re not formal here.” She swiped a hand down the front of her. “As you can tell.”

  He could’ve said she looked great, but that felt like flirting and he didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. God, did she already have the wrong idea? He hoped not. Vanessa would have his hide if she thought he was after Liv. But then, the idea of V taking his hide wasn’t that bad.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He left before he got into trouble by either saying the wrong thing or sporting a woody that Liv would take the wrong way. Thinking about Vanessa flogging him shouldn’t make him hard, but it did.

  He smiled to himself as he started his SUV. He cranked up the music and pulled out of the parking lot, grin still in place. There had to be a way to make his desires a rea
lity. He just needed to figure out the right way in. If Vanessa thought he was giving up, she was damn wrong.

  If anything, her repeated denials to be his Mistress only made him more determined to make it happen. He hadn’t made the pros by giving up.

  Chapter Seven

  The slick cut of the blades scratching over the ice reached Vanessa from her spot along the upper rail that looked down on the rink. Behind her was a concession stand with tables spread out for people to watch the skaters. It was closed now, the area empty except for her, but she stuck to the shadows. Being spotted wasn’t in her plans.

  There were six men on the ice, none of them in full gear. It was easy to pick out Hauke. The distance didn’t stop her from homing in on his dark hair and confident pose where he leaned against the boards, talking to another player while pointing to the goal. The other four men were running passing drills as they skated across the blue line toward the net.

  She let her gaze linger on Hauke. Finding him hadn’t been hard. Tracking down the ice rink had been a simple matter of calling the few in the area until she found the one that was rented at four o’clock for the summer.

  The real question was why she’d hunted him down at all. Her conversation with her sister that afternoon had surprised her. Hauke had actually followed through on his offer to volunteer at the youth center for the last week.

  He pushed away from the boards, flipped around and skated backward, prepared to defend the goal. He was an offensive player, but he also had to be good at defense to succeed in the pros.

  His baggy sweats didn’t hide the strength that powered through his thighs and glutes every time he pushed off. How long could he hold a squat before those strong muscles started to quiver from the strain? Longer than most, she’d bet.

  She recognized the other men on the ice. Two were Glaciers’s players. The other three played for different pro teams but were all native to the area and must’ve come home during the off-season.

  Hauke stole the puck and sped toward the other goal before another player swooped in to cut him off. Ice flew in a chisel of powdery snow when Hauke skidded to a stop while flicking the puck to another player speeding up the opposite side of the ice.

  She turned away then. The rink wasn’t freezing, but it was chilly enough that she welcomed the heat when she stepped outside. She’d parked at the back of the lot in the little bit of shade offered by a line of trees. She lifted her face to the sun for a second before moving toward her car. It was nothing fancy, which often surprised her clients. It wasn’t a beater, but it hadn’t warranted a second mortgage to buy it.

  Sliding onto the leather seat, she flicked the key in the ignition so she could lower the power windows. The temperature was pleasant with the air that passed through, and she took the opportunity to skim through the messages on her phones.

  She was typing out a response to Angie regarding a meeting request when the sun glinted off the glass as the doors to the rink swung open. Three men exited, hair damp, bags swung over their shoulders, sticks in hand.

  Hauke laughed at something Walters said, punching the man on the arm. Scott Walters was the Glaciers’s starting center. As he was born and raised in Minneapolis, the fans had been ecstatic when the Glaciers had acquired him. He was a year or two older than Holden and a decent guy, from what she knew.

  She put her work phone down and waited for Hauke to throw his stuff in the back of his SUV before she grabbed her personal phone and typed in a text. Meet me at Gina’s on Hennepin at 7:00.

  She hit Send. It was only seconds before Hauke was digging his phone out of his pocket before he closed the hatch on the back of the SUV. He had on jeans and another polo shirt, forest green today. It stretched across his shoulders and back muscles when he moved to open the driver’s door. He shook his head, a grin appearing as he looked at his phone.

  He was in his car, out of her sight when his response came through. Why should I?

  She typed in the one thing that would hook him if he was serious about playing. Because it pleases me.

  His response was exactly what she expected from a submissive. Yes, Mistress.

  Any man willing to help her sister earned a second chance. That alone wouldn’t change her mind, but it showed a side to him that went beyond the cocky athlete. He intrigued her, and that was more than any man had done since her cousin Rick and his friends had destroyed her trust in men so long ago.

  It was just a meeting with no promises. They’d talk and see how things went. And most important, it was on her terms.

  She was in control, not Hauke.

  * * *

  Holden drove into the restaurant parking lot, palms sweating. His stomach had been wound tight since Vanessa’s text and it somehow managed to twist even more now that he was there. This was his second chance, and instinct told him he wouldn’t get another.

  He held his hands over the air vent for a few seconds to dry them before getting out. He straightened his collar and puffed air into his cupped palm to test his breath as he made his way through the semi-crowded lot.

  A glance at his cell confirmed the time. Six fifty-seven. He was willing to bet Vanessa would leave if he was even a minute late. He ran his hand through his hair, pocketed his phone and stepped into the cooler air of the restaurant.

  A perky redhead with over-done makeup and a blouse that strained across her ample breasts greeted him with an approving and not-so-subtle appraisal. He kept his smile small and his words direct. He was used to reactions like the hostess’s and had more experience ignoring the obvious than taking up the silent offer.

  Her own smile never faltered as she checked her reservations and led him to a table in a quiet corner near the back. The dinner crowd was thinning, but the place was still fairly busy for a weeknight. He glanced around. The atmosphere was warm and leaned toward the sophisticated side with dark woods, linen napkins, candles and dim lighting.

  The waiter had just left two water glasses on the table when he spotted Vanessa weaving her way around the tables toward him. Her black suit jacket was unbuttoned, but the slight bit of casualness didn’t detract from the command she possessed. The hold of her shoulders, tilt of her chin and the general manner in which she strutted as much as walked screamed confidence.

  She was all business, not that he’d expected anything different. He blew out a shallow breath, wiped his damp palms over pants and stood to greet her.

  “Vanessa.” He extended his hand and smiled when she rested her hand in his palm.

  “Hauke.”

  He lifted her fingers to his lips, inhaling to capture a whiff of her perfume that was stronger at her wrist. “Mistress,” he said softly, his lips dancing over her skin, eyes closing for a moment to absorb the sense of rightness.

  Her face gave away nothing when he straightened. “Still presumptuous, I see.” She tugged her hand away and waited for him to pull out her chair before she sat down.

  “Hopeful,” he said, sitting down again.

  The waiter appeared, and it didn’t cross Holden’s mind to speak up when the man asked if they’d like something to drink. Vanessa had a brief conversation then ordered a bottle of some brand of red wine.

  He knew little about wine except that some was very good and others just as bad. His normal crowd leaned more toward beer and liquor, and even that was limited during the season.

  Vanessa picked up the menu, so he did the same. She hadn’t spoken, but the air wasn’t filled with tension. Not like their previous meetings. He set the menu aside when the waiter returned with the wine. The process of opening and tasting the red liquid was handled by Vanessa, and Holden sat back, enjoying the play of emotions that crossed her face.

  Based on her clothing, he guessed she hadn’t been home yet. But she showed no signs of fatigue or even relief that the day was almost done. Composed—she was
always composed.

  Their orders were placed, and the waiter left before Vanessa looked back to Holden. She lifted her wineglass, and he followed suit. “To opportunities,” she said before clicking her glass to his.

  The wine was full and almost light on the back of his tongue with a deep flavor that lingered. He smiled and lifted his glass. “It’s very good.”

  She tilted her head, her hair flowing over her shoulder in a way that had him longing to run his fingers through the silky strands. “Why’d you do it?”

  “What?” He set his glass down, brows drawn.

  “Pay for the hockey sticks. Volunteer at the center?”

  He shrugged and answered with the truth. “Because I wanted to.”

  “It won’t sway my decision about us.”

  “I didn’t expect it to.” He really hadn’t.

  Her eyes narrowed, the assessment not one of doubt but of consideration. “Do you plan to follow through?”

  “On going to the center?” he asked, waiting until she nodded. “Yes. I have time and I want to help.”

  “Why?”

  “Full of questions tonight, aren’t you?”

  She only stared at him, lips held in a tight line that didn’t even wiggle with a suggestion that she was going to answer. He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine to buy some time. He had nothing to hide, but he didn’t like talking about himself. For what had felt like his whole life, there’d been more than enough people willing to talk about him—for him. There’d never been a need for him to add anything.

  “I had a lot of people who helped me get to where I am. As cheesy as it sounds, this is a chance for me to give something back.”

  “You could’ve written a check and walked away.” She wasn’t giving him an inch. He respected that. Too many people bent over backward to give him whatever he wanted.

  “And I probably will do that, too. The check. But kids need more than money.” He sipped his wine, letting the liquid sit on his tongue before he swallowed. “Sometimes they just need someone to believe in them. Your sister does, and it shows. They trust and respect her, and she gives the same back.” He paused. His answer would be enough for most people, but Vanessa wasn’t most people. So he added, “I don’t have a lot of that in my personal life. Open trust and respect. It’s nice to remember how it feels.” He held her gaze, waiting for her next question.