As Nadia looked around the packed arena, she was surprised to see so many fans wearing Reid’s jersey. But then she realized it wasn’t all that surprising. Reid was their native son, the hometown hero who’d founded a youth community center and regularly gave back to the city of Detroit. While these fans wouldn’t be rooting for his team to beat the Red Wings tonight, they apparently had no problem showing him some love.
But when the Rebels were introduced, Reid received way more boos than cheers. As Nadia glanced around the stands, she remembered Dawn Legette’s prediction from yesterday. She definitely couldn’t see this crowd giving Reid a standing ovation. But time would tell.
As for herself, she couldn’t wait to give him the commemorative plaque she’d had made in honor of his achievement. She’d tracked down his first youth hockey coach; his high school, college and NHL coaches; his idol Bobby Orr; and his father, who was his very first coach and mentor. All of these men had helped shape him into the hockey player he was today, so she’d contacted them and asked them to provide special messages for the commemorative plaque. She’d been too shy to speak directly to his father, so she’d sent her request through his assistant.
The cast bronze plaque had come out perfect, and the inscriptions were heartfelt and poignantly inspiring. She hoped Reid would like the gift.
As the two teams warmed up before the game, Reid glanced up at his cheering section and grinned. Everyone grinned back and waved excitedly to him. His mother looked ready to laugh and cry at the same time.
When his eyes met Nadia’s, she smiled and mouthed, Kick ass, baby!
He winked at her and mouthed back, Always.
“You two are so freakin’ adorable,” Avery declared, seated to Nadia’s right.
“Aren’t they?” Aria grinned at Nadia. “Have you been to a lot of hockey games?”
Nadia shook her head. “I just became a fan this season,” she admitted.
Avery grinned. “Better late than never, right?”
“Definitely.”
They all laughed.
All banter ceased once the puck dropped.
Viggo won the faceoff and raced down the ice, handling the puck as dexterously as if he’d had practice in the womb. Seriously. He was that good.
As two opposing players bore down on him, he dumped the puck to Reid, who took off toward the offensive zone. Detroit’s goalie must have anticipated that he would try to strike early, because he came out of the crease to meet him. But as Reid neared the net, he deftly passed the puck back to Viggo.
With a quick flick of his wrists, Viggo fired a shot, catching the goalie off balance. He swatted at the puck with his blocker, but it clanged off the metal goalpost and into the net.
As the scoreboard lit up, loud boos erupted across the arena. Everyone in Reid’s entourage jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering as Viggo and Reid slapped high fives and hugged.
The Rebels had scored right out of the gate, drawing first blood and setting the tone for what would become a bruising, high-octane barn burner.
The Holdens were intensely fanatic about their hockey. It was their religion, the glue that bonded them in good times and bad. During the game they screamed at the referees, shouted encouragements to Reid and boisterously celebrated when plays went their way. They were diehard Red Wings fans, but when the Rebels came to town, they switched their allegiance for the night—a betrayal that generated good-natured trash talking between them and the home fans.
Two years ago, Reid had scored a hat trick in this very same arena, heroically leading the Rebels to a resounding victory over the Red Wings. These fans had not forgotten his performance in that game. The memory undoubtedly lingered like a bitter aftertaste.
Halfway through the first period, it became pretty obvious that a big part of Detroit’s game plan was completely shutting Reid down and keeping him from scoring that coveted goal. Their forwards battled him ferociously in the corners, throwing elbows and aggressively forechecking him. If he did manage to score tonight, it wouldn’t happen without Detroit extracting a pound of flesh first.
During a tense power play, Arlene reflexively grabbed Roark’s arm and hung on to him. After the Rebels killed the play, Roark and Arlene looked at each other and breathed an audible sigh of relief, then smiled shyly before returning their attention to the ice. Hanh, who’d spent more time texting than watching the game, chose that moment to glance up from her phone. When she caught the exchange between Reid’s parents, her eyes narrowed with displeasure.
If Nadia were Hanh’s friend, she would have advised her to put her phone away and pay attention to the game—or at least pretend to. She was Roark’s girlfriend, so she knew how much hockey meant to him, and this was a big night for his son. Texting during the game was not a good look for her.
Pushing the thought aside, Nadia returned her attention to the action on the ice. She felt herself tensing when she saw an unsuspecting Detroit player skating across center ice with his head down as he drove the puck toward the Rebels’ net.
Reid leveled him, a clean but brutal hit that knocked the guy off his skates and sent him sprawling across the ice.
The home crowd booed their displeasure. Reid’s brother and friends hooted at the newsreel-worthy smackdown.
Two other Detroit players retaliated by plowing into Reid, blindsiding him. His family and friends jumped to their feet in outrage, hollering for a penalty to be called.
Viggo and Logan had Reid’s back, rushing over to mix it up with the opposing players. There was a lot of violent shoving and shouting and cursing before the referees intervened. By then Nadia was on the edge of her seat, every muscle in her body tense. She didn’t breathe easy until Reid emerged from the scrum wearing a scowl—aggravated but unharmed.
Three minutes later, the arena erupted in celebration when Detroit’s right winger fired a shot from the blue line to tie the game at 1-1.
Reid’s family and friends reacted with disappointed groans, still bitter about the lack of penalties called on the other play.
The energy and excitement inside the arena were intense enough to blow the roof off. But there were lighthearted moments that occasionally broke up the tension.
At one point during a timeout, Reid was skating up the ice toward his bench when Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” began playing over the sound system. During the first verse, the crowd pointed to Reid and enthusiastically belted out the words “Just a city boy, born and raised in South Detroit!”
Reid glanced up and flashed a crooked grin, an acknowledgment that sent a wave of warm laughter through the stands.
Avery leaned toward Nadia, her eyes twinkling with humor. “You know what’s so funny about that line in the song? Technically there is no South Detroit.”
Nadia grinned. “Really? There isn’t?”
“Nope. There’s a Southwest Detroit. And we grew up in the Downriver area, which technically is south of the city. But there’s no actual South Detroit.” Avery grinned. “But we Michiganders love the song anyway. It’s like our national anthem.”
Nadia laughed.
None of the home fans were laughing minutes later when Reid zipped the puck to Hunter, who rifled a slap shot past Detroit’s goalie and into the net. As the light above the goal flashed on, disgusted boos and jeers rained down on the ice.
Laughing, Aria pointed to the other side of the rink. “Oh my God. Look at that.”
Everyone followed the direction she indicated to see a rowdy Red Wings fan waving a big sign that proclaimed: WE WANT THE ROCKET! TRADE FOR HOLDEN OR ELSE!
Everyone burst out laughing. Even the people around them guffawed with amusement.
The game was so intense that Nadia downed two beers without even realizing it. On the plus side, the alcohol loosened her up and helped calm her nerves. But the drawback was that by intermission, she had to pee really bad.
Normally she wasn’t the type who needed an entourage to visit the ladies’ room. But tonight, for som
e reason, she would have appreciated some company. But Avery had just gotten a phone call from a client and Aria had moved down the row to talk to Colt, who’d stayed behind after Ryder and the others left for the concession stands. He and Aria were deep in conversation, her eyelashes batting flirtatiously as they huddled close together.
That left only two other women to accompany Nadia to the restroom, and she wasn’t about to ask either of them. Arlene hated her guts, plus she was busy chatting with two women seated in the row behind them. And Hanh was…well, unapproachable.
So Nadia was on her own.
When she reached the restroom, there was a line. Fortunately, it moved fast enough to get her to an empty toilet before her full bladder exploded.
The bathroom was crowded with perky puck bunnies and weary mothers shepherding small children to stalls. While Nadia was peeing, she overheard two girls laughing and chattering at the row of sinks.
“No offense to Channing Tatum and Matt Bomer, but if they ever decide to make another Magic Mike, I think they should cast Reid Holden, Viggo Sandström, Hunter Duchene and Logan Brassard. Talk about a panty dropper! Those guys are, like, so fucking hot.”
“Oh my God, yes!” her friend squealed in agreement. “I would totally see that movie a million times. And I’d bring my damn vibrator!”
“Hells yeah!”
As the two friends burst into breathy giggles, Nadia flushed the toilet and came out of the stall with her teeth clenched. As she walked to the other end of the counter to wash her hands, the hockey hookers barely spared her a glance. They were too absorbed in their lewd ramblings as they reapplied lip gloss and fussed with their hair in front of the mirror. The busty blonde was wearing Reid’s jersey while the brunette sported Viggo’s.
“Speaking of watching something over and over again,” the blonde confessed in a naughty voice, “I can’t stop watching Reid’s Gatorade Ice commercial. It’s got, like, a gazillion views on YouTube, and half of those are probably from me. Seriously. I can’t get enough of him. He is sooo fucking sexy!”
“God, yes!” The brunette grinned lasciviously. “Is it pervy that every time he slams a player into the boards, I get massively turned on? I’m talking, like, instant cream in my panties.”
The blonde squealed. “I thought it was just me!”
“Hell, no!” The brunette giggled impishly and then sighed. “I just love hockey players. I’ve slept with other athletes, but there’s just no comparison. Hockey players are the absolute best lovers. Hands down, no contest.”
“Totally. They really know how to f—” The blonde broke off suddenly, catching Nadia’s reflection in the mirror. Something like recognition flashed in her eyes before she narrowed them and frowned, looking as if she were trying to recall where she’d seen Nadia before.
Nadia ran her hand through her hair and smirked.
The blonde quickly averted her gaze.
Finished with their primping, the two puck bunnies headed for the exit, still blathering on about Reid. “Like, if I doused myself with Gatorade, how fast do you think he’d be all over me? ’Cause I would totally— Oops!” The blonde broke off with a giggle as she bumped into Reid’s mother, who had just entered the restroom. “Excuse me.”
“There’s no excuse for your ilk.” Arlene’s arctic green eyes raked the girl from head to toe, her lips curled in a sneer of utter disgust. “And you’re not his type. Far from it.”
The girl blinked rapidly, her face turning beet red with humiliation. She ducked her head and mumbled another apology before beating a hasty retreat with her horrified friend, who could be heard whispering, “Holy shit, Amber! That was his mom!”
Nadia stared in disbelief as Reid’s mother made her way to the mirror and began fluffing her hair as calmly as if she hadn’t just eviscerated some hapless puck bunny.
“I wonder,” she mused in a cool tone. “Just how uncouth does one have to be to hold such a lurid conversation in a public restroom—with small children around, at that.”
It was a rhetorical question, so Nadia didn’t answer. But an older white woman walking by loudly hummed her agreement and patted Arlene’s back on her way out of the bathroom.
Suppressing a smile, Nadia leaned toward the mirror to retouch her lip gloss.
“It was the same way with his father in college,” Arlene remarked conversationally. “Girls were always throwing themselves at Roark and scheming to get in his pants. He was the big man on campus, the most popular hockey player on the team. On top of that, he was outrageously handsome. For the longest time, I lived in fear of him leaving me for someone prettier, skinnier, with bigger breasts and longer hair. But he never did.”
Arlene met Nadia’s gaze in the mirror. “If you’re going to be with my son, you’ll need thick skin to deal with all those shameless puck sluts. They’re becoming more and more aggressive every year, it seems. And Reid having a girlfriend—or a wife—won’t deter them from trying to seduce him. If anything, his unavailability will make him that much more irresistible. Tramps always want someone else’s man.”
Nadia grimaced, sickened by the thought.
“But you have nothing to worry about. Reid isn’t going anywhere.”
Nadia’s eyes flew to Arlene’s.
The older woman smiled intuitively. “I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. I see the way you watch him deliver those bruising hits, the way you can’t breathe until you know he’s okay, that he hasn’t caused any harm to himself. I recognize the look on your face because it was the same one I had when I used to watch his father play in college. And I’ve never loved any man the way I loved Roark Holden.”
Her voice gentled, her eyes tunneling into Nadia’s. “Reid has never brought any woman home to meet the family. But I’ve been to games attended by girls he was dating at the moment. They clapped and cheered for him, and they made sure everyone knew they were with him. But none of them ever watched him play with the same intensity that you do, the same heart-in-your-throat look. If I wasn’t convinced before that you love my son, I became a believer tonight.”
Nadia’s throat tightened with emotion. She swallowed hard, unable to speak.
“Before you saw me,” Arlene continued, “I overheard those girls talking about my son. I could see your reflection in the mirror, and I was waiting to see how you would respond to their lewd comments. I don’t know if they recognized you or not. But many of these puck sluts take malicious satisfaction in taunting the wives and girlfriends of hockey players, provoking them into catfights. The things they were saying must have been hard for you to hear. But I was hoping you would take the high road and not sink to their level. And that’s exactly what you did,” Arlene said, her eyes sparkling with admiration. “You held your tongue, proving just what a classy young lady you are. The kind of woman my son can be proud to have at his side.”
Nadia didn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you, Mrs. Holden.”
“I’m the one who should be thanking you, Nadia. For loving my son, being there for him and making him happy.” Arlene’s expression softened, guilt filling her eyes. “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you yesterday. There’s no excuse for my behavior. Truth be told, I don’t even believe the deplorable things I said to you.”
“Then why did you say them?”
“I…well, I suppose I’m afraid of losing my son the way I lost his father. So I tried my best to shock you. To scare you away.” Arlene shook her head. “I’m truly ashamed of the way I behaved, and I wouldn’t blame you for never speaking to me again. But I hope you will. Because you mean the world to my son, and I’d really like to get to know you better.”
A lump rose in Nadia’s throat. She smiled tremulously. “I’d like that too.”
Arlene smiled as tears of relief shone in her eyes.
Just then a toilet flushed, and a woman emerged from the stall beaming at them. “That was really beautiful, ladies.”
Arlene and Nadia shared a self-consci
ous laugh.
“Come on,” Arlene said, companionably draping an arm around Nadia’s shoulders. “Let’s get back so we won’t miss anything.”
“Good idea,” Nadia agreed.
Together they returned to their seats to watch the rest of the game.
Five minutes into the second period, Detroit scored on a power play to tie the game at 2-2.
Less than two minutes later, the Rebels answered right back when Reid delivered a bone-jarring hip-check that stripped his opponent of the puck. Viggo seized the loose puck and skated down the left side of the boards as an opposing defenseman chased him. He crossed the blue line and charged into enemy territory, barging through defenders to approach the net at an angle. When he was close enough, he snapped the puck under the goalie’s outstretched glove to give the Rebels a 3-2 lead.
The Rebels’ bench exploded with cheers while the crowd booed and groaned in disgust. Grinning boyishly, Viggo shared a backslapping hug with Reid and then skated down the sideline, slapping hands with his teammates.
Aria whipped out her phone and huddled close to Avery and Nadia. “Selfie time!”
They all laughed and mugged for the camera as Aria snapped the picture, then posted it to her Instagram page.
At the end of the second period, a sideline reporter came over to interview Reid’s parents. They cheerfully answered his questions, beaming with pride as they spoke affectionately about their son.
When the reporter suddenly turned to Nadia and smiled, she was caught off guard.
“So, Nadia, I was just asking Reid’s parents how they’d feel if he didn’t score tonight. Despite what’s at stake for him personally, he’s been generously distributing the puck and not taking as many shots as most people were expecting. Not only that, but the Wings are throwing the kitchen sink at him. As the special woman in his life, how disappointed will you be if he doesn’t score that big goal tonight?”
When he thrust the microphone into Nadia’s face, that was when it hit her. If she was going to be with Reid, she’d have to get used to smiling for the cameras and talking to the media. There was no getting around it.
Wicked Games (Denver Rebels) Page 46