Shouldn't they have at least offered to help her? Had that even been an option? She didn't know. She didn't think anyone knew, except maybe Rachel.
And Rachel wasn't talking.
Taylor glanced over at the other woman, watching her go through the motions of a shooting drill. Her movements were sluggish, unenthusiastic; her shots were weak and wide. Which meant absolutely nothing because the rest of the team was the same way, doing nothing more than just going through the motions.
As Captain, it was her job to run practice tonight—at the request of Coach Reynolds. It was also her job to get the team excited, to build up their enthusiasm. To tighten the bonds that had been damaged from the events on Saturday.
That's what she should be doing, but her heart wasn't in it any more than the rest of the team. Not with this heavy pall of negativity hanging over them.
Taylor tossed one final glance at the tense meeting happening on the other side of the glass then flung the bottle behind the bench. She had an idea, but she wasn't sure if it would work or not. At the very least, it might take everyone's mind off the group of suits huddled together with the coaches.
She pushed off the boards and skated toward center ice, waving Sammie and Dani and a few of the other girls in. They slid to a stop in front of her, their gazes filled with curiosity.
Dani looked over at the small group then frowned at Taylor. "Any idea what they're talking about?"
"No. I wasn't close enough to hear. But none of them look happy—especially Coach."
"You think this is about Amanda?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. I mean, they already kicked her off the team. Why would they still be talking about her?"
"If they're not talking about her, then what the hell are they discussing?"
"Whatever it is, it looks serious." Sammie took a deep breath then let it out in a rush, her shoulders deflating with the move. "I don't like it. I've got a really bad feeling about it."
"Well, we'll find out eventually. I guess."
"Has Chuckie said anything?"
Taylor shook her head. There was no use denying that the two of them were together now, not when everyone had seen the way Chuckie was holding her at the hospital. She wasn't sure how she felt about that, how she felt about everyone knowing her personal business. It was too late to worry about it now, though, because there wasn't anything she could do about it.
"He's been busy doing damage control, trying to bury the negative press."
Dani snorted. "Yeah. Good luck with that."
Taylor ignored the comment, mostly because there was nothing to say, especially not when she agreed with it. "In the meantime, we need to do something to get everyone back on the same page. Do something to lighten everyone's mood."
"Like what?"
"How about some line dancing?"
Five faces looked at her with varying expressions of shock and disbelief. Sammie was the first one to speak, her voice pitched high in surprise.
"Line dancing? Seriously?"
"Sure, why not?"
"I thought we were supposed to be practicing."
"Look around, Sammie. Does it look like anyone is actually practicing? We need to do something to break through this thing and get us working together again. Get our minds off everything going on. Do you have any better ideas?"
"Well, no. But I'm not sure how we're supposed to line dance on skates."
"You'll figure it out." Taylor twirled the stick in her hand and looked around. "Anyone else have something better in mind?"
"Nope."
"Not me."
"Okay, line dancing it is then. I'll go find the radio. Dani and Sammie, get everyone together. But don't tell them why, okay?"
"Why? Afraid of a mutiny?" Dani meant the words as a joke but they still hit home, knotting Taylor's stomach.
"You have no idea."
She headed back to the bench, wondering if she needed her head examined. Line dancing? Instead of practicing? Surely, she could have come up with something different. But her mind had completely blanked and it was the only thing she could think of besides running regular drills. And everyone had so much fun that night after their first game, when they'd gone to The Ale House, laughing and dancing and just cutting loose. That was what they needed right now, just something to have some fun and get their minds off everything else.
The shrill blare of a whistle stopped her in her tracks. She slid to a stop, spinning around as Coach Reynolds and Coach Chaney walked onto the ice, their faces lined with fury. Taylor's heart slammed into her chest, her stomach knotting with apprehension. Coach Reynolds glanced over at her then quickly looked away, blowing the whistle again.
"I need all of you over here. Now."
Everyone immediately raced to the boards, coming to a stop a few feet away from Coach Reynolds. Taylor saw the confusion on her teammates' faces and knew it mirrored her own. Did everyone else have the same knot of dread twisting their guts, or was that just her?
No, it was everyone. Like they all knew something was coming. Something bad.
Seconds stretched into minutes, drawing nerves tight until Coach Reynolds released a heavy sigh and looked around, her gaze resting on each face for a split second before moving to the next one. She tossed an angry look over her shoulder then turned back once more.
"Everyone needs to line up and proceed to the restroom for a drug test."
Shocked silence greeted her words, then questions started flying, overlapping one another.
"What?"
"Whose idea was this?"
"They can't make us do that, can they?"
"Isn't that supposed to be done in a lab?"
Coach Reynolds held her hands up, signaling for silence. "This isn't my call and no, there's nothing I can do about it. As for a lab—" She stopped and looked over her shoulder again, her face red with anger.
"As for a lab, you'll be using home tests. These will be issued immediately and nobody is exempt."
"But Coach—"
"Not my call, ladies." She lowered her voice, regret flashing across her face. "I'm sorry. I wish there was something I could do."
"What fucking bullshit." Shannon ripped her helmet off and shot a withering glare in the direction of the men standing on the other side of the glass. "Are they going to watch, too?"
"Coach Chaney will be present, yes."
"Seriously? We have to pee in front of someone? I don't think I can!" Sammie's voice was filled with the same outrage and disbelief reflected on everyone's face.
Shannon let out a string of loud curses and stormed toward the door, throwing her helmet and stick down as she moved through it. She paused in front of the men and Taylor held her breath, wondering if Shannon was going to say or do something stupid. But she merely shook her head and swore again before heading to the bathroom.
Everyone else skated toward the doors, muttering words of disbelief and outrage. Taylor hesitated, wanting to say or do something, but knowing she couldn't. She started off the ice, only to have Coach Reynolds call her back.
"LeBlanc, I need a minute."
Taylor whirled around, the dread growing larger in her stomach. "Yes, Coach?"
"Not you."
"What do you mean? You said no exceptions."
"I did." Coach Reynolds moved closer, regret filling her eyes. "I'm sorry, Taylor, I tried. And if it was up to me—"
"What? What's going on?"
"You're suspended from the team. Indefinitely."
Taylor stood there, convinced she hadn't heard right. Suspended? No, she couldn't be. Her heart jumped to her throat, making it hard to breathe, hard to concentrate. She swallowed, trying to draw air into her burning lungs.
"I—I don't understand."
"Taylor—"
"Is this because of Amanda? I thought—this doesn't make sense. I don't understand."
"It's not because of Amanda. It's—" Coach looked away, her shoulders sagging. When she looked back, Taylor saw the sheen in h
er eyes, saw the angry set to her jaw. "It's because you're involved with someone in the front office."
"What?" The words came out as a strangled choke. This was about Chuckie? Because they were seeing each other?
"Mr. Murphy thinks it would be best if you were no longer associated with the team, at least for the time being, given all the negative publicity that's happened as a result of the incidents that occurred on Saturday." Coach recited the long string of words, her voice dull and lifeless. She took a deep breath, anger flashing in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Taylor. It's bullshit. I tried to talk him out of it but…I'm sorry."
Anger sliced through Taylor, followed by the sharp pain of betrayal. She was being suspended, indefinitely, because she was seeing Chuckie. Had he known? No, he couldn't have. He would have said something.
Wouldn't he?
Taylor stood there for the longest time, her body numb, her heart threatening to explode in her chest. Everything she had worked for all her life, all her hopes and dreams, shattered. Destroyed.
Taken away from her.
Just like that. On a whim. With no thought.
How? Why? She didn't understand, couldn't make sense of it. She wanted to scream. To hit. To rail against the injustice. To fight back.
In the end, she simply skated off the ice, leaving the shattered pieces of her dreams behind her.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Charles flew up the steps, taking them two at a time until he skidded to a stop in front of Taylor's door. He banged his fist against it, making the metal shudder in the frame.
He paused, put his ear to the door and tried to listen for signs of movement inside. He couldn't hear anything over the pounding of his heart in his chest or the harsh rasp of each breath tearing from his lungs.
He pounded his fist against the door again. "Taylor. Open up. I know you're in there." She had to be. Her car was parked out front and he knew she wasn't working. She never worked Thursday nights because of practice.
Only she wouldn't be at practice ever again. Not anymore. Not after Murphy's stunt tonight.
How could he? Why the fuck would he do such a thing? What had he been thinking? Charles was still having trouble wrapping his head around it. Part of him wanted to believe it was some kind of sick joke, that Sammie had been playing a practical joke on him when she called earlier. But Sammie didn't joke, not like this. And there had been no mistaking the tears in her voice when she told him.
He had tried calling Murphy but the man wouldn't answer his phone. Then he tried calling Taylor but she refused to pick up, sending his calls straight to voicemail.
He banged on the door again, harder this time, desperation clear in his voice when he called out. "Taylor, please. Open the door."
Minutes went by before he finally heard the lock turn. The door opened, but only a few inches, stopped by the security chain. Taylor stared at him through one glazed eye rimmed in red. Hair hung in her face, covering most of the tear-streaked splotches along her cheek.
"Not now, Charles. Please." Her voice was thin and raspy, the words slightly slurred. But it was the use of his name, Charles, that sent his stomach plummeting.
She never called him Charles. Ever.
"Taylor, let me in. Please."
"I don't think—"
"Please."
She watched him through that single blurry eye for a long minute then closed the door. Charles held his breath, wondering if she'd unlock it and let him in—
Or if she had just sent him a message he wasn't willing to hear.
There was the faintest sound of metal sliding against metal, then the door opened again. He pushed through, not willing to give Taylor a chance to change her mind. The worry was misplaced because she was already heading for the loveseat, plopping down on it with a weary sigh. She reached for one of the throw pillows and pulled it to her chest, her head hanging low in dejection.
Charles stood just inside the door, his gaze taking everything in. Shadows filled the small apartment, the darkness broken only by the faint light coming from the bathroom at the end of the short hall. An open bottle of wine sat on the old trunk she used as a coffee table, a half-empty glass sitting next to it. A carton of melting ice cream, a spoon jutting out of the top, was shoved to the other side of the trunk.
Charles moved over to the loveseat and sat down next to her. It took all of his control not to pull her into his arms and hold her but her body language screamed leave me alone. He reached for her anyway then dropped his hand at the last second, letting it fall on the cushion between them.
"Sammie called me."
Taylor was quiet for so long, he wondered if she had heard him. Then she pulled in a quick breath and released it in a rush. "She shouldn't have."
"You're right. It should have been you who called me."
Taylor was quiet, too quiet. And she just sat there, not even bothering to look over at him. Charles clenched his jaw and bit back the disappointment flooding him.
"Why didn't you call me, Taylor?"
"I figured you already knew."
Her words sliced deep, sharper and more painful than any knife. He sat there, trying to breathe, refusing to believe her words. Refusing to think she actually believed them.
He shifted closer and reached for her hand, felt that invisible blade twist in his chest when she pulled away from him. "Taylor, look at me."
She still didn't move. He couldn't see her face, not with the way her hair was hanging down, shielding her. Charles waited, willing her to move. To look at him. To say or do something. Anything.
But she didn't.
He swore under his breath then moved off the loveseat and dropped to his knees in front of her. He reached out and cupped her face between his hands, his heart clenching at the cool dampness of her flesh. "Taylor, look at me."
She shook her head then averted her gaze when he tilted her head up.
"Taylor, please. You're killing me here. You have no idea what you're doing to me. Look at me. Please."
Long seconds stretched around them, filled with silence broken only by the pounding of his heart. Her body tensed and for one awful moment, he was afraid she'd pull away. That she'd reach out and push him or kick him or tell him to get out. To leave.
Then some of the tension seeped out of her and she raised her eyes, her gaze meeting his. His gut twisted at the pain and agony reflected in their depths. But that didn't hurt as much as the emptiness he glimpsed. Like she had given up. Like there was nothing left inside her.
He ran his tongue across his lower lip, trying to ignore the acid burning deep in his gut. "Tell me you don't believe that, Taylor. Tell me you don't really think I knew anything about this."
He held his breath, his eyes searching hers as he waited.
"I—" Taylor stopped and lowered her gaze, her teeth nibbling her bottom lip. A shudder went through her, her shoulders heaving with the force of her deep breath. She looked back up, moisture filling her eyes. "No, I don't."
Charles released the breath he'd been holding and pulled her into his arms, holding her tight. She felt frail, fragile, like all her inner strength—her dreams—had been ripped from her, leaving her empty and hollow, nothing more than a shell of the woman she'd been.
Long minutes went by before her arms wrapped around his waist. He could feel her body trembling, could hear each harsh breath as it was ripped from her lungs. And he could feel her tears against the skin of his neck as she cried, silent tears that wracked her body.
He stayed that way for a long time, simply holding her, whispering words of comfort and reassurance as she cried in his arms, until her body was limp from exhaustion.
Charles moved to his feet, adjusting his hold on her as he sat down and pulled her across his lap. She shifted, wrapped her arms around his neck, and dropped her head against his shoulder.
"I didn't know what he was planning, Taylor."
"I know." Her voice was quiet, ragged and hoarse, her breath nothing more than a whisper against
his skin.
"I'll talk to him in the morning, find out—"
"No."
"Yes. This isn't right. He can't just—"
"It doesn't matter, Chuckie."
He leaned back, his gaze capturing hers. Did she see the anger and determination in his gaze? She must have. How could she not, when he was burning with it?
"The hell it doesn't. How can you even say that?"
"Because it doesn't."
"Bullshit. Hockey is your life, Taylor. You can't just give up."
"There's nowhere else to go."
"Yeah, there is. The Blades. I'll talk to him—"
"Chuckie, I don't want to play for them. Even if you do talk to him. After what he did? The way he treated everyone tonight, demanding that drug test? Then suspending me indefinitely? No. I'm done. It's over."
"The hell it is. Hockey is too important to you. I'm not going to just stand by and let you give it up."
Taylor reached up and ran her hand across his jaw, a look of such pure sadness in her eyes that he had to look away. "You don't have a say in the matter."
He took a deep breath, wondered if he was making the right decision, wondering what the chances were of his words backfiring on him. He turned back to her. He didn't try to hide his anger or disappointment. "So that's it? You're just going to give up? Quit?"
"I'm not quitting."
"That's what it looks like to me."
"I was suspended. That's not the same—"
"You just said you were. That you wouldn't go back to playing. What's that, if not quitting?"
Anger flashed in her eyes, but only for a second. "You're putting words in my mouth."
"No, I'm not. I'm just repeating what you said. You said you didn't want to play. That you were done. That it was over."
"That's not—"
"So you're quitting."
Winning Hard Page 17