“Careful, Ford.”
“What? Not like I can stop you. Just make sure you can still do the fucking job I’m paying you for.”
“Since when are you paying me for any of this? I was doing you a goddamn favor.” Damn it, the anger he could handle. He’d figured Ford would get mad. Shout a bit. If he was gonna start sulking and toss their friendship over a woman, they’d be having a very different conversation shortly. “Don’t be an idiot about this, boy—”
“Boy? You know what, when we were friends, that didn’t bug me so much. But now?” Ford sucked his teeth, a sound he knew pissed Cort off. He was obviously looking to push Cort, but Cort refused to take the bait. Even though the bullshit Ford was spouting brought him to the fucking limit. “We’re not. Have some fucking respect. You were my dad’s lackey. Shoulda taught you how to speak to your boss.”
“You arrogant little shit.” Cort shook his head slowly. “You’ve got so many friends you can stand to lose me?”
“You asking if I need you, Cort? If so, yes. You’re the perfect employee—when you know your place.” Ford’s arrogant tone matched the one Roy used with anyone he considered beneath him. It had been a long time since Cort had seen Ford trying to live up—or rather down—to his “father’s” image.
Fucking sad that he was back to that. Maybe Cort should have expected it, but he’d thought the kid had grown up enough to be his own man.
Guess I was wrong. A gruff laugh escaped him even as his guts clenched with regret. “I’d be very careful if I were you, Ford. Your dad knows exactly how far he can push me. And he’s got the backing to pull it off. You’ve got no one but me. Keep it up and you’ll lose that.”
“Some loss.” Ford snorted. “We’re done here. I’ll have Cam bring you a check once I’m released and your services are no longer required.”
“Don’t bother. You know what I’m worth, boy.” Cort reached out before Ford could turn away and patted his shoulder. The gesture lacked the usual affection he showed the younger man. And by Ford’s wince, it wasn’t as light a pat as Cort had intended. Cort took a step back before he gave into the urge to shake some sense into the kid. “You can’t afford me. Stop while you still can, go back to your room, and calm the fuck down.” Cort inhaled the cold winter air to help settle his own nerves. Everything would work out once Ford had time to think things over. I fucking hope so anyway.
Ford pulled out his pack of cigarettes and tapped one into his palm. “Don’t make me repeat myself, Mr. Nash.”
Cort stuffed his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket, torn between needing to get the fuck out of there and the impulse to get right into Ford’s face and crack the Kingsley-grade ice his once best friend, his brother in every way that mattered, had put between them. But he was fucking pissed and this was going nowhere good. He gave Cam a brief nod and turned his back on Ford, heading to the parking lot, not willing to test his own control any longer. One more word and he would have laid Ford out. Kid had some fucking balls, Cort would give him that.
Their friendship might be done with. Not what Cort wanted, not over a chick.
Not just any chick. Any other chick and it wouldn’t have gone this far.
Maybe it was good, though. Ford had shown his true colors and let Cort know exactly what their friendship was worth to him. Fair enough.
Akira was worth the loss. And so much more.
* * * *
Ford dropped onto his hospital bed and lowered his head to his hands. His rage had faded, but all that left him was a numbness he couldn’t shake. He wasn’t sure why it bothered him so much more to learn that Akira was with Cort than it had when she’d been with Dominik. It could be because the way Akira talked about Dominik, the way the two scened at the club, made their relationship seem like a temporary haven.
Dominik had helped Akira heal. He was the reason she’d found her inner strength. Ford couldn’t be anything but grateful.
Cort was an entirely different story. Akira spoke as though she was falling hard and fast, and Cort . . . Cort might not be playing her at all. If he wasn’t, he’d make Akira happy.
That’s what I want for her.
But the chance that Cort was using her—even unintentionally . . .
I won’t let that happen.
Not that there was much he could do about it. He pressed his eyes shut as he pictured Cort taking Akira’s small body in his arms, making love to her, kissing her, and telling her everything she needed to hear. Then crushing her when she didn’t fit with his plans anymore. Cort had no ties to Dartmouth other than Ford. He might stick around for a while to make sure Ford had everything under control, but they both knew the longer he stayed here, the bigger the chance that he’d have a run in with the law. If a cop recognized him, they’d bring him in for questioning—at the very least.
He knew Cort. Cort would head back to Detroit as soon as possible to avoid the risk of ending up back in the joint. If he was still interested in Akira when it happened, he might ask her to come with him.
But Akira had so many people she loved here. Jami and her family, the Cobras, Sahara, some of the other Ice Girls. He wished he could include himself on that list, but that wasn’t important. All that mattered was Akira wouldn’t go and Cort couldn’t stay.
Telling Akira all this wouldn’t get him anywhere. Jami had tried to warn her best friend away from Cort. The only thing either he or Jami could do was stand behind Akira, ready to catch her when Cort pulled a cut and run.
She won’t want you there. She barely tolerates you now.
That was something he could change. He would be the best goddamn friend she’d ever had. He wouldn’t say one fucking thing about what he thought of her and Cort together. He’d pretend he was happy for her.
Pretend there was a reason to be.
He lifted his head, not surprised to see Cam by the window again, looking out rather than watching Ford. Once Cam got the hang of dealing with the kind of thugs Kingsley sent around, he’d be the perfect right-hand man. Maybe better than Cort because he didn’t have a reputation, so the cops wouldn’t constantly be tailing him.
The thought brought on the sensation of swallowing a lump of cold oatmeal that stuck in his throat. Cort had been the one constant in his life, the one person he could always count on.
Until now.
Which meant he had to stop relying on Cort to handle the bar. Had to get out of this fucking bed and take his life back.
“You wanna find my doctor, Cam?” Ford rolled his shoulders to release some of the tension that had settled between them. “I’m checking out.”
Cam frowned and his lips parted as though he wanted to object. But then he gave Ford a sharp nod. “No problem, sir.”
Ford’s brow shot up. “Sir?”
With a humorless laugh, Cam shrugged. “You are paying me, boss. I happen to like my job.”
“Yeah . . .” Shit, I don’t want this. Ford pressed his eyes shut, thinking about how he’d asked Cort to act like an employee. He shouldn’t have done that. He’d probably sounded like Kingsley, and that was the last thing he wanted. He was still too mad to care about the impact his words had on Cort, but he had to clear things up with Cam since the man had witnessed the whole fucking thing. “Well, then don’t fucking call me ‘sir.’ You got an opinion, speak up. Otherwise, nothing’s changed.”
“You want my opinion?” Cam’s level gaze was so like his older brother’s Ford could practically picture him tapping the leather strands of a flogger against his thigh as he spoke. “Checking out of the hospital early isn’t gonna improve the situation. It’s easier to keep an eye on you here.” His lips quirked. “And, much as you don’t want people to pity you, I saw the way Akira looked at you when she saw you in that bed. A little sympathy from her wouldn’t hurt.”
Sneaky. Ford snorted. “So you’re not gonna tell me I’m wrong for trying to get Cort to leave her?”
“Hard to say. I wouldn’t want my sister with a guy like him.”
Cam gave Ford a pointed look. “Or you.”
“Then why are you taking my side?” Ford’s lips curved into a dry smile. “Besides the fact that I’m paying you.”
“I’m not taking sides. My brother wouldn’t have gotten involved with the girl if she was stupid. I’m kinda hoping she’ll ditch you both and stick with him.”
“Not gonna happen. She’s not in love with Dominik.”
“You sure about that?” Cam chuckled as Ford frowned at him, approaching the bed to squeeze Ford’s shoulder before heading for the door. “You’ve got a bit of competition, man. Still want me to get the doc, or should I just grab us some coffee?”
“Coffee.” Ford settled into his bed and crossed his arms under his head. He wanted to get the fuck out of there, but Cam was right. He wasn’t in any condition to leave yet, and staying did have some advantages.
And he needed every single one he could get.
* * * *
In the Ice Girls’ brand new dressing room, Akira strolled along the mirrored wall, with a dozen swivelling stools set before the short, white-tiled counter, where her girls were doing their makeup. Her youngest girl, Justina, shook hard as she brought a wide blush brush to her cheek.
Akira took it from her and gently spun her on the stool to help her. She tipped the girl’s chin up and swept the brush over her round cheeks. “Nervous?”
Justina blushed, her soft, black bangs falling over one eye. “Maybe a little.” She took a deep breath, then blew it out and grinned. “But I’m ready.”
Such an adorable baby face, with big, bright blue eyes that retained their brilliant light even when she couldn’t get a new routine just right. Justina had been put on callback after the competition since she’d barely skimmed by the age requirements and hadn’t really impressed the judges. After their last spare was injured during a routine, twenty girls were called in and given one last chance to “stand out.”
Akira, as team captain, had been on the judging panel. As had Sahara. Justina performed last and neither Akira nor Sahara would let the other judges consider anyone else. Justina was spunky, sporty, and so full of energy there was no looking away from her when she let it all out.
The problem was getting her relaxed enough to shine. Akira grinned, then tapped Justina’s nose with the brush. “I brought you something.”
Fetching her purse from her locker, Akira returned to Justina’s side and handed her a small box of candy Nerds. Justina giggled, opening the top of the box and pouring some of the colored candy into her palm. “You remembered!”
“I remember everything about my girls.” Akira glanced back as one of their trainers stepped into the room, then moved to shield Justina’s treat. She spoke softly. “I know they’ve been on you about eating healthy, so make it quick.”
Justina covertly popped the candy into her mouth, stuffing the rest into her makeup bag. She leaned closer to Akira and whispered, “You’re not gonna get on me about eating sweets?”
“No. I think you’re perfect. I do agree you should eat your veggies, but you’ve gotten better with that.” Akira toyed with a bouncy curl on Justina’s shoulder, making it spring in a way that had the younger girl giggling again. “The lectures make them feel like they’re doing something. Don’t take it so hard.”
“I can’t see them telling you to go on diet pills.” Justina fidgeted with the base of her halter top, which bared her stomach. “I want to be part of the team, and if I’m not careful—”
Oh, hell no. “Sweetie, listen to me. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with your weight. Anyone tells you otherwise, you send them my way.” Not that Akira would wait for that to happen. She’d find out who was making Justina feel insecure and give them one chance to change their attitude. Then she’d . . .
Depending on who the person was, she might have to go right to the top. Maybe even speak to Mr. Keane himself. And the man was intimidating.
But she’d do it. No one mistreated her girls.
“Thank you, Akira.” Justina drew in another deep inhale, then stood. “I’m gonna go stretch. That routine you’ve got for the opening is . . . wow!” She laughed. “Something special we’re celebrating?”
Akira grinned. “Bower’s in nets. Perron’s back. The Cobras have a real shot at the playoffs now. I want the fans just as excited as we are!”
“I second that!” Sahara shouted from the other side of the room, leaping up with her knees bent like a cheerleader—which was basically what they were. She whooped! then waved the girls to their feet. “Ten minutes, girls! Go get warmed up!” Leaving the girls to warm up and chatter excitedly, Sahara moved to Akira’s side as Justina joined the rest of the team. She folded her arms over her chest. “They’re on her back again, aren’t they?”
Tugging her sleek, gold skirt straight, Akira met Sahara’s eyes, not hiding her displeasure. “You knew about this?”
“Hey, I only found out yesterday. I passed by the performance director’s office and heard Ms. Plant and a couple of the trainers reminding Justina that most of the girls are in an extra small and having a uniform made in medium just for her was troubling. They were ‘worried’ that having to get her one in large if she didn’t watch her weight would embarrass her.”
“That . . . bitch!” Akira didn’t hesitate long before spitting out the insult. Her father might not like her swearing, but she knew in this case, he’d approve. “Okay, this is going to be an issue. Ms. Plant has always been hard on us, but she’s gone too far. One girl quit because of her. I didn’t think too much of it, because she had a hard time keeping up with the schedule. Maybe I should have done something then.”
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll do something now.” Sahara bent closer, her tone low. “Silver’s back. One word to her, and Ms. Plant is gone.”
“Good.” Akira liked the idea of talking to Silver much more than approaching Mr. Keane. She was also glad that she hadn’t had to bring up his name to Sahara. She nodded for Sahara to follow her to her locker, one eye on the girls as she stuffed her things inside and clicked her lock shut. “Do you know if Silver’s here?”
“Bower’s first game back? Probably.” Sahara shrugged. “I haven’t seen Jami, so she’s probably babysitting.”
“All right. Let’s put on an awesome show and go find her.”
“Works for me.”
Akira heard her phone ringing inside her locker and groaned. She glanced over her shoulder at Sahara, their unofficial timekeeper.
“Grab it, you’ve got a couple of minutes.”
Quickly unlocking her locker, Akira fished her phone out, not even checking the number before answering breathlessly. “Hello?”
“Hey, horty.” Ford’s deep laugh sent little tingles all over her flesh. “I know you don’t have much time, but I’m sitting here, waiting to watch you go out there. Just wanted to tell you to rock it.”
“We will.” She held the phone close, turning away from the other girls so she had a bit of privacy. “Jami gave me the idea, actually. So hope the girls don’t kill each other swinging around hockey sticks!”
“With you leading them?” Ford went quiet. She had to hold her breath to hear his next words. “They’ll do great.”
“Thanks.” Akira leaned against her locker, not sure why she couldn’t stop smiling. She jumped when Sahara tapped her shoulder. “I gotta go, but, Ford?”
“Yeah?”
“I like knowing you’re watching.” She bit her bottom lip, hoping he didn’t make too much of the admission. “But don’t stay up too late. You need your rest.”
“I won’t. Just have to see this.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, never miss your performances. You’re something else, horty.”
Hearing that meant more than it should have. Akira quickly ended the call after making Ford promise to call in the morning. She stashed her phone with barely any time to spare before dashing out with her girls, each of them grabbing a stick from the equipment manager before they hit the ice in their special non-slip
sneakers. A wide carpet-like dance floor was set up in the center of the rink. She took her place at the tip of the triangle formation, holding the stick as though taking a face-off. She threw her body into motion, twisting around the stick and tossing her hair in time to AC/DC’s ”Shoot to Thrill.”
The complicated dance moves were cut in sections to give the girls a chance to lay down their sticks and simply jump up and down, waving their arms to get the crowd involved. Justina did some impressive flips, showing more strength and finesse than the others, making Akira feel like maybe she’d boosted the girl’s confidence just enough to let her shine. Everyone in the stands left their seats. The chorus faded to let the fans sing in an excited roar. Five girls—including Akira, Sahara, and Justina—flipped across the carpet for the finale.
Deafening applause followed the performance. Above, the Jumbotron showed flashes of the more enthusiastic fans. Then the screen showed the owner’s box. Dean Richter and Silver standing side by side, grinning and applauding. Several of their staff clapping behind them. And farther back . . . Cort, his eyes filled with pride as he cupped his hands around his mouth as though cheering loud. She couldn’t hear him, but she could feel his approval deep in her veins like a sugar rush. In her bones like the deep thrum of a bass drum.
Her heart raced as she took a bow with her girls. For that moment, everything was perfect. And the reason why seemed so very wrong. She’d never admit it out loud, but she could admit it to herself.
Knowing both Cort and Ford had seen it all, had watched her put on one of the best performances of her life . . .
The sensation was a brownie chunk ice cream, top grade, lottery winning rush. The only thing that could have made it better would have been to see her parents in the crowd. To see them just as proud as Cort was of her.
She shook away the depressing thought of knowing they’d never make it here. Never see her up close, living out her dreams. Even if they found the time to get away from work and their foster children, the expense of the trip was just too much.
But she’d send them the clips like she always did. And they called when they could, but the conversations were always short and awkward. She preferred the letters they sent, which told her that they loved her. That she’d done well.
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5) Page 16