The Heart (Ice Dragons Hockey Book 2)

by RJ Scott

  She glanced into the main seating area in the beautiful place that Kat and her fiancé had bought, the one with the views out over Burlington. They’d only just moved in, but this was the third time Jo had visited. The view included shouting, sexy, angry hockey players; men who were clearly pissed at something.

  “You’re not coming back early,” one strong, steady voice said, and Jo recognized Ryan, Kat’s other half, as the owner of the voice.

  “Fuck you, Flynn,” the captain snapped.

  “This is not up for discussion, you hard-headed idiot,” Ryan shouted louder. Seemed it was the kind of meeting where each person shouted louder than the last just to be heard.

  She counted it as a win that they hadn’t spotted her; there was something compelling about being able to see them in person. Kat was watching with amusement on her face. Of course, her fiancé was one of them, and she probably knew more about the whole thing than Jo ever would.

  “Ready?” Kat asked with snacks in one hand, drinks in the other.

  “Is that coffee?”

  “You can have it after you answer your first questions right,” Kat teased, but didn’t stop Jo when she “helped” her by taking the coffees and falling on hers like she hadn’t had caffeine in days.

  Still unseen by the hockey players, whose anger had dialed up a notch, Jo followed Kat up the stairs to the office at the top, taking her usual seat by the window. It might well be her third visit, but the view from up there was enough for her to want to go there every day. If she lived in that house, she would have a sofa there and build shelving for her books, and she would sit and read snuggled in blankets, with coffee and cake at one side. Bliss. And up there she couldn’t hear the shouting. Either that or the team had all killed each other.

  “So,” Kat asked. “What are we studying today?”

  “Spatial orientation, page two-eight-four,” Jo said, her nerves already knotting inside her. Diagrams and figures weren’t her strongest skill. She might have a degree, but art history wasn’t helping her with her firefighter exams. Get her in a room full of smoke, she could work out what she needed, but writing out calculations made her mouth dry. Her sister was the one who’d got all the brains.

  Loud laughter echoed up the stairs, so they were still alive and teasing each other, apparently.

  Kat shut the door. “Sorry about all that. Alex can’t go back to his house, so they called the meeting here.”

  “Why not?”

  “News cameras; they all want a piece of him.”

  “Poor guy.”

  “Yeah, he’s all, I’m getting back on the ice, and Ryan’s having none of it. I’m staying out of it, because whenever I go near them, I have Alex asking me for my medical opinion and support, and Ryan telling him that I have to be on his side when it comes to keeping Alex off the ice.”

  Jo didn’t ask what Kat actually thought Alex should do. He’d looked fine from where she’d been standing. His blond hair soft, his skin warm-toned, his right hand mobile as he’d sketched his argument in the air. The only things that had given him away had been the stark white bandages on his upper arm and the cast on his wrist and lower arm that hid the burns and fracture beneath.

  “How is he actually doing? Alex, I mean.”

  Kat smiled at her, placing her coffee carefully on the desk and dropping the books next to it. “Annoyed and annoying,” she said, her voice low. “He’s irritated because he has to sit and chill, and they’ve told him there are no visits to the rink. He hates it, but he’s back next Tuesday, or so he says, for no-contact practice.”

  “With his arm still in a cast?”

  She sighed and then shrugged. “Hockey players. There’s no way he’ll be dressing for the game, but keeping him off the ice is another matter altogether.” She sat cross-legged on the sofa in the window, looking so effortlessly gorgeous and at peace with everything it was difficult not to be envious.

  The view from the window was of the lake, and the sky was that curious sapphire blue, cloudless beyond frost-covered trees, that you only got on a cold November day. The last snow had been a few days back, but the view from Kat’s place wasn’t like the slush on the roads—it was untouched and beautiful. Something about it made Jo feel sad, and if she dug deep enough, there would be a memory of her father mixed in with the sorrow. Seemed like her dad was always only one thought away from everything she did.

  “I love this room,” Kat murmured, more to herself than to Jo.

  “Me too. There’s a room like this at my mom’s place, and I would sit there for the longest time, just drawing or reading.”

  “You draw? I didn’t know that.”

  Jo wasn’t entirely sure what to say. She hadn’t picked up her pencils in years, not since she’d left college, but she’d loved nothing more than sitting and sketching the changing light over her parents’ extensive gardens. Her dad had had a whole series of the drawings in his office, after her mom had found one on the fridge held there with a magnet. Seemed like the casual use of magnets and kids’ drawings was a step too far for Iris Glievens. She hadn’t take them down with malice; she’d carefully explained that they needed framing, then hung them where they still were now. In Simon Glievens’ office, with his golf bag and his paperwork and the rainbow of pens he kept in the mug that Rose had painted at summer camp when she was ten or so.

  Maybe since her last visit, a short hour a few weeks back, her mom had emptied the office and taken the drawings off the wall. Jo knew she should visit, but somehow time had gotten away from her. She was avoiding the house, the office, her mom. All of it.

  The view in her small apartment was of a wall surrounding the offices next door, but when she stood on a chair, she could see the distant hills over the barrier. She didn’t do it often—only when she needed something she’d stored on the top of the limited kitchen cabinets—but still, the view was there if she needed it. She’d needed the place to be close to the firehouse, much to her mom’s disgust. In fact, her mom had outright said that Jo couldn’t use the small inheritance she had from her grandparents on such a horrible little place.

  Jo’s money, Jo’s apartment. But nothing with such a gorgeous view as this.

  “Anytime you want to study here, you’re welcome,” Kat offered. Kat was the only one from work who’d visited Jo’s apartment. Jo shared the floor with one next door neighbor, who, to be fair, she never really saw.

  “Thank you. You could rent out this room to all the probies so they can concentrate.”

  “I’ll draw up a schedule,” Kat said, smiling as she spoke, then passed over cookies. “And yeah, it’s perfect.”

  The way she said that, Jo got the impression that she wasn’t just talking about the house, but her life with Ryan.

  Or am I reading too much into the softly spoken words?

  “You seem happy with your man and your new place.”

  “I am,” Kat said, then looked down at the book, but not before Jo had seen the light in her eyes.

  Jo would have that one day, but not until she’d achieved certain things; passing her exams, being the best at what she did, and coming to terms with the grief that refused to leave her alone. Her younger sister, Rose, seemed to have a much better handle on the grieving process, taking her new role at the family engineering firm very seriously. And her mom? Well, who knew with Mom? She was an enigma who didn’t give much away.

  “Jo? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  Kat looked like she didn’t believe her.

  “Promise,” Jo added.

  Kat smiled at her. “You want to start?”

  Jo was relieved Kat hadn’t carried on with the “are you okay” line of questioning, and had included the ideal question for Jo to hone in on. “Yep,” she said. “Page two-eight-four.”

  She would worry about the whole my life is under my control mantra she had going on in her head later.

  Much later.

  Chapter 3

  Alex sat back in his sea
t, grunting when he rested too much weight on his arm. Thank God the team had left, because otherwise they’d be pointing to that as a reason why their captain should be off the ice. Smug bastards were all we’re managing without you. Gooly had even said that Alex taking one for the team was unifying. Like Gooly even knew what that meant; he’d probably read it somewhere.

  Then Loki had made an Avengers reference, something about Coulson dying, and Alex had been lost. Loki was all about the action hero movies. Alex was pretty much all about the hockey one hundred and ten percent of the time.

  He couldn’t deny the simple fact that the Dragons had played their hearts out in the last five games; four decisive wins without him, and only one loss in overtime. He was damn proud of everyone who’d stepped up.

  Which in turn had led to some pretty interesting headlines online and in the local press. In some reports, he was a hero, and the team was playing for him because he’d risked his life. In others, some questioned why, if Dragons were finding success without him being there, they actually needed him.

  With the way he was feeling that morning, a long way past feeling sorry for himself, he focused on all the negative parts. He hated being called a hero, didn’t want the attention that came with it, and just wanted normal: back on the ice and back home.

  He’d tried to go home yesterday, but there had been photographers and even a freaking news van right outside his ornate wrought-iron gates. What was up with that? He hadn’t done anything that any other self-respecting person wouldn’t have. If Ryan had got to the car first, he would have gone in after the kid and her dad.

  And as for the hockey, he had to ignore the press, who were already talking about the Dragons trading him, and listen instead to the team who, to a man, had reassured him they were winning for him.

  None of that mattered when you were being equally praised and ridiculed in the press. He shut his iPad, not sure he wanted to read any more articles about him or his team. Channel-surfing was another exercise in futility. The only game being shown was last week’s Canucks/Oilers game, and he’d already watched it twice. Once at normal speed, the second time just fast-forwarding to the parts he wanted to study. The Dragons’ Canadian away games weren’t until February, but the Canucks were due at the Sweetings Arena in a couple of weeks. He was nothing if not prepared, and had a whole pile of notes on plays and strategy.

  He flipped open his phone and group-texted notes on the Canucks’ defense.

  Then he texted more, this time about their goalie, and the way Loki needed to stay close to him in front of the net.

  And another mentioning the fact that he wanted to talk about the Dragons’ power play against the team.

  He got four immediate answers.

  Ryan simply said, “We know.” But he was a defenseman, and he’d talked at length today in their heated meeting about how the defensive coach was guiding the team the wrong way. Ryan wanted more from their penalty kill, and Alex tended to agree with him, but the D-coach was fixed in one direction. None of that boded well for team happiness.

  Drago sent thirteen kisses. Alex counted them. What that meant he didn’t know, but it made him smile. Idiot goalie.

  Gooly sent something in Russian, lots of symbols and exclamation points. He was sure it was constructive and resolved to Google translate it later.

  The last was from the rookie, Arkin. He sent a well-constructed text, with punctuation and everything, expressing his hope that Alex was feeling okay and reassuring his captain that he’d made detailed notes from the texts for later discussion.

  Well, at least one of his team was taking him seriously.

  When Loki’s response came through, much later, and it was the emoticon of a broken arm, followed by a snowflake and an X, Alex turned off his phone. The X wasn’t a kiss from Loki, more like a huge “no” next to the snowflake, which was probably the closest his idiot winger could get to an icon meaning ice. He closed his eyes and rested his head back on the sofa.

  I miss the room. I miss the guys. I’m having a bad day.

  Something clattered to his left, and he jolted upright with an unmanly yelp.

  “Shit, sorry,” Kat said. “Were you asleep?”

  “No, it’s cool,” he lied, and focused in on the woman behind her. Jo, or Josie, or something like that. He knew she worked alongside Kat as a trainee firefighter. She’d been at the house yesterday, her arms full of books and her long dark hair caught up in a messy ponytail. Not that he’d been staring or anything, but there was something familiar about her, about the way she looked at him, with compassion and then irritation, when he smiled at her. She was all sexy curves, and a dimpled smile, and her lips looked so damn soft.

  “Hey, Jo,” he said, because some small part of him wanted to see a smile or some of that cute irritation. He didn’t care which.

  “Hey,” she said, and picked up a couple of books from the floor. Clearly the ones that had been dropped to cause the noise. She opened a large bag, stuffing them in there. He caught the titles—well parts of them; the words “firefighter” and “exam”—and the use of flames around the edge.

  “You taking tests on fire?” he asked, a little stupidly.

  She looked at him like he was an idiot. “I’m a probie, we take tests.”

  “Probie?”

  “A firefighter in my first year of probation, so, yeah, probie.”

  So she was a rookie at the firehouse, much as Arkin was on the team. Passing tests—written as well in her case, game situations for Arkin—was all about the journey to being the best you could be.

  Hell, what am I on? Did someone slip me meds again? I’m waxing fucking lyrical.

  “Jo’s here studying,” Kat explained.

  “Oh, right. When is the exam?” he asked.

  Kat disappeared back upstairs, mumbling something about signed pucks and kids, then it was just him and Jo left.

  “A couple of weeks,” she answered, and he had to recall what he’d asked. Oh right, the exam.

  That was it. No elaboration, no excitement or nerves, or other words that might extend the conversation. He stood up, stretched tall, wincing at the pain in his arm, and ambled over to the kitchen counter, taking up residence on one of the stools, his foot on the rung. Like that, he got a closer look at Jo. Her hair was so dark it was almost black, and it had waves, but he didn’t know enough about women’s hair to know if she’d curled it or if it was natural. Her eyes were dark; a warm velvet-brown. He’d never seen eyes that dark before. Did that make her Russian or something? Because only Gooly had eyes anywhere near that dark. That could give him something to ask her, but then he stopped himself. He imagined himself asking her if she had Russian heritage and her continuing to stare at him like he was a freaking madman.

  Since when have I lost my ability to talk to a woman?

  “Do you watch hockey?” he asked.

  “Not really,” she answered, and wet her lips with the tip of her tongue.

  Great, she’d destroyed his conversation starter, and at the same time made her lips glisten like she’d been kissed.

  Two blows in one short moment, one to his ego, the other to his libido.

  He focused on other things, like the fact that she was exactly the right height to be kissed; shorter than him, but not by much. He wasn’t the tallest hockey player out there, just the NHL average six-one, and she was wearing running shoes, not heels. In heels, she might match him in height.

  The image of Jo in fuck-me heels, with her dark hair spread on a pillow and her brown eyes wide with need, appeared well-formed in his mind and lodged nicely right there for later inspection.

  She brushed the hair away from her face, long bangs that had escaped the band, and he focused in on her eyes again.

  I’m staring. I need to stop staring.

  She blinked and took a side step away from him, glancing past him at the stairs where Kat had disappeared. He didn’t have to know body language to see that she looked uncomfortable. He was failing at
the flirting game; rusty with disuse, probably. When was the last time he’d gone out with the boys and picked up a girl? Certainly not since last training camp in September, which was two months ago. And it wasn’t like he’d gotten laid then either. Weighing up spending his spare time evaluating prospects against random meaningless sex with a one night stand was easy.

  The team was his everything.

  And he always had his right hand.

  Only…his fantasy had him getting hard, and abruptly he wanted to brush off his flirting skills. They probably wouldn’t see each other again if he didn’t say something, and Alex kind of liked the idea of maybe seeing her again if he could.

  “Good luck,” he said, and leaned forward into her space. She looked a little edgy, way too serious, and so he decided to use the legendary Simard charm. Well, legendary in his own head, maybe. He turned on the flirting, leaning in, smiling. “Maybe after the exam, we could get a drink to celebrate.”

  “We…”

  “Me and you.”

  She did more of that blinking, her lips thinning, and then she took another step away from him. “I might not have anything to celebrate,” she pointed out.

  Her stepping back should have been a warning to him. He should have listened to his instincts, but he didn’t, and with hindsight, he probably did what he did next because he was going stir crazy in that damn house. He moved closer, shifting himself off the stool and kind of looming over her in that position. “Then we could commiserate.”

  She recoiled, and internally he winced. That had been a cheesy, pathetic, god-awful pickup line, and he’d got the reaction he deserved. He pasted a smile on his face, but knowing him and his fucked-up social graces it was likely more of a grimace. Good job he was a hockey player and puck bunnies didn’t care about how smooth he was or wasn’t. Otherwise he’d never get laid.

  He moved forward a little,. She kind of nearly swayed toward him, and god, her lips were damp, and she wasn’t turning away.