Taking His Shot
Susan Scott Shelley
Copyright 2017 Susan Scott Shelley
ISBN: 978-1-944220-28-0
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Thank You
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Susan's Books
CHAPTER ONE
RAYS FROM THE LATE afternoon sun filtered through the trees, scattering patterns across the backyard and driveway. Dylan Fraser tipped back the beer in his hand, and the cold brew chased away the stress of the day. Sitting on his deck with his family and friends, enjoying the cool breeze that late April brought to the Buffalo suburb, he could almost forget about the responsibilities and worries.
Almost.
But the hockey gear littering the driveway and the Bedlam logo he'd painted onto the deck were reminders of the normalcy he'd been working hard to regain, and that he needed to regain it—fast.
"Dylan?" His brother Rod tapped his shoulder. "You still with us?"
He dragged his gaze away from the blue and white logo. Rod, their sister Kelsey, her fiancé Leo, and Rod's best friend Ben stared at him. "What's up?"
"I asked if you're nervous about your first full-contact practice tomorrow."
His first full-contact practice since he'd been knocked out of the game with a concussion six weeks earlier. Doing the rehab work on and off the ice, even skating with the team and taking practice in a no-contact jersey weren't the same as being in a game situation. "You mean, am I nervous that I'll have another relapse as soon as someone checks me? Yeah, that might have crossed my mind a billion times. You hear about those fluke situations happening. It took me so long to get back to this point. I'd hate to have to start all over again after one shift."
Kelsey reached across the table and patted his hand. "Leo will watch out for you."
Leo nodded and grinned. "If it helps, we can wrap you in bubble wrap."
"Funny."
"It was supposed to be." His line mate shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "We're nervous too. Two bad concussions almost back to back..."
Dylan took another long pull from his bottle. He didn't need or want the reminder of the horrible three weeks he'd missed from his first concussion, and then the six weeks of recovery from the second. "If all goes well, I'll be cleared to play in the next game. Not being on the ice with you guys for the end of the season and the first round of the playoffs sucked."
Leo's smile was equal parts hope and sympathy. "It'll be good to get you back for round two, but your health comes first."
Of course, his health came first. But this season was the season to win the Cup. They'd come close last season, but close didn't count. Forwards, defensemen, and goalies—all of the pieces were in place. The urgency gripped him. Consumed him. It was now or never.
Rod made a comment that Dylan couldn't hear, but Leo tossed his bottle cap at his brother's head. Rod nabbed it in mid-air, complimented his own reflexes, then flung it back at Leo.
Dylan shook his head at their antics. He loved being on the same team as Rod. And even though Leo's hit had caused his first concussion, he'd grown to appreciate him too. The huge player had been acquired by the Bedlam in Dylan's absence and had made their team even stronger. His sister Kelsey and Leo falling in love was an added bonus.
The sliding glass door opened and Ben's son Jacob raced through wearing goalie pads and mask. "I need to practice. Who wants to go one-on-one?"
Ben smiled at his son and then lifted his shoulders and gave the guys seated at the table a guilty grin. "I may have used one of you as a bribe to get him to eat his vegetables last night."
Jacob stopped by Dylan's chair and wrinkled his nose like he'd tasted something awful. "Broccoli."
Laughing, Dylan stood and took the five-year-old by the hand. "All right, buddy. Let's see what you've got."
They walked down to the yard, and Dylan picked up a hockey stick from the grass. Jacob ran to the goalie net at the end of the driveway and went through Rod's tradition of tapping the posts with his stick. He idolized Rod and had insisted on playing his same position from the start.
Pucks and rubber balls lay in a pile. Dylan chose one and lobbed it toward Jacob. The boy blocked it like a pro. As they played, Rod fired up the grill and called out tips to Jacob. And before long, Leo, Kelsey, and Ben came down and grabbed extra sticks.
His sister gestured between Leo and herself. "We'll play defense. Ben, you can help Dylan try to score."
"Try?" Dylan winged a shot past her hip. It sailed over Jacob's head and hit the back of the net. "How about succeed?"
Kelsey crossed the paved surface and stood toe-to-toe with him with the light of competition twinkling in her gaze. "How about a real game? We play to five. Rod," she angled her head to call over Dylan's shoulder, "grab the other net from the garage and get over here. We need you in goal for our side."
They hadn't played, hadn't been able to play, in far too long. Dylan grinned. "Bring it on."
"I'd have to caution against that."
The clear, firm voice, definitely not his brother's, brought Dylan up short. He turned.
Blair Proch stood with her hands on her hips. Her long, pale blonde ponytail swayed in the breeze. Her hazel eyes met his gaze. As always, his heartbeat quickened and his skin heated, and his body tightened. He forced a slow gait as he walked toward her.
For once, the Bedlam's assistant athletic trainer wasn't wearing workout gear or the team-issued attire for the training staff. A loose yellow sweater hung off one shoulder, giving him a peek at the white T-shirt she wore underneath. It covered to the middle of her thighs, and dark gray leggings showcased toned legs. "I've heard stories of what happens at your family hockey games. There's no way you won't end up checking each other. And you're not even wearing a helmet."
"It's a driveway pickup game." But he saw her point. He didn't need to take any risks that might delay his return to the game. "We should stop, guys. The food will be ready soon anyway."
"Two minutes," Rod called from the grill.
"Come on, can we please just play for a minute?" Jacob's earnest voice whined from behind Dylan.
Blair's lips curved. She pivoted on black patterned casual sneakers and moved to the lawn. "I don't want to break up the fun. Just be careful."
They shared a smile and warmth washed into Dylan's chest as it had every time since the first time he'd seen her three years earlier. He could feel five stares boring into his back. His siblings had subtly prodded about his feelings for Blair for months. He'd kept everything to himself, but if they kept staring, they were going
to figure it out.
Clearing his throat, he walked back to the group. "Let's play. But since Rod's still manning the grill, we'll stick with one goalie."
He motioned for Kelsey, Leo, and Ben to lean in and lowered his voice. "Whoever ends up with the ball, everyone else will scatter or fall until one of us is left for a breakaway. And that person will let Jacob get the big save."
Kelsey glanced at Blair. "Since she's here, you better be the one to get the breakaway. I'm not risking any of us banging into you."
"Deal." He lined up against his sister for the face off. She won and knocked the ball to Leo. Ben checked him and fired the ball to Dylan. Aware of Blair's gaze, he spun around his sister and ran down the driveway, and then sent the ball to the left side of the goal crease. Jacob dived on top of it to make the save.
Ben cheered and lifted his son onto his shoulders. Jacob raised his stick into the air and accepted high-fives from everyone.
The group passed Blair on their way back to the deck. She greeted Kelsey and Leo and Ben, and gave Jacob her own congratulations, but she stood to the side and waited for Dylan. "Thanks for inviting me to dinner."
Warmth curled into his body. He pushed up his sleeves, blaming the heat on the exertion and not on her presence. "I'm glad you could come."
She laid her soft hand on his forearm. "And you're feeling okay? From this and from today's practice?"
His thoughts scrambled. He couldn't think past anything except how good her cool fingers felt on his skin. "I'm feeling pretty good right now."
She was so close, he could see the gold threaded through the green in her eyes and smell a hint of her sultry perfume. Her smile widened. "I'm glad."
He hadn't really dated anyone else once he'd gotten to know her because no one could compare to Blair. But he'd held back there because she'd mentioned early on that relationships needed to take a backseat while she worked to establish herself as the only female on the training staff, working for her first professional team. He respected the hell out of her position and was proud to see her success.
But ever since his first concussion, she'd been softer and more open, and the little touches like the hand on his arm had increased. Their friendship had blended into a mixture of caring and flirtation.
Maybe the fact that nearly three years had passed since she'd joined the team had led to a relaxation of her rules.
Only one way to find out.
His hand itched to curl the silky strands of her hair around his hand to test their softness. He settled for cupping his hand over hers, holding her to his forearm. "But then again, I always feel good around you."
Blair's eyes darkened, and then her gaze jumped to their joined hands. Her small chest rose and fell. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and her gaze took a slow journey up his torso and over his face. "You do?"
Too many pairs of eyes watched them from the deck. Tonight wasn't the time or place to pursue this further. Rod and his fiancée Arielle lived with him, and Jacob and Ben were staying overnight.
But soon...
He needed to get through the full-contact practice and then get back to playing the game he loved. Once he got to the point where he knew his head and body wouldn't betray him, he would talk to Blair. Lay out his feelings. See if she felt anywhere close to the same.
For now, he'd hide his attraction a little longer. Relinquishing his hold, he stepped back and nodded to the group waiting on the deck. "We should eat."
Ignoring the smiles and smirks and raised brows, he climbed the steps with Blair at his side.
He had to win a Cup for his hometown, his teammates, and himself. But he didn't see any reason why he couldn't make a play for Blair at the same time.
CHAPTER TWO
THE SOUND OF SKATES gliding over ice and sticks hitting pucks filled the Bedlam's practice facility. Blair sat on the bench next to Peter, the team's head trainer, watching as Dylan pivoted on his skates, shot the puck to Leo, and then joined the rush. Nerves tingled in her stomach as he moved through different drills and situations. Every time he banged into the boards or another player, she held her breath, only exhaling after he skated away again.
She forced her gaze to sweep the ice. She was supposed to be monitoring all the players in the rink, not just the sexy captain who dominated her thoughts and made her rethink her rule about keeping business and pleasure strictly separate.
"Fraser looks good out there," Peter commented. "What do you think?"
She swung her gaze from the opposite end of the ice. Dylan, for as big as he was, moved with grace. "Strong skating. No hesitation on the play. His timing isn't off."
Hopefully, he would remain symptom-free.
"Doc and I will evaluate him after practice."
"Let me know if you need me." She stood and headed to the training room to prepare for post-practice treatments. By the time she'd finished setting the temperatures on the whirlpool baths and setting out the ice packs and electrolyte drinks, the players had filed in.
Dylan moved off to a quiet corner with Peter and Dr. Bisson. She kept an eye and ear on them as she taped Vince's knee.
"He seemed fine out there today." Vince's voice startled her. "I know we were all worried, but he seems okay. You think so too, right?"
She concentrated on smoothing the blue tape in place, wishing she could smooth out her worries as easily. "I can't say until the evaluation is finished. There's always a chance he could regress a bit, but from what I saw, he looked good."
After she finished with Vince, she worked with Rod to stretch out his hip flexors, then evaluated Slater's wrist where a puck had glanced off the bone.
She loved her job. She'd grown up going to games to watch her dad play, spending hours at rinks, and the trainers and conditioning coaches had captured her interest. They could fix or treat almost anything. Her dad had always said that the training staff was the reason he'd been able to keep playing for as long as he did.
Maybe she had gotten the job with the team because of her last name, but in the past three years, she'd made a name for herself through hard work, dedication, confidence, and communication. The players trusted her advice and treatment plans.
She was in the middle of a discussion with Celek about the science behind cold tub treatments when Dylan headed their way. His smile was infectious.
"Well? What's the word?" Celek moved toward him, hand outstretched.
He high-fived the winger. "Cleared for tomorrow's game."
Celek pulled him into a one-armed hug. "Our line's gonna kick some ass."
The remaining players gathered around Dylan offering their congratulations. Blair focused on cleaning up the extra tape, towels, and ice packs and restocking the training room. Rather than being happy about the diagnosis, an alarm in her brain shouted that he was coming back too soon. In a perfect world, she'd make him stay out longer, a least a few more weeks of being symptom-free before his return rather than just a few days. But she wasn't the one in charge. And with the team favored to win the playoffs, everyone from the fans to the front office was desperate for Dylan's return.
"Hey." Dylan approached as she placed folded towels into the closet.
"Hey." She set down the last of the linens and closed the door. "So you're cleared."
"Cleared."
After a peek to make sure Peter and the doctor and the other players weren't within earshot, she motioned him closer. His icy blue eyes reminded her of winter and frozen lakes. His thick, dark brown hair, so dark it was nearly black, was mussed from his helmet or his hands. His six-foot-three frame towered over her own five-foot-five.
"You didn't have any lightheadedness or dizziness or a headache?"
"No, no, and no."
"Your balance is good?"
"Yes." His lips twitched. "They went through the whole checklist. I promise."
"I know." She sighed and adjusted her ponytail. "I can't help it."
Her mind kept flashing back to Dylan sitting in his darkened living
room weeks earlier, suffering from concussion and whiplash symptoms, spirits low, as she sat by his side and stroked his hair and tried to soothe his worries.
He caught her hand on its way down to her side. "I like that about you. You care."
"Maybe I care a little too much." Caring about her players was deeply ingrained. Dylan's injuries had made her realize how deep her feelings were for him. But maybe getting involved wasn't smart. She had too much baggage.
His thumb traced over her fingers. "That's not a bad thing."
"It depends." She liked the way his touch zinged like lightning along her skin. Showing emotions was a fine line to straddle, especially as the only woman on the training staff. Too much emotion made her seem like she was coddling the players, but not enough made her seem cold and unfeeling. The guys who knew her didn't feel that way, but proving herself to new players and new coaches was a continual challenge.
Dylan kept up the slow, steady rhythm. "I'm supposed to head home to take a nap and watch game film in prep for tomorrow. Do you want to grab dinner somewhere later? Just you and me."
Did she? Yes. Could she? No. Should she? The jury was still out. "I'm supposed to have dinner with my dad tonight."
Dylan's face creased in sympathy, and the caress on her hand shifted until he'd linked their fingers together and gently squeezed. "How is he?"
"Good days and bad days. You know, the same old story." She drew strength from his touch. Dealing with her dad could be awesome or draining, depending on the day. He'd proudly played for years with the distinction of being the only remaining player in the league to not wear a helmet. Twenty years after he'd retired, he still suffered headaches, depression, mood swings, and had difficulty with his vision and short-term memory, all things attributed to the multiple concussions he'd sustained as a player. Things she worried about Dylan having to endure.
He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Goosebumps pebbled on her skin as his finger brushed the sensitive shell of her ear. His gaze darkened at her reaction. "No worries. I'll take a rain check."
"Listen, Dylan..." Even as she searched for the right words to adequately explain her worries, she shifted closer, drawn to him and not ready to lose his touch. Spending time with him away from the rink had started in the off-season when she'd helped some of the guys train for a sprint triathlon. Grabbing meals together had evolved out of that. And then the one on one time when he'd been hurt. But if that one on one time continued, resisting him would be impossible. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I want to, but you're just getting back and there's a lot going on, and to be honest, I have a lot to think about."
Taking His Shot Page 1