"Don't worry about your dad. I'll take good care of him."
"Thank you." Inhaling and exhaling slowly didn't help as much as she'd always hoped it would. She grabbed her jacket and keys and dropped her phone in her bag. "I have to go. My dad needs me."
"I'm coming too. I overheard your conversation." Dylan laced his fingers through hers. Tears threatened at the strength and support he'd given without hesitation, but she blinked them away.
"Thank you." Ignoring the gaping expressions on the lingering equipment staff, she squeezed Dylan's hand and stopped by the training table where Peter sorted through files. "I'm heading out. Dad's having a moment again."
"That hasn't happened in a little while. Are you good?"
Nodding, she headed for the door.
Dylan stopped her in the middle of the parking lot. "Do you want me to drive?"
"That would be really nice." One less thing to have to concentrate on doing. His sleek black car smelled of leather and newness. She leaned against the headrest as Dylan eased his car onto the street. "This isn't the first time something like this has happened. My dad will plan to go somewhere, leave the house and then halfway there, forgets where he was going. Or he'll get confused as to why he went there."
"Ben's a good guy. He'll take care of him."
"He said he would. Most people are nice when it happens. And if I can't get to him, if we're at a game or on the road, his brother will pick him up and bring him home."
Dylan accelerated and pulled onto the highway. "You mentioned before that he's seen a doctor for this, right?"
"Yes. He has medications that can help but he doesn't always remember to take them, even with setting reminders in his phone, alarm clocks at home. So I call or text him a reminder every day too. Some days, he's great. Other days, he's moody and snaps at me that he's not a baby. It's incredibly frustrating."
"I'm sorry." His hand gave her thigh a gentle squeeze.
"He has mood swings and depression. When things first started happening years ago, he'd deny his symptoms or try to hide them from my mom and me. He was always big on not showing weakness. I can't help thinking that things wouldn't have progressed to this level if he'd sought help a lot earlier or if he'd stopped playing a lot sooner."
He didn't say anything for a while. Then he sighed. "I'm sure coming to terms with everything on his own was pretty damn hard. I can understand how he wouldn't want to worry his family. I don't either."
She twisted to face him. "You didn't try to hide things, did you?"
"I can't lie. The temptation is there. That's why you hear about guys deliberately messing up their baseline testing at the beginning of the season. They think they can get back in the game faster."
They pulled into the coffee shop parking lot. As soon as the car was in park, she gripped his hand. "Please don't. It's not worth it."
His gaze softened and he stroked her cheek. "That's why we need people like you—the trainers and the doctors—to save players like me from themselves."
Leaning into his palm, she smiled. "I'll save you anytime."
"Right back at you." He leaned in and touched his lips to hers. The pressure stayed light and soft, seducing her with sweetness. She bit her lip when he eased away. "Let's get your dad."
The coffee shop was a mix of wonderful scents and warm shades of brown and cream. Ben rounded the counter and greeted them with a smile. "Guy is in the back corner booth. He seems fine now."
Her dad sat with a cup of coffee and a half-eaten sandwich, reading a newspaper. Blair placed her hand on Ben's arm. "Thank you for helping him. How much do I owe you?"
"No charge."
"I can't let you do that."
Dylan handed him a folded bill. "Then we'll take two coffees for us."
Ben smiled. "I'll bring them over."
Frustration, helplessness, and gratitude braided together as Blair walked toward her dad. She reached for Dylan's hand. Solid and strong, it closed over hers.
Her father glanced up as they arrived, and Blair bent and kissed his head.
"Hey, Dad."
"Thank you for coming, sweetheart." He squeezed her hand and then squinted at Dylan through his glasses. "And I know you... Fraser. Number eleven. You resemble your old man."
Dylan shook his hand. "It's been a long time since I last saw you, sir."
"Dad, what happened today?" Blair lowered her voice and slid into the booth.
The slight trembling in his hand was more prominent when he pointed to the window. "The damn bank moved."
"No. It's still on Cherry Street. We drove past it on the way here."
"Oh." His brow wrinkled. "Right. That's right."
She squeezed Dylan's thigh under the table. "Can you check on the coffees?"
"Sure." He swung his gaze from her to her dad and back again.
When he left, she leaned in closer to her dad. "Don't get mad, but did you take your pills today?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
His gaze darted to the left side of the table. "I don't know."
Leaning back in the booth, she fought the urge to scream. "Maybe we should do a video chat every day so I can see you take them. My texts and calls aren't enough."
He shook his head. "I'm not a child."
No matter what items, errands, appointments, or memories he forgot, his argument never seemed to slip his mind. It was always at the ready. "All right. Fine."
She'd have to call her uncle later and see if he could convince her dad or if he could stop by a few mornings a week for a visit that included making sure her father took his medicine.
Dylan returned with the coffees. He slid into the booth and wrapped his arm around her shoulder and then started talking hockey. Her dad's eyes lit up as he recalled stories from decades earlier. He lost his train of thought from time to time but seemed happy nonetheless. Until he told the story of his last game and the concussion that had forced him to finally retire.
Blair glanced at Dylan. That was exactly why she wanted him to retire after the season. Hopefully, he would view her dad as a cautionary tale and make the right choice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
GAME SEVEN OF THE CONFERENCE Finals seemed to be never-ending. At least they were at home and had the support of the Bedlam crowd. As the third overtime period of the night drew to a close, Dylan made his way to the bench for a line change. He was wiped out. Completely. Playing essentially two full games within six hours wasn't easy. During the intermissions, he and his teammates had gobbled down energy bars and gels loaded with electrolytes, glutamine, and other much-needed nutrients to replenish depleted energy levels, but his muscles protested every movement.
He sat between Celek and Leo, grabbed a bottle of Gatorade and took a couple of shots. "Someone needs to score."
It wasn't just the extra periods of play. Since he'd returned to the lineup, keeping up had been harder. He'd told himself that he just needed to kick the rust off, that in a couple of games, he'd get his legs back, but no. Thirteen games in, and he still had to make a conscious effort to keep up. He ignored the niggling thought that things hadn't been this way before that last concussion.
Leo took the bottle after he'd finished. "We need to fucking win this game."
Otherwise, the season would be over, and none of them were ready for that to happen. If they won this round, they'd move on to the Cup finals. The last step to winning it all.
He scanned a glance over his teammates. They were drenched in sweat. Exhausted. Starting to make sloppy mistakes. Slater overturned the puck to a Washington center and play moved down to the Bedlam's zone. The guy ripped off a shot and the puck fired at the net. Dylan winced and his heartbeat stuttered, but Rod blocked the shot and then fell on the puck, covering it and stopping play.
Coach tapped Dylan's shoulder. "First line."
He, Celek, and Leo rose and climbed over the boards. In the corner of his vision, Blair stood at the end of the bench, hands gripped, and gaze locked on him. The
smile she sent his way gave him a surge of fresh energy. He skated to the face-off circle to the left of Rod.
Time to win this thing.
He lost the puck to Washington's top center, but Leo barreled into the guy and Celek came away with the puck. The winger flew down the ice and Dylan followed. They had a two-on-one facing a Washington defenseman. Celek passed it back to Dylan, and he fired it across the ice to Leo. His line mate shot it at the net and the puck slipped just inside the left post.
The red light came on. The horn sounded.
They'd won.
Excitement and elation surged through his muscles as he threw himself at Leo and Celek, hugging them hard. Hits came from all sides, jostling him as their teammates swarmed in to join the celebration.
The cheering crowd made the moment even better. It was always good to win at home.
After lining up to shake the other team's hands, a hockey tradition that he loved, he waited by the door to congratulate each of his teammates individually. He was so proud of his guys.
Post-game interviews, contrast baths, and finally more substantial food, helped him unwind and recover, but that tiredness remained. By the time he and Blair reached his home, he was having trouble staying awake. He grunted goodnight to Rod and Arielle, and pulled Blair into his room.
"I want you." He spoke through a yawn. "Give me a few minutes to wake up more."
"You're exhausted. Lie down and let me work on your muscles. You relax. After all, you guys played the equivalent of two full games." She straddled his waist and then her capable hands worked magic into his back muscles.
Dylan pulled a pillow under his head. He fought to keep his eyes open, but they grew heavier. He let them close and promised himself just another moment and sank into the darkness and the seduction of sleep.
The soft click of a door closing woke him. He turned his head, groaning at the dull ache thudding in his skull. Light peeked into the room through the gaps in the curtains. A glance at the bedside clock showed that he'd slept for a solid ten hours. So much for spending time with Blair before he'd crashed. He stretched his arms and legs then realized she wasn't beside him.
A wave of dizziness washed over him when he stood. Cold fingers of unease stroked through his stomach. It was too similar to the dizziness he'd experienced after his concussions. The headache was too. He rubbed his hands over his face. Maybe they'd happened due to low blood sugar or dehydration. That could be. His last meal had been hours ago. And that game had been so long and grueling.
After cleaning up in the bathroom, he pulled on shorts and a t-shirt and made his way through the quiet house. Rod, Arielle, and Blair's voices led him to the kitchen.
"Morning." He bypassed the coffee pot and pulled a pitcher of water and a carton of orange juice from the fridge, then poured a glass of each. Downing them quickly by the sink, he looked out over the yard, trying to remember how many times he'd gotten hit or had doled out a check.
Mentioning it to Blair or Rod would only make them worry. He'd monitor himself for now.
"Dylan, come and eat." Arielle waved her hand over the table. Someone had cooked. Plates of toast and eggs and bowls of fruit and yogurt lined the table's center.
He refilled the juice, grabbed some coffee, and carried the cups to the table. "Looks good."
Blair pushed out his chair for him. As soon as he sat, she stroked her hand over his back. "How are you feeling?"
"Golden." He loaded up his plate.
She arched a brow and picked up her coffee. "Last night took a lot out of you guys. Stress on the kidneys, liver, brain and other organs is guaranteed, especially in a six-period hockey game, so if you don't feel golden, it's normal. So, what are you feeling?"
He hated seeing the concern, the worry in her eyes. "I'm just tired."
"I'm beat too." Rod swiped a strawberry off the edge of Dylan's plate and grinned. "Since Coach gave us the day off, what do you want to do? We'll be practicing hard for the next three days before the finals begin so make it good."
"Honestly, I want to stay here." He smacked Rod's hand as his brother reached for another berry. "And the bowl of fruit is right over there so quit stealing my food."
Rod made a production of picking up the bowl and replacing the fruit he'd taken. "The next series is going to be just as brutal. Edmonton has a really strong team. They were only one point ahead of us in the standings. We'll call the guys and get Leo, Celek, Kreider, and Vince over here. We can watch film and scope out the competition."
Dylan glanced at Blair. As much as he needed to be as prepared as possible, he also wanted to spend time with her.
She smiled and placed her hand over his. "You made it all the way to the finals. I'd expect your mind to focus only on hockey right now. I remember how hard you guys worked last year, and I don't want anything to stand in the way of you bringing home the Cup this year."
She was perfect. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her palm. "It would mean a lot to me to have my name on that trophy along with Rod and my dad. I made this city a promise and I need to deliver."
"I don't mind hanging out and watching with you guys. I want to see how Vince's knee is feeling anyway, and Kreider's foot since he took that shot off of his skate last night."
He loved how dedicated she was, but because she'd become friends with some of the guys, including him, she knew them much better than a typical team's athletic trainer. From spending time together away from the rink and practice facility, she was able to tell if something was off from their expressions and tones of voice. It made her amazing at her job, but so hard to hide anything from her. Not that he was hiding anything from her. Not really. That dizziness had been all about a lack of food. Or dehydration. He was totally fine.
When they'd finished eating, he and Blair took their coffee into the family room. The big L-shaped couch was perfect for a lazy day of relaxing. He stretched out along one side and Blair curled up beside him.
The room was peaceful, quiet, and perfect.
"I like having you here." Stroking his fingers along the small slice of skin between her shirt hem and the waistband of her leggings, he pulled her closer and kissed her temple.
She shifted until her lips brushed over his mouth. Soft and tasting of berries, she teased her tongue over his lips. He groaned and fisted his hand at her low back to keep her in place. His body reacted, tightening, pulsing with need and desire. He licked into her mouth and wrapped her ponytail around his other hand.
Her sigh seeped into his blood and made it sing. Too soon, she pulled back. "Rod and Arielle are only a few rooms away."
"I really need to get my own place." He reluctantly released his hold.
"I have my own place." She smiled and traced her finger over his chest. "We can go there later."
Rod strode in carrying his coffee cup. "You can do whatever you want as long as Dylan is back here in the morning so he and I can drive to practice together."
Blair's laughter rang out. "Thank you for your permission."
"Hey, we're in the finals. This is not the time to mess with routine." Grinning, Rod lifted his shoulders. "I don't make the rules. It's just the way it is."
"Don't worry. I'll be here. I'm not risking anything." Including telling Blair about his still-aching head. He'd told her that he wouldn't lie to her, but not mentioning something wasn't exactly the same thing as outright lying. And seriously, he'd be fine as soon as the sugar hit his bloodstream. He'd just need to be careful until this damned headache cleared. He'd need to be careful. Rod and the guys would be a good distraction.
They were so close to the Cup, and he wasn't going to chance anything stopping him.
CHAPTER NINE
THE EDMONTON ARENA was rocking for the first game of the Cup finals. The non-stop action of the first period of play, and two goals scored for each team, had fueled the fans' excitement. It had been loud from the moment the puck dropped.
Half-way through the second period, Blair shivered in her jack
et and scanned the ice, assessing the fresh players as they hopped over the boards and joined the play, and the tired players coming back to the bench.
After a few tense minutes of Edmonton controlling the puck in the Bedlam zone, Dylan stole the puck on a turnover. He and Leo sped down the ice and charged the net on a two-on-one. One of the Edmonton forwards flew up behind the play and his stick knocked into the side of Dylan's head. He jerked back and seemed to lose his balance. His hands came out to the sides as he slid across the goal crease. His torso banged into an Edmonton defenseman, and the idiot crosschecked Dylan in the head as the Bedlam captain fell to the ice.
Blair's heart caught in her throat.
The whistle blew. Leo skated right over to the defenseman, shoved him in the chest, and then slammed his fist into the guy's face. The strength of the blow knocked him into the boards as more players rushed to jump in.
But Dylan continued to lie face down on the ice.
Icy fingers of fear gripped her heart. Mouth dry, she nudged Peter. "We have to get out there."
The linesmen separated the fighting players. Reminding herself to stay calm, Blair followed Peter across the ice. Dylan's arms and legs were moving like he was trying unsuccessfully to get them underneath his body so he could get up. Celek knelt beside Dylan, expression grim. He moved back to give them room.
Peter touched Dylan's shoulder and leaned down to speak into his ear. His initial words were drowned out by boos from the fans and the PA announcer. "Buffalo penalty, number fifty-five, Leo Brennan, five minutes for fighting. Edmonton penalty, number twelve, Marcus Nylander, five-minute major plus a game misconduct for cross-checking."
The Bedlam's team physician hadn't accompanied the team on the road trip. Edmonton's team physician joined them and began his assessment, nudging Blair out of the way. She kept her focus on Dylan's grimacing face. Two fans were screaming through the hole in the glass, shouting obscenities at the Edmonton player.
Taking His Shot Page 5