Playing For Keeps: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 3)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “I’m still learning.” She shifted again, her eyes catching Jenny’s. A small smile teased one corner of her mouth, stunning Jenny with its simple beauty. “Don’t tell Jason but at my first game, I cheered when the other team scored. I, uh, I didn’t know who was who.”

  Jenny swallowed back her surprised laughter, nearly choking on it. “You’ll pick it up. If you spend any time watching the games, that is.”

  “Oh, I definitely plan on it.”

  Well, Jenny certainly had that one coming. Part of her was surprised at Megan’s quick comeback. And another part—one she wouldn’t admit to out loud—was proud the woman had put her in her place. She deserved no less for the biting comment she had made.

  That didn’t mean she was going to get all warm and fuzzy, because she wouldn’t.

  Could Megan read her mind? Maybe, because she shifted again and looked out over the ice, her gaze resting on the players from the visiting team as they skated around, taking turns shooting at the net. She finally sighed then faced Jenny, watching her so intently that Jenny started to squirm. She was ready to shift in her own seat and come right out and ask the woman what she wanted when Megan finally spoke.

  “I came down here to apologize.”

  Jenny’s head spun so fast that her neck cracked, just a quick pop of vertebrae. She snapped her mouth closed, her eyes widening in surprise. “Apologize?”

  “Yes. For that whole thing with Haley.”

  “Oh. Yeah, sure. Okay.” Jenny turned and looked straight ahead, concentrating on the players passing by the glass, seeing them without seeing them. One player whizzed past, spun around and past by again. Jenny ignored him as Megan started talking again, her words halting and uncertain.

  “Haley didn’t want me to say anything, swore me to secrecy. I wasn’t—”

  “It shouldn’t have mattered what she swore you to. She’s your friend. You shouldn’t help her hide it.”

  “I’m not. She’s not. Not anymore. And the guy—”

  “Is an asshole who needs to be arrested.”

  “Yeah. Probably.” Megan paused. Waiting for Jenny to agree? It didn’t matter. She didn’t turn to look at her, kept her gaze straight ahead, seeing without seeing.

  Another blur passed in front of her, slower this time, the orange and blue of the uniform bright against the glare of the ice. Jenny realized she was staring, that her eyes were watering from looking in one place for too long. She blinked and looked away, noticed that Megan was still watching her.

  “She’s not seeing him anymore.”

  “Who?”

  “Jimmy. The guy who…Haley’s boyfriend. She’s not seeing him anymore.”

  “Good.”

  “He, uh, he still tries to call her though. Still shows up at the bar every once in a while.”

  “Tell her to get a restraining order.”

  Megan’s eyes widened and for a second, Jenny was certain she was going to argue, or make an excuse, or something. But she just nodded then looked straight ahead, her gaze focusing on who knew what. Her head tilted to the side and she frowned, cast a quick glance at Jenny, then looked back at the ice. She shook her head, almost like she was arguing with herself, then looked at Jenny once more.

  “Yeah, maybe. That’s not the only reason I need to apologize.”

  “No?”

  “No. I, uh—when Jason asked, I tried to downplay it. And I think, maybe, that made things worse for you. For the two of you, I mean. I think he thought you were meddling, or making more of it. I didn’t mean for that to happen, and I’m sorry.”

  Jenny nodded, not sure what to say. Just accept it and move on? Accept it and then ignore her? Or accept it…and apologize herself?

  She took a deep breath then turned away from the glass, ignoring the orange and blue blur that kept skating past them. If Megan could suck it up and apologize, so could she. But that wasn’t the only reason. This was Jason’s girlfriend. And while he hadn’t said as much, she knew he was serious about her. Long-term serious. And she had a feeling that if Jason had his way, Megan would be a permanent part of his life.

  And Jenny didn’t want to come between that. She didn’t want to be the cause of any tension between them. And maybe, just maybe, she and Megan could become friends.

  “I owe you an apology, too. I, uh, I haven’t been the nicest person around you. Or to you. I just—it doesn’t matter why. I shouldn’t have acted like that. I’m sorry.”

  Their gazes met and held for several heartbeats, each of them sizing the other up, gauging sincerity. Then another slow smile spread across Megan’s face, transforming her. The knot of tension in Jenny’s shoulders eased, fading away as her own smile took hold.

  “I guess we got off on the wrong foot, huh?”

  “Yeah, I guess we did.”

  Megan thrust her hand out. “New start?”

  Jenny looked down at the slender hand stretched out in friendship. She hesitated for only second then reached out, accepting it. “New start.”

  “Good. I’m glad.” Megan released her hand then sat back in the chair, her gaze focusing on the ice in front of them. “The offer still stands. If you want to come sit with us, I mean. You’d like Courtney. And Noah—that’s their son—is adorable.”

  “Maybe I will.” It would be nice, sitting with other people. With women who understood the game. She glanced at Megan and smiled again. Well, maybe they didn’t exactly understand the game, but at least they understood the toll it took on the players and what the game meant to them.

  No, no maybe about it. She wanted to sit with Megan. Wanted to meet Courtney and her son. Wanted to be part of something she hadn’t been part of in…well, ever. She said as much to Megan but the other woman wasn’t listening—she was staring at something in front of them, a frown on her face.

  She finally looked over at Jenny and nudged her arm. “Do you know him?”

  “Who?”

  “That guy. He keeps looking over here, staring.”

  “What? Who does?” Jenny turned toward the glass, ready to tell Megan that she was probably seeing things. She caught a flash of orange and blue, jumped back as the player skated up to the glass and tapped it with his stick. The ends of dark blonde hair curled under the edge of his helmet, the hair a shade darker than the scruff covering his square, chiseled jaw. Full lips spread into a wide smile as he tapped the glass again, his thickly accented voice muffled as he said something in a mix of English and Russian.

  Jenny froze, unable to stop the bile churning in her stomach, unable to stop the panic stealing the breath from her lungs. No, it couldn’t be. Not here, not now.

  She shook her head, telling herself she was imagining things, telling herself this was nothing more than a nightmare.

  A nightmare come to life.

  Her gaze flew from the smiling mouth, travelled up until they locked onto a pair of gray eyes, the deceptive sparkle masking the coldness behind them. She heard Megan talking, heard the concern and worry in her voice as her hand closed around Jenny’s arm. But Jenny couldn’t look away, couldn’t break free of the horror that held her in its grip as firmly as the gaze of those flat gray eyes held hers.

  Viktor.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tyler bent low, moving his stick from side to side across the ice. Metal rang behind him, two quick taps on either side as he hit the pipes with the blade of his stick. Not once. Not three times: twice. Every time. He straightened, rolled his shoulders and neck, took a deep breath and crouched low, getting into position.

  Concentrate. Focus. Follow the pucks as they careened toward him. Left. Right. Right again, higher. He caught one midair, tossed it to the side, batted another one away with his stick. Another one shot toward him, catching him in the chest before he could react.

  Tyler swore, stood to his full height, and pushed the mask back on his head. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be warming me up!”

  “Yeah. Sorry.” Jason slid to a stop in front of h
im, his gaze narrowed on something at the other end of the ice. No, not something. Someone. Tyler reached out with his stick, tapped Jason on the leg to get his attention. The other man turned to look at him, his eyes slowly focusing, as if he just now realized Tyler was standing there.

  “Are you trying to take me out?” Jason’s shot had been hard, a hell of a lot harder than a warm up shot should have been. But the man looked oblivious. Distracted.

  More distracted than usual as he shook his head, frowning.

  Tyler followed his gaze, wondering who he was looking at. The only people at the other end of the ice were the players from Bridgeport, warming up in their own zone before the start of the game.

  “Can’t stand that fucker.”

  Tyler turned back to Jason, curiosity overriding his own caution. He tossed a glance at the bench to see if Coach Torresi was watching them. No, not right now. He was huddled together with Coach Richards and Coach Kroncke, all three of them focused on the clipboard in Torresi’s hand. Tyler leaned closer to Jason, nudged him with his stick one more time.

  “Which one? Who are you talking about?”

  “Krasnoff. The dirty fucker.”

  “What about him?”

  Jason finally looked at him, his eyes widening then narrowing, as if he just realized Tyler was talking to him. He shook his head, frowned, shook his head again.

  “I just don’t like him. Don’t need an excuse.”

  Tyler rolled his eyes then skated back to the net. That was Jason, always sputtering nonsense. “Yeah, whatever.”

  “He’s an asshole.”

  “Fine. He’s an asshole.”

  “I should have punched him when he dumped Jenny.”

  Tyler stumbled, nearly lost his balance, caught himself on the top bar of the net before he fell to the ice. “What?”

  “You heard me. I should have clocked his ass when he dumped Jenny.”

  “Your sister? That Jenny?” No way. Jason had to be talking about someone else. He couldn’t be talking about—

  “Of course my sister. What other Jenny is there?”

  “She, uh, she went out with Krasnoff?”

  “Yeah. A little more than a year ago. She doesn’t know I know, though.”

  “Your sister? With Krasnoff?” Tyler couldn’t keep the surprise from his voice. He looked down ice, his gaze narrowing on the hulking form of the big Russian. The man was an asshole, nothing more than a big goon with as bad a reputation off the ice as on it. Jealousy speared him, quick and biting. He shook it off, tried to put it out of his mind. Tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. It didn’t. It shouldn’t. So what if Jenny had dated the goon? She was entitled to her past, just like everyone else. Hadn’t he told her that? He didn’t care about her past, didn’t care about what she may have done.

  But Krasnoff?

  An image flared to life in his mind. Jenny, straddling the big Russian, her head tilted back, mouth parted as her chest rose and fell with quickening breaths. Fuck. Fuck. No. Fuck no. No way. He could not think like that, couldn’t even let those images enter his mind.

  Her past wasn’t his business. Just like his past wasn’t her business. It was the past, as in past tense, as in not now.

  Don’t think about it. Don’t picture it. Push it away.

  But Krasnoff?

  “Hey, you okay?”

  “What?” Tyler choked on the bile creeping up his throat, tried to force it back down as he faced Jason. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, fine.”

  “You sure? You look a little weird.”

  “Yeah. Fine. I just—” He snapped his mouth closed and shook his head, swallowed again.

  “If you say so.” Jason sent one last look to the other end of the ice then heaved a sigh. “Can’t stand the fucker. No idea what the fuck she saw in him.”

  Tyler nodded, unwilling to trust his voice. Jason didn’t pick up on his struggle because he kept talking, as if Tyler wasn’t even there.

  “Maybe it wasn’t really him. Maybe it was just because he’s a hockey player.”

  Tyler couldn’t believe his ears, couldn’t believe Jason had just said what he did. He choked, his last breath lodged in his throat, strangling him. He coughed, sucked in another breath, managed to get out one hoarse word. “What?”

  “Jenny has a thing for hockey players. Why the hell do you think I don’t want her around you guys?” Jason frowned, leaned closer to Tyler. “Are you okay, man? You look a little pale.”

  Tyler’s hand tightened around the stick, his grip damn near hard enough to snap it in two. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

  “What? What the hell did I say?”

  “You just called your sister a fucking bunny.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Just about.”

  “I said she had a thing for hockey players. Not the same thing.”

  “Might as well be, with that damn look on your face.”

  Jason skated closer, anger flashing in those pale blue eyes. Tension sparked between them, lightning quick and just as dangerous. “I said she had a thing for hockey players. I didn’t say she was fucking them.”

  “Jesus Christ. What the fuck? Are you even listening to what’s coming out of your fucking mouth? You don’t talk about your sister like that. You’re a—”

  Jason moved closer, his stick held in front of him. “What the fuck is it to you?”

  Tyler slid toward him, the toes of his skates damn near touching Jason’s. The other man leaned forward, pushed against Tyler with his stick. But Tyler had been expecting it, had braced himself and pushed back, hard. Hard enough that the other man stumbled and damn near fell. Anger flashed in his eyes. He pulled back with his arm and Tyler braced himself for the swing he knew was coming. Let him. Just once, that’s all Tyler needed before he let loose—

  The swing never came. Bodies pushed between them, separating them with low words of sharp warning. Tyler pushed away from Harland, moving back a few steps. Each breath ripped from his lungs; heated blood zinged through his veins with each thunderous beat of his heart.

  “What the fuck is going on with you two?” Harland’s voice hissed with fury as he glanced between the two of them. Tyler shook his head, rolled his shoulders in an effort to ease the tension knotting his neck and back. He kept his voice low, his gaze never leaving Jason’s.

  “Nothing. Not a damn thing.”

  “Whatever the fuck it is, save it for the game. You don’t pull this shit here, not now.” Aaron’s voice was just as low, just as dangerous. Steady, warning. Jason nodded, nothing more than a jerky motion of his head, then turned and skated away, Aaron right on his heels. Harland stayed where he was, his eyes fixed on Tyler.

  “What the hell was that about?”

  “Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Yeah, positive.”

  “Bullshit.” Harland glanced over his shoulder then looked back at Tyler. “Whatever the fuck it was, save it for later. Got it?”

  “Yeah, fine. Whatever.” He pulled his gaze from Harland’s and moved back to the net, trying to get back into his pregame routine. But his gaze kept moving to the other end of the ice, following Krasnoff as he warmed up.

  Was he the one?

  The timeline fit, if what Jason said was true. Had Jenny actually dated the goon? But why?

  Tall, broad. A mediocre player. Nothing exceptional about him as far as Tyler was concerned.

  The image of Jenny straddling the big Russian came back to him in stunning detail. Full lips, parted with passion. Stunning blue eyes, glazed with desire. Jenny, her head tilted back, her hands roaming over every inch of her sensual body as the big Russian drove his cock into her tight heat.

  Tyler groaned, the sound harsh and wounded. He bent over, swallowing against the bile burning its way up his throat. Anger rushed over him, stealing his breath, making it hard to breathe. No, this was more than anger. This was fury in its finest form, undiluted and powerful and raging. And
close on the heels of the fury was jealousy, primal and just as powerful.

  Dammit. Fucking dammit.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his stick resting on his knees, and struggled to pull in deep breaths. He needed to get the images from his mind, needed to banish the jealousy tearing him apart. He told Jenny he didn’t care about her past. He shouldn’t care. He shouldn’t be feeling this insane jealousy. This anger. This pain.

  But he did. And fuck, it was tearing him apart, shattering shit inside him he didn’t know existed.

  Was it Krasnoff? Was he the one who had taken the pictures and passed them around? Did he still have them? Still look at them?

  Fuck. The air was too cold, each breath a frigid slice to his lungs. Stop. Just stop.

  But he couldn’t stop, couldn’t banish the images. Couldn’t banish the jealousy.

  Then think of something else.

  He kept his eyes closed, willed his mind to empty. Called on every bit of his training to replace the horrifying images flashing through his mind.

  Jenny’s body, soft and warm against his.

  Jenny’s voice, filled with magic as she whispered in his ear.

  Jenny’s laughter, light and contagious as she relayed tales from her job.

  Jenny. Just Jenny, so open and trustful as they cuddled together on his sofa, doing nothing but being.

  His pulse slowed, each breath coming easier as the horrifying images slowly faded away.

  Jenny. His Jenny. Her past didn’t matter. What mattered was their present. Their future. Yes, their future. That’s what he wanted: a future with Jenny. Nothing else mattered except that.

  He pulled one last breath deep into his struggling lungs then straightened. His gaze drifted to the other end of the ice, searching for Krasnoff. There, leaning against the boards, his face pressed close to the glass.

  Right where Jenny was sitting.

  Tyler was going to fucking kill him.

  Chapter Twenty

  He was going to fucking kill him.

  All he had to do was watch. All he had to do was wait and bide his time then take the chance when it came.