by Joanne Rock
“With all the curse words first on the list. I’m surprised Mom didn’t kick me out after I called the first dinner horseshit.”
“Luckily, she’s well versed in our sense of humor.”
“You’re horseshit, man.”
“Back at you, bro.” Kyle flipped him a puck off the blade of his stick. “And I wouldn’t worry about Mom and Dad. We can send them tickets for a Mediterranean cruise or something until this blows over.”
“Right.” Axel lifted his stick, rearing back to fire, then sent the puck into next year. He was rumored to have the hardest slap shot in the league this season and he meant to keep it that way. “That would help me breathe easier about them. But I can’t send Jennifer away for the month. How do I keep her safe?”
“They’ve already seen you together?” Kyle fed him another puck.
“Yes.” Ax used his stick to take out his fury, pissed that his past had caught up to him after all this time. “The biker dude looked right at her and took aim like he was going to…”
He couldn’t even say the words, the image they called up was too horrific. Jennifer was a vibrant, beautiful woman, inside and out. He couldn’t imagine her silenced forever. And he knew the kinds of brutality gangs could visit on a woman.
His blood chilled.
“I’d say you have two options.” Kyle leaned on his stick. “One, call the cops and report the threat.”
“Yeah, my old crew loves squealers. No doubt I’ll wind up with my tongue cut out. But even if I didn’t, it’d be a publicity nightmare. Coach Cesare will go nuts if negative press brings the team down going into the playoffs.”
“Right.” Kyle replaced his stick in a bin by the door. “Then your other option is to confront the local Destroyers and ask them what the hell they’re doing. If they have a beef with you, they can settle up face-to-face rather than threatening your girl.”
He didn’t want to think about those animals coming anywhere near Jen.
“It’ll still be the end of my career if I’ve had every bone systematically broken by pissed-off gangsters.” Besides, some injuries never healed correctly. “How are you going to score any goals without me to pass to you?”
Axel put away his stick, too, and reached for his gym bag. They needed to dress for the game.
He nearly ran into Kyle, who’d stopped by the door.
“No need to worry about that since I’d obviously go in to confront these guys with you. And if they try to take you out, they’ll have to go through me.”
For the second time today, Kyle had knocked him on his ass in the only way he still could—metaphorically.
“That is not happening.” He would go to the mat on this one. “I appreciate your willingness to have your face rearranged along with mine, but this is my fight.”
“Well, then, you still haven’t learned jack about your family, have you? You have real brothers now. Not the bullshit gangster kind.” Kyle didn’t get angry often, but Axel could hear it in his voice now. “You don’t fight alone anymore.”
Unwilling to push his brother’s buttons right before a game, Axel figured he’d better keep his plans to himself if he didn’t want to risk a knock-down-drag-out with Kyle.
He needed to save his strength for when he faced the Destroyers.
“I know.” He held out his fist, a peace offering.
He’d wanted to warn the Murphys about the possibility of violence from the motorcycle club. This conversation had taken care of that, even if Kyle hadn’t liked the outcome.
Kyle bumped knuckles with him with more force than necessary. “I’ve got your back, Ax. Whether you want me to or not.”
With a terse nod, Axel shoved open the training room door, exiting out into the visiting team’s locker area.
After a 7:05 game, they’d head back to Philly, arriving shortly after midnight. One more night with Jennifer before he faced the Destroyers and found out what they wanted. Because no matter what happened, he would keep his family safe and Jennifer, too.
Even if he had to turn his back on all of them to do it.
* * *
“NEED A CLOSE-UP SHOT, Bryce.” Jennifer spoke into the microphone on her headset as she watched the live feeds of the Phantoms game on six different monitors—three from stationary cameras and three manned by her crew. “We want some more emotion. Yelling, sweating, snarling.”
She didn’t ask just because his camera happened to be on Axel. Although, possibly, Ax’s face had reminded her that she needed more tight shots. He’d been on her mind every moment since he’d left her bed this morning to get dressed for the early flight to New York. She enjoyed the chance to see him at work, his job interesting her more than she would have guessed possible given that she wasn’t a sports fan. But hockey had been his ticket out of hardship, his path to a different life.
That gave her a new appreciation for the game. And she was willing to do whatever she could to see that he didn’t have to give it up just because some creeps from his past started harassing him. She would research the Destroyers like an investigative reporter and search for their vulnerability—a way to hurt them with a media spotlight. But for right now, she needed to put forward solid work her boss would be proud of on the documentary.
“Will do,” Bryce returned over the headset from his position along the rink.
His lens brought Axel’s strong jaw into focus. The U-shaped scar on his cheek filled the frame.
“Thank you.” She enjoyed the view, her hand reaching to touch his face on monitor 4. “And, Steven, can you make sure we have more footage of the guys in the box? I’d like to see their reaction to hard hits or bad calls.”
“Sure thing,” her most experienced technician responded. “I’m going to put one of the stationary cameras on it.”
“Fine,” she agreed, moving her hand off the monitor once Axel returned to the bench and another player’s mug took over the screen. “And great job on the footage of Vincent Girard and his date last night, Steve.”
She’d reviewed the sequence on the flight from Montreal, surprised to see the heartwarming interaction between the right winger and the groupie who didn’t behave one bit like a groupie. Jennifer had learned a little about Chelsea Durant from the team’s publicity person, including that she worked in the gift shop and helped out in the public relations office in her spare time. But even the publicity man, whose job it was to promote the team and be her point person on-site, wouldn’t sell out the young woman about her past. Jennifer had to admit she was curious about her.
“Thanks.” His terse reply suggested he knew his work was top-notch and didn’t really need her approval. But then again, they’d never gotten along all that well. “Is it going to make the cut or was it a waste of my time?”
Jennifer gave in to the urge to roll her eyes since there was no one else in the makeshift editing room to see her.
“I’m not sure if we can use it since I probably need a more comprehensive waiver. I don’t think Chelsea looked aware that she was on camera.”
And that was an implicit part of the waiver contract for this project. The players were fair game to film at all times. But anyone else needed to be aware they were being recorded for the waiver permission to apply.
“Bullshit red tape,” Steven muttered, letting all the crew know just how much he thought of her and her refusal to bend rules.
Jennifer tried to remain neutral-sounding. “I’ll meet with her tonight to see if she’ll sign a more comprehensive agreement to use her image.”
No reply. Oh, well. She was still the boss of all the footage that she wasn’t actively featured in, so she planned to protect Chelsea’s wishes on this one. When Jennifer had walked into this job, she’d planned to deal fast and loose with the team to make a commercial documentary that the built-in audience of sports fans would love.
But she saw layer after layer in the narrative here, and there was a lot more going on than a winning season. The coach seemed to be reliving the career he�
��d lost to an injury, hell-bent on getting his team to the Stanley Cup. Leandre Archambault was trying to turn over a new leaf and find someone special, but the team pigeonholed him as a male bimbo and made it tough for him to meet the kind of woman he was looking for.
Kyle Murphy had recently become involved with a professional matchmaker whose mother was a former pop star. And, apparently the right winger was falling for the gift shop girl.
All in all, the documentary was about more than sports. It would capture a moment in time, a tough season full of gifted athletes trying to be a team in spite of the distractions. There would be something transcendent here, a human drama beneath the fierce action of the game. But Jennifer would be damned before she’d throw Chelsea Durant under the bus just to serve the commercial hook and a cameraman’s ego. If she wouldn’t agree to her increased role in the series, the tender footage of her squeezing Vinny Girard’s hand over the dinner table would have to go.
Jen’s new relationship made her more sensitive to a person’s desire to protect their privacy. She just hoped she could manage the feat with Axel. An on-screen romance with him would be much more than personally awkward.
It would be downright dangerous.
* * *
A TEAM FLIGHT FROM NEW YORK to Philadelphia wouldn’t have been a good spot to find privacy even on a regular day. But with two cameras rolling through the Boeing jet’s main aisle, Vinny Girard figured there was little chance that any conversation with Chelsea wouldn’t be overheard or recorded.
He’d have to content himself with his other small victory for the day—convincing Chelsea to take the team flight home. She’d let Misty drive her car back to Philly so her friend could stop and see some family in New York.
All around them, his teammates hammed it up for the camera crews, reenacting a particularly rough play when Axel Rankin got a penalty for slashing and the Phantoms on the ice went nuts. Vinny hadn’t been skating at the time, so he felt no need to chime in. Plus it was obvious Ax wanted no part of the extra attention. Normally, the guy was as boisterous as the rest of the team, but he’d dialed it down ever since the camera crews had joined them.
“I can’t believe I’m here.” Chelsea sat beside Vinny in the last row of seats after another Phantoms win. They were two rows back from their nearest neighbors. “I hope it wasn’t totally presumptuous of me to get on board.”
She tugged at the knit cuffs of her long-sleeved shirt with the Conference Champions logo from two years ago. He’d noticed she owned almost every piece of team clothing the gift shop sold, which was probably in part because she got a discount but also because fan gear happened to be her uniform when she was on duty.
“You belong here,” he reminded Chelsea, thinking about what it would be like to lean over and kiss away the worried frown from lips that were pink and plump without a trace of makeup. “Remember? The Phantoms pay your salary because you’re the best team supporter we have.”
Wrapping her arms around herself against the blast of cool air blowing from the overhead vents, she rolled her eyes at him.
“I think they just figured I practically lived at the rink anyhow, so why not put me to work?” She straightened as the attendant closed the plane door and asked the camera crew to have a seat. “Are we taking off?”
“Yes. Looks like we’re all set.” He turned down the vent and shifted the nozzle away from her while she leaned closer for a better view over the seat rests.
For a moment, he wondered if she was a nervous flyer. Then he realized the truth.
“You’ve never flown before, have you?”
“Not unless you count a vicarious drug trip I took sitting beside an older woman doped up on mushrooms.” She said it matter-of-factly, still watching the flight attendant prepare the cabin for takeoff. “I held her hand while she screamed that giant mosquitoes were coming to get her and described flying around on one of them.”
“My God.” He could picture Chelsea, unfazed and strong, talking the woman down from her high. “If I stop to think about the things you must have seen during those days…” He shook his head. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Chelsea turned toward him, eyes wide with genuine surprise. “I never minded nights like that. And the old lady wasn’t an addict, she just had a lot of health problems and occasionally when she tried to buy something for the pain, the dealers would sell her whatever they had leftover at the end of the night.” Her jaw tightened, chin lifting. “If I ever run my own shelter, I’m going to make sure my guests have access to health care. Or aspirin, at the very least.”
Hearing the fierce note in her voice, Vincent reminded himself never to stand between her and the aspirin counter. What a strong advocate underprivileged people would have in someone like Chelsea. Her lean figure and delicate features belied the drive and determination inside her.
“I think you’ll find this kind of flying is less eventful.” He wanted to take her hand and hold it this whole trip. Feel her pulse throb under his thumb. Connect with her in that small way that wouldn’t attract attention and wouldn’t advertise a wealth of intense attraction on his part.
Memories of the kiss he’d placed in the center of her palm were more powerful—more sensually vivid—than the recollections of a handful of one-night stands he’d had since leaving his junior year in college. He’d broken up with his high school girlfriend that year, a girl from back home who’d never understood his need to pursue his dream of playing hockey.
He’d learned then that love didn’t grow when you stifled each other, which was why he was going to try not to push Chelsea for too much, too soon.
Now, as the plane picked up speed on the runway, he looked over at her in the seat beside him. She gripped the armrests with both hands, her shoulders tense. Her cheeks seemed pale as she worried her lower lip, yet she’d never told him she was nervous. Never let on the idea of flying scared her.
That’s when he knew, ready or not, he had to touch her.
“Hold my hand,” he told her by way of warning, sliding his fingers under her forearm to pry her loose from the armrest. “It’ll be easier.”
She didn’t say anything one way or the other, but she locked gazes with him for a moment. Nodded.
His heartbeat stuttered for a second as he took her left hand in his and—God help him—wrapped his right arm around her shoulders. She thought she was scared of takeoff?
She’d know exactly how terrified he was of scaring her off when she got a load of his heart banging the hell out of his chest where she settled her cheek. The scent of her hair wafted up, teasing him with something clean and floral.
After months of watching her and wanting her, having her curled against him felt better than a winning season. His last girlfriend had given him an ultimatum—hockey or her. And Vinny had chosen to pursue his dream.
But right now, with Chelsea in his arms, he knew he could set down his stick and not think twice about it. She was it for him. The One. He liked everything about her, from how easily she loaned her car to a friend to how she pulled people into her circle, from homeless women to hockey players. She had a natural warmth that people gravitated toward.
Him included.
He would have been content to spend the whole flight home like that. No, more than that, he would have felt privileged to touch her that whole time.
But they’d barely leveled out at flying altitude when the director lady made her way down the aisle, her eye on the two of them. Her red curls fought a ponytail, with kinky pieces sliding free along her cheek. She held a clipboard under her arm, a large silver bracelet clanking against it with each step. A sense of foreboding clanged nearer along with her.
Vinny couldn’t have said why he felt like trouble was on the way, beyond the fact that a visitor would surely make Chelsea sit up and let go of his hand. But he did.
“Hi!” Jennifer Hunter slid into the seat beside him, her long skirt brushing his knee as it swirled to settle after her. “So sorry to
bother you, but I wanted to speak to you both about the series.”
Chelsea must have heard her despite the engine noise, which was loudest in these seats at the back of the plane. Releasing his hand, she straightened.
“It’s no bother,” Chelsea assured the other woman while Vinny mentally disagreed vigorously.
His body had memorized the feel of Chelsea’s already. The sensation of her against him would remain imprinted on his skin for days. Months. Maybe forever. He sure as hell hadn’t been ready for it to end.
“Great.” Jennifer set the clipboard on her lap and leaned closer. “I’ve got some footage of the two of you I’d love to use in this week’s show, but it was filmed at a distance. And while our agreement with the team covers that kind of shot, I wanted to make sure Chelsea felt comfortable with it.”
Beside him, Chelsea tensed. He could sense it without even looking at her. That’s how in tune he was to this woman.
“What kind of footage?” he barked, the surly note totally out of character for him, but damn it, he felt protective.
“I can show you on my laptop.” She spoke to Chelsea, looking right past him. “There’s a snippet of you two talking after the game in Montreal, and since that was on the ice, it’s well within our right to use. However, there’s a scene of the two of you having dinner—”
“No.” Incensed, he could only imagine how Chelsea would feel to have her privacy invaded like that. “Absolutely not.”
“I’d like to see it,” Chelsea said, her hand coming to rest on his knee as if to placate him.
Quiet the beast.
It worked like a charm since he was stunned silent. He could hardly believe his luck after all these months of trying to get her alone. Chelsea didn’t ever date, that he saw. She admitted to issues with men, a fact that made him feel slightly homicidal toward whatever guy had scared her.
Yet Chelsea had reached out to him. Touched him. Come into his arms willingly today. Things were looking up, except that she seemed ready to sacrifice her privacy for the sake of the documentary. Why would she give permission for the camera crew to broadcast a private moment between them?