Roughing (Ottawa Titans Book 1)

by Sarah Hegger

  They laughed so hard they could barely stand and stood there howling with laughter and clinging to each other.

  Eventually Sam straightened and wiped his eyes. “Did you rescue me?”

  “Maybe.” In hindsight it was silly. Sam could have taken care of himself, but she hadn’t thought it through. “All I could think was that if you got into a fight it would make things even worse for you.”

  “Ah, Busy Lizzie.” Chuckling, Sam cupped her nape and rested his forehead against hers. “That will definitely get you maple syrup for breakfast.”

  Chapter 11

  As agreed, the next Saturday Elizabeth went to pick up Sam for Chris’s team practice.

  “Morning.” Sam hopped into the car bringing the fresh smell of a winter morning with him. He pointed to the coffee she had stopped to get along the way. “Is that for me?”

  “Yeah.” She handed him the bagel. “I brought you breakfast as well.”

  “I love you.” Sam bit into the bagel and groaned. “I’m starving.”

  “You owe me.”

  He chuckled and ate the bagel. “I’m good for it.”

  She and Sam arrived at the rink to the delight of all of Chris’s players.

  Sam smiled, joked and signed stuff.

  Then the kids hit the ice.

  Ten minutes later Elizabeth wasn’t smiling. Not at all. In fact, she was reminded of all the reasons she didn’t like Sam, beginning with his arrogance, his selfishness, and his insensitivity.

  They stood on the ice and watched Chris’s team play.

  “Jesus.” He muttered and crossed his arms.

  To their left, Tyra skated in circles and sang her own song. She came because her parents said it would be good for her, but she hated hockey and Chris let her do her own thing.

  Granted, it wasn’t what Sam was used to. Not even in the same universe, but still.

  It made her want to cry how quickly everything had gone bad.

  Truthfully, she hadn’t been to a practice in a while, and she’d forgotten how bad they were. Still, they were kids and most of them only cared that they got to play on a team. That had to count for something, right? Except for Mr. Big Shot Hockey God who stood there sneering at everyone.

  Like he’d never made a mistake. Everyone in this rink knew that wasn’t true. The reason he was standing here now was because of a mistake he’d made. If she was a shitty human being, she’d point exactly that out to him.

  Anton, all of ten, and more comfortable in front of his Xbox than on the ice took a swipe at the puck, missed and landed on his butt.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Sam looked disgusted. “Can’t that kid stay on his skates?”

  Flushing, Anton stumbled back to his feet, but his skates went out from under him and he landed on his knees.

  Sam shook his head. “Apparently not.”

  “Whoa there, Tiger.” Chris skated up to Anton and helped him to his feet.

  Anton sent an agonized glance at Sam and hung his head. His skinny shoulders hitched.

  “Hey, there.” Chris skated him a little bit away from the others. “We all fall. It’s okay. You’ll get the hang of it.”

  “No, he won’t.” Sam snorted. “Someone should take his skates away from him.”

  “Hey!” Elizabeth rounded on him. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Except, maybe she could because Sam had never had any time for anyone who didn’t excel at sports. She lowered her voice so Anton wouldn’t hear her. “Not everyone is going to make the hockey league, but that doesn’t mean they’re not entitled to play the game.”

  “Trust me, I can see that.” He threw Anton a disgusted look. “And Chris is not helping him by encouraging him. She should tell him to give it up.” He grunted. “At the very least tell him not to cry on the fucking ice.”

  “You’re mean.” Chloe said. Eight and the best skater they had on the team, the only reason she stayed was because her twin brother wasn’t good enough to play on any other team with her.

  Sam stared down at her aghast. “The truth isn’t mean. It’s the truth. My coaches don’t tell me I’m doing a good job when I’m not. They tell me the truth.”

  “No.” Chris’s eyes went almost black with anger. “They tell you to get the hell off the ice. And now I’m telling you the same.”

  “What?” Sam gaped at her. “I came here to help.”

  “Well you’re not helping.” Chris folded her arms and faced off against him. “You’re upsetting my team and I want you off the ice.”

  “What do you expect me to do with them?” Sam motioned the kids, who stood about gaping at him. “I’m a professional. I can’t work with this.”

  “That’s it.” Elizabeth had brought him, and she would take him away. Chris had been afraid of this happening, but she hadn’t listened. This was on her. “You’re leaving.”

  She shoved his chest.

  Sam rocked back but didn’t move. “What are you doing?”

  “So help me, Sam.” Elizabeth got toe to toe with him. “If you don’t get the hell away from these children, I’m going to release every one of your naked baby pictures to the media.”

  The team whispered and snickered.

  Elizabeth raised her voice. “And you were not a pretty baby.”

  “Liz—”

  “You had no hair.” Elizabeth raised her voice. She had to give these children some recovery from this disaster. “And your ears stuck out.”

  Giggles erupted behind her.

  Sam frowned and looked confused. He dropped his voice for her ears only. “You’re seriously kicking me out?”

  “I’m seriously kicking you out.”

  He glared at her and then glanced at the children.

  The team gave him the stink eye.

  “Fine.” Sam threw up his hands and skated off. “Your loss.”

  Chris and her team broke into cheers.

  * * * *

  Sam was done with being fired. It sucked, and today had been the last straw. He was a professional hockey player, for fuck’s sake. What did Lizzie expect him to do with that bunch of lame ducks?

  She had no right to fire him, and he drove to her condo to tell her so.

  Randy stopped him before he’d even climbed the steps. “She’s not there.” He held up his beer. “Wanna come in for a brew?”

  “Another time.” It made him mad that she wasn’t there as well. “Do you know where she is?”

  “It’s Saturday.” Randy sniffed. “She’ll be over at her old man’s cooking for him and that bitchy sister of hers.”

  Sam got back in his car and headed to the Rogers house. It looked the same, with its neat white wooden siding and bright green trim.

  Giving his car door a good slam, he trudged through the snow to the door. Paul hadn’t shoveled the walk yet. Actually, if memory served, Sue had always shoveled the walk, which meant Lizzie hadn’t gotten ’round to it yet.

  Stamping snow off his boots, he hammered on the front door.

  A young woman opened it wearing sprayed on jeans and a tight sweater. Her brown hair was pulled into a messy knot on top of her head and heavy, black makeup ringed her eyes.

  She pushed her hands into her back pockets and thrust her breasts at him. “Well, look who arrived on my doorstep.”

  “Jane?” He peered at her to be certain. Last time he had seen Jane she’d certainly not been wearing makeup or had any of the other parts tenting her sweater.

  “Of course it’s Jane.” She dropped the Jessica Rabbit routine. “What do you want?”

  “Liz in?”

  “E-liz-a-beth is in the kitchen.” Jane went back to draping herself across the doorjamb. “But you’d much rather see me.”

  “No.” He slipped past her into the house and took his coat off. He’d spent large portions of his childhood in this house. Whenever his mother had to work, holidays so they didn’t have to spend them alone, birthdays and times when his mom needed her friend.

  Sue Roger
s was like a second mom to him.

  When he got to the kitchen, Liz had that shapely ass facing his way. She straightened, closed the oven door and caught sight of him.

  Her face went cold. “What are you doing here?”

  “We need to talk about what happened.” He yanked out a stool and sat. Funny, he’d gone straight to the stool he had always sat on as a kid. “You should have warned me those kids can’t play hockey.”

  “They can play hockey.” Liz slammed a bowl on the table. “They don’t play it well, which is why Chris took on the team in the first place.”

  “Eh?” That didn’t make much sense. “Why would they want to play if they’re no good at it?”

  Liz glared at him and hauled salad fixings out of the fridge. “Why do you have to be good to play?”

  “Because it’s more fun that way.”

  She tore lettuce and flung it in the bowl. “You’re such a dick, Sam.”

  “No, I’m not.” He dropped a stray lettuce leaf into her bowl. “Despite my mother, I’ve always been good at sports, and I’ve always enjoyed playing them. So were you.”

  Liz attacked the tomatoes with the knife in a way that made him sit back. “Well, kids like Chris weren’t.”

  “Yeah, I know that.” He chuckled. Two left feet and zero hand eye coordination. “Do you remember that time she beaned you in the head when—”

  “I remember.” The knife flashed in Liz’s hands and the cucumber went the way of the tomato. “And I also remember Chris always feeling like a loser because she wasn’t any good. Nobody wanted her on their team, no matter how much she wanted to play.”

  “Huh.” He could see by her face that she meant it. “So, she coaches a team for kids like her? I didn’t know that.”

  “Well, now you know.” She scooped the cut veggies into the bowl. “And they did not need some dick like you making them feel useless.” She slammed the knife on the cutting board. “They have little enough confidence and it’s all Chris can do to get them motivated and enjoying the game.” Hands on hips, she got up in his face. “I remember a kid who used to get laughed at for being a mommy’s boy. What if one of his idols had stood in front of him and laughed at him about it?”

  Sam winced. Lizzie did not pull her punches, but she’d also made her point. He replayed the day in his mind, this time with her spin on it. There was only one thing to be said. “I was a dick today.”

  “Yes, you were.”

  “I want make it up to you.” His behavior today made him cringe. “Ask me for another of your favors.”

  She looked at him with the coldest eyes ever. “I don’t want anything else from you.”

  “Come on, Lizzie. There has to be something.”

  “It’s those kids you owe, not me.” She finished the salad and made the dressing before looking at him again. “Do you have any other reason for being here?”

  “Do you cook dinner for him every Saturday?” He wanted her to stop fussing with food and have a conversation with him. Mostly, he wanted her to tell him how he could make it right with Chris’s team.

  “Mom always used to do Saturday dinner before we went our separate ways.” She came up with her face flushed from the heat. “He doesn’t know how to cook.”

  “He could learn.” Paul might even find he enjoyed cooking. Sam did.

  Lizzie put the knife down with a careful attention to detail that made him nervous. “Did you come here to piss me off? Because if you did, you’re exceeding expectations.”

  “No.” Sam kept his eye on the knife. “I came here because I was mad about you firing me today. Now I realize I deserved getting kicked off the ice.” She moved away from the knife and he breathed easier. “Can I stay for dinner?”

  “Why?”

  “So I can pester you into forgiving me.”

  She rolled her eyes and did something on the stovetop that involved banging lids and stirring.

  Sam took the opportunity to know more about the grown-up Lizzie. “Do you still work for your dad?”

  “Yup.”

  Her sweater had ridden up in the back. Girls with asses like Lizzie’s should never cover them up. If he told her that, he was pretty sure that knife would come into play. “You used to hate that job.”

  “I still do.” She whipped around, her face flushing. “I mean, I don’t hate it. Actually it can be very rewarding.”

  Sam didn’t bother to keep the skepticism off his face. Lizzie was smart, way smarter than anyone else they’d gone to school with. “Being your father’s secretary is rewarding?”

  “Office manager.” She spun away from him and disappeared into the fridge. Beer in hand, she came back up and handed it to him. “I like organizing things.”

  “Lizzie?” He really didn’t have to say it because she knew.

  Slamming her hands on her hips, she glared at him. “How come this is about me and what’s wrong with me now?

  “Come on, Liz. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve worked for your dad and hated it.” He took a carrot out the salad. He was taking the beer as a sign she’d let him stay for dinner. There were worse things than sitting down to Lizzie’s cooking. “And now you’re here taking care of him like your mom would. She walked out of this. We both know she’d hate to see you taking her place here.”

  “You know what I hate?” Her eyes narrowed in a way he knew meant he really didn’t want to know what she hated. He kept quiet and still. Dinner was looking iffy. “I hate the way my life goes to crap any time you’re near me.”

  Damn but that hurt. He, for sure, wouldn’t let her know, but that found a chink in his armor and scored. Pushing his beer toward her, he stood. “Thanks for the beer, but I’m good. You live your life any way you want to, but even I think you’re worth more than a man who treats you like crap.”

  Chapter 12

  “Grind him into the boards,” Dad yelled from the other room. “Break the little shit.”

  Just like every Saturday of her life. Until Sam had appeared in this kitchen an hour ago with his judgy eyes staring at her, she’d been fine.

  Okay, not totally fine. She had been experiencing a few pangs of dissatisfaction, but she refused to feel guilty about upsetting Sam. He had been awful with Chris’s team.

  And he’d apologized.

  But still, he’d followed that apology by picking on her.

  “I told you I’m a vegetarian.” Jane’s diatribe was getting old. “I’m not going to eat whatever disgusting dead thing you’re sacrificing.”

  “Really?” Even for Jane that was over the top.

  Jane had the decency to look embarrassed. “I don’t want to stay. It’s Saturday night. The last thing I want to do is spend it here. Lame.”

  Elizabeth was well aware of that. It was lame, and it was lame for both of them.

  “Is that beer coming?” Dad yelled.

  “We need to stick together.” Elizabeth kept it calm and reasonable. Yelling at Jane never got anywhere. Although, maybe a bit more—as in any—yelling when Jane had been little might have helped curb her now.

  “Why?” Jane folded her arms and stuck her hip out. “It’s not like he cares if either of us are here.”

  Elizabeth didn’t want to believe that. Now Sam was getting in her head too. “Of course he notices,” she said, but even to her it lacked conviction. “He misses Mom, but he’s too proud to show it.”

  “No, he doesn’t.” Jane gaped at her. “And the only person who thinks that is you.”

  “They were married for thirty years, of course he misses her.” He had to, because Elizabeth hated to think of her mother trapped in a marriage to someone who didn’t even love her. Dad’s lack of respect had been obvious, but she’d always chosen to put it down to his personality. Dad was cold and liked things his own way. He also didn’t mind trampling other people’s feelings to get things his own way.

  “I really don’t give a crap.” Jane scooped up her phone. “I’m going out anyway. The atmosphere in this shi
thole is totally toxic.”

  “Which is exactly why you need to stay.” Even knowing she was going to lose this skirmish, Elizabeth followed Jane into the hallway.

  Dad peered over the top of his lounger pointedly. “Beer.”

  “In the kitchen,” Elizabeth said.

  Dad stared at her. Even Jane stopped walking and gaped.

  The doorbell saved her, and Elizabeth went to answer it.

  Wine bottle in one hand and flowers in the other, Sam stood on their doorstep. “Hi.”

  She had enough on her hands without him there. “What do you want?”

  “I came back.”

  “Why?”

  Jane gaped at her.

  With a nod, Sam said, “I behaved like a shit.”

  “Which time?”

  Sam pushed the flowers into her hands. “Both. All of them.”

  Before she could respond, Dad broke the land speed record reaching the front door. “Is that Sam?”

  “Paul.” Sam gave him a tight smile. “Looking good.”

  “What are you talking about?” Dad flushed and shifted his feet. “I’m getting old and it shows.”

  “Nah.” Sam’s response sounded forced. “I bet you could give all of us some stiff competition.”

  Elizabeth wanted to puke on them.

  Dad turned and glared at her. “Don’t block the doorway. Let Sam in.”

  Sam stepped into the house and stared at her. “Give me five minutes.”

  “You can have more than that.” Dad waved a dismissive hand. “You’re welcome here anytime.” He handed the wine to Elizabeth. “I’m watching the game. Beer?”

  Sam shifted. “Actually, I need to talk—”

  Tossing his hand over Sam’s shoulders, Dad marched him into the lounge and called over his shoulder, “Beer, Elizabeth.”

  “Sam knows where it is.” She’d be damned before she ran around after Sam.

  Jane loitered in the hallway. “What time are we eating?”

  “I thought you were going out.”

  Sam came back to the hallway and gave the kitchen door a significant look. “I’m getting that beer.”

  “Good.” She had nothing left to say to him.

  “Five minutes. Please.” Sam strode into the kitchen.