Down to Puck (Buffalo Tempest Hockey Book 2)

by Sylvia Pierce

  Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was showroom gorgeous, all granite and stainless steel, with gleaming oak floors and cabinets and enough high-end appliances to delight even a pro chef. But it wasn’t Henny. Nothing in the house was Henny.

  He’d bought the place online sight unseen before moving back to Buffalo years ago, paid a decorator to get it all set up for him, bought whatever else he needed without much thought or care. It was beautiful, yes. Functional, too. But cold. Even after all this time in Buffalo, Henny still hadn’t made it his home. No photos. No knickknacks or books or plants or magazines. No mess, other than the shorts and towel he’d left out earlier. Just a bunch of high-end decor, dusted and polished to a spotless gleam once a week by his cleaning service.

  It was a stark reminder that for Henny, Buffalo wasn’t really home.

  Would it ever be?

  Bex returned her attention to the stir-fry, refusing to chase those thoughts down the rabbit hole.

  “Smells good.” Henny came around behind her, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck, nuzzling the still-damp hair at her nape. Peeking over her shoulder, he asked, “Where did that pan come from?”

  “It’s a wok, and I found it in the cupboard with the rice cooker and the crockpot you’ve probably never plugged in.”

  “What the fuck is a crockpot?”

  “You should charge admission to this place,” she teased, dishing their meal into two white bowls that’d probably come with the mugs he’d been using before she’d given him the bison set. “It’s like an art exhibit in here.”

  “You don’t like the house?”

  “I didn’t say that.” Bex smiled as they sat down across from each other at the table, digging into their food. She hadn’t realized how famished she was until that first bite. “Just needs a woman’s touch.”

  “You’re right. Move in with me.”

  She swallowed her chicken, eyes wide. “Henny, that’s not what I meant! Woman’s touch? It’s just a stupid saying.”

  “But not such a stupid idea, right?” He shrugged and shoveled in a forkful of veggies, so casually she couldn’t tell whether his invitation was serious. “Dude. This is fucking good.”

  Bex’s head was spinning. Had he really just asked her to move in with him?

  She reached for her water, gulped down half the glass. Insane. That’s what this was. Totally insane. Wordlessly, she watched him wolf down the rest of his food, barely able to touch her own.

  Henny pointed at her bowl with his fork. “You gonna eat that?”

  She handed it over, finally finding her words. “You were joking, right?”

  “I don’t joke about food.”

  “Henny.”

  Abandoning his efforts to inhale everything in sight, he set down his fork and slid over to the chair next to her, his sudden closeness both comforting and suffocating. “I want you to move in with me. No joke.”

  “But…” Bex blew out a breath. Where did she even start with this?

  Glancing around, she tried to imagine herself roaming the house, waiting for Henny to get back from the airport, from the ice, from his meetings, from all the places his job took him.

  And then she tried to imagine doing all of that waiting in another big empty house in another city, far away from the pub and her mom and the friends she’d made here. Away from everything and everyone she knew. Totally alone, one hundred percent dependent on Henny.

  If he got traded off the Tempest, that’s what would happen. And what if it didn’t work out between them?

  “We’ve already lived together once,” Henny said. “This should be easy. You know I rock as a roommate.”

  “Oh, right. Because sleeping in separate beds as teenagers with my mom down the hall is totally the same thing. Plus, as I recall, sharing a bathroom with you was not the most sanitary experience of my life.”

  “I have a cleaning service now. Problem solved.”

  Bex tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. Move in together? Last month, they were best friends who’d never so much as made out during a game of spin the bottle. Bex still wasn’t even sure whether they were officially seeing each other, whether it was going anywhere beyond the amazing sex.

  Now he wanted to share his home with her?

  The room tipped sideways again, her heart hammering in her chest. It was all happening so fast. Words like dangerous and obsession floated behind her eyes.

  But no, those weren’t the right words, she realized. This wasn’t some insta-love infatuation with a stranger that would come crashing down the minute they discovered each other’s flaws. This was Henny. A man she’d known for almost her entire life. They’d spent all those years, all those moments large and small building the foundation of an awesome, unbreakable friendship.

  Maybe it was time to build something else now. Something even more incredible.

  And what if it fails? What if I lose him?

  “What is it, beautiful?” Henny’s voice was laced with concern, his knuckles brushing softly against her cheek. “Where are you?”

  Bex hated thinking about her final days in California, but now the memories crept back in unbidden, stabbing her behind the chest. She’d been so, so lost. Everything inside her had ached so badly, it was as if her seams had come undone. Fear, anger, and shame had twisted around her heart, reminding her every time she took a breath how stupid she’d been. How careless.

  She was over the man who’d done that to her. But she wasn’t over herself. All the mistakes she’d made. The signs she’d ignored. The parts of herself she’d given up, all for the wrong guy.

  “I’m terrified,” she finally admitted, closing her eyes. It was too painful to look at him when she felt this raw and exposed. “I don’t want to get hurt again. I don’t trust myself to… to… I just can’t, Henny. I can’t go through that again.”

  “Hey. You’re the most important person in my life. Always have been.” He slid his fingers under her chin, and she opened her eyes, leaning into his touch. In a voice so tender it nearly melted her heart, he said, “Do you honestly think I would hurt you? That I’d do anything to put our friendship at risk?”

  A tear slid down her cheek. “Not on purpose.”

  “Fuck that, Bex. The answer is no, I wouldn’t. Not ever.”

  “You can’t make a promise like that.”

  “For you I can. I will.” His brow furrowed, his eyes turning fiery and intense. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. You have to know that. I look at you sitting here at my table, in my house, wearing my T-shirt, and I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. How lucky I’ve always been, long as I’ve known you.”

  “Don’t,” she whispered, lowering her eyes, blinking away the rest of her tears.

  “Why not?”

  “If you keep looking at me like that… If you keep saying things like that… I might just…” Her breath hitched, heart pounding as she struggled to reign herself in. She’d said too much, exposed herself in ways she just wasn’t ready for.

  But when she looked at Henny again, he was smiling shyly, nothing like the cocky, confident man she knew.

  “I might just, too,” he said. Then, without breaking their intense gaze, “Pretty sure I already did.”

  Did he just… is he falling in love with me?

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen between us,” she whispered.

  “But it did.” Henny swiped a tear from her cheek, caressing her skin with his thumb. “Are you saying you regret it? That this isn’t what you want?”

  “No.” Bex pulled back, reaching for her water glass. “I don’t regret it at all. I’m just… I’m all over the place. And you…” She glanced around the catalog-perfect kitchen, her earlier thoughts poking out of the rabbit hole again. “You’ve got a few things to figure out, too.”

  “Sounds like we’re a pretty good match.”

  “Great.” She laughed, some of the tension easing. “So who’s actually driving this bus to crazy town?”

>   “As long as we’re both on it and going to the same place, I don’t give a fuck.”

  “But that’s the thing, Hen. Are we? I feel like I’m still picking up the pieces from my old life. My career is…” Bex sighed. “Half the time I don’t know what I want anymore. And what about you? What’s going on with the Tempest? You want me to move in, but are you even planning on staying in Buffalo?”

  “You’ll figure out your stuff, Bex. You always do. And me? Hell, the NHL is a crap shoot no matter what. You know that. I could get traded, or injured, or—”

  “Fired?”

  “Not likely.”

  Bex shook her head, all the old worries rushing back in. She wasn’t sure what had changed for him this season, but after her arrival in town, he’d gone from top-ranked pro to back-alley brawler in a matter of weeks. His recent improvements felt more like a temporary bubble than a real change.

  Great sex could be an elixir for all sorts of ills. But eventually, it would wear off. And then what?

  “You’re going to be late for your meet-and-greet,” she said, rising from the table and picking up their dishes.

  “Screw it. I hate that dog-and-pony shit anyway. The other guys will handle it.”

  “Yeah? Do you really think Gallagher’s going to keep you on the roster if you keep acting like this?”

  “Fuck him. I’ve got a backup plan.”

  “Let me guess: stand-up comic? Investor in local dive bars? Underwear model?”

  Seemingly oblivious to her sarcasm, he followed her into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her from behind as she rinsed off the dishes. “Still working out the details, but it involves you and me on some secluded little island where clothing is optional. And by optional I mean banned.” He bit her shoulder through the T-shirt, his hard length pressing against her backside.

  Bex shook her head. He wasn’t taking any of this seriously, and she didn’t know how to make him.

  Yes, you do. You’re just avoiding it.

  Bex turned around in his arms, grabbing his shoulders. She was his best friend, and he’d always counted on her to call him out on his bullshit. Now more than ever she needed to push him hard, to challenge him to face his demons before he lost control of the one thing he’d loved and depended on his entire life—hockey.

  But for the first time in their long history, she felt herself backing down.

  The truth hit her hard and fast: She didn’t want him to be mad at her. She didn’t want to push him so hard he’d walk away.

  She didn’t want to lose him—not even to help him save his career.

  They’d both jumped into this thing unexpectedly, and maybe they stayed in it assuming their friendship would automatically smooth out the bumps along the way. Seemed logical, but it wasn’t really working out like that. Not at all.

  They needed to slow down, start again at a much slower pace. Bex had meant what she’d said to him—she didn’t regret any of this, and she definitely didn’t want it to end. But she was starting to miss him—the Henny she’d known as a friend. She missed them. Their easy banter, their Netflix nights at her place, chatting about work over a couple of beers at Big Laurie’s, always saying exactly what was on their minds without fear of repercussions—it was starting to fade, dimming behind the bright light of their intense affair.

  “Come on, Bex. You’re overthinking it.” Henny traced a line across her eyebrows. “I can practically smell your brain melting.”

  “Maybe you’re under-thinking it.” She looked around the kitchen again, biting her lower lip. “Henny, you don’t even have magnets on your fridge.”

  “Seriously?” He grunted out a laugh, totally missing the point. “Because I can get you magnets, beautiful. Hundreds of them. I’ll get magnets from every damn city and tourist trap I visit for the rest of my life. Two magnets from every store. How’s that?”

  Still laughing, he kissed her forehead as if that settled the matter.

  Bex untangled herself from his embrace and went back to the dishes in the sink.

  “Come on, Bex. You know you can do whatever you want with the place.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, his tone softening. “And I don’t want you worrying about rent or bills anymore.”

  His words were like ice water.

  After everything she’d told him, he was still trying to save her, still trying to write a check to cover her past mistakes.

  Is that what he saw when he looked at her? Some helpless little girl in need of a sugar daddy?

  “I made a few bad calls, Hen. I’m not incompetent. And I certainly don’t need you to fix my money problems.” Bex yanked open the cupboard above the stove, looking for something to put the leftovers in. “Don’t you have any Tupperware? What is wrong with you?”

  “You think I want you here so I can fix your money problems?” Henny reached for her arm, forcing her to face him again. Anger flashed in his eyes, then disappointment, the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders.

  “I want you here because waking up with you in my arms is the best part of my day,” he said. “Because I want to drink coffee with you in those stupid bison mugs every morning and make love to you before I go to practice. Because when I hear you humming in the shower, my fucking heart explodes. Because I want your damn basil plants on my windowsills and your toothbrush next to mine in the cup. Because when I get off the plane after a week on the road, playing my ass off every night in a different city, sleeping in hotel rooms and smiling for bullshit interviews, I want to know it was all worth it, because at the end of it all, I get to come home to you.”

  Bex’s chest hurt, Henny’s words wrapping her up like a thick blanket in the summertime. She wanted to be comforted by them, but all she felt was hot and sweaty and breathless.

  “I just… I need some time to think,” she finally managed. “This all happened so fast, and maybe we—”

  “You’re not into it, Bex. I got it. Message received.” He grabbed a banana from a bunch on the counter, totally shutting down. “I should head out. Meeting starts in ten minutes.”

  “I thought you were blowing it off?”

  Henny shrugged. “Guess I’m not in the mood to get fired after all.”

  Defeated, Bex closed her eyes, blowing out a breath. She hated fighting with him, hated the tension creeping in, exploiting all the cracks—cracks that hadn’t even existed until they started sleeping together.

  “Play hard tonight,” she said, following him to the foyer. Her smile was a peace offering. “I’ll be watching from the pub.”

  Henny nodded and offered a quick smile in return, but it was gone before he turned to reach for his coat. He didn’t ask for his usual good luck kiss, just headed out, leaving her all alone in that big empty house, the leftover stir-fry congealing in the pan.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Fuck with me tonight, asshole. I dare you.” Henny pushed away from the boards, shaking off a body check from Spence Merkle, captain of the Quebec Phantom. Yeah, the hit was fair play, but Henny was not in the mood for any bullshit. Two periods in, and he’d already served time in the box twice for high-sticking. He was sucking ass tonight—hadn’t scored a single goal or assist. On top of that, he’d blown off the meet-and-greet after all, driving around before practice to cool off after that whole shitstorm with Bex.

  Didn’t work. All he’d managed to do was dig himself into a deeper hole with Gallagher.

  “Work it out, one-nine.” Dunn popped him on the shoulder as he skated past. “We need you sharp out here.”

  Henny saluted. “As a motherfucking tack.”

  They charged back toward center ice, where Roscoe was duking it out with Quebec’s right winger for control of the puck. He finally broke away, then passed to Henny, who shot it over to Dunn. Dunn wound up and took the shot—damn it. Goalie stopped it easily, knocking the puck back into play.

  They chased it around the ice a few more times, keeping control but not putting any points on the board. Seconds before the
buzzer, Roscoe snuck in a sweet slapshot, first goal of the night.

  By the end of the second, they were still down two-one. Quebec wasn’t even playing a tight game. Their defense was sloppy, their offense weak—their long-time starting center had been out all month on the injured list, and the new guy just wasn’t hacking it.

  Salt in the wound, far as Henny was concerned. Should’ve been an easy night. Would’ve been, if Henny could get his fat head in the game and off his personal problems. He was surprised Gallagher hadn’t yanked him yet.

  Start of the third, the boys lined up for the face-off. The ref dropped the puck. In the blink of an eye, Dunn lunged forward, tying up the other center so Jarlsberg could swoop in from behind and grab the puck. Jarlsberg nabbed it, passed it over to Roscoe, and the front line was off, charging down into Quebec’s goal zone. Roscoe slapped it over to Dunn while Henny followed at a good clip, running interference as the other guys wove in and out between them, everyone gunning for the puck.

  Somehow he managed to keep his focus, buying Dunn the time he needed to slap that bitch into the net.

  Two-two, and team Tempest was back in business. Henny shook out his arms and gripped his stick, ready to send these motherfuckers packing. Dunn lost the face-off, but Roscoe dug in and stole the puck back, sliding it to Henny. It hit the blade of his stick with a familiar thunk.

  Keeping it right in the sweet spot, Henny skated it down to the goal zone, but Quebec was riding him hard. Dunn and Roscoe were totally covered, too—those Phantom bastards weren’t giving them an inch of air to breathe, and Tempest defense was too far away to help. Henny couldn’t risk a pass. His only option was to send it home himself.

  Henny pushed harder, breaking out of the knot and speeding toward the net. The goalie was totally exposed, pivoting on his skates as he tried to anticipate Henny’s move.

  This one’s going bar down, no doubt.

  Henny’s muscles tensed for the shot. He could see it happening in his mind—the puck hitting the bottom of the crossbar and shooting right into the net, the crowd roaring, his boys raising their fists…

  Henny stumbled. The puck slid out of his control, straight into enemy hands. He righted himself before he fell, recovering just in time to catch Merkle’s twisted little grin. The douche bag captain who’d nailed him to the boards last period had clipped Henny’s skate with his stick, right under the ref’s nose.