Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7)

by Sommerland, Bianca

  Most importantly, she wasn’t running from a chance at love anymore. She was, quite literally, flying toward it, full speed. And the future was looking pretty damn awesome.

  Chapter Twelve

  The future was going to have some unexpected roadblocks. Sahara stared at her phone when she got off the plane. Her mother had texted her, all excited about her visit.

  And apparently she had read the comments Sahara was forbidden to read. Along with some new ones.

  Mom: Honey, we need to talk. He looks like a very nice young man, but you must see how difficult things will be for you both? I wasn’t going to bring this up at all, but… Well, I think we need to talk about this. You’ve made poor choices in the past.

  Poor choices? Her mother didn’t know all the details about what Grant had done to her. How bad things had been. Mom had mentioned once that she didn’t like how angry Grant sounded sometimes, but that wasn’t that surprising. All the men in her mother’s life treated her like she was made of delicate crystal.

  Did she think Dominik was a violent man?

  Sahara didn’t want her mother getting all stressed and calling everyone they knew to discuss her concerns. She had a bad habit of airing family drama. And there was no way Sahara was going to become her new headliner.

  She thanked Cort for putting her suitcase in the trunk of the cab and climbed into the backseat as she called her mother.

  “Hello, my darling. I hope you had a pleasant flight?” Her mother sounded perfectly relaxed. Which probably meant she was sitting with a bunch of her friends and putting on what she called her “brave front.”

  This conversation should probably wait until they were alone. Sahara chewed on her thumbnail as Cort climbed into the backseat, giving the cabbie directions to the hotel. “Yes, it was fine. I just wanted to let you know I was here. I’m heading to the hotel, but we can have dinner later tonight if you want?”

  “I’m with my girlfriends for bingo, honey. But why aren’t you staying with us? There are rumors, but…well, I’d assumed you were just coming to support the team. You got my text, didn’t you?” Her mother let out a heavy sigh. “I hope I didn’t upset you, but with all the talk of Grant being arrested and you seeing so many different men…”

  “I was staying with a friend, Mom. I’m only seeing one man, but it’s very new. Too new for me to be bringing him to meet you and Dad.” The very idea of bringing Dominik to meet her parents scared the hell out of her. Her father would be all moody and her mother would gush and start talking about weddings. Sahara was “at that age,” after all.

  As much as she loved her family, she didn’t miss their attempts to rival their favorite Broadway plays in entertainment value.

  “Well, I’m happy to hear there’s only one man. Please tell me it’s not the one with all the tattoos?” Her mother clucked her tongue. “You’re too old to be going through a reckless phase.”

  At Cort’s amused sideways glance, Sahara realized her mother was speaking loud enough for him and the cabbie to hear both sides of the conversation. Time to end it.

  “No, I’m not dating Pischlar. He’s just a friend.” Her mother didn’t need details of a past friends-with-benefits relationship. They weren’t that close. “I’m seeing Dominik. The captain of the team. I’ll tell you all about him later, but right now I’m with a friend and being very rude.”

  “But you said it was a new thing. Maybe you’ll meet someone suitable now that you’re home—did you hear that Roger is dating again? It’s about time; his wife died two years ago.”

  Sahara shook her head and laughed. “Sometimes I wonder if you actually hear yourself, Mother. Please don’t try to set me up with any of your friends’ sons while I’m here. I have to go, but I’ll call you later.”

  The fact that her mother let her end the call was a miracle. Stuffing her phone in her purse, she turned to apologize to Cort. Which she seemed to be doing a lot lately.

  He waved it off, chuckling. “Don’t even worry about it. Just tell me I ain’t gonna have to go with you to meet the parentals and it’s all good.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Good. Because if she has a problem with Pisch, I don’t want to know what she’d think of me.”

  They made their way into the hotel, checked in, and parted ways at the door to Dominik’s room. Cort had been given a room on the same floor as the rest of the team, but it was at the other end of the hall. He made her promise to text him if she planned to go anywhere, pulling out his phone before she even closed the door.

  She smiled as she heard his voice go all tender. “Hey, man, how you doing? Did you go see your sister?”

  The room was bigger than she’d expected—more of a junior suite actually. There was a sitting room with a small blue loveseat and two armchairs, set around a simple black coffee table, and a flat screen TV up on the opposite wall. The bedroom had a king-size bed covered with a white duvet and a neatly folded golden throw.

  Her stomach got weird and fluttery as she stared at the bed. She would be sleeping here for the next four nights. In Dominik’s arms.

  You won’t be sleeping the whole time.

  Heat spread across her cheeks, trailing over her breasts and down between her thighs. She closed her eyes and pictured Dominik here, his eyes on her as she stripped for him. Or maybe he’d take her clothes off in a rush. She still couldn’t get the idea of him ripping a few out of her mind. For some reason, the image made her all hot and needy.

  But you can’t expect him to spend all his time getting you off.

  Maybe not, but she was an independent woman with no issues taking care of herself. With some time to kill, she filled the Jacuzzi tub to take a nice long and very satisfying bath. Then she showered and donned a short-sleeve, white blouse with a simple, black skirt, and a pair of strappy, black sandals. Her phone buzzed with a text from Dominik saying the team was almost at the hotel, so she quickly did her makeup and threw her hair into a stylishly messy bun. Double-checking for her room key, she messaged Cort that she was headed down to the lobby and hurried out to the elevator.

  He met her before the elevator reached their floor. “Excited?”

  Ducking her head, she let out a soft laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

  “You’re practically glowing, sweetie. Do I need to have a chat with Mason about treating you right?” Cort had that protective look in his eyes, and she had a feeling Akira had said something. Considering Akira’s past involvement with Dominik, she didn’t see it being anything bad.

  She studied Cort’s face, curious. “You know Dominik. Do you think I have anything to worry about?”

  “No. But the talk never hurts.” He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I could leave it to your dad. Just didn’t want to piss you off if you want me to mind my own damn business.”

  “Did you have ‘the talk’ with Jami’s men?”

  He grinned. “Seb had it with me. And Ford. Not long after Jami warned us not to hurt Akira or she’d feed our balls to Luke’s dog.”

  “Fair enough.” Sahara wondered how Dominik would react to all the warnings. She wouldn’t encourage Cort to threaten him, but maybe it would be good for the men to have a conversation. And make up for her being a bitch when Cort had been justifiably worried about Grant. “Say what you need to. Just remember that he’s your friend. And I’m a grown woman.”

  The wicked smile on Cort’s lips didn’t bode well for how his talk with Dominik would go. Then again, Dominik would likely take it in stride. Be amused at best, or mildly annoyed at worst. If she talked to him first, he’d understand why she hadn’t stopped Cort from saying anything.

  But when they met up with the guys in the lobby, she abandoned the idea of any kind of playful chat.

  Most of the team was distracting the media while a tight-knit group moved quickly in her direction. Pischlar gave her a grim look while Dominik stepped up to her side and looped an arm around her shoulders.

  He didn’t even give h
er a chance to ask what was wrong. “Don’t panic, it’s nothing huge. There was bad turbulence on the flight and some of the guys are shaken. Coach wants them away from the media, so the ones who made it through fine are taking all the interviews.”

  Sahara nodded, glancing back at the men who were being interrogated by the press. She was pleased to see Tyler, since that meant Raif was probably doing better and had told him to come. Both Tyler and Luke were making big hand gestures—it looked like they were doing charades and the answer was “plane crash.” Scott was a few steps behind them, smirking and adding to the story in a way that had several of the reporters abandoning Sloan and Max’s calm retelling for the more elaborate story.

  Zach gave Scott a sharp elbow in the side and took over. The reporters began to lose interest as he laid out the bare, undramatized facts.

  “Do you need me to go back to the room and wait?” It made sense for Dominik to be here if the media was questioning players about the flight. He was the captain after all. “I don’t mind—”

  “Actually, I was wondering if you could check on White. Pisch and Richards are with him, but he might be more comfortable talking to you.” Dominik made a face, his focus on Heath Ladd, who seemed to have drawn a crowd despite his aversion to conversation. “I’d have Ladd room with Pearce if I thought the man could teach him how to handle the media with short answers, but Demyan needs his man to keep him on the right track. Right now, the reporters seem to think the rookie is shy. If they keep pushing, he might end up giving the media a sound bite they’ll have a field day with. I need to keep an eye on him.”

  Oh…so this isn’t just about the interviews? She tried not to let the heart-wrenching disappointment she felt show. “Do you need me to get my stuff out of the room then? I can probably crash with Cort. I mean, he’s guarding me anyway and Akira trusts me, so it wouldn’t be weird.”

  Cort cleared his throat behind her. “It would be a little weird.”

  She frowned at him. “You’re not helping.”

  He shrugged. “How about you stay where you belong and the kid rooms with me? Problem solved.”

  Dominik stroked the base of her neck with his thumb and grinned at Cort. “I appreciate the offer, and I may consider it, but not because I needed to find a good place for him. I’d already planned to put him in with Mirek Brends. Unfortunately, Sahara tends to assume the worst.”

  “I didn’t—” Yes, you did. “I just—” Ugh, she was going to smack Dominik if he didn’t stop looking at her like she was the cutest little thing. “It’s not funny. I’m trying to be helpful.”

  “Thank you, pet. But I need you to stop assuming I’ll set you aside. For any reason. I let you believe that once because I had something come up. I won’t do it again.” He bent down and pressed a light kiss on her lips, which made her feel a bit less like hitting him. “I want to keep an eye on Ladd while he deals with the media, then get him settled. I need you with White. I shouldn’t be long.”

  He gave her a long look, as though to make sure she understood he wasn’t abandoning her, then squared his shoulders and made his way through the throng of reporters and hotel staff surrounding three-quarters of the team. She watched him for a minute, then forced herself to walk back to the elevators.

  This was good. He was trusting her to take care of one of his players. One who she’d fooled around with, but that didn’t matter. What bothered her wasn’t that he was asking her to help him out, she wanted to be there for him.

  It just seemed like, no matter what they did, something—or someone—was always keeping them apart.

  * * * *

  “You are aware that shrugging when you’re asked if you thought you were going to die is not an appropriate response, right?” Dominik was tempted to shake Ladd when the boy’s shoulders lifted. The quiet had seemed like a good thing at first, but after two days of one-sided conversations, he had half a mind to hand the rookie over to Chicklet for her special brand of conditioning. “I thought your coach said you were easy to deal with.”

  Now that got a reaction. Ladd’s face lost all color. He stopped right in the middle of the hall, shaking his head. “I’m trying to be easy, mate.”

  “Dealing with a mute, who isn’t actually a mute, isn’t easy. It’s frustrating as hell.” Dominik scratched his scruffy jaw. His playoff beard was still pretty short since they were only a week in, but he was so accustomed to keeping all but above his lip and his chin cleanly shaven that the stubble was uncomfortable. And, naturally, since he was already annoyed, everything was irritating him at once

  He studied Ladd’s closed-off expression, wondering what it would take to get through to him.

  “I thought Brends would be a good choice—his English isn’t great and he’s trying to work on it—but I don’t think you’ll be very helpful. So there are two options. You can stay with one of the teams security guys, who may throw you if you annoy him, or our backup goalie, Dave Hunt.” Who also might throw Ladd, but who was more likely to ignore him. “Take your pick.”

  Ladd looked like he was going to shrug again.

  Dominik’s lips thinned. “Do that again, and you’ll sleep in the goddamn hall.”

  “The goalie’s fine.”

  “Good. I’ll let him know.” This should be interesting. Dominik texted Shero to get Hunt’s room number, then motioned for Ladd to follow him. He continued eyeing the rookie, not sure if he was more frustrated because of the kid’s silence or because it had just been a long fucking day. The turbulence hadn’t bothered him too much, though he’d admit it had been unsettling being jolted around for half an hour. Their flight had taken longer than expected, so they hadn’t been cleared to land for what seemed like forever.

  He was hungry and tired and needed a damn shower. He wanted to go back to his room, hold Sahara in his arms, and stay with her until he had to get back on the ice for morning practice. He didn’t mind the responsibilities of being the team captain, but people were asking more and more of him and the return was nothing but sleepless nights and no time for himself.

  Which wasn’t Ladd’s fault. The kid was just the final straw.

  Once they reached the door to Hunt’s room, Dominik lifted his fist to knock, eager to finally have a few minutes to spend with Sahara before the next obstacle came up.

  Ladd cleared his throat. “The reporters were bloody morons, so I ignored them.”

  Damn it. Dominik chuckled, unable to deny the satisfaction of having actually gained some ground with the kid. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. “Yeah, well, you know the scripted answers you always hear us giving?”

  The rookie nodded.

  “Much more effective in getting them to leave you alone. Nodding, shrugging, and shaking your head just make them want to keep digging. Give them a whole lot of nothing and it will be painless.”

  Another nod. And a smile. “Right, mate. I’ll try that.”

  The boy was learning to use his words. Not a huge improvement yet, but Dominik didn’t feel like he’d wasted his time.

  He and Sahara had more than earned a few uninterrupted hours.

  And they would have them, even if he had to steal her away to claim them.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What the fuck… Shawn Pischlar stared at White’s muscular back, which was all stiff and tense, not sure how to even finish the thought. There were a few options that could work.

  Like what the fuck had he been thinking? What the fuck was he gonna do now? What the fuck was going to happen to the friendship he’d done his damn best not to ruin?

  Until the goddamn flight.

  Coach always made sure Shawn sat with White, even when things had been tense between them. Yeah, it had hurt to find out White had fooled around with Richards after all the “I’m straight” talk, but Shawn knew how his best friend’s brain worked. Richards was safe because the kid didn’t ask for much. He’d probably invited White to come hang out in his room to watch a movie and gone along with whatever drunken sugg
estions White made.

  And I wasn’t really jealous that night. More like… Hell, he couldn’t finish that thought either. Anything to do with White messed with his head. People might assume Bruiser wasn’t all that bright, but Shawn was the stupid one of the two of them. He felt sorry for Richards—the kid didn’t need a confused straight dude messing with him.

  Shawn shouldn’t have messed with White, but this past week they’d gone further than he’d ever expected. He wouldn’t fool himself into believing that he would have gotten his hands on White without Sahara’s help, but they were all having fun, so no harm, right?

  If he’d left it at jerking White off and sucking his dick once in a while, maybe they could have continued just fucking enjoying each other.

  He just never fucking learned.

  The flight to New York was short, but they’d been sitting on the plane, waiting for clearance to take off, for what seemed like forever. Shawn slid the window cover up to look out at the runway, counting the planes ahead of them and trying to guess how much time they had left. The pilot had announced a twenty-minute delay.

  Twice.

  The engine growled and the plane shifted forward. White grabbed Shawn’s knee. “Please close the window, man.”

  Not even bothering to ask why, Shawn slid the cover down. White always hated flying, but some flights were worse than others. And the bruising grip on Shawn’s knee made it clear that this would be a bad one. He had a few tricks to distract White—on a trip to LA, he’d actually read to the man until he passed out and slept the whole way. But that was before Tim’s death. After, the focus had changed to keeping White awake. Bruiser had nasty fucking nightmares about being crushed in a car, or a mine, or sometimes both.

  Heights had always been an issue, but flying seemed to combine all his fears into a debilitating terror that had several team therapists struggling to find the right kind of therapy to get White past it. So far, they’d made little progress.