The Rebound: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance

by Colleen Charles

  “Oh, probably the sweat beads on your forehead. Relax. I’ve known you a long time. No need to be nervous.”

  Fucking A. Ryder nodded. Get on with it, man.

  McTaggart returned to his seat opposite him, his expression annoyingly neutral. “Well, first of all, I want to thank you for all the time you’ve invested in the tryout process. This is a bit of an experiment for the league, and your professionalism is what makes it a success.”

  “It was my privilege,” Ryder said, fingers drumming on his knees. “I hope you liked what you saw.”

  “As I said, I’ve known you a long time, and the effort you displayed was beyond anything I’ve seen from you in the past. You’re bigger, stronger, older yes, but still have passion for the game, and it shows. You wouldn’t have made it this far if you didn’t have what it takes.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Fuck, the suspense is killing me. Ryder shifted in his chair, heart pounding, palms sweating. He ignored the itch to wipe away the evidence of his distress on his suit pants.

  “As you know, we have a pretty strong offensive unit, with guys like Fiorino and Jones on the roster. But new personalities can always inject new spark into a line, and an additional forward certainly wouldn’t hurt the team.”

  Shit… was he seriously considering Tiny Thibault? Ryder’s heart fell somewhere in the vicinity of his expensive Italian dress shoes. The same ones his old man had made fun of just that morning, calling him light in his fancy loafers.

  “Similarly, the best scorers in the game need support at the other end. We need defenders, but what we really need is a two-way player, an offensive defenseman, if you will. Someone who can not only dig in the corners and protect the forward line, but also get on the scoreboard themselves with some regularity.”

  Ryder found himself grinding his teeth again and forced his jaw to relax. “I understand.”

  Shane smiled as though amused at Ryder’s stiffness. “I don’t think you do,” he said. “What I’m trying to say is…” he extended his hand across the desk, “welcome to the NHL.”

  All the air seemed to be sucked from the room as Ryder tried to breathe in. His chest felt as though it would explode with the negative pressure. Was he hearing correctly? Was he still conscious?

  “Well, don’t just sit there, Martin. Do you accept or don’t you?” McTaggart laughed, his hand dangling in the air. Ryder reached for it in slow motion. He thought of all the things he would say when this moment came, but suddenly he had no eloquent words, only one single syllable.

  “Thanks.”

  ***

  “Here’s another donation to the silent auction,” Spud called out then gave a fist pump into the air. Hannah sighed and her gaze traveled from his jaunty beret to his mutton chops. If only he weren’t such a coffee house hippy. She really loved Spud’s effervescent personality.

  Hannah went back to rearranging the already profuse selection of merchandise in the auction corner. “Crap! I don’t think there’s room for anything else. The party starts in two hours, and I’ll have to make another bid sheet,” she said as she hurried over to the bar. “What is it? Is it big? ”

  “Depends on your point of view,” Spud said and winked at her before setting the manila envelope down on the counter in front of her. “It’s a bit unusual but should draw a lot of interest.”

  Hannah’s brow wrinkled in curiosity, noting the smug smile on Spud’s face. She opened the envelope and read the contents. Unusual didn’t begin to describe it. “Are you sure this is legal?”

  Spud shrugged. “If it makes money, who cares?”

  Hannah read the letter again. A reserve bid of two hundred dollars for a date with Joe Thibault. “Who the heck is Joe Thibault?” she asked.

  “No idea, except it’s a player who didn’t make the cut for the Riot. According to the incredibly speedy Cole Fiorino, Joe’s almost as fast. And a pretty good sport to help us out with the auction, I’d say. You know how many hockey groupies we get wandering in here because of Cole and Shred? They’ll go bat-shit crazy for this guy. Hell, the bidding might go north of a grand.” A diabolical clapping of hands accompanied Spud’s gleeful comments. Hannah could almost see dollar signs in his eyes. She loved his enthusiasm to help the youth hockey program. Since she’d been there, she’d grown to love him. Like the brother she’d never had and always wanted. Darn and double darn.

  Hannah folded the letter back into its envelope and speared Spud with her most charming smile. “Well, as long as it brings in money, who am I to argue?” Suddenly, her heart fluttered. Maybe this Joe guy would be the dream man she’d been waiting for – the one who’d walk into her life and sweep her off her feet just like Spud had said. Then she remembered he’d be a hockey player. Curb the enthusiasm, Cinderella. No jock straps for you. Travel. And a huge ego on top of it. She sighed. “Who’s the lucky winner?”

  “Name’s Ryder Martin. Been in here quite a few times for lunch or dinner, so I’m sure you’ve seen him. He’s a local – works for the Riot in corporate. Or, I should say, used to work in corporate. Guess he’s a regular ice monkey now.”

  “Oh.” Hannah shrugged. One hockey player was likely the same as another – witless and arrogant. Lots of brawn, not much brain. Good money gone bad. Her sister’s husband excluded, of course. But Hannah had to admit, even though she adored Cole, and he was a great complement to her conservative sister, she wouldn’t want to be married to him. “Good for him. So you know him pretty well then?” She had never been to a game or even watched one on TV. She freely admitted it, even to Cole. She was pucktarded.

  “He’s a good guy. Bit of a womanizer but then most of them are.”

  Ha. I rest my case. Hannah started toward the office to print off a new bid sheet, Ryder Martin completely forgotten, but stopped short as Eloise appeared in the doorway, clinging to the frame for support, her face pale as a ream of printer paper.

  “Hannah,” she said between gasps of air. “Call Cole, then call the hospital. I – I think I’m going into labor…” Her words were cut short as she grimaced in pain, her hand splayed across her belly.

  “Oh my God,” Hannah shrieked, rushing toward her. “I knew it. I knew you’d be early. Because you’re… you’re… huge!” She took hold of El and guided her back to her office chair. “Sit down, don’t move. I’ve got this.” She dialed Cole’s cell. He answered on the first ring.

  “Everything okay, babes?”

  “I’m just fine,” Hannah replied, realizing she’d used El’s phone again. “But you better get your wife to the hospital right now. Baby’s coming early.” He hung up without a reply. “He’ll be right here,” Hannah said as she disconnected.

  “Good,” Eloise said, relief washing over her pale face. “The number for the hospital is on speed key three.” Hannah punched it. “Hanna-bee, I’m sorry, but looks like you’ll need to manage things here tonight. Cole’s depending on a successful fundraiser. Can you handle it?”

  “But I want to be at the hospital with you,” she said, heart falling to her feet. No. She didn’t want to be in charge of some hockey-themed shindig. What if she made a fatal error because of her ignorance? “I promised Mom and Dad I’d look after you.”

  Eloise bowed her head as she struggled through a contraction. Hannah dropped to her knees beside her chair, not knowing how else to help her sister. No matter how many people were on hand, childbirth was one thing a woman had to do on her own.

  “Obstetrics, Mayo Clinic,” came a voice on the line. Hannah gave Eloise’s name and the name of her doctor. “We’ll alert the attending physician. Bring her in as soon as you can.”

  Eloise relaxed as the contraction abated and took deep breaths. “Thanks, Hanna-bee. Just stay with me until Cole gets here. I’ll have both him and my mother-in-law all over me. Two hot blooded Italians by my bedside will be all I can handle.” She gave a weak smile. “You can help me best by taking charge here.”

  Hannah nodded, then puffed up her chest in a show
of confidence. She could do it. “Okay. Don’t worry about a thing.”

  Spud poked his head in the office. “Should I call an ambulance?” he asked, looking almost as pale as Eloise.

  “No, Cole’s on his way. Looks like it’s you and me holding the fort tonight,” Hannah said.

  “Roger that.”

  Chapter Seven

  “You going out?” Walter asked from his usual position in front of Ryder’s sixty-inch 3D TV screen.

  Ryder pulled on his jacket and checked his tie in the mirror by the door. He’d feel more comfortable in jeans and a t-shirt, but he was representing the team now at a hockey function. Representing the team. His team. He still couldn’t believe it and gave his tie such a fierce yank that he almost yelped in pain. Yup, this shit is real.

  “Yeah. Don’t wait up.”

  “Dressed pretty fancy for wherever you’re going,” his dad said, scanning his son’s attire with disdain. “Hot date?”

  “This is how some people dress for work, actually. Not that you’d know.”

  “Most people don’t work after five, smart ass,” Walter scoffed. “I guess you come by it naturally though.”

  “I learned from the master.” With the sharp verbal barb tangled in the tense air between them, Ryder left his apartment and locked the door behind him. If only it were as easy to lock up his feelings behind that door along with his dying father.

  Shit. Just like his mother. The pain of that loss had been buried long ago; it figured that his asshat father would be the one to dig it up again. And now there would probably never be the closure on the strained relationship that he so richly deserved. He couldn’t imagine his proud and stubborn father ever admitting he might have gotten it wrong. Damn Braden and Colt. Why the fuck weren’t they home dealing with this shit?

  He threw off his morbid thoughts and squared his broad shoulders, enjoying the feel of his renewed muscle mass straining beneath the material of his clothes. Fuck it. This was one night he would forget everything else and celebrate. Ryder Martin, NHL star, had arrived.

  On the drive to the restaurant, he went over the conversation again and again in his mind. Although he empathized with his dad over the man’s terminal illness, he couldn’t just erase over a decade of abuse and neglect. He sighed and ran a hand through his perfectly combed hair. The restaurant’s outside lights loomed in the distance and he guided the luxury automobile smoothly into a parking space.

  Damn it.

  Even from outside he could see that Casa Fiorino was packed. Wall to wall bodies. Shit. His first team event and he’d be hankering to find the nearest escape route. He’d never been a fan of strangers brushing up against him at every angle. Unless those strangers were hot and loose females. No red carpet led to the door, but he guessed he could overlook that for the time being. He’d liked the place back when it was still the Blues & Brews, had tipped many a beer within its walls. But he hadn’t been to the Casa since he’d first learned of the open tryouts for the Riot. Tonight, he saw it with new eyes and had to admit it looked much classier now since his rival – correction, teammate – had bought the place and turned it into an upscale Italian bistro.

  A sandwich board in front of the entrance read, ‘PRIVATE FUNCTION – ticket holders only.’ He placed his hand on the latch and opened the door. The tantalizing smells of food and the pleasant rumble of happy crowd convo passed over him like a curtain, behind which he left all his concerns. He strode in through the entrance toward the hostess station where several people queued up to hand in their tickets. He’d made some calls and sold quite a few himself. With a stab of annoyance, he realized he’d forgotten the extras at home that could have been sold at the door.

  Damn it. Ever since he’d been on cloud nine, he’d had his head up his ass.

  He moved forward as the bodies flowed into the main dining area. As he neared the hostess station, he felt his jaw fall open an inch, and his eyes fluttered in surprise. And his cock. Well, that damn organ stirred to life for the first time in months. Behind the small podium stood a gorgeous blonde wearing a sleeveless, pink satin dress with a sweetheart neckline that revealed just enough chest to be inviting rather than obvious. She must be new, Ryder thought. He’d have remembered seeing such a looker here before. Hell, he’d have flirted and tried to score with her for sure. Just his type with bangin’ curves in all the right places.

  Her long, golden hair glowed in the pin lights shining down from overhead. He liked the way the ends brushed her bare shoulders as she moved. He wanted to touch it, feel the silky length of it slide through his fingers before gliding his hand over that warm, creamy skin. He was betting the skin between her thighs would be just as warm. And moist. Ah, the pussy train was pulling into his station at last.

  “Ryder!” a voice called.

  He turned to see Riot’s winger, Ealon Jones, waving and edging his way toward him from inside. Jones grabbed him by the arm, pulling his attention away from the best view he could remember in a long time. “You don’t have to stand in line, man. You’re the main attraction tonight.” He pulled him from the queue and into the hubbub of the main room. Ryder cast a backward glance at the hot blonde girl, disappointed he didn’t make it to the front of the line. Later, he thought, already painting a mental bullseye right between her legs… er, eyes. “Hey, everybody!” Jones shouted. “Here’s the man of the hour. No autographs, please.”

  Ryder felt like he’d been pulled into the current of a river, except this one consisted of human bodies. A frisson of trepidation snaked up from his gut to tingle his spine. He wondered if he’d ever get used to being on display. Well, he’d have to learn to live with it. Being a professional athlete meant taking the good with the bad.

  “Speak for yourself,” he said amid a torrent of backslapping and hand shaking. He grinned so wide his cheeks began to hurt. They reached the bar, where a smiling Spud Davies greeted them. “What’s your poison tonight, Ryder? On the house.”

  “Single malt on the rocks.” He pointed a finger at Davies. “The good stuff, Spud. Don’t hold out on me.” Spud laughed and turned away to fetch the drink. Ryder looked around. “Where’s our esteemed proprietor? I don’t see him.”

  “Oh, big news,” Jones said. “Eloise went into labor this afternoon. The family’s at the hospital. Cole’s mom is in town. No word yet on a boy or girl. Even though Cole’s been spouting male child ever since he found out El was pregnant, word on the street is that he doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground.”

  “Really? That is big news.” Ryder tried hard to imagine the uptight, pencil-skirted, opinionated martinet who emasculated men like himself with her cock-shriveling words screaming her head off in a delivery room. Not a pretty picture but somehow gratifying after what she’d put him through. It would be a cold day in Hades before he’d need to beg for attention from the likes of tastee-freeze Eloise again. He wondered if her entire family dripped icicles from their limbs.

  His scotch arrived, and he took that first smooth yet fiery sip. From now on, everything in his life would taste as sweet as this. He licked his lips and smiled. He was going to get laid tonight. And very, very drunk. All thoughts of his asshole father flying away on the wings of Glenfiddich.

  ***

  Hannah turned her head at the sudden motion in the line. She caught just a glimpse of a tall, hunky guy being pulled inside the restaurant. Though brief, what she could see of him caught her attention. His navy suit jacket stretched over his broad frame, his thick, sandy blond hair perfectly cut in a spiky style. The pearly grin on his face as his friend grabbed him flashed like a lighthouse beacon. His chiseled features reminded her of actor Ryan Reynolds. What a hottie. A spark of excitement sizzled up her spine as she mentally tallied the amount of tip money in her savings account. Would it be enough to buy Joe’s date tonight if she wanted it? What if that’s him! It has to be!

  “Miss?” the next person in line interrupted her thoughts.

  “Hi,” she said, snapping to a
ttention. “Sorry. Ticket please?” She ripped the stub in half and deposited one end into a draw bowl. “Thanks so much for supporting Rochester youth hockey. Enjoy the party.”

  As the volume of patrons arriving at Casa Fiorino dwindled, Hannah was anxious to close the doors and get inside to help out with the food and drinks. Truth be told, she was even more anxious for any news from the hospital. She checked her phone for what felt like the millionth time. A text from Cole said they were getting close and El was eight centimeters dilated. How long did it take to have one little baby? Especially one who seemed anxious to meet his or her parents enough to arrive ahead of schedule.

  As she cleared the podium and prepared to seal the draw box, the entrance door swung open. An older man shuffled in, his clothes so rumpled and ill-fitting, he looked like something prior to the turn of the latest century. Not at all like the dresses and suits that filled the dining room at the moment. Perhaps he was lost and needed directions. “Hello, can I help you?”

  The man looked her up and down but not in a lascivious way. His gray hair thinned at the temples but was otherwise bushy and in need of a trim. “Uh, do I have the right address?” he croaked, his voice low and rough. He handed her a ticket from his jacket pocket.

  Hannah glanced at the stub. “It certainly is.” The man seemed out of place, but her parents always told her to never judge a book by its cover. He could be some rich philanthropist in disguise for all she knew. Some people had a ton of money because they never spent any. She tore the ticket and gave the man his half.

  “Thanks for your support. Please go right in.”

  ***

  Walter Martin nodded and moved in the direction the girl indicated. He could smell the mixture of uncorked spirits and beer on tap already. Mouthwatering, he licked his dry lips and hissed in a ragged breath. Hell, he was close to meeting his maker anyway. What harm could a little hair of the dog do? He had a feeling he shouldn’t be here, but if the kid was going to hide all his booze and leave tickets lying around, he considered it an invitation. He needed a drink. Bad. He spotted an empty stool at the far end of the bar next to a wall – a perfect place to hunker down and blend in unnoticed.