Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “Dammit, Tripp. Wake up and go back to sleep. You’re scaring the passengers.”

  “What the hell?” The sharp pain in his side brought him from the dream.

  “There’s not enough room in these seats for me, you and that dream of yours. Seriously, the other first-class passengers are starting to panic.” Jonas leaned toward the aisle across him and lifted a hand, waving a finger to the flight attendant. “My friend needs napkins. And a drink.”

  Deacon sat straighter, touching his sweaty face. If everyone hadn’t been staring at him, he would use the edge of his championship T-shirt to dry off. But Jonas was right. The passengers had looks of concern or what might be freaking-out expressions. One inhaled like he was about to ask something, but shook his head deciding against it.

  “What the hell was I doing, man?” Deacon checked his watch. “We haven’t been in the air that long.”

  “You’re okay. Don’t worry about them. Maybe you party too hard after the parade yesterday?” Jonas’s intonation rang with a Swedish accent. “You’re lucky I woke you up before you begin to drool.”

  “Well, thanks for that at least.”

  The attendant handed him a small hand towel used after meals. Deacon wiped his face while Jonas asked for a whiskey, neat. His teammate played it cool, but his expression was strained. The wrinkle between his brow gave him away.

  “I’m sorry, but we’re getting the cabin ready to land, sir.”

  “Awe, come on, little lady. They just won the Cup. That’s championship hockey,” said the middle-aged passenger who had looked like he wanted to ask something earlier. “Looks like this Rajun Cajun needs a sip to take the edge off.”

  Deacon didn’t, so he shook his head. “That’s all right. Totally get it. I’m good.” He lifted a bottle of water from the chair pocket.

  It was eleven in the morning and he didn’t want to meet his parents with alcohol on his breath. Besides, his chest felt like two puck bunnies had danced on it…in cinder block heels. It wasn’t just the dream. The doc had said that the first check of game seven had left a couple of his ribs cracked.

  Payback for his unbelievable-lucky-as-hell winning score in game six. He’d live. The soreness wouldn’t stop him from making the plans for his days with the Cup. By the time his week rolled around in a month, he’d lift the heavy icon over his head in complete championship fashion.

  Since he’d signed up for it, making that time special weighed on his mind. He hadn’t cared which week he’d received, but the PR gals had convinced him taking it over his birthday would be cool.

  He also wasn’t sure that coming home to Texas had been the best option either. Another decision that had been taken out of his control when Gage had messengered the one-way ticket. Now he wasn’t so sure coming home for a month was the right choice.

  Could he handle his father participating in the celebration? No, that wouldn’t be a great idea. Him, the father who spoke four words to him a year, and a helluva lot of press with cameras. Disaster waiting to happen.

  Deacon pulled a couple of aspirin he’d dropped into his jeans pocket before leaving the hotel. He wouldn’t face his family with a headache. Okay, mainly a hangover.

  “Sorry about earlier. You look like you need some sleep,” he told his seatmate.

  Jonas had deep crevasses in his forehead. If he took a wild guess, he’d say the older player was in pain. But that subject wasn’t discussed. Pain, injuries, rumors…they could kill a career.

  “No reason to worry. I’m heading to the airport hotel to grab shuteye before my late flight to Sweden.”

  “Sure you don’t want to stay stateside and be the buffer between me and my family?”

  “I met your family after the winning game. They didn’t seem bad.”

  “Those were the ones I like. Actually, only one of them was my brother. The rest are relatives of his girlfriend.”

  “You got them all seats? Ah, wait. You’re the one born with a silver spoon. Right? This is the correct phrase?”

  “Yeah. That would be me.” He didn’t bother to correct Jonas.

  “Next year’s negotiation of salaries will be better for all of us.”

  “Great for you. I still have three years on this contract. The playoff bonus is nice.”

  Yeah, he’d been born into a lot of money, but when he pursued professional hockey, his father cut pretty much all ties with him, including his bank account.

  If his brother Gage hadn’t supported him in the minors he would have been forced to go back to school like his father dictated. He’d now be following the corporate path his father laid out instead of winning the league championship and the Cup.

  But Gage had supported him. And his dream. That wasn’t the public story. Robert Sanders, Jr. had gone to a lot of trouble to appear to support his son’s dreams since he’d moved up to the Rajuns. Yeah, a lot of trouble after he was in the majors.

  A press core would greet him when he arrived at the hotel. His father had pre-arranged the stunt with the Cajun Rage PR team. A driver would pick him up and deliver him everywhere. Doctors orders–a result of the cracked ribs. He hoped Gage would meet him at the hotel to act as the buffer.

  The plane rolled to a gentle stop. The man across the aisle stood, stepped back, and allowed Deacon to retrieve his and Jonas’s bags from the overhead. Lifting his arms caused him to wince.

  “News said you have some broken ribs. Guess that’s the cost of scoring and sending us to game seven,” said the man’s seatmate. “That shot took terrific skill.”

  “I could have just as easily rung iron. And they aren’t broken, just bruised.” Injuries weren’t good in his line of work. The less the public knew, the better.

  “But you didn’t.”

  “We flew in for the last game and parties.”

  “When are you getting the trophy? You planning something big in Dallas?”

  “Naw, man, he’s from McKinney. They’ll have stuff there.”

  “Wait until the fellas hear we sat next to Tripp Sanders and Jonas Magnussen. They’re going to freak they didn’t take this flight.”

  The men continued talking to each other and Deacon didn’t have to answer. Their conversation continued as they talked about their favorite parts of the games. He shifted his friend’s bag in front and let Jonas take the lead, stepping quickly from the plane.

  Well, as quick as two hung-over, bruised hockey champions could.

  “Looks like this is where we part ways. Enjoy your time off, my friend. I think they have big plans for us next season.” Jonas clapped a hand on his shoulder and was off toward the airport train that would take him to the hotel.

  Deacon tugged his ball cap lower over his eyes, but it didn’t help as a disguise. Especially with the fans who debarked behind him pointing and taking selfies. He eventually stopped and posed with them.

  And smiled. And signed autographs. And enjoyed every single moment. Take that, Dad.

  He slowly made his way to the exit. Crap. Why were his parents here? They were supposed to have sent a car. Not be waiting. With the cameras. The local news crews. And lots of fans.

  “Hey, mom.” He reached down to pick up his mom around the waist, lifting her feet off the ground. He’d been doing that since he’d passed her in height. This time a grunt escaped as the pain from his ribs kicked in.

  “Put your mother down,” his father mumbled while extending his hand and smiling professionally.

  If anyone had ever been born with a silver spoon stuck some place, it was his father. Almost as tall as his youngest son, he kept hold of his hand and draped his free arm around Deacon’s shoulders. He acted like the proud father all the while staging the photo op for whoever was close by.

  Cameras clicked.

  Too bad there wasn’t a way to know if the action was real or just an act.

  “I’m so glad to have you home, Deacon. It’s been so so long since we’ve had any time together.” Tears glimmered in his mother’s eyes.

&
nbsp; There was no way to tell her that he hadn’t planned on coming home until his day with the Cup. He had a nice place in New Orleans and would have avoided the whole hometown parade thing if the team’s PR–and then the coaches–hadn’t insisted. The schedule had come out with his name on July thirteenth. A hometown parade and special events were scheduled. Additional events in the city of Dallas.

  The Sanders name had taken care of involving the bigger city. He no longer had to think about what to do since his parents wouldn’t let him forget his obligations.

  So he just stood there like a jock while his father answered the questions thrown at them. Deacon squeezed his mom again. There was genuine love in her eyes when she turned her face to his.

  Fresh waves of weariness assaulted him. Dad stood there, soaking up glory that wasn’t even his. Enough. “Time to go.” He dropped his shoulder, pushed his parents in front of him and waved at the reporters.

  “We don’t have any appointments,” his father said.

  “There’s plenty of time for interviews. NoLa threw us a big party last night after the parade and I’m ready to sleep for a week.”

  The questions didn’t stop, but his father’s driver–at least he was the guy who’d taken his pack–opened a gap through the crowd to the exit.

  Seats popped forward and like a child, Deacon rode in the far backseat of the Tahoe, his parents in the middle and the two escorts in the front. He stretched out across the real leather and took in the silence. Or wished for silence.

  “We’ve arranged for a small gathering at the club tonight.”

  “I’m really not up to anything today, mom.”

  “Is what they’re saying true then? Did Bralovich break your ribs?”

  Wait. His mom knew the name of the player who’d body checked his way into the penalty box at the expense of Deacon’s ribs? Impossible.

  “They’re just bruised.” No need to worry her. “I’m okay. Really. I just need to take it easy with ‘em for a few weeks.”

  “It’s a good thing the season’s over then,” his dad said.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t find any hidden sarcasm. He raised back to a sitting position and took a long look at his parents. They were both still smiling. Maybe there was a seed of pride growing after all these years?

  “Sorry we couldn’t get to you after your last game, Deacon. We knew you would be busy and that you’d want to celebrate.”

  “That’s okay. I got your message.”

  “I took the liberty of arranging the details of your parade,” his mom continued. “McKinney is so proud of you, sweetheart. July thirteenth was perfect for them.”

  His dad’s smile stayed put as his mom told them about the mayor and some of the youth organizations who would be involved. All wholesome. Nothing outrageous or original.

  “Gage is in town, although he’s staying in Dallas. He and his girlfriend are coming tonight. But if you want me to cancel…”

  “It’s okay, mom. I can make dinner.” Why not give his parents a night. There was plenty of nights to celebrate and he did need some rest.

  “Oh, wonderful. That’s just wonderful.” The look of pride growing on her face sort of made him want to eat dinner with them every night. Naw…being a champion had its advantages.

  Whatever his mother said next, he sort of zoned out and the ride to his parents’ home flew by. He pulled the shades closed in his old room, missed the darkening drapes in his loft, but still managed to fall asleep.

  Peaceful sleep without a dream or hint of drowning under the ice.

  2

  “Is this a legitimate threat or not?” Robert Sanders waved the papers and paced the small breakroom. “This is the fourth envelope in as many days. I want to know if I should call the police or the hockey association. I will not allow my family to embarrassed by some nut job.”

  Patty Mitchum hadn’t thought of the Bodyguards in Heels breakroom small before…at least not before meeting Robert Sanders, Jr. Gage’s father could certainly be intimidating. He filled half the room while she, Gage and Hallie occupied the other.

  “Since this is the first you’re telling me about it, Dad, my answer is an obvious I don’t know. Yet.” Gage answered him, restraint echoing in his words. “Where are the other letters?”

  “Your mother is very upset by these things. I can’t believe that your brother’s success is going to be yanked from him because of some delusional fan.”

  “No one can take away Deacon’s success. He played. He scored. He’s in the record books. That’s forever.” Gage extended his hand. “Before I can assess the threat, I need to see the letters.”

  Patty should have excused herself. Normally she would have, but this case was a little different. There’d come a time when she’d have to apologize for upsetting Gage’s parents, but she didn’t want to confuse things. She brewed a pot of coffee and melted into the corner, vividly remembering the love arc she’d seen between Deacon and a woman he’d yet to meet.

  She wasn’t certain about specific details. But she was certain that the next month was the only opportunity there would be. But there was one thing that had been made clear… It was an opportunity to give another of her granddaughters a bump in the right direction.

  When the time was right, of course.

  “Have you notified the team and league, Robert?” Hallie asked, keeping her former FBI matter-of-factness in place. “You know the Cup actually travels with its own guards. They aren’t going to let anything happen to it.”

  “I haven’t turned over the letters to anyone. I was waiting to speak with Gage…and you. I’m not worried about the damn hockey trophy, just my son.”

  “Is he not taking it seriously? What did he say when you told him?” Hallie asked, crossing her arms and waiting.

  Her granddaughter’s breathing deepened, using her ability to feel Robert’s emotions. She was becoming quite accomplished at it. Gage seemed a little apprehensive watching her. Probably because he knew she was invading his father’s privacy.

  Just as long as neither of them noticed her…or her guilt. In her letter, there had been no threats of bodily harm. And the big whopper… she’d only written one letter. Not four.

  So the threat was real. Deacon really did need a bodyguard. Someone else was threatening his parade, his celebrations, and his life. Patty’s letter to Roger had been written as an obsessive fan. Her intent had been only to encourage and suggest they hire one of the girls to keep an eye on Deacon.

  “Wait. You didn’t tell him about the threats?” Gage locked his fingers around the back of his neck, a sure sign his patience ran thin.

  “You know your brother. I thought having a plan in action before he could shrug it off was the best option.”

  “He’s not a kid anymore.” Gage was surprisingly calm. “You should consult him, especially about this. He needs to know that he might be in danger.”

  “I didn’t want–”

  “You didn’t want what, Dad? To trust that Deacon would do the right thing? My God. He has an obligation to his team and a national organization.” Gage pulled out his cell. “Essie? Can you find the number for the Rage’s home office?”

  “Go ahead. Call then,” Robert said as if he was giving permission.

  Essie handed Gage the number and retreated to the hallway. He dialed and paced.

  Hallie was watching her closely. Patty guarded her mind. She carefully directed her thoughts to be pitying Gage and Deacon who had a father so centered around himself or his business concerns.

  Hallie’s gaze caught hers and she waved a finger back and forth. As in, let’s not go there or you’re not fooling me. Patty hoped it was the first.

  She poured coffee, added the appropriate sugar for Hallie, cream for Gage and left Robert’s black. She set them on the lunch table and gestured for the adults to sit. Throughout their intense discussion she’d remained silent, waiting for the right break to suggest the necessary solution. It came while Gage was on hold with the Ca
jun Rage’s head of team security.

  “I have a suggestion,” she said softly but in the lull of arguing her voice seemed extraordinarily loud.

  “What’s your idea, Grammy?” Hallie blew along the rim of her coffee mug.

  “It’s simple, really. Assign one of girls to watch Deacon to see if anyone’s watching him.” She shrugged, trying to keep her suggestion uncomplicated. Unlike the complication of the person she needed to watch didn’t even live in Texas.

  “That would take care of your concerns, Robert.” Hallie took another sip of her coffee. “We could discover just how serious the threats are and he’d never know.”

  Gage disconnected his call. “Deacon will never go for it. He’s met everyone who works here. If we’re always hanging around, he’ll get suspicious.”

  Robert’s head swiveled between the two younger people as they tossed around ideas. He might have forgotten Patty was there, but when he suggested they go to a more experienced firm it was time for a grandmotherly push.

  “If you don’t want bad publicity for Deacon,” she held the coffee pot silently asking if anyone wanted more. “Then perhaps we should ask your cousin Brooke to help.”

  Hallie snorted and quickly set her cup down. “No. That’s not a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  Hallie quirked an eyebrow. “You know why not. She needs some time.”

  “Oh, posh. She’s had more than enough time. What she really needs is her family.”

  “No.” Hallie’s brows pulled together as she crossed her arms. “No.”

  “Is she qualified?” Robert asked.

  “She recently retired from the Kansas City Police Department after six years,” Patty explained without saying too much.

  “She could keep an eye on Deacon, but the team and hockey association still need to be warned,” Gage said.

  “That sounds sufficient. I agree that the threat to the parade and the Cup should be handled by the respective departments, but Deacon is my responsibility.” Robert continued to take up half the breakroom with his pacing.