Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  “I don’t know. They mentioned testing? That’s protected by HIPAA Laws.”

  “Yeah, now show me the HIPPA Police and I might give you an ooh and ahh. But really, once the genie’s out of the bottle nothing’s gonna put that fat sucker back in. I’ll call Grampa Joe and see if he can help, and Jessie’s on her way to you.”

  The front door opened and a despondent Stryker walked in. His eyes lifeless.

  One look and her heart broke for him. “Stryker,” She rested her head against his chest, wrapped her arms around his waist, his heart raced beneath her ear. “Oh Stryker, I’m so sorry.”

  He stilled and turned to rock beneath her. “Was it you?” His voice was cold, empty, and dark, and the look she saw in his eyes, the pain, the rage, the hate aimed at her sliced her heart into ribbons. She felt physical pain. She stepped back and hugged herself and knew there wasn’t a damn thing she could do. He was that little boy, the one with a powder keg and it just blew up their relationship.

  He didn’t rage, he didn’t yell, he silently turned and walked out, leaving her lying among the rubble.

  Two days after his world imploded, Stryker got the call he’d been expecting—management requested his presence at The Crescent Center. He grabbed an empty duffel so he could throw anything he might have left there in a bag when they kick his ass off the team.

  So now he was leaning against the wall waiting to be called into interim head coach, Mason Courage’s office, staring at their mascot—a crawfish holding a hockey stick in his right claw—and wondering if, just like a crawfish, he’d get his head cut off when he walked through that door.

  He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep since he flew back from Boise. All he could do was run, pace, and work out. That’s the only thing that kept him sane. Okay, maybe sane was a bit of a stretch, but he was getting by.

  Edwin Motz stepped out into the hall. “How are you holding up, Stryker?”

  “Fine. Did you get out of the bar okay?” He hadn’t thought about The Cup or Edwin. The only thing he thought about was the end of his career and Trish Reynolds. When that reporter accused her of tutoring him in exchange for sexual favors he wanted to kill the little fucker. He wouldn’t have, but he damn well would have knocked him into next week. When he grabbed the camera man to find out who Chip interviewed, he said they got the information from Trish. He hadn’t felt a thing since that first flash of pain, he felt emotionally cauterized.

  “They want to talk to us in the conference room.”

  “Us?”

  “Yeah, it’s down here.”

  Stryker turned and walked down the hall, feeling like he was headed to the gallows. “Not to be a complete asshole Edwin, but what the fuck does this have to do with you? Did something happen to The Cup that I don’t know about?”

  Edwin shook his head and pushed up his thick, oversize glasses. Man, if there was ever a guy in need of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy it was Edwin. “No, The Cup is fine. Karma protected the two of us. She certainly has a way about her.”

  “Truer words were never spoken.” He should probably call her to thank her and her brothers. He didn’t even remember getting to the airport. Someone shoved him on a rockin’ private jet, gave him a bottle of whiskey, and left him the hell alone. He supposed he owed Big Joe Walsh a thank-you and a bottle of very good whiskey.

  Edwin stopped and held the door. “Are you ready for this?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” The door opened, and he stepped through. The first person he saw was Mason Courage, whose well-deserved nickname was Rage for his temper on and off the ice. The tall, dark haired Canadian had a lot to prove, stepping in after Coach Guy Thibodeault had a heart attack couldn’t have been easy, and being the youngest head coach in the league just gave him more to prove. “Coach.”

  “Stryker, have a seat.” Rage didn’t look pissed, hell, he looked almost pleased. Something Stryker had seen only a handful of times in the three years he played for the Rajuns.

  “You remember Matilda, the head of marketing?”

  No, he didn’t, but nodded anyway.

  When the General Manager of the team—Steven Garey walked in, set down a folder filled with papers, and took a seat, Stryker knew he was done for. The GM was responsible for acquiring rights to players, negotiating contracts, as well as reassigning and dismissing players.

  It shouldn’t have come as a shock. Stryker expected this to happen since the second that asshole stuck the microphone in his face and dropped a bomb that blew up his entire world.

  Coach cleared his throat. “Does anyone want anything? Coffee, water?”

  Stryker shook his head. He just wanted them to get on with it so he could leave.

  “Well, okay then. I guess you know why we called you in here.”

  He didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe, not a fucking twitch. He learned a long time ago that if you react you lose. He probably lost anyway, but he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him squirm.

  “It came as a shock to all of us. You’ve always been an exemplary player. But if there’s anything we can do to make things easier, just let us know and we’ll make adjustments.”

  Stryker breathed and tried to connect the dots. “Excuse me, I’m not sure what you’re talking about. I take it you saw the news.”

  “Yes, and I have to say, the team you have on the ground in Boise is rather impressive. Edwin was able to stay for an extra day. He and Joe Walsh are old friends. So the two of them along with the rest of your team of spin doctors worked their magic. That’s quite a family you have.”

  He had a family?

  “You know how the team and management feels about giving back to the community. We’re always looking for opportunities to make a difference and increase our exposure.” He motioned to the head of marketing. “Matilda, why don’t you give Stryker a rough idea of what we’re thinking?”

  Matilda smiled at Stryker and passed folders around the table. “We were captivated when we heard your story, Stryker. As I’m sure you’re aware, it’s attracted the attention of the entire hockey community. Once Jessie James came to us with the raw footage of you and Riley Cooper, all of us jumped on board.”

  Stryker pulled the folder toward him but didn’t open it.

  “We’re hoping you will be the spokesman, figurehead, and driving force for this branch of our community outreach. We want to help the kids who, like you did, have great challenges, but even greater gifts. We will focus our attention on mentoring, education, hockey, and sports. We will offer mentoring to give each child a role model besides his parents, education in the form of tutoring and skills development, and physical fitness and sports to give the kids a healthy outlet for their energy and frustrations. By doing this, we not only help kids who have always struggled on their own to form a community, but encourage acceptance and reduce the stigma attached to learning disabilities, thereby reducing the bullying these kids face.”

  “Edwin and Joe Walsh have generously agreed to start a foundation, ESPN and the team also plan to contribute to the funding, time, and, talent.”

  Joe Walsh and Edwin were forming a foundation for kids like Riley? Amazing.

  “If you decide to accept our offer, we’d like you to go through media training. You’ll have to be careful to watch your language when talking to impressionable children. It would mean doing PSAs, speaking in the education community, and working with the hockey and sports teams. Hunter Kincaid has expressed interest in combining our resources and holding hockey camps. His camp for underprivileged, at risk, youth has been very successful.”

  All eyes were on him. “I still get to play hockey?”

  Rage barked out a laugh. “Yeah, what did you think, we’d cut you from the team and offer you a job?”

  That was exactly what he thought. “I just wanted to make sure.” God, he felt like an idiot. “I’m shocked and impressed. I need to find out more about it.” Like what the hell they meant about his team in Boise. “When do you nee
d an answer?”

  “As soon as possible, but we understand if you want to go back to Boise and discuss this with your family/team there. Coordination, sharing of ideas and resources, and building duplicable strategies to tackle the three branches of our initiative is key. We look forward to hearing from you.”

  Stryker stood when Matilda rose to leave.

  The GM and the Coach both rose. Coach picked up the file and rolled it into a tube. “Stryker, let us know when you reach a decision and if there’s anything you need to make things work better for you, we’re happy to do our best to accommodate you.”

  “I can’t think of anything, but if I do, I’ll let you know.” Stryker shook their hands as they left. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

  Edwin smiled, “There’s a plane waiting, I know you need to run home and pack a bag, when do you think you’ll be ready to leave?”

  He shrugged and looked at his watch, and concentrated on the length of the hands. It was almost ten o’clock. “Around one-thirty?”

  “Good, I’ll let the pilot know. Let’s meet here at one sharp.”

  “Sounds good.” As soon as Stryker heard the door snick shut, he sat down hard, and pulled out his phone and dialed the number on the card he’d been almost afraid to use. “Jessie, don’t hang up. It’s me, Stryker. I fucked up bad and I need help.”

  13

  Trish was fine—at least that’s what she told herself. It had been three days since Stryker left her standing there in tears, turned, and walked out. In reality, the countdown clock really hadn’t started until he realized he’d dodged a bullet with his career. His career was in a better position than ever. He was not only a defenseman, but the team had made him spokesperson and figurehead of a new initiative in which he would take an active role in helping kids with learning disabilities all over their community and beyond.

  The only loss he’d suffered at all, except maybe his wounded pride, was that he thought he’d lost her. Of course, she’d gone and said she was sorry, making him think she’d set him up. But as of almost twenty-four hours ago, he should have figured out that it was he himself who was responsible for the airing of his dirty boxer briefs in public—not her.

  For the last twenty-four hours, Trish counted the seconds waiting for the moment he’d come knocking at her door, tell her that he loved her, and beg forgiveness for ever thinking she could be capable of hurting him the way he was so quick to believe she had.

  She hadn’t known it at the time, but she felt as if she’d spent at least seven years waiting for Stryker. Now she was waiting for him to realize he needed her in his life. And waiting until he, not only faced his need, but mustered the confidence in her that she’d forgive him and take him back. Or, at the very least, listen to him. She could wait—compared to the seven years she’d been keeping him in the forefront of her dreams, a few more days wouldn’t make much of a difference.

  Trish had total confidence that Stryker, the bright and beautiful man that he was, would deal with his own emotional shit, either beat it out of himself or pack it back in to deal with later, and then come home to her—maybe not groveling, but at the very least, hat-in-hand, asking for forgiveness.

  The bells over the shop door jangled and Trish didn’t look up from the inventory she studied. She might have supreme confidence in Stryker, but she was definitely wavering on the amount of confidence she had as to whether he loved and missed her enough to take a chance on being rejected. When it came to declarations of love, she was the only one who copped to it. He’d never gone there, which was why her heart broke a little bit with every tick of the grandfather clock.

  “Trish, are you doing okay?” Jessie’s voice cut through her mental fog.

  Oh that’s right, someone had come in, she’d forgotten. “No, but I really want you to stay out of it, Jessie. You threatening Stryker isn’t an option. I won’t allow it.” That total confidence she claimed was wavering badly, but she’d rather not have a man who needed to be threatened and beaten into submission. “If Stryker doesn’t have the balls to come here on his own without you holding a virtual gun to his head, I’d rather be alone. But God, I’m really going to miss the sex.”

  She got no response, but then what could Jessie, Mrs. Incredibly Happily Married, say, knowing she was enjoying spectacular sex as often as she wanted? She could hardly commiserate. No, Trish would have to go to Karma for any commiseration.

  “Maybe Stryker just didn’t really love me. After all, he never came out and actually said the words. Maybe for him, it was just the convenience thing. I mean, sure he liked me and all, and sure, what guy is going to turn down sex, right? But now being with me would be anything but convenient—long distance relationships never work anyway. I’d just be setting myself up for even more heartbreak down the road.”

  “So, you’ve got it all figured out again, haven’t you?”

  She heard Stryker’s voice and wasn’t sure if she wanted to jump for joy or die of embarrassment. Embarrassment was in the lead and really gaining momentum. “Oh, God. Tell me you didn’t hear that.”

  “I heard every word. Aren’t you even going to look at me?”

  She lifted her head—Jessie was nowhere to be found, as if she’d disappeared, and there was Stryker, looking… well, okay, Stryker looked great on his worst day. But clearly, this was his worst day. For Stryker, he looked like shit. He looked like he hadn’t slept since he’d left. She knew the feeling. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin looked a little pale under the tan, then there was the way he stood—he always seemed to fill the room with his presence. He was a big guy, and he stood straight and tall, normally. Today, he almost looked a little hunched over—a little less commanding, a little more apprehensive, and not nearly as cocky as he sounded.

  “For your information, Jessie didn’t threaten me. I called her. I’m here of my own free will, balls intact, and no gun-to-the-head necessary.”

  He called Jessie? She’d known all along that Stryker was coming and didn’t give her a heads up? There were too many feelings and emotions to deal with, and since praying the Earth would open up and swallow her whole clearly wasn’t working, she had to say something because he’d heard her—every word. “I thought you were Jessie, obviously. It’s really rude to eavesdrop when it’s clear that I thought I was talking to someone other than you.”

  He moved closer and she could feel the heat that always radiated from him, even there in the air conditioned store, even through the sweater she wore over her sundress. He closed the distance between them, his arms came around her from behind and tugged her tightly against him. “God, you have no idea what a fucking turn-on it is when you go all prim and proper princess on me.”

  His erection was nestled against her lower back. She wanted to turn around and climb him, but instead she stepped away. She’d show him a prim and proper princess.

  “And you were wrong, I do love you. Hell, I knew I loved you the first time we made love, but I was too chicken shit to say anything—even after you told me. I kept waiting for you to change your mind, I guess, come to your senses, something. I’m really glad you haven’t because I’d miss a whole lot more than just great sex. Though, God knows I would miss it considerably. I’d miss you, Trish. You’re my life.”

  “Stryker?”

  He nipped the tendon on the side of her neck and she couldn’t help it, she groaned. “Quiet, let me finish. It’s not going to be long distance—the Rajuns are fine with me coordinating things between Boise and NOLA. As a matter of fact, they kind of expect it.”

  “Str-“

  “When I went back to NOLA, I realized that in the three years I’d spent there, I had no life. I didn’t have any friends outside my teammates. Hell, I didn’t even think of my apartment as home. I showed up in Boise and, within a day, I had a life, I had friends who had my back, and I had a purpose beyond hockey. You gave all that to me. Walking away from you was like cutting my heart and my soul out. You’re my life, Cher. I want you back. I want
us back. I love you. I’ll give you anything you want for one more chance at forever.”

  “Anything?”

  “Anything. Name it and it’s yours.”

  She spun around in his arms and went up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear. “Do you remember what you said the first time we made love? You threatened to tie me to the bed.”

  “Yeah, believe me. I remember.”

  “I want a twofer: makeup sex with a twist of bondage, and you. It’s always been you.”

  “On one condition, marry me. I want to tie you to me and tie you up at the same time.”

  Trish did something she thought she’d never do—she squealed.

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Yes,” She grabbed his hand and tugged him behind her. “I think there are some silk scarves upstairs.”

  <<<<>>>>

  About the Author

  Robin Kaye was born in Brooklyn, New York, and grew up in the shadow of the Brooklyn Bridge next door to her Sicilian grandparents.

  Living with an extended family that's a cross between Gilligan's Island and The Sopranos, minus the desert isle and illegal activities, explains both her comedic timing and the cast of quirky characters in her books.

  She's lived in half a dozen states from Idaho to Florida, but the romance of Brooklyn has never left her heart.

  She currently resides in Maryland with her husband, three children, two dogs, and a three-legged cat with attitude.

  www.robinkayewrites.com/

  Free Agent

  by

  Robin Covington

  For Karen.

  You are missed every day.

  Chapter 1