Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

by Skye Jordan

  “Must be fresh,” Eden said with the confidence of someone in the medical field. She’d recently completed her paramedic training and had met Beckett on this very ice because of an injury. “Sometimes a hematoma can take a few hours to show through the skin as a bruise.”

  The end-of-game buzzer sounded with another round of playoff wins for the Rough Riders, winning them the division title and pushing them closer to the Cup

  “Come on.” Eden pulled on Mia’s arm. “Let’s go stake our claim at Top Shelf.”

  Mia started from the stadium with Eden, but she had mixed feelings about seeing Rafe tonight for a dozen different reasons. Last night had not been what she’d expected. Or even what she’d wanted. In fact, last night had done absolutely nothing to relieve her desire for Rafe. Nor had it put sex with him into the ordinary, I-can-get-that-anywhere category. And now, after what was, hands down, the most intense, most loving, most all-around amazing night of her life, she had to admit that sex with the man she loved was very, very different from sex with someone she cared for.

  And that was a huge problem when she was headed across the country in a little over a week.

  One thing was sure, she’d stuck to her pattern of screwing things up with the men in her life.

  But she should go. If for no other reason than to put even footing beneath them now that their night was over. He’d been sleeping so hard when she’d left for breakfast, she hadn’t wanted to wake him. She’d also known waking him would have made her late. And watching him sleep, knowing it would probably be the last time in her life she’d ever have that level of intimacy with him, had torn her up inside.

  So she should go to Top Shelf, say hello, talk a little, and show him that she was holding to her agreement. That there was no reason for them to feel awkward around each other. Maybe, with time and distance, her feelings for him would dim. Maybe, someday, she could look back on these years of unrequited love with fond memories. She’d learned from her childhood that time might not eradicate pains from the past, but it did dull them.

  As she and Eden moved through the crowd toward the exit doors and spilled onto the blocked streets of downtown DC, Mia wondered about Rafe’s black eye. He’d never had issues with any of his teammates. Even as much as Kilbourne irritated Rafe, he’d always been respectful and loyal. While he fought on the ice, he’d never fought off it. Not even in high school. Tate, on the other hand…

  But Rafe would never have told Tate about him and Mia. Rafe cared too much about Tate’s friendship and Joe’s respect. Rafe cared too much about his teammates and their relationship and getting his team to the Cup.

  Rafe cared about everyone and everything before himself. So that black eye hadn’t come from Tate, because that would have meant he’d wanted Mia enough to risk Tate’s fury, Joe’s disappointment, and his team’s position in the standings.

  And one thing Mia had learned for sure over the last year was that while she knew Rafe cared about her, she also knew with equal certainty Rafe would never put her first.

  Yeah, she should go to the bar. Stay until Rafe got there. Let him see her unfazed by the puck bunnies hanging all over him. Unbothered by the way he turned back into the playboy he’d been since he hit puberty.

  Once she and Eden hit the street and cleared the crowd, Mia’s gaze landed on Top Shelf’s front door. The sight of the familiar postgame hot spot pounded Mia with a sense of loss so unexpected, all her ideas changed on a dime. She wasn’t ready to let go of their night or of Rafe. She wasn’t ready to let go of her friends or the family she’d developed within the Rough Riders. She wasn’t ready to let go of any of it. And her stomach flipped and rattled with nerves.

  “Isn’t this weather gorgeous?” Eden said, referencing the perfect night. “God, I love spring in DC.”

  “Eden,” she said, “I think I’m going to head back to Tate’s and finish cutting out the pattern for Faith’s dress.”

  “Oh,” Eden complained and linked arms with Mia. “Just come for one drink. And about that dress… What would I have to do to get one?”

  Mia pushed out a laugh, trying to pretend her heart hadn’t turned into one big knot.

  “Really,” Eden said, squeezing Mia’s arm. “I need one way more than Faith. She’s got all kinds of cute dresses to wear to these dinners and parties. I, on the other hand, have worn a uniform every day for years. I only have a few cute things from several years ago, and I am the one hooking you up with Beckett’s mom and her sewing machine.” She gave Mia her sweetest smile. “Please?”

  Mia smiled, but a piece of her heart broke off as they stepped into Top Shelf and the magnitude of all that she’d be losing in a week crashed down on her. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  The Rough Riders’ favorite postgame haunt was crowded. And as soon as the guys got here, this place would go from crowded to crazy.

  Mia took a deep breath and sucked up her reality. She’d made a choice to better her life by taking this job. When she didn’t think about what she was losing, Mia was excited about her future. Well, at least her professional future. And with the hours this new job would demand, that was really all her life would be about for the foreseeable future. Given what had happened with Rafe, that setup would work out best—because she couldn’t fathom wanting another man.

  Mia and Eden found seats at the bar, and by the time she was sipping her wine, Mia had assured herself she could pretend for an hour. If it would settle her relationship with Rafe into a comfortable groove so she could leave on solid footing with him. Yeah, she could pretend.

  Mia let her worries slip away while she enjoyed Eden’s tales of her new job with a local fire department. And by the time the team flooded in, Mia had convinced herself she could handle this.

  The Rough Riders were greeted to applause and cheers and twittering DC urbanites. Young, beautiful women flocked to the guys for autographs and photos, most hoping to land one of the sexy hockey studs for a few hours, if not the night.

  This was how Rafe was treated after every game. Eighty-two games a year. Not to mention the accolades they received during team, sponsor and charity events. Mia knew firsthand how hard these guys worked, so she knew they all deserved every bit of attention. But seeing those perfect, young puck bunnies dancing around the guys, all but offering themselves to whichever one would have them, instantly deflated the self-confidence Mia had drummed up to face Rafe.

  She laughed softly at herself with a shake of her head. God, she’d been so stupid to think she could handle any of this on a level other than sister and friend.

  “I know,” Eden said, misreading Mia’s humor. “If they only realized how desperate they looked.”

  That was when Rafe walked through the door—in a charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and deep blue tie, loose at his neck. His hair was still wet, his jaw unshaven. While the door closed behind him, Rafe’s gaze scanned the bar, and when he found Mia, his gaze locked. But he didn’t smile.

  Mia’s stomach surged and twisted. Her head filled with his murmurs from the night before.

  “How did it take us so long to figure this out?”

  “You feel better than every fantasy I’ve ever had about you.”

  “Can’t get enough, baby. God, can’t get enough.”

  He broke their gazes when someone called to him, and Mia got a better look at his eye. That bruise and the cut just beneath had come from a right cross. She’d seen the results of enough hockey fights to know.

  “Ouch,” Eden said, her gaze also on Rafe. “That looks worse than it did under the stadium lights.”

  “That’s because his helmet was hiding it.”

  She searched the crowd for Tate, and she found her brother merrily chatting with a mixed group of fans and players. No bruises or cuts on his handsome face. Just as she was about to look away, Tate caught her eye and lifted his chin in greeting. Then his gaze flicked toward the door—toward Rafe—before returning to her, his smile gone. With an expression Mia couldn’t quite rea
d, Tate returned to his conversation.

  A burn radiated through her torso. She cut a look back to Rafe. He’d been greeted with rousing applause by the entire bar. Friends and fans and teammates said everything from “What got into you tonight?” to “Whatever you did to play like that, just keep doing it until we’re playin’ for the Cup.” And now he was busy with fans and puck bunnies, leaving Mia to wonder and worry. But worse—hope.

  Even the slightest possibility that Rafe might have confessed to Tate gave Mia goose bumps. Not just because the thought of continuing this thing with Rafe thrilled her—heart and soul—but because that meant he’d finally put her first. He’s stood up to Tate for her. She’d meant enough to him to fight to be with her.

  Her stomach fluttered, and emotion rushed in. No other man had ever done that. Not the father who’d abandoned her, not any college professor who’d supposedly mentored her, not any of her boyfriends, some who’d professed to love her.

  Tate took care of her, but it wasn’t the same. From the time Joe had discovered Tate’s existence and taken on his role of father with 200 percent enthusiasm, her brother had constantly been compensating Mia for getting stuck with pond scum as a sperm donor. But he’d never given anything up for her. He’d never fought for her—unless that black eye was his doing.

  Beckett came toward them, paused at the bar, and wrapped an arm around Eden’s waist. She congratulated him on his win, and they talked a little about the game.

  “Mia and I can’t figure out how Rafe got the black eye,” Eden said. “Is he okay? Did the team doc look at it?”

  Beckett’s expression shifted into concern and annoyance. “I don’t know what got into those two today.”

  “What two?” Mia asked.

  “Your brother and Rafe. Rafe came in late this morning—no big deal. One minute I’m telling him his ass is going to get fined, the next Tate’s whaling at him over my shoulder. Dumb shits.”

  Eden was both amused and puzzled. “Why?”

  “Fuckin’ Kilbourne.”

  Mia’s stomach chilled.

  “Oh God,” Eden said. “It will be a miracle if that guy makes it through the end of the season without a major injury. What did he do now?”

  Beckett shot Mia an apologetic glance. “Started a stupid rumor about Mia and Rafe. I don’t think it would have bothered Tate coming from anyone else. He would have just told them to shut their mouths. But Kilbourne gets under everyone’s skin. I think Tate just took out his frustration on Rafe.”

  Mia’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. It had been Cole who’d told Tate, not Rafe.

  “That man’s stupidity is why I have job security,” Eden said, shooting a that’s-unbelievable look at Eden, then asked Beckett. “What did Rafe say?”

  “Say about what?”

  Rafe’s voice startled Mia’s heart. He came up behind Beckett and glanced at Mia, then Eden.

  “Your eye,” Eden said. “About Tate hitting you.”

  Rafe’s gaze returned to Mia. “I think the stress is getting to him.”

  Eden took a minute to look at the cut and probe the area. When Rafe winced, Beckett pulled Eden away. “Enough, Miss Nightingale. It’s just a black eye. He’ll live. I promise.”

  He stole Eden away to a quiet corner, and Mia was left facing Rafe. But he remained a good five feet away and didn’t make any move to close the distance.

  Mia didn’t know what to say or where to start. And now she wasn’t sure where her footing lay either. “Congratulations on your trick and your win. You killed it tonight.”

  “Thanks.” But he was uncharacteristically subdued, his gaze guarded, and his eyes immediately dropped away in a look Mia could only identify as guilt. The idea that he regretted their night together hammered her heart.

  He drifted to the bar, leaning his elbow there, and ordered a beer from the bartender. A couple of puck bunnies tried to start conversations, but he brushed them off after he gave them an autograph.

  Once she and Rafe were in another tiny bubble of privacy, she worked up the courage to ask him what was wrong—beyond the obvious black eye—but Tate pushed through the crowd and stepped up to the bar. He looked at Rafe, then Mia, and she felt the whole atmosphere shift. A new tension weighted the air.

  “Can we talk?” Tate asked in a way that made her stomach fold. She suddenly wished she hadn’t come after all. Slipping off the stool, she said, “Let’s talk tonight when you get home. I’m tired, I’m going to—”

  “It’s important.” His tone alone told her it wasn’t something good either. When she chanced a glance at Rafe, he was facing the bar, leaning on the shiny wood with his forearms, both hands clasped around his beer like it was a life preserver. His expression was tight, and his jaw jumped.

  “I’m sure it’s something that can wait—” she started.

  “I know you’re a grown woman,” he spoke over her, and Mia braced for combat. “And I know you’ve lived on your own in a big city. But when you’re staying with me and you’re not going to come home, could you at least call so I don’t worry?”

  An absurd laugh stuttered out of her mouth. “I’m not sure if that’s sweet or insulting. Do you want to apply the same rules to your schedule?”

  “I heard you were with Kilbourne, of all people,” he went on, growing more forceful. “Then I heard you went home with Rafe, and look how that turned out.”

  He leaned back and gestured toward Rafe, who cut an angry look at Tate. “Shut up. This wasn’t her fault.”

  Oh, but it was. At least partially. And that both hurt and infuriated her. “Let me get this straight.” She turned narrowed eyes on her brother. “You punched your best friend based on something Kilbourne said? Kilbourne?”

  “You didn’t come home last night, which you never do,” Tate said, growing even more aggravated. “Rafe came in late, which he never does. Kilbourne was in bed with the woman Rafe had been talking about banging for a week, but then dumps her after you come on to him.”

  That felt like another knife in her stomach. Beyond Tate, Rafe closed his eyes and dropped his head in shame. Which meant it was true. And that meant Mia had been a convenient second choice to Baywatch when she’d turned into a talking head.

  Mia had gotten exactly what she’d come for. She had no right to be upset, yet she’d never felt so hurt. She had no right to be angry, yet fury roiled in her gut. So while her brain was telling her “congratulations, your plan worked,” her heart was telling her “congratulations, you’ve not only damaged two of the best relationships you’ve ever had, you’ve screwed yourself over in the process”.

  Tate threw his arms out to the side. “What did you expect me to think?”

  Mia snapped. She leaned toward Tate, looking him directly in the eye. Because even if she’d made a mistake with Rafe, she didn’t deserve to have Tate treating her like an ass.

  “I expect you to think Kilbourne’s an idiot,” she shot back. “I expect you to ask before you attack. I expect you to treat both Rafe and me with more respect. You don’t get to play that double standard, Tate, and I’m sick of it.”

  “Guys.” Rafe cut in, his gaze darting between them, then around the bar. “Let’s not do this here.”

  The look on his face told Mia he didn’t want to do it at all. He wanted Mia to drop it. And she realized she was standing here, fighting for them. She was laying the groundwork for Tate to realize he doesn’t get to dictate her life or Rafe’s life or whether or not they choose to sleep together. But Rafe didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He wanted what he always wanted, to make Tate happy. To hell with Mia’s feelings.

  “It pisses me off that I have to do this at all,” she told Rafe. “But I’ve let it go on too long already. Did you even stand up for yourself or did you just let him walk all over you?”

  “He told me it was all fake.” Tate’s words snapped Mia’s head back toward her brother. “But that’s not the point. You know you can’t mess with team members. We’ve talke
d about this. You’re my sister. You know if you mess around with team members, it screws with the dynamic. You know how fragile that is and how important it is. Especially now. We’re almost to the Cup, Mia. The fucking Cup. Of all the times to start screwing with my team—”

  “I’m not screwing with your precious team.” She yelled the words even though they weren’t completely true. Several of the guys and a few people at the bar looked their way. “And don’t give me that fragile bullshit. You love to talk about how professional you are, so act like it. Professionals work together even when they don’t agree, even when they don’t like each other. Professionals put their personal feelings about each other aside to get the job done. Did you not notice how well you all played tonight? Like you were on motherfucking fire? Don’t tell me I’m screwing with your team.”

  “Tate,” Rafe muttered beside him without meeting her eyes. “Drop it, for God’s sake. I told you you’re making something out of nothing.”

  Nothing.

  Fake.

  The words cut at her. Worse, they opened the door to uncertainty. And Mia wondered for the first time if everything he’d done last night had been an act. The same act he used with all women. If what she’d thought was so special had actually just been Rafe’s MO. And that—for him—it had all been fake. The fact that he didn’t step in to straighten Tate out certainly said everything Rafe wouldn’t. It just wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

  Mia was closer than she’d ever been to completely losing her shit. In public. While they were both with their teammates surrounded by fans. But she pulled on the composure she’d developed under pressure in her industry and drew herself up.

  “I guess it’s good to know exactly where I stand with both of you.” She couldn’t do anything about how Rafe felt, but she could change how Tate treated her. “Let me be perfectly clear, Tate. I am a grown woman, and I make my own decisions. They don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to like them. But you do have to respect me. And that means showing it, not just saying it.”