“Marina.”
Bronson’s head shot up. “Marina?”
“Yeah, the infamous figure skater. Marina Sanders.” Drew rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.
“Huh?” Bronson was a man of few words. He leaned back and watched Drew. As usual, his expression was inscrutable.
“You know. SkateGate? The scandal at the Winter Games four years ago?”
Bronson narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No clue. Don’t follow that crap.”
“You really don’t know? What the fuck. Have you been living in a cave or something?”
“Yeah, at times.” Bronson wasn’t joking. He didn’t know. Four years ago, he’d probably been on some mission in the Middle East with his team, more concerned with staying alive than paying attention to figure skating drama.
“You wanna me to fill you in?”
“Sure, why the fuck not.” Bronson put his hand over his mouth to suppress a yawn. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned forward. Despite his tiredness, his eyes sparked with interest.
“Marina was a former Bronze medalist, and my mom’s most talented skater. She left my mom for another coach after her first winter Games. Fast forward four years, she’s in gold medal position but has to nail her long program to seal it. She goes clubbing the night before with other team members, including my mom’s newest prodigy. The group got wasted, and reporter caught it all on camera. The next day she had the worst performance of her career and blew not just the gold but any chance of a medal. Her teammates blamed her because none of them medaled, either. It blew up all over social media and the press. She was disgraced and went from America’s darling to America’s villain in less than twenty-four hours. She was suspended indefinitely from figure skating competition and the others were suspended for a year.”
“I see.” Bronson took a long pull on his beer and studied Drew with his usual intensity.
“Who does that? Who blows a chance of a lifetime getting drunk the one night they should be on best behavior?”
“Hockey players do it all the time. You’ve done it.”
“Not before a big game. Not like that.”
Bronson’s left brow spiked. He planted his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “And Marina’s presence is a problem for you how?”
“The connection to my mom.”
“It’s not like you had any say in this. You can’t control who the Sockeyes choose to hire. Your dad might think he can, but he can’t. Where does your mom stand?”
“She never mentions the entire mess. The subject is forbidden in our house. There’s more.”
“OK.”
“My mom’s pupil, Stacy, was my girlfriend. She dumped me, went into hiding, and struggled with depression and drugs afterward.”
“So you’re the one with the unresolved issues?”
“I don’t think so. Stacy’s rejection did sting. I thought I was in love with her, but I got over it fast enough.”
Bronson arched a brow and signaled for another beer.
“I did. I moved on, but I don’t know how my parents will react. Why do I let them do this to me? I’m twenty-six years old. I should be able to function without my parents’ constant interference.”
His buddy studied him meaningfully over the rim of his glass. “You should, but you know why you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do. It’ll come with time, but I love them, and I know they love me. They’re overprotective because of what happened to David.”
Unblinking, Bronson stared at him but said nothing.
“I feel like I have to live my life and David’s because of what happened.”
“I don’t think you’re living your life. You’re living your brother’s.”
Drew shrugged. Didn’t matter. His life wasn’t his own. The second his brother had taken a bullet meant for him, his life had changed irrevocably. Over the years, he’d come to terms with his fate. Until lately. Now he was resentful, angry, and guilt-ridden.
“So, this Marina. You interested in her?”
“Oh, fuck no. She’s a coach, for starters.”
“Yeah?” Bronson studied Drew with his unnervingly penetrating gaze.
“I’m trying to lessen the drama in my life, not increase it exponentially. Marina might be gorgeous with a killer body, but she has too much baggage.”
“There is that.”
“I’m not looking for a relationship, and I doubt she’s into hookups.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m sure of it.” But Drew wasn’t sure of anything. There’d been something between them. Something he hadn’t felt in years. Not since Stacy. If he’d ever felt this same uncontrollable need with Stacy. He’d lusted after her. God, how he’d lusted with the enthusiasm of a twenty-two-year-old horny male. Maybe what disturbed him the most was a niggling fear this Marina thing wasn’t just hormones.
He’d hated Marina after the Games and blamed her like everyone else had. Those had been dark times for them, and he’d be all kinds of a fool to dredge up all that shit once again.
Eventually, he’d let go of his anger. He didn’t blame Marina for what happened. She’d been young and invincible. He’d done some dumb things himself at twenty-two. Besides, he’d known Stacy pretty well, and she’d been a wild one. No one had held a gun to her head and made her do it. There’d been several occasions she’d led him down the wrong path, and he’d blindly followed. Regardless, he didn’t trust or particularly care for Marina, other than this misplaced sexual attraction most likely caused by some deep-seated psychological need or something stupid like that. He’d gone a long time without a relationship, while his teammates succumbed one by one to the love of a good woman.
That time during the Games was a blur to him. Stacy had dumped him over a text message and refused all contact and emerged a couple years later as the star of a reality show centered around the cutthroat world of skating competitions. Stacy never regained her championship form and last he heard was a married mother.
Drew hadn’t had a relationship since. Just hook-ups.
His attraction to Marina might be disastrous if he followed through with it—of which there was zero chance in hell. At least he was feeling something, and feeling anything was better than the numbness he’d lived with for too long.
Chapter 4—Slammed against the Boards
Drew pulled into his garage past one a.m. His father’s car wasn’t parked in his driveway, and he breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t need a lecture from dear old Dad, nor did he have the patience for the man’s unrelenting criticism tonight.
He walked into the house his mother had picked out for him. Once again, hit by how much he disliked this place. He preferred a more private location than this gated community with monstrous houses practically on top of each other. Less yardwork, his mother had told him. Only Drew liked yardwork. If his mother had taken the time to listen to what he wanted, she’d have known that, but both his parents preferred to spend their time telling him what he should want. He supposed they meant well, but they were smothering him.
He sighed and shut the door from the garage into the house, walked down a tastefully decorated hall and into a family room with gleaming dark wood floors and stark white furniture. He wasn’t in any mood to sleep after the day he’d had. Too many odd feelings and too many confusing thoughts banged around in his head. He’d been better off with indifference than this feeling something was about to blow up, and he’d be collateral damage.
He stopped short when a figure rose from his couch. His breath caught in his throat. He fisted his hands, ready to do battle if necessary. When he recognized the familiar silhouette of his father several feet away, he relaxed for a moment until the stiffness of his father’s stance caused him to tense again.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Stafford’s voice was slightly slurred, and he swayed unsteadily on his feet.
Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.
“Where’s your car? I di
dn’t know you were here.”
“I hid it. You’ve been avoiding me. Why? What did I do?”
Drew said nothing.
“Damn it, Drew, you’re the only son I have left.” Stafford sank back down into one of Drew’s plush leather recliners and gestured impatiently for his son to take the one nearest him. Drew ignored him and chose a seat across the room. His expression would be harder to see from across the room in the dim.
“I heard an alarming rumor today. Tell me it’s not true.”
Drew stared at his tightly clasped hands in his lap. “It’s true.”
“What the fuck was Parker thinking to hire someone like her? Has he lost his ever-loving mind?”
“Possibly.” Drew shrugged. He wasn’t getting into an argument with his father tonight. He was tired and cranky. God knows, any kind of disagreement between the two of them would not end well considering his mood and his father’s drinking. Hell, they never ended well when they were both stone-cold sober and Drew was in a reasonably good mood.
“I want you to stay away from her. She’s bad news.”
Drew snorted and was rewarded with one of his father’s most intimidating glares, not that intimidation worked. Guilt was usually his father’s weapon of choice to keep Drew in line.
“I’ll have to make a visit to the Sockeyes front office and have a discussion with Gorst and Parker. They’ll listen to me, and she needs to go, especially if they want to re-sign you after this season. Then again, if you keep playing like crap, there isn’t a chance in hell they’ll be interested or any other team for that—”
“Dad, I’m tired.” Drew ran a hand through his unruly hair. “Can we talk about this another time? Or even better, not at all.”
“If you didn’t stay out so late, you wouldn’t be tired. You’re about to start a playoff run and you need to take it seriously. Your brother never stayed out late during playoffs. He was dedicated and driven. Nothing like you. Your attitude is shit.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Drew said wearily. He wasn’t in the mood for this. He stood and made it a few steps before his father’s next words brought him up short.
“Why are you doing this?”
Drew squinted at this father in the shadows. “Doing what?”
“Being so obstinate and ungrateful.”
“I’m always this way. I take after you.”
Stafford actually chuckled. “What are we going to do about Marina?”
Drew blew out a long breath and turned slightly. “Nothing. Not a damn thing. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t make team personnel decisions. I’m a player, not a front office guy.”
“And you’re a struggling player at that. If your brother were still alive, he’d be as worried about you as I am. Why don’t we shoot some pucks tomorrow? I can give you some pointers like old times.”
Drew shook his head, guilt churning in his gut. “I’m going to bed. Lock the door on your way out. We’ll talk tomorrow, Dad, when we’re both feeling better.” He squared his shoulders and forced himself not to rush from the room.
“Drew, we need to fix this. Don’t dishonor your brother’s memory. He died for you.” Stafford’s last few words were almost lost in a strangled sob.
Drew froze for a heartbeat then he stiffly walked onward, up the steps, and into the master suite. He locked the door behind him. Crossing the large room, he leaned his forehead against the cool glass of the sliding wall of glass and closed his eyes.
His body shook, and he fought back the hot and painful tears.
* * * *
On Tuesday, Marina boarded the team plane for the trip to Los Angeles. Tomorrow they’d play L.A. for the first game in a best of seven series. Coach liked to fly the night before so the guys could settle in, and money was no object to Ethan.
The team owner was a native Seattleite. His great-great-etc. grandfather was a pioneer who made the family’s fortune with boats and timber. Ethan bolstered that fortune in his late twenties by having the golden touch when it came to tech investments.
Ethan’s Canadian uncle transferred his love of all things hockey to his nephew. Marina understood Ethan was a good amateur hockey player himself. He’d had a dream of one day bringing the sport he loved to Seattle. Four years ago, he’d bought a floundering Florida team and painstakingly built it into the formidable unit they were today. Ethan hired progressive, young coaches and signed players with chips on their shoulders and something to prove. Because of him, she’d been given a chance.
In the short while she’d been part of the team, she’d developed a fondness for a few of the guys and tenuous, though positive, relationships with most of them. They wanted to win, and she wanted to contribute to their success. For that reason, they put aside their personal opinions of her and her figure skating infamy. There were still a few men who glared at her as if she were the devil herself. She tried to ignore them.
Kaley was traveling with the team, and Marina settled into a seat next to her, grateful for the company. The boss liked to reward his employees, and this plane carried more than the usual team and staff.
“I’m so glad you’re on this trip.” Marina reached for a bottle of water tucked in her large purse, twisted the top off, and took a few swallows. She glanced up as Drew stalked by. His face was a mask of cold indifference. He walked stiffly up the aisle and took an empty seat, spreading his stuff across the other seat in a clear message that he didn’t want any company for this flight.
“What’s his problem?” Marina leaned close to Kaley so no one else could hear.
“I swear, that guy has been Mr. Personality all season long. If you need someone to throw cold water on a good party, he’s your man.”
Marina could see Drew clearly as he sat one row to the left of her. He’d leaned back his seat, put on sunglasses and headphones, and ignored the boisterous shouts of his teammates. The rest of the guys were in great spirits, joking, laughing, even singing. Not Drew. He was in his own little world. Even in his current surly mood, he was attractive in a dangerous, don’t-touch-me way. Marina had always been critical of women who fell for men who were projects. Now she was doing the same thing herself. She couldn’t get him out of her mind, as much as she tried. When one of Drew’s teammates glanced at her, she worried he could guess what she was thinking. When Coach asked how Drew was doing, she read more into it. She’d never been particularly paranoid, but this forbidden attraction immersed her in guilt.
Kaley was staring at her, and Marina managed a smile.
“You’ve been with the team for a long time. Has Drew always been like this?”
“No, he used to be a partier. A good-time guy. Rumor is he’s gay, though. You rarely hear of him with a woman.”
Marina nodded, though she was 99 percent certain Drew wasn’t gay, not judging by the way he looked at her. “That could explain his attitude if he’s frustrated with his situation.”
“Yeah, or it could be dealing with his dad that has him wound so tight.”
“But you said this was recent.”
“Yeah, he had a bad concussion and sprain last year. Missed a month at the end of the season. He came back a different guy,” Kaley said.
“Maybe he’s worried about head trauma. Can’t blame him for that. Those helmets don’t offer much protection when it comes down to it.” Marina had always admired hockey players’ guts. Those guys could take a hit that would’ve landed any other athlete on the bench for the rest of the game. A hockey player got up and went back at it. She understood playing through pain as a former Olympic athlete and respected their grit.
“He’s always been a little different, almost like he’s living someone else’s life, not his.”
“Maybe he is. Maybe he’s living his brother’s.” Marina’s statement brought about a surge of understanding. Her parents had died in a head-on collision with a drunk driver. To honor their memory, she’d skated her heart out in her first Olympics a few weeks later. She’d spent the next four years alternating betwe
en wanting to make them proud and wanting to block out the pain by partying like a reality star.
Kaley thoughtfully studied Drew for a moment and nodded. “I never thought of it that way, but you should hear the crap his father says to him. He’s a manipulative bastard, and I can’t stand the man. Not to mention he’s propositioned me more than once when he’s come into the office. Doesn’t seem to care who hears. Almost like it’s his due.”
“I doubt he means it. His wife is stunning, and an incredible woman.”
“Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean—” Kaley glanced up as Ethan stopped to speak with her about a couple hot prospects for next year. Typical Ethan, the guy was always juggling a dozen balls and never lost control of any of them. Kaley excused herself to sit with Ethan and work on a few things.
Marina’s gaze slid to Drew once again. He was asleep or faking being asleep, oblivious to the charged atmosphere on the plane. The team was on a high and looking forward to tomorrow night’s playoff game.
Dark stubble grew on his cheeks and jaw, leaving her to wonder if he’d refuse to shave like so many hockey players did once they started the playoffs. She didn’t mind a little a scruff. In fact, it was sexy as hell. He shifted in his seat, giving her a view of his profile. His lips were drawn in a grim line. If she touched her lips to his, would they tighten or soften and welcome her mouth, even her tongue?
God, she had to stop thinking like a horny teenager.
Marina leaned her seat back and closed her eyes. She hadn’t slept last night, not knowing what to expect on this road trip, not only when it came to Drew, but the press.
She’d been sheltered by the team within the practice facility, but once she stepped off this plane, she’d be back in the spotlight. It’d been four years, maybe no one cared anymore.
If only she could be so lucky.
* * * *
The team plane landed in L.A. and they disembarked into a private terminal and onto the buses waiting outside. Within minutes they were at the hotel, and their peace and quiet was broken.
Shot on Goal: Seattle Sockeyes Hockey (Game On in Seattle Book 11) Page 4