“But that’s not fair,” Emma said. “What should she have done?”
Her father shrugged. “Everyone has their own opinion about what she should have done and what she should do,” he said. “Honestly, she sort of screwed herself over by flip flopping – playing him and then not playing him – but I have to admire her for sticking Thorpe back in the net despite the animosity the crowd gave her. My theory is that action right there shows that she doesn’t think Thorpe killed her grandfather.”
“Why?” Emma furrowed her brow, looking up at her father. She wasn’t quite sure where she stood when it came to whether she believed Thorpe actually killed Ken, but she didn’t think that Seraphina’s choice to play him meant that she believed he was completely innocent. How could she possibly know that? “Maybe she’s just playing him because he’s the best. She’s putting the team before her personal issues.”
“I don’t think so,” her father replied with a knowing smile. “Ken was close to both of his granddaughters. He lived for them and even though I didn’t interact with them personally, anybody could see that they felt the exact same way about him. Besides each other, the girls didn’t have anybody else besides Ken. Their uncles are notorious for being bums, though their personal issues have never come to light. I don’t care how good Thorpe is in goal; if Seraphina truly believed there was a possibility Thorpe killed her grandfather, she wouldn’t play him. Not someone who took the only real family she had left, aside from her sister, of course. But she did.”
“Why did she pull him out then?” Emma asked as her father continued to flip through the paper. “If Seraphina didn’t believe Thorpe did it and he’s the best, why did she pull him?”
“Probably what we discussed last night,” her father said, though his attention was elsewhere. “The whole business aspect of owning a hockey team can’t be completely forgotten by personal belief. People were protesting and booing. If they stop coming to games and buying merchandise, that’s a lot of money the Gulls lose, which normally goes into the players’ salaries. And if the players can’t be paid, they’re going to play somewhere else.”
“Okay, then why did she play him again?” Emma was confused. Even if her father’s logic was sound and everything he was saying was true, it didn’t make anything less complicated. If her father was right about pulling Thorpe, it didn’t make sense that she play him. “If she’s going to lose money and everything.”
“I can only speculate but I think that putting him in again showed that she is committed to his innocence,” Jeremy said, flipping the page. “And if she believes in him, the fans should believe in him. It also gives the team a lot of motivation, knowing that their owner is going to back them unless proven otherwise. Like a said, the girl has balls. She’s risking loss in revenue, in fans, but she’s taking a stand and not looking back. I kind of wish she didn’t have to learn it by pulling Thorpe in the second, but maybe it’s better that way.”
Emma nodded, trying to understand everything her father said. It was hard to pretend to be interested in something she didn’t care about, and even though hockey wasn’t exactly on the top of her favorite list, she found that she wanted to learn the ins and outs of the sport. And she found that she was fascinated by Seraphina Hanson and what she was going through, and how she held herself with such... Perhaps grace was the right word. And to have to make those decisions with the entire world watching while dealing with the loss of her grandfather... Like her father said, the girl had balls.
“Oh my God.”
Emma looked up at her father once again, this time waiting for him to speak. He had this habit of commenting aloud on whatever he was reading. Knowing that his daughter sat directly across from him, Jeremy would certainly share what caused his hushed outburst eventually.
“Listen to this, Em,” he said. His eyes lit up and he was smiling with obvious excitement. Suddenly, his face changed and the smile suddenly disappeared from his face. “I don’t know why I’m smiling. This news isn’t great, but I’m fascinated by the turn of events this case is taking.”
“What are you talking about?” Emma asked, her patience suddenly slipping through her fingers.
“Oh. Sorry.” Jeremy shook his head once more and brought his eyes over to his daughter. “Apparently, the police have just released more information about the suspects in Ken’s murder, and actually listed a primary suspect. If we had a television in here, I’m sure that it would be breaking news. It isn’t Thorpe that’s number one, though they do admit they’re looking into him. It’s Alan Brown. His son.”
“What?” Emma asked. She wasn’t normally surprised, but this actually shocked her.
“Yeah,” Jeremy said, that excited sparkle back in his eye. “They don’t give any information except that they have a reasonable amount of evidence to suspect him above everyone else. But it’s not a secret that Alan wanted his father to sell the team.”
“Why?”
“Alan has troubles,” Jeremy said. “I don’t know what they are, but they’re there. And selling the team to someone else would generate a lot of money for him. If Ken chose to give him any.”
“That’s so sad,” Emma murmured. “I don’t understand –“ She stopped herself from saying anything. Instead, her eyes focused on the wooden table and without any particular reason, began to pick at the smooth surface.
Because, in fact, Emma did understand. She understood better than many people. Family wasn’t supposed to do that to other family, but not everybody followed the rules. Her mother didn’t and it sounded like Seraphina’s uncle didn’t either. Emma had no idea why her mother left, but to have an uncle whose own greed outweighed his family was something surely the Hanson girls were affected by. And now, to learn that not only was Ken’s death ruled as a homicide, but that the main suspect was her uncle? How could they handle something like this?
Jeremy seemed to be able to read his daughter’s mind because he reached over and gave Emma a gentle squeeze on the hand. Thankfully, he knew her well enough not to say anything, and for a moment, the two sat in a comfortable silence.
“But I thought you read somewhere that Ken was going to sell the team,” Emma said. Luckily, her voice came out normal, as though she hadn’t just thought about why her mother abandoned her. Again. “Why would Alan kill his father if Ken was going to do what Alan wanted?”
“Again, just because Ken was going to sell the team didn’t mean Alan would get anything from it,” her father pointed out. “Now, his motive, if he did do it, is most likely financial. I would love to get my hands on Ken’s will to see just how much money he gave to his sons verses his granddaughters. Obviously Alan didn’t get the hockey team, which says a lot. He gives his recently graduated granddaughter the team over his grown son? Why? Ken had to know Alan’s problems and didn’t want to enable him which could enrage a guy who cares more about money than his family. And I’m not entirely convinced Ken was going to retire. He loves this game, this team. He seemed coherent and there. No way he just sells it, especially if he gives Seraphina his team after his death. And he never made an official statement. Ken wanting to sell the team is all speculation.”
Emma nodded but didn’t say anything. She continued to pick at the table, allowing everything to sink in.
“So,” Jeremy said, finished with the paper. He waited a moment until Emma looked up in order to make eye contact with her, to show her that she had his full attention. “Are you coming to the game tonight?” He took a sip of his coffee, never breaking that contact.
“Yeah,” Emma said, a telling smile curling onto her face.
“I’m glad.” He grinned. “You seem to want to know a lot more about hockey. Knowing you, you’ll probably go buy a book about it and read it in an hour, and on top of that, remember everything about it. Is there any particular reason for this sudden craving of knowledge?”
He was teasing her, she knew, but that didn’t stop the blush from caressing her cheeks. It was like her father knew Kyle Und
erwood was the reason. Which was not something she was willing to admit to herself. She wasn’t some adolescent girl who went over the moon because the cute, popular jock talked to her. She was Emma Winsor, scholarship student, dancer. Boys didn’t factor in her world just yet.
Ugh, she was screwed unless she didn’t retain some sort of control over herself.
“No major reason,” she said, carefully avoiding her father’s eyes. She continued to pick, pick, pick at it more and more though there wasn’t anything there to be picked at. “I have a little more time and I thought I might as well learn about it now.”
His smile only showed that he knew she was lying to him, and perhaps he knew the real reason behind the sudden fascination with his favorite sport, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he finished his coffee and stood up. “Well, I for one am not complaining.” He slid on his blazer and his smile was suddenly harmless, genuine. “Have a good first day at school. I’ll see you later tonight, okay?”
And then, before he left the dining room, he winked.
Chapter 4
“The protestors came back,” Emma stated. Her voice was flat but it was clear that she was surprised.
Her father smirked as he followed his daughter through one of the many entrances to Sea Side Ice Palace. After their tickets were scanned and approved, they headed down the stairs, to their usual seats.
“Yeah, but Brandon Thorpe playing has helped business rather than hurt it,” he pointed once they both sat down. “Look how crowded this place is, and the actual season hasn’t even started yet.”
Emma nodded but she didn’t say anything. It still bothered her that these people could actually protest Brandon Thorpe playing for the Gulls, especially since Seraphina Hanson showed her belief in the goalie by playing him the third period and even more so because he wasn’t even the main suspect. It was Alan Brown, the uncle. Emma almost felt like these people would protest anything, and instead of getting their point across, they annoyed the crap out of people with the incessant screaming.
“So how was school?” Jeremy asked, nudging Emma’s shoulder with his. “Any spontaneous dance- offs?”
Emma had heard this question on a pretty consistent basis, but it made her laugh every time. “Come on, Dad,” she said, shaking her head. “I know we’re supposed to be green and everything, but could you not recycle your material? But no, no spontaneous dance-offs. Not today, anyway. If something comes up, I’ll keep you posted.”
“That would be appreciated,” he teased.
“But seriously,” Emma continued. “It went fine. Nothing new. I met my team – you know, the small group of people I’m going to teach my piece to for the recital – and they seemed nice. The majority of them were freshmen so I don’t know how that’s going to go. Hopefully they’ll take it seriously. It’s a pretty difficult piece, but if they practice, it’ll be amazing.”
“I expect nothing less from you, hon.” He tilted his head to the side, looking at his daughter from the corner of his eyes.
“How’s work? Any new cases? Any new ladies?” Emma wiggled her eyebrows as suggestive as she possibly could, but the grip on her straight face wasn’t anywhere near complete.
“Yeah, okay,” Jeremy said, rolling his eyes. “I’m still working on the Burke case. I really don’t want to have to go to trial because, honestly, it’s just a waste of time, but these two people have the mindset of kindergarteners and are incapable of compromising.” He groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his index finger and his thumb. “I don’t like thinking about it, much less discussing it.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Emma said. “Maybe if you actually used the box seats your firm has, you could take both of them to the Gulls game and they’d be so caught up in it, they would realize that maybe compromise is the best way to go. Huh?” She elbowed her father, her eyes teasing. “What about that?”
“Let’s not talk about work anymore. What about you? Any new boys you want to tell me about?” This time it was Jeremy who wiggled his eyebrows.
Emma felt herself straighten at the question. The real answer, of course, was no, there weren’t any new boys. But her father had asked the question, it was almost as if he knew that she was interested in the possibility of –
No. She wouldn’t even think about it. Even in her thoughts, the idea that she and Kyle Underwood could date sounded ridiculous. Sure, she didn’t have that much of a problem admitting that she was attracted to him. And judging from the couple of signs she saw in the stadium, she wasn’t alone on that point. But actually liking another guy required too much effort on her part. Maybe the correct word was curious. Or interested. Or intrigued. Just because she wanted to know more about the hockey player didn’t mean that she liked him.
“Please,” she said, forcing her to snort at such a preposterous question. “Listen, if I’m interested in a guy, you’ll know. Maybe. Possibly. If I decide to date a guy, you’ll know. But guys are the furthest thing in my mind right now.”
“Honey, you’re a young woman,” her father said. “As much as I want to believe that guys are nowhere near your thoughts, I know better.” He shrugged. “It was just a question. I thought it might have to do with your sudden interest in hockey.”
“Dad, I’ve come to practically every game with you since you got season tickets,” Emma pointed out.
“Yeah, but in that time, you’ve never asked me a single thing about how the sport works,” he replied. “You know you don’t have to get interested in hockey just because a guy is, right? You’re perfect, just the way you are.”
Her face flushed at her father’s comments. “Can you not? Listen, I know what you’re saying and I appreciate it even though it’s a little bit uncomfortable. But I promise I’m not getting into hockey just for a guy, okay Dad? Now can we drop it?”
He didn’t believe her entirely, she could tell that much by the way he was looking at her. But he nodded his head and looked straight ahead, at the ice. The refs had just emerged, and, as was traditional, people began to boo them.
“God, who would ever want to be a referee?” Jeremy murmured.
“Maybe they enjoy the game?” It was all Emma could suggest due to the fact that her eyes were glued to straight ahead of her, waiting for Kyle Underwood – and the rest of the Gulls – to come out from their team’s designated side and skate on the ice before the singing of the national anthem. As the announcer called the Gulls out, the majority of the fans cheered, but once Brandon Thorpe took to the ice, the boos got more prominent.
Emma didn’t care. Her eyes focused solely on Kyle Underwood. She watched as he skated the traditional circle on the Gulls’ side of the ice before reaching the center line. He was more than just good looking, she realized at that moment, watching him pay homage to a song he probably was indifferent to due to the fact that he was Canadian. He was... What was the word that described attractiveness but also showed that it was a special kind of attractiveness that Emma believed only she saw in him?
Which was absolutely ludicrous.
Jesus Christ, Em, get a grip on yourself. You’re twenty-two years old, not fifteen.
She shook her head, shook her thoughts of Kyle Underwood, and instead, went over the counts of her dance routine in her head so she could regain some focus. She only stopped once the game started, and then her eyes naturally found Kyle once again.
As per usual, the start in this game wasn’t exactly exciting, save for the fact that center Matt Peters won the drop and passed it to Kyle. She had no idea what he felt when he skated on the ice, when he played a sport he obviously loved, but it seemed as though he didn’t even recognize that people were watching him. Nothing else mattered except the game. It reminded Emma of how she felt when she danced, and she couldn’t help but allow herself to be interested in him a little more than she already was.
A shot on the Seagulls’ goal snapped Emma out of her thoughts on Kyle Underwood as her heart jumped at the thought that the San Francisco Prisoner
s would score first, but Brandon Thorpe reached out and caught the puck, making it seem as easy as breathing. What a save. And yet people were still booing him.
It still didn’t seem fair.
Seven minutes into it, the young defenseman that seemed promising – what was his name? Michael something? Number 5. – managed to intercept a pass from the Prisoners’ offense. The crowd cheered, along with Emma herself. Yeah, it was preseason but the way he skated, how fast the kid was, caused goosebumps to break out onto her skin.
Once he crossed into the neutral zone, he passed it to Matt Peters, who happened to be open dead in the center of the ice. Thanks to overheard conversations and a quick check on the official Newport Seagulls message board, Emma paid close attention to the captain. Apparently, the guy was notorious for not shooting despite having the opportunity. And it would seem that his reputation wasn’t without merit.
Matt was open. All he had to was spin around, push the puck in front of him just barely, and using that momentum, place one in the back of the net. But he didn’t. He held on to the puck, his brown eyes searching.
For what? For an opening? He obviously had the shot. Even the audience saw it; they started shouting “Shoot.”
But Matt didn’t listen, and two defensemen were working their way over to him.
He was wasting time. Why wouldn’t he shoot?
Matt managed to skate around one of the Prisoners’ players, keeping control of the puck, and before Emma could take a breath, he passed it to Alec Schumacher.
The problem was that Alec didn’t have the shooting lane Matt had just given up.
Grace on the Rocks: A Slapshot Prequel (Slapshot Prequel Trilogy Book 2) Page 4