Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2)

by Bianca Sommerland

  Her eyes went wide. "Not now? I'm not up to—"

  "I think I mentioned darts." He got out and went around the car to open her door. "Maybe we can hit a Karaoke club this weekend."

  "Maybe . . . ." Singing in public wasn't high on her to-do list. She really, really hated being laughed at. "But I thought we were going out for lunch."

  He glanced over at the bar he'd parked in front of. "This place serves food. I hope you weren't expecting anythin' fancy?"

  He brought me out for greasy bar food? She wrinkled her nose. This had to be the oddest date she'd ever been on.

  It's not a date.

  Right. Still, if she ate here, she'd be obliged to sign up to a local gym. Her Dartmouth 'owner' career had gotten off to a rocky start. And Daddy would take the reins back any day now. If she wanted to maintain her independence, she might want to start looking for work soon. And her body was the only thing she had that was worth anything.

  "Do you think they serve salads?"

  "Oh, no. You're not allowed to do that. We're hanging out as friends." Landon folded his arms over his broad chest. "Save the 'I'll just have a salad' for the men you're trying to impress. With me, you're gonna eat normal. You're not allergic to French fries, are you?"

  "No, but—"

  "Do you like them?"

  Well . . . To be honest, once in awhile she did enjoy scarfing down all kinds of naughty, fattening foods. French fries became a comfort food when she quit sniffing. But after gaining three pounds in a week, she'd gotten back on her no carbs diet.

  "I like them . . . ." She drew her shoulders back. "But I have to be careful. You must get that? You know about keeping in shape."

  His expression turned serious. "Very true. So how about after we stuff our faces, we walk to the forum? That shouldn't burn all those nasty calories."

  "You'll be late getting back to training."

  "I like living on the edge." He held the bar door open for her. "I just got here. I don't want the coaching staff to think I'm predictable."

  She arched a brow as she paused by his side. "How much am I paying you again?"

  "Way too much." He chuckled and gave her a little shove. "But I won't let you down so long as you don't expose my strategy. I plan to be an old-style goalie. A little weird. You good with that?"

  With his kind of weird? Oh, hell yeah! She had no clue what would happen on the ice, but right here, right now, he was everything she needed and more. He didn't take anything seriously! And he made her feel like it was okay for her to do the same.

  "I reserve judgment." She gave him a sideways smile. "I should be honest. I'm a sore loser too. I will so pull the 'a gentleman would let me win' card."

  "Will you?"

  "Yes I will."

  He hugged her against his side and whispered in her ear. "Then I suggest you find yourself a gentleman. Because otherwise I will kick your ass without thinking twice."

  * * * *

  Landon put the dart in Silver's hand and pointed at the board. She seemed to have forgotten everything he'd taught her after hitting the wall a few times. "It's really not that hard. Aim for the center. If you hit anywhere on the board, you'll get points."

  Silver swayed into him, her three beers already testing her endurance. "Show off. You bought me that last beer because I got close."

  "Shh!" He steadied her with a hand under her elbow. "Don't share my nefarious secrets! I just bought that guy in the corner a pitcher. I plan to go all dart shark on him."

  "Dart shark?" She took a firm hold on his shirt and pressed her eyes shut. "Are you for real?"

  "Are you okay?" He hadn't taken Silver for a light drinker, and after a good meal, he'd thought a few beers would be okay. But she was acting like she'd had more. "I like winning and all, but I've got some standards. If you can't see the bull's eye, you win by default."

  "Yay!" She folded into him and tipped almost off her heels. "Then I win!"

  "You win." His teasing took a hike and his protective nature rose to the forefront. "But I demand a rematch after you sleep this off."

  "Sleep this off?" Her brow wrinkled. "Do you think I'm drunk? Seriously? A bit of rum and beer ain't enough to make me tipsy. I'm not a cheap date."

  "Damn." Rum? When had she had rum? He led her to their table and leaned her against the table as he grabbed her suit jacket. That she was prancing around in a bra and dress pants should have given him a clue, but some of the waitresses were wearing just as little and he didn't take Silver as the shy type. After she'd shed the jacket, she'd relaxed. It had taken him a little longer to unwind—how the hell could he not be aware of all that creamy, exposed flesh? But this was how she was used to people seeing her. He refused to judge. He'd just wanted her to be comfortable.

  But maybe he should have said something.

  "Damn?" She glared at him—well more like glared at his shoulder, but apparently she wasn't seeing straight. "Are you surprised that I'm not a cheap date?"

  Cheap dates don't start drinking before lunch. He considered saying as much, but decided against it. He knew players who drank before games because they couldn't take the pressure. Could be a problem—especially if it got to the point that they couldn't deal with getting up in the morning without a drink in their hand.

  Was Silver like that? A lot of people might see her charmed life as nothing to get stressed about, but after seeing her with her boyfriends, and after hearing a bit about her dad . . .

  "I don't think you're a cheap date. But I feel like an ass for not asking what had you ready to fall apart when I called." He did up her jacket buttons. "You want to talk about it?"

  She shook her head, then made a choked sound. "I fucked up. I wanted to prove I could handle the job, but the more I think about it—Dean was right. I never shoulda hired that guy."

  "Hired?" He frowned. "Did you hire a new president?"

  "Oh, well that too." She swallowed and teetered a little. "Do you think that'll be an issue? I didn't know Dean already had the position! He's the general manager! And I figured Asher would make a good president. He can read contracts. I'm too stupid."

  "You know, I really hate people insulting my friends, so . . . ." He tipped her chin up with a finger and looked into her over bright emerald green eyes. Contacts. Nothing about the woman was what it appeared to be. Including her confidence. "Don't call yourself stupid."

  "Okay." Resting her head against his chest, she spoke so quietly he had to bend down to hear her. "Do you know Scott Demyan?"

  Oh no. "Not personally, but I've heard of him. Why?"

  "I got him for the team."

  All righty then. He could see how Dean would have been pissed. No way would he approve of that showboating, chirping, antagonizer on the roster. They had at least one rookie that fit the bill already. Not that it mattered now. "Why did you do it?"

  "Seemed like a good idea at the time." Her brow furrowed as she sniffed into his shirt. "You smell nice."

  "Okay, now I know you're wasted."

  "Am not."

  "Are too." Redirecting her to the door, he did his best to hide her wavering walk so the bar patrons wouldn't stare. Her legs gave out when they hit the sidewalk and he carried her to his jeep. "Would it be too forward of me to ask you for a favor?"

  "Nope." She laughed. "I've been waiting for it."

  Every muscle in his body tensed, but he refused to let her drunken rambling get to him. "Good. So no more rum for breakfast?"

  "Huh?"

  "You heard me."

  She sighed and slumped into her seat. "Fine. But only if you tell me something."

  "Ask away." He did up her seatbelt and swiped away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. "I'm an open book."

  "Why do you care? You're hot. You could get a girl with fewer issues." She pursed her lips. "And what's with the 'friends' thing?"

  "Maybe I've got issues too. And maybe I need a friend." Flattening his hands by her shoulders, he leaned in close. "You're a lot less messed up than some pe
ople I've known. I've made my share of mistakes and they had way more impact than anything you've done."

  Her hand found his and she blinked as though trying to see him better. "Tell me about it."

  "I will." After patting her cheek, he stepped back and closed the door. He didn't speak again until he'd pulled into the midday traffic. "If you promise to let me get you home and fix you up a pot of coffee before I leave, I promise to go into overshare mode the next time we go out. Deal?"

  "Deal. But . . . ." Her head in her hands, she whispered. "You've got to give me something. Why did you sound so worried on the phone?"

  A lump the size of a boulder lodged in his throat. "Because the last time a woman called me to tell me she was about to lose her mind, I laughed it off and said I didn't want to hear it. And I've been paying for it ever since."

  Chapter Six

  The heart monitor at Delgado's bedside beeped a steady rhythm. Dean's presence hadn't caused him any stress so far. Hopefully he could keep it that way. At least the man was well enough for home care.

  "So, how is my baby girl doing so far?" Delgado pushed himself up on his stiff gold silk covered pillows and smiled at Dean. "I trust you're leading her in the right direction and not letting those fags speak for her."

  Dean kept his eyes on the rise and fall of the red line on the monitor, choking down the urge to remark on the man's bigotry. "I do believe Silver is quite capable of making decisions on her own."

  "I'm not sure if you're implying that this is a good thing."

  Might as well get straight to the point. "It's not. She made an acquisition without consulting me. And she is determined to make a trade that I object to."

  Delgado dropped his head onto his pillows. "Is she?"

  "She is."

  "She can't . . . ." Delgado pressed his eyes shut and the bleeping sped up. "I want my lawyers. Get me my lawyers, Richter. I want a clause in there than prevents her from running the team on her silly little girlish whims. And get her here too." He groaned and pressed his hand over his heart. "I should have seen this coming. She's just like her mother."

  Dean took a deep breath. He knew enough of their family history to object to Silver being compared to her mother no matter what she'd done. "Surely not like her mother, sir. I can't believe—"

  "Believe it. Both women were coddled and spoiled all their lives." Delgado took a shallow breath and the monitor let off an ear piercing sound which made Dean frown. The stupid thing must be hyper sensitive. His father's heart rate had become much more erratic before the alarm went off. And he hadn't been able to speak as Delgado still was. "Silver is the spitting image of her mother. I hate that she got her license. Do everything in your power to keep her from driving anywhere. You never know—"

  "You must be clear with me, Mr. Delgado." Dean held his hand up to the nurse that rushed into the room. "What exactly is it you are asking me to do?"

  "Keep my daughter alive, Richter." Delgado's eyes rolled back into his head and the nurse quickly injected something into his IV. "I can't lose her. Not again."

  The nurse shoed him out and Dean took a seat on the bench that had been set up in the hall outside Delgado's bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his muscles ached. He should feel some sort of pity for the man, but it was difficult after seeing his father go through the same thing just a few years back. Both men had been given the same advice to improve their quality of life. Regular exercise, a special rehabilitation program, a healthy diet—Delgado refused to do any of it. Dean's father had lasted two years, two wonderful years, before his heart gave out for the last time. The way Delgado was going, he wouldn't last another month. But he lashed out at anyone who suggested he fight to live. He'd fired two nurses and replaced the consulting doctor when they tried to reason with him.

  "I'll finally be with my wife. And . . . my son," he'd said.

  With no thought to the children he'd leave behind.

  Dean had to call the lawyers, no doubt about it. But part of him hurt for Silver. She probably thought what she was doing would give her father time to get better. But her father didn't see her as his daughter. He saw her as the woman he'd lost. A mere reflection of the woman he hoped to join in death very soon.

  And where did that leave Oriana? If anyone should be running the team in her father's place, it should be her. But the man didn't see it. He behaved as though he'd only ever had two children. And the favorite was dead.

  Any mention of Oriana was forbidden by the doctor as well as a long list of 'stressors', which left Dean with no way to improve the situation. All he could do was stop it from getting any worse.

  Silver's temporarily replacing her mother and the team is temporarily replacing his son. Someone has to be thinking long term, Richter.

  Heaving out a heavy sigh, Dean took out his phone and called Delgado's lawyers. After a short, cordial chat, he hung up and prepared for an unpleasant conversation that couldn't be put off any longer.

  No answer. When the voicemail came on, he kept his tone crisp and professional. "Silver, when you get this message, come to your father's house. He'd like to speak to you."

  Ending the call, he shoved his phone in his pocket and let out a sound of disgust that startled the butler, causing the man to appear a bit less like one of the many antiques stationed around the house. The butler's grayish skin dropped a shade as he stared at Delgado's door like his employer would come out any moment and tear into him for breathing too loud. This whole ordeal stank of the kind of drama he'd closed himself off from after his wife left him. Of course, he still had to deal with a certain amount from his teenage daughter, but . . .

  Silver isn't that much older than Jami. The thought made him groan and he massaged his temples as a dull ache settled between them. He should have considered that before sleeping with the woman, but something about her seemed worldly beyond her years. It was hard to believe Silver was in the same generation as his defiant, yet still so innocent, daughter.

  Laughing dryly, he considered another big difference between the two. There was no guarantee Jami would respond to a request from her father to see her.

  He didn't doubt for a second that Silver would be here within the hour.

  * * * *

  A mallet swung rhythmically inside Silver's head, each strike pacing her pulse. She squinted at the digital clock on the night table by her bed—the red blur strengthened the blows against her skull. Looked like four something. The scent of coffee beckoned and she stumbled to the kitchen, blindly pouring herself a cup and hissing when some spilled on her hand.

  Shit! She brought her hand to her mouth and laved away the burn with her tongue. Landon must have left hours ago! Why is this so hot?

  Quick sips of coffee and some stretching got her feeling more bruised than beaten. As she splashed some cold water from the kitchen sink on her face, the coffee machine caught the corner of her eye. The time had been fixed and the brew was set on automatic. Apparently for two hours after she'd crashed.

  I so owe Landon a great big hug! She smiled and polished off her coffee, her spirits rising as she thought back on their lunch together. Maybe this being friends thing was a good idea after all. The men she fucked were never this considerate!

  Two vitamins and some orange juice had her feeling steady enough to hop into the shower. Almost back to normal after she dressed and fixed her hair, she decided to brave her phone. The first message was from Landon.

  She didn't bother listening to the rest before calling him back. She got his voicemail.

  "Hey, you!" She fiddled with her hair and tried to find the right words to express her gratitude. "Damn, I don't know what to say—and if you knew me better, you'd know that's rare. Thank you. For everything. I'm feeling a lot better and I'm looking forward to hanging out again—I'm mean—well, when you're not busy. Okay, I should erase this message. I sound pathetic, don't I?" She giggled and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't insult your friend."

  She listened to the silence, wishing sh
e could hear Landon's voice. She wanted that feeling again—the one that she'd had the entire time she was with him. Was this what it was like to have a friend? A real one?

  "Okay, before I get all sappy, I'm gonna hang up. But . . . well give me a call."

  Jerking the phone away from her mouth before she could say anything else, she eyed the phone. If she pressed 2, the message would be erased. But she held her breath and pressed 1.

  "If he doesn't think I'm a freak after lunch, this won't faze him." She gave a firm nod and played the rest of her messages. One from Dean—her throat tightened. Daddy wanted to see her.

  The next message made her skin crawl.

  "My name is Charles Lee. I represent Roy Kingsley, one of the team's investors." The man said smoothly. "I would like to meet you at your convenience to discuss the coming season. It would be in your best interest to schedule an appointment within the next few days."

  Sure, I'm right on that. She pressed 'end' and stuffed her phone in her purse. Then took it back out. She could ignore that last call—let Dean deal with the creepy investors—but she wouldn't ignore Daddy.

  Her hand slipped over her little vial, found a tiny pack of licorice, and fisted around it. I disappointed him once by taking off. I won't do it again.

  Half an hour later, she strode up to Daddy's front door, straightened the skirt to her new suit, and pressed her finger on the doorbell.

  The butler, whose name she'd never gotten because Daddy didn't approve of chatting with the staff, let her in with a courteous. "Your father is expecting you, Miss Silver."

  "Thank you." She inclined her head, then clipped across the grand room and hurried up the stairs. She ignored Dean, who was waiting in the hall, and burst into Daddy's room. "Daddy, you're looking so much better!"

  His cold look stopped her in her tracks. "What have you done?"

  "Oh, don't worry about that now." She slapped a bright smile on her lips. "How soon will you be strong enough to get out of that bed?"

  "Maybe never." He sat up and slammed his fist into the rumpled blankets. "I trusted you! How dare you take it on yourself to make decisions for the team without consulting the advisors I provided for you! What were you thinking?"