Loving Hard: A Chesapeake Blades Hockey Romance (The Chesapeake Blades Book 2)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Sammie opened her mouth to defend Jon then quickly snapped it shut. Why was she going to defend him? Taylor was right—and she was only repeating what Sammie had said at least a hundred times, whenever Taylor had asked her about her ex.

  "Say what you want, LeBlanc, but you're wrong. I've got twenty bucks that says they're doing the wild thing by Christmas."

  "Deal."

  "Guys, I'm standing right here. You know that, right?"

  "Yeah. So?"

  Sammie rolled her eyes, not sure if she should laugh or scream or cry. It didn't matter because in the end, she'd have the last laugh. Let them both bet—she wasn't going to sleep with Jon. Ever. It was over between them, had been for more than two years.

  "It's probably a good thing you don't want him, anyway. Rachel-the-bitch is already moving in."

  "What?" Sammie moved her gaze past Shannon, down to where Jon was still puttering on the ice with Clare. Sure enough, Rachel Woodhouse was standing there with them, an inviting smile on her face. She placed her hand on Jon's arm, the gesture somehow possessive, and leaned in closer, saying something to him.

  Anger swept over Sammie—along with an irrational spurt of jealousy. No, it wasn't jealousy. It couldn't be. It was nothing more than her dislike for the woman shooting to the surface, that was all. Sammie was just reading the emotion wrong.

  Because there was no way she was jealous. Absolutely no way.

  Then why did she want to go over and tear every single strand of platinum blonde hair from Rachel's head, then scratch those stupid blue eyes from her face?

  "Down, girl."

  "What?" Sammie turned, surprised to see Taylor and Shannon watching her with amusement. Taylor finally rolled her eyes then moved her gaze to Shannon.

  "I changed my mind. No bet. You're right—she's going to sleep with him."

  "No, I am not." Sammie ground each word from between clenched teeth. She sucked in a deep breath, let it out nice and slow, then forced a smile to her face. "I just don't think it's very professional to come on to a man when her daughter is right. There. With. Him."

  "Wow. You're kind of scary-ferocious right now, Reigs. This a whole new side to you. I like it."

  "Oh, shut up." Sammie ignored their laughter and started to move past them, ready to—well, she wasn't sure what she was going to do. All she knew was that she wanted Rachel away from Jon.

  No, she mentally corrected, away from Clare. She wasn't concerned about Jon.

  She didn't go very far because Shannon and Taylor both grabbed her arms again, pulling her back. She tried tugging her arms from their grasp but Taylor simply shook her head, then nodded to where Jon and Clare were standing.

  "Wait. Watch."

  "I'd rather not—"

  "No, seriously. Can't you see?"

  No, Sammie couldn't see. She was still too angry. Too—no, she absolutely was not jealous. "See what?"

  "He's shutting her down."

  "That's not a shut-down—that's a total fuck off! This is fucking great!"

  Sammie blinked then forced herself to focus on the spectacle at the other end of the ice. Sure enough, Jon's entire body had stiffened. Even from this far away, she could see the way his jaw clenched, the way the muscle jumped along the side of his cheek. And he didn't just shrug Rachel's hand from his arm—he actually brushed it off and then stepped back from her as he shook his head. Then he turned his back on Rachel and glided away from her, still holding onto Clare.

  "Oh man, I wish I had a camera. That was abso-fucking-lutely beautiful. Damn."

  Sammie didn't say anything, could barely even grunt in agreement. Her heart was lodged somewhere in her throat, her blood rushing through her veins, dangerously close to the surface of her skin. She felt…warm. Prickly. Unsettled. And she had the sudden urge to rush over to Jon, to place her own hand on his arm in that same possessive manner that Rachel had used.

  Like she was claiming him.

  Holy crappola. No. No, no, no.

  Sammie blinked and gave her head a quick shake, dislodging each irrational thought. She was simply overreacting because she didn't like Rachel, that's all there was to it. A simple, rational, easily-explained reaction. All she had to do was shake it off, like she would shake off a bad hit.

  She blinked again then deliberately turned her back to the other end of the ice. She pasted a big smile on her face, ignoring the odd looks from Shannon and Taylor.

  "Okay, LeBlanc. Your turn. What's your secret?"

  An expression of forced innocence flashed across Taylor's face. "What secret? I don't have a secret."

  "Oh, no you don't. That's not even funny. You said you had a secret. Out with it."

  Taylor glanced around them, like she was making sure they were alone, then leaned in. Sammie and Shannon moved closer, so all three of their heads were huddled together.

  "You have to swear not to tell anyone. And I mean it. You can't breathe a word of this or I will get into so much trouble."

  "We won't."

  Sammie nodded her agreement, then repeated Shannon's words. "We won't."

  "Okay." Taylor took a deep breath, looked around them once more, then leaned in even closer, her voice barely a whisper. "It looks like the exhibition game is really going to happen."

  Sammie leaned back, exchanged a look with Shannon, then shook her head. "What exhibition game?"

  "Shh!" Taylor grabbed her arm and pulled her closer. "Not so loud. And what do you mean, 'what exhibition game'? You know."

  "No, I don't."

  "Yes, you do. The exhibition game. The one Chuckie was talking about? I told you he was working on it."

  "No, you didn't."

  "Yes, I did." Taylor frowned, her gaze darting between Shannon and Sammie. "Against the Banners?"

  "What!"

  "Holy crappola. Are you serious?"

  Taylor slapped the palm of her hand against her face and shook her head, groaning. "I can't believe you two. Didn't I tell you to be quiet?"

  "We weren't that loud."

  "Yes, you were. And how could you not know what I was talking about? I know I mentioned it to both of you already."

  "Yeah, but I thought you were joking."

  "So did I." Shannon straightened, a speculative gleam in her eyes. "So this is going to be for real? You're seriously not joking?"

  "Not at all. I don't have the exact date, but it'll probably be near the end of January. And the Banners are going to be doing a lot of marketing for it, too. This could be really big."

  "Oh. My. God." The words fell from Shannon's lips, a sort of awed whisper of disbelief. She said them again, a little louder, then again. Taylor reached out and yanked her arm, silencing her.

  "Would you stop? People are starting to look."

  Shannon laughed, snapping out of whatever odd stupor had possessed her. "Yeah, so? It's not like they know what we're talking about."

  "Maybe not but Chuckie's looking over, too. I don't want him to figure it out."

  "Oh, like he doesn't already know? Please, girl. He probably knew you'd spill your guts to us as soon as he told you."

  "That doesn't matter. I don't want him figuring it out. Not yet." Taylor waved her hands at each of them in a shooing motion. "So go. Skate around. Go do something before he comes over here."

  Sammie exchanged an amused look with Shannon, rolled her eyes, then spun around and took off down the ice. She had planned on doing a few laps, just to stretch her legs and make sure whatever stupid emotions she had felt earlier were truly gone before joining Jon and Clare.

  Yes, hearing about the exhibition game—or at least the possibility of it, because she didn't want to get her hopes up until it really happened—had certainly helped. But she still needed to clear her head, to convince herself that it hadn't been jealousy she had felt earlier. She couldn't be jealous. There was nothing to be jealous of, because she and Jon weren't together, and they never would be. They couldn't be. It was over between them, and she had no desire for a reconciliation
.

  So what if Shannon and Taylor were convinced otherwise? That was just them being funny.

  Wasn't it?

  Yes, of course it was.

  Sammie finished her second lap and was starting on her third when she looked toward center ice. Jon was standing there, Clare held securely in his arms, pointing toward her.

  Watching her.

  Even from this distance, she could see the expression in his eyes, feel the intensity of his gaze as heat shot through her.

  Pride. Excitement.

  Regret.

  Need.

  Desire.

  Oh God, she could feel it, feel all of it as he stood there, watching her, holding their daughter in his arms. The look, the force of his emotions, slammed into her, stealing her breath.

  She lost her balance, caught the edge of her blade on something—probably her own skate—and went tumbling to the ice, sliding on her backside until she came to an ungraceful stop against the boards.

  Right in front of Rachel, who stood there and laughed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  "Are you sure you didn't hurt yourself when you fell?"

  "Positive." Nothing but her pride, not that she would admit that out loud.

  Sammie placed the cups—two hot chocolates and a small plastic cup of ice—on the table then slid onto the bench, moving over to make room for Clare. But her daughter clung to Jon instead, her head resting on his shoulder. He didn't even hesitate, just slid into the booth across from her and readjusted Clare on his lap.

  Sammie frowned, tried to ignore the flash of hurt that pierced her. It was a good thing that Clare had bonded so quickly with her father. Right? Yes, of course it was.

  Sammie slid back out then leaned over, her hands reaching for Clare's jacket. "Her coat needs to come off, so she doesn't get overheated."

  "I've got it." Jon flashed her a smile then unzipped Clare's jacket, easily sliding the sleeves from her arms. Sammie stood there, feeling like a sudden outcast, as he tossed the jacket beside him and readjusted Clare on his lap. Not that he needed to do anything, because Clare willingly settled against him, like she was staking her claim on him and nothing would get in her way.

  Sammie frowned again then sat back down, telling herself it meant nothing.

  Maybe, if she said it enough times, she'd actually believe it.

  She reached for Clare's cup and eased the lid off, blowing on the surface of creamy hot chocolate before taking a small sip. It was still too hot, even though she asked for it to be served warm. She grabbed a few ice cubes and dumped them in, stirring them until they melted, then replaced the lid.

  "Ready for your hot chocolate, Boo?"

  Clare nodded and reached across the table, her hands outstretched as Sammie handed her the cup. Jon frowned, his hand coming up to hold the bottom of the cup as Clare took it.

  "Are you sure it's okay for her to drink? It's not too hot or anything, right? She's not going to burn herself?"

  It should have been cute, even adorable, the way Jon sat there, hesitation and concern creasing his face. A doted father, putting his daughter's safety first.

  It should have been—but it wasn't. It annoyed her instead, like he was questioning every little thing she did, questioning her ability as a mother. It was that irrational annoyance that made her words come out sharper than she intended.

  "I'm positive, Jon. I'm her mother. I'm pretty sure I know what I'm doing."

  Jon sat back, his face going carefully blank. He watched her with those dark, intense eyes, completely void of any emotion. Then he blinked, and the vacant mask was gone, replaced by a flash of regret.

  "I'm sorry. This is all new. I didn't mean to question you."

  Sammie sighed, the irritation leaving her. She ran a hand through her hair then dropped it to her lap, the fingers curling against her palm. "I know. I didn't mean—I'm sorry."

  She looked away, unable to meet Jon's gaze, and busied herself by glancing around. They were in the coffee shop at the town center where they had met the other night. The shop was small and cozy, with scattered seating areas nestled around the open space and a gas fireplace along the far wall. Customers lined up at the counter, ordering lattes and hot chocolates as they juggled shopping bags from one hand to the next. Other people, the ones who weren't in a hurry, relaxed in chairs and around tables, taking the time to enjoy their drinks as they sat and talked.

  Had it only been four days since Jon had opened up to her? Right here, in the upper-level parking lot? Yes, it had—but it felt like so much longer, like so much had changed in that short amount of time.

  No. Impossible. It had only been four days—no, that wasn't right. Four days since they had talked, yes, but only three days since she had taken Clare to see Jon for the first time. Not even three full days, not technically.

  She took a sip of her drink and watched the two of them across the table. Jon's head was bent toward his daughter's, tilted to the side as he talked to Clare in low tones. Sammie had no idea what he was saying, but Clare was enthralled, listening to him with undivided attention, her brown eyes wide and focused on him.

  Sammie cleared her throat and leaned forward. "What are you telling her?"

  "Hm?" Jon looked up, as if just remembering that Sammie was there. She frowned again. If he noticed, he didn't say anything. "Just talking."

  "Yeah?" Sammie tried to smile, tried to make her voice sound light and carefree, like she was only mildly curious. "What about?"

  "Nothing. Just daddy stuff."

  Sammie stiffened, shot a panicked look at Clare, to see if her daughter had picked up on the word. "Jon—"

  "I know. Sorry. It slipped out."

  Had it? Or had he done it on purpose? And did it matter? He was Clare's father. She didn't plan on hiding that from her, but she wasn't sure how to tell her, had no idea how to even bring it up. She had asked Jon not to say anything, not yet. Not until Sammie was able to figure out the best way to handle things.

  If there even was a best way. Was she overreacting? Worrying too much? Maybe she should just let things run their natural course, wait to see how Clare handled Jon's sudden presence in her life.

  Or maybe not. Looking at Clare now, curled up against Jon, it was obvious she was completely comfortable with him. And from the expression on Jon's face, from the quick flashes of emotion she glimpsed in his eyes, there was no doubt that Clare had him totally and completely wrapped around her little finger.

  Sammie offered him a small smile then dropped her gaze to the surface of the wood table. "It's okay. I'm probably just overreacting."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yeah."

  "Then why do you look so sad?"

  Sammie's head shot up, her eyes narrowing. "I don't look sad."

  "Well, no. Not right now. But you did."

  "You were seeing things."

  "You sure about that?"

  "Yeah. Positive."

  Jon watched her for several long seconds, his gaze holding hers, refusing to let her look away. Then he shrugged, a small smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Sammie's heart jumped in her chest, stopped, then resumed beating so fast and loud, she was certain Jon must be able to hear it. If he did, it didn't show.

  Thank God. Because holy crappola, what had that been about?

  "So, tell me about the Blades. How did you get started playing for them?"

  The question caught her off-guard but only for a second. Why, she didn't know. It was a harmless question, nothing more than the start of casual conversation. And it was safe, much safer than the hundred other questions he could have asked, the ones she saw lingering just beneath the surface of those dark, intense eyes.

  "There was an announcement in the paper for tryouts and I figured, why not? I went and then the next thing I knew, I was on the roster."

  "Why do I get the feeling there's a lot more to it than that?"

  Sammie smiled. "Maybe. I spent a lot of hours at the rink in Reisterstown trying to get ready. I th
ought my legs were going to fall off. And I never thought I'd actually make it."

  "But you did. Good for you. I'm proud of you."

  Warmth spread through her at the heartfelt words. She tried to shrug them off, told herself they shouldn't mean anything—couldn't mean anything. But they did, and she wasn't sure why.

  "Thanks. But it's only the first season. And there aren't any guarantees we'll be back next year."

  "How come?"

  "Because it's not a rec league. Because they need to make money. Because ticket sales aren't that great and right now, they aren't making money. At least, not a lot. Lots of reasons."

  "The stands weren't exactly empty last week when I was there."

  "Yeah. But they weren't exactly filled, either."

  "Maybe not, but it's only been—what, a couple months?"

  "Not even. Our first game was in early October."

  "Plenty of time, then. I wouldn't worry about it."

  Yeah, that was easy for him to say. Jon didn't understand how much they all had riding on this. Didn't understand that there was no place else for them to go. Some of them—like Taylor and Shannon—were just as good, if not better, than some of the pro players Sammie had seen. And it was so unfair that they didn't have the chance to prove it, to show what they could do, simply because they were women.

  Sammie didn't tell him any of that, though. It wasn't that she didn't think he'd understand—she just didn't feel like sharing that much with him yet. Those dreams and hopes and worries.

  Jon steadied Clare's cup as she took another sip of her hot chocolate, then smiled when she shook her head and pushed it away. Clare gave a happy little sigh then snuggled closer to her father, one hand curled around the open V of his thermal Henley. Sammie felt a twinge of something dangerously warm at the sight and forced her gaze away.

  "So tell me about that blonde."

  Sammie looked up, frowning, then realized he must be talking about one of her teammates. "Which one?"

  "Not your friend. The other one, the one who was laughing at you."

  The warm feeling evaporated, replaced by an icy chill that went bone-deep. Sammie sat up a little straighter and frowned. "You mean Rachel Woodhouse."