Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

by Lisa B. Kamps

  “Are you really spitting on me?”

  Bridget paused, mortification spreading through her. Oh crap. Crap, crap, shit. What was she doing? She hadn’t even stopped to think, had just acted. Her gaze darted to Derek’s hand, wrapped loosely around her wrist. Warmth spread through her at the touch, a different heat from the flush of embarrassment coloring her face.

  She tugged her hand free from Derek’s hold and, trying not to think about what she was doing, dabbed at his chin with the moist tissue. “Stop whining. It’s not like we haven’t already swapped bodily fluids.”

  Derek’s face turned a shade pinker but he didn’t say anything. Or maybe he just didn’t know what to say. Good, that made two of them because neither did she.

  Had she really just said that? What had she been thinking? She hadn’t been, that much was obvious. But it wasn’t like she could take the words back, not now. And did it really matter anyway?

  She took once last swipe at his chin then crumpled the tissue in her hand, staring at it for a few seconds. Throw it away? Or shove it back into her pocket? The decision was taken from her when Derek took it from her hand and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans.

  Bridget glanced to the side, away from his studying gaze. The kids were still playing hockey, completely oblivious to her presence, to her turmoil and confusion. But Derek’s teammates noticed her, of that she was sure. It wasn’t like they were even trying to hide their curious glances.

  Bridget nodded toward both of them, hiding her smile when Brad blushed and looked away, no doubt embarrassed at being caught staring. And why wouldn’t he stare? Here she was, dressed in her typical comfort uniform of jeans and a baggy sweater, standing close enough to Derek to kiss him.

  And oh crap. Where did that particular thought come from, just now? She didn’t need to be thinking of kissing Derek, didn’t need to be remembering what his mouth felt like against hers, what his body felt like—

  Bridget took a hurried step back, trying to put distance between them. The way he was looking at her, like he was thinking about devouring her right there, certainly didn’t help. She cleared her throat and looked away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

  “So why are you here, anyway?” She should have asked him that right away, as soon as she saw him. It didn’t make sense, him being here. With his teammates. If she had been thinking clearly, she would have realized that earlier, would have said something as soon as he came over to her.

  Derek shrugged, his boyish grin chasing away some of the heat in his eyes. “Something you said last week, about spending time with the kids. Plus, I knew you’d be here and thought it would be a perfect time to see you.”

  Cold fury seared her at his words, sudden, unexplained. Maybe unwarranted, but no less lethal. Could he be so callous, so uncaring, to actually do something so hurtful? Whether he realized it was hurtful or not. “You’re using the kids to get to me?”

  “What? No. I—no, that’s not what I meant.”

  “Really? Because it sure sounded that way. You knew I’d be here so you figured you’d just show up and wait? Is that it?”

  The boyish grin disappeared, replaced by a frown. A flash of anger turned his eyes a stormy gray. He glanced over his shoulder then just as quickly looked back at her. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “Do you have any idea what these kids have been through? How many times they’ve been abandoned and shit on and tossed to the side?” Bridget swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Do you know why Dionne walks with a limp? Her mother used to throw her down the stairs when she cried. Her leg has been broken so many times she’ll never walk normally. And Jerry. Do you want to know why he’s in a wheelchair? His father—”

  “Bridget, stop.”

  “His father—his drunk father—backed over him on his way to the bar and left him there. He almost died, right there in his own driveway. But that didn’t matter as long as his father could catch his next drunk.”

  “Bridget—”

  “Don’t touch me.” She jerked away from his reaching hand and blinked back the tears burning her eyes. “Every single one of these kids has been abused and abandoned. Tossed to the side when they got in the way. And now here you are, doing the same thing. Using them to get what you want. This isn’t a game, Derek. It’s a responsibility—something you know nothing about.”

  God, how she could have been so stupid? To think she might actually like him, to think that maybe he was different than she first thought. But he wasn’t. If anything, he was worse. She swiped her hand across her cheek, brushing away a stray tear in anger.

  “Bridget—”

  “Screw you, Caulton. You’re no better than the other people in their lives.” She turned away and hurried to the door. She couldn’t stay, not now, not when all she wanted to do was scream in frustration and anger.

  And hurt.

  She pushed through the door, ignoring the sound of someone calling her name. Yes, it hurt.

  As much as she didn’t want to admit it, his callous actions, his complete disregard, hurt more than she thought it would. Because she had hoped that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong about him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “So dude, what the fuck was up with that?”

  Derek ground his teeth together, not even bothering to look at Mat. He hit the remote and unlocked the SUV then opened the cargo door. He threw the bag of plastic sticks and rubber balls into the back then slammed the door shut. “What was up with what?”

  “Whatever was going on with you and Bridget.”

  “Nothing was going on.” Derek climbed into the front seat and slammed his door shut before jamming the key into the ignition. Mat climbed into the passenger seat, leaving Brad to sit in the back.

  “Could have fooled me. Looked pretty intense.”

  “Yeah, and she was crying.”

  Great. Even Brad had noticed. Not good. Derek clenched his jaw again then took a deep breath and put the vehicle in gear. “It was nothing. She was overreacting. Typical woman.”

  Mat spun around in his seat so fast, Derek was surprised he didn’t get whiplash. “Whoa, dude. What the hell? That’s a little nasty, even for you.”

  “Even for me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Just what I said. We all know you’re Mister Fun-and-Games but come on. Even you have to admit that was pretty low.”

  Derek slammed the SUV back into Park and turned in his seat. Mat was still watching him, his eyes harsh and judging. Even Brad was leaning forward, a frown on his face as he looked at Derek. Although with Brad, that could just as likely mean he was trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Nasty? Low? What the hell are you talking about, Herron?”

  “I know Bridget. Not well, but enough to know she’s chill. She doesn’t overreact. So what the hell did you say to upset her?”

  “Is that what you think? That I upset her?”

  Mat just shrugged, the expression on his face saying more than what Derek wanted to hear. He looked over at Brad. “Is that what you think, too?”

  Brad frowned, glanced over at Mat, then looked back at Derek. “Even I could see she was upset. You must’ve done something.”

  Dammit. What the fuck? Derek slammed his hand against the steering wheel then leaned his head against the headrest. Even his teammates were ganging up on him, accusing him of—whatever the hell they were accusing him of. Fuck.

  “I didn’t do anything.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Are we going to sit here all day or what?”

  Derek swallowed the curse he wanted to hurl at them then put the SUV in gear and pulled out of the garage. The tense silence in the vehicle lasted one block, before Mat started talking again, acting like the last five minutes had never happened.

  “I actually had fun today. Those kids were pretty cool.”

  “Yeah, I guess.”

  Brad leaned forward, his arm resting against the back of Derek’s seat. “What happe
ned with Justin? I thought he was supposed to meet us.”

  “Probably too hungover.”

  “You mean probably still drunk.” Mat grunted and shook his head. “He needs to get his head out of his ass.”

  “Yeah, he does.” Derek nodded his agreement. “What’s going on with him, anyway?”

  “Who the fuck knows? But this has been going on since before Christmas and he’s getting worse.”

  “Anyone talk to him?”

  “Better luck talking to the wall.”

  “I guess.”

  Brad leaned forward, his elbow knocking the side of Mat’s head. “Hey. Watch it.”

  “Sorry.” He moved his arm then looked over at Derek. “So are we going to start doing this every week?”

  “Doing what?”

  “You know. Coming here, hanging with the kids.”

  “I’m in. Like I said, it was fun.” Mat shifted in the seat, a grin on his face. “I talked to one of those nurses about maybe getting regular tickets for the kids. She liked the idea, gave me a number to call so I can arrange it.”

  “That’d be cool. Count me in. So—are we?”

  “Are we what?”

  “Going to do this each week. I mean, when we’re not playing.”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Mat repeated. “Maybe we can get a few of the other guys to come with us.”

  “Yeah. You guys have fun with that.”

  “What?” The word was a loud echo ringing in Derek’s ears, coming from Mat and Brad at the same time. He shook his head then checked traffic before merging onto the expressway and heading south to the arena. “You heard me. Count me out.”

  “What do you mean, count you out? This was your idea.”

  “Yeah, it was. I was hoping to impress Bridget. That obviously didn’t work, so count me out.”

  Stark silence, heavy and accusing, settled around him. It wasn’t until after the words came out that he realized how they sounded, how they made him look. Christ, was he really that big of an ass?

  “Man, you really are an asshole.”

  “I didn’t mean—” Derek stopped himself from saying anything else before he made things even worse. He didn’t even know what to say, what he was going to say. He didn’t mean…what? What didn’t he mean?

  He didn’t know. And for the first time in a long time, that bothered him. Christ. Was he really that fucked up?

  What was it he had said to Bridget to upset her? He frowned, thinking, almost afraid to remember.

  He knew she’d be there, that it was the perfect time to see her. And then he had just told his teammates to count him out because he was only trying to impress Bridget.

  Fuck. Had he really meant it that way?

  He didn’t want to think so, didn’t want to admit he could really be that shallow and unfeeling. That irresponsible. But the truth was staring him right in the face. No, not in the face. In his gut. Twisting, bitter. Too painful not to be real.

  He glanced over at Mat and Brad, unable to really look at them. Not when they wore identical expressions of surprise and disgust, not when those expressions were turned on him.

  Derek ran a hand through his hair then slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “Fuck. I so fucked up.”

  His teammates didn’t say anything. They didn’t have to, not when the heavy silence said so much more than they ever could. Derek clenched his jaw and pulled into the parking garage, stopping on the second level to drop off his teammates. Brad climbed out without saying a word, pausing long enough to give Derek a dirty look before slamming the door.

  Mat gave him a similar look before climbing out. His hand closed over the edge of the door, ready to close it. Before he could slam it shut, Derek leaned across the console, motioning for him to stop.

  “Mat, what do I do?”

  “What the hell are you asking me for?”

  “Because. You’re the nice guy. The one everyone goes to for advice. Help me out.”

  Something flashed in Mat’s eyes, something impatient and almost angry. But the look was gone before Derek could question it, replaced by something even worse: pity.

  “Do you like her? I mean, really like her, not just want to add her to your collection?”

  Derek ignored the jab and nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

  “Then take responsibility for your fuck-up and apologize. Get on your knees and do some serious groveling and prove you’re not the privileged asshole we all think you are.” Mat slammed the door hard enough to shake the SUV, cutting Derek off before he could respond.

  Grovel? Yeah, right.

  Bullshit.

  No way.

  Derek straightened in the seat and took off, the wheels spinning on the smooth concrete with a loud squeal.

  Grovel.

  He should have known better than to ask the team’s saint for advice.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bridget’s hand tightened around the handle of the shovel as she peered over Rob’s shoulder to watch the play. Her eyes automatically sought out Derek, seeking the smooth grace of his moves on the ice.

  Well, maybe not so smooth tonight.

  He sped toward the net, leaning down and reaching with his stick as Mat passed the puck to him. It was a beautiful pass, one of those moves they’d play over and over just before the puck slammed into the back of the net.

  Except Derek missed it. The puck sped between his legs, unstopped, then hit the boards. He spun around and went after it, colliding with one of the players from the Michigan team as they fought for it in the corner.

  Bridget leaned forward, trying to get a better look, her teeth pulling on her lower lip as she muttered to herself. No. She had to be imagining things. Surely he couldn’t be—

  She didn’t even have time to finish the thought before Derek brought his stick up and slammed the other player across the back with it, pushing him against the glass. A shrill whistle split the frigid air, signaling a stop in play as the ref hurried over to the players.

  Was it her imagination, or did Derek really just look over at her? It had to be her imagination, there was no way he could actually see her. Could he?

  “Alright guys, let’s go.”

  The door opened and the ice crew sped out, collectively focused on clearing the ice in the less than two minutes they had. And dammit, now she had to skate right past the penalty box.

  Right past Derek.

  If she didn’t know better, she’d almost think he drew the penalty on purpose. For their first three sweeps, she had been on the outer edge, closest to the players’ benches. Except each time she went past, Derek leaned out and tried to say something to her.

  Bridget, I’m sorry.

  Bridget, I’m an ass.

  Bridget, would you at least look at me?

  She nearly slipped and fell flat on her ass that last time. And yeah, wouldn’t that have been just perfect, to fall in front of 20,000 people? She caught herself just in time and managed to give him a dirty look before skating past the bench.

  But not before she saw the anguish on his face. And not before she saw the amusement on the faces of his teammates.

  She switched sides with Gary, so she was against the boards closest to the penalty box on the last two sweeps. And now, so was Derek.

  That couldn’t be coincidence. Could it?

  She pursed her lips together, pushing her shovel against the ice, gathering the loose ice scrapings in front of her. She wanted to race past the box, just pick up speed and take off down the ice. But she couldn’t. Their moves were too concise, too choreographed, designed for purpose and efficiency. She couldn’t just go do her own thing, no matter how much she wanted to.

  And sure enough, Derek was standing up, his face damn near pressed against the glass of the penalty box as she skated toward it. She glared at him, a full-on frown that would leave no doubt about what she was thinking on her face. But it was like he didn’t even notice.

  He banged on the glass, trying to get her attention.


  “Bridget, please. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

  He had to be yelling, for her to hear him so clearly. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head then skated by, doing her best to ignore him despite the sound of his fist pounding on the glass.

  She heard a chuckle behind her but didn’t bother to turn around, already knowing that Rob would be smiling at her through his bushy beard.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “You’re right. It’s freaking hysterical.”

  She paused long enough to toss him a dirty look over her shoulder then kept going. Less than a minute left, time to pick up the pace.

  They finished clearing the ice with seconds to spare, the gate latching behind them with a booming click. Bridget placed her shovel in the rack then moved deeper into the tunnel and out of the way.

  Gary came up behind her, giving her a wide smile. “Did you want to switch back, take over your normal spot now?”

  She turned, one hand on her hip, and looked at him through narrowed eyes, silently daring him to say anything. Then she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and sighed in defeat.

  “Yeah, sure. Not like it’s going to make any difference, is it?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Derek glanced at his watch, something close to panic tightening his gut. Why the hell had the coaching staff kept them so late? Yeah, they had been lucky to win. Yeah, everyone’s play had been off. Yeah, they needed to keep it together if they wanted to keep their spot in the playoffs.

  Did they really think the team didn’t know that? Did they really think keeping them an extra fifteen minutes was going to make any difference?

  He slung his bag over his shoulder and hit the panic bar on the door so hard the noise echoed in the empty stairwell like a shot. Derek hurried his steps, turning the corner near the elevator, hurrying to get deeper into the garage. He didn’t know exactly where Bridget parked, wasn’t sure if she usually parked in the same spot or not. If she didn’t, he wouldn’t know where to look. And if she did—