Crossing the Line (Men of the Ice Book 2)

by Michele Shriver

  CROSSING THE LINE

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Crossing the Line (Men of the Ice, #2)

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note and Acknowledgements

  Michele Shriver

  SMC Publishing

  Crossing the Line: A Men of the Ice Novella

  By Michele Shriver

  Copyright 2015 Michele Shriver

  Published by SMC Publishing

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, locales and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  “Hockey players have fire in their hearts and ice in their veins.” - unknown

  Chapter One

  Nikolai Brantov knotted his tie and ran his fingers through his damp hair, trying to spike the top exactly the way he liked it. When he first moved to the United States from his native Russia five months before to realize his dream of playing in the National Hockey League, he not only had to learn a new language—one he still struggled with—he had to learn new customs and traditions too. Among those were the expectations of being a player in the NHL, including the team dress code which left Nik primping more in front of a mirror as he prepared to leave the arena after a game than he might to get ready for a date. Not that he had any time for dating. Practice, games and English lessons filled most of his days, and that suited Nik fine. He’d left his family and his homeland at the age of nineteen to move to North America to play hockey, not meet women.

  “Great game tonight, Nik,” the team captain, Colton Tremblay, said as he came up beside Nik.

  Nik nodded at Colton. “Thanks. You too.” The San Antonio Generals beat the Winnipeg Jets three to two in overtime, and Nik scored the winning goal. His first season in the NHL, and the expansion Generals’ first season in the league, were both going well. The country might be unfamiliar, and the rink sizes a little different, but hockey was still hockey, and on the ice was where Nik felt most at home.

  “You’re going to stop by the foundation table to see how the toy drive went, right?” Colton asked.

  “Yes.” Nik would because he knew it was expected of him. It was almost Christmas, and the Generals’ charity foundation sponsored a drive to collect toys for needy children. Many of his teammates, included Colton, were excited about the event because their girlfriends and wives had helped organize it. Being single, it was less of a big deal to Nik. Still, as much as he would feel completely out of place, it was an important team event and Nik was expected to show up, even if only briefly.

  “I’ll head over there with you,” Colton said. “I want to see my girl.”

  Nik nodded and they left the locker room together. Of course, Colton was anxious to see his girlfriend again. With no one there waiting for Nik to greet him with a kiss and congratulate him on a good game, he planned to make a quick appearance—the minimum expected of him—and head home. Such that it was. ‘Home’ to Nik right now meant staying with a host family in San Antonio while he acclimated to his new city and new country.

  Sure enough, as they approached the Generals Foundation charity table, Colton’s girlfriend came over gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Nice game, as usual,” she said, then nodded in Nik’s direction. “You too.”

  “Thanks.”

  “The toy drive was a huge success,” Maya continued. “Come see everything we collected.” She led the way to the boxes of children’s toys. She wore a maroon and silver Generals jersey with Colton’s name and number on the back. A group of women surrounded the table, similarly dressed to support their player.

  “Hey Nik, is there something you’re not telling us?” Colton asked, as his eyes darted to a young woman in the group.

  Nik recognized her as Meryl Johnson, the daughter of the Generals team owner. They’d never formally met before, although Nik had seen her at a couple of team events. His impression of her was that she was spoiled and liked to get her way, but that probably wasn’t unusual from the daughter of a billionaire. And maybe it wasn’t fair to judge someone he’d never so much as exchanged a word with. She was attractive, that was for sure, and he liked her casual style, with her long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail and tucked through a ball cap sporting the Generals logo. which featured the team name in a circle around the Alamo facade, with three stars underneath. She, too, wore a team jersey, and it took Nik a moment to realize what Colton referred to. The jersey Meryl wore was Nik’s.

  Before he could answer Colton that he had no idea what it was about, Meryl approached him. “Hi there. I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Meryl Johnson.”

  “Yes. Mr. Johnson’s daughter.” Nik shook her hand. “Nikolai Brantov.”

  ***

  He said it as if he thought she might not know his name, and Meryl appreciated his unassuming nature. So many of the athletes she’d encountered had big egos, and Nikolai had every reason to as well. The hockey season might be only a few months old, but the young Russian had already made an impression on the league. Sports reporters remarked every day that Nik was a superstar in the making.

  Meryl smiled at him. “I know who you are.” After all, her father owned the team, and Meryl made it her business to know about the players he employed. And why shouldn’t she? Hockey players were hot, and in Meryl’s estimation, none more so than Nikolai Brantov, with his gray eyes and spiked brown hair that Meryl longed to run her fingers through.

  She’d noticed him during the summer’s NHL draft, when he became the first-ever draft choice of the San Antonio Generals. He appeared awkward in his early interviews, and a little overwhelmed, immediately intriguing Meryl. Was that his true personality, or a byproduct of the circumstances he found himself in? It couldn’t be easy moving to a new country and having to learn a new language at the age of nineteen.

  From that moment, Meryl wanted to learn as much about him as possible, so she sought out all the information she could. She knew Nik hailed from the Siberian city of Irkutsk, that his favorite color was orange, and he liked to eat steak and baked potatoes. He listed the Pittsburgh Penguins as his favorite NHL team and his countryman, Evgeni Malkin, as his favorite player. And even knowing all of that, Nik remained an enigma to Meryl.

  “I’m wearing your jersey, after all,” she said, and did a little twirl so he could see his name and number, forty-four, on the back. Her choice of attire had raised a few eyebrows among the wives and girlfriends’ who’d put together the event, and who proudly sported their man’s jerseys, but Meryl didn’t care. Her father owned the team, she could wear whatever she wanted.

  “Yes,” Nik said, nodding. “It’s...what is the word?” He frowned a little. “Bold of you?”

  He was so cute in his uncertainty. Meryl knew he had a tutor working with him on his English, a job she would have gladly volunteered for. In fact, she had, only half-jokingly. Not surprisingly, Daddy had vetoed that idea and warned her that Nik, and everyone else on the team, was off-limits to Meryl. “That’s me. Bold,” Meryl said.

  “It looks nice on you,” Nik said, causing Meryl’s heart to flutter a little.

  “Bett
er on you, I think. Especially when you scored the winning goal.”

  Nik shrugged. “I was in the right place and got a good pass from Colton.”

  Definitely unassuming, Meryl decided. And hot. She kept going back to that one. Damn her father and his silly prohibitions. He never wanted her to have any fun. “What are you doing tonight?” she asked. “I have to help put this stuff away,” she gestured to the boxes of toys they’d collected during the charity drive, “then my dad is having a little party up in his box, if you want to join me.” He’d already called her bold. Meryl figured she might as well live up to it.

  Nik hesitated before answering, giving Meryl hope that perhaps he’d seriously consider the offer, but the hope was dashed when he shook his head. “No, thank you. I need to go home.”

  Meryl knew ‘home’ to Nik was a family of strangers hosting him in their house, and she questioned his need—or desire—to rush back there, but she didn’t press the issue. “Have a good night, then. It was nice to meet you.”

  “You as well, Miss Johnson,” he said.

  She watched him walk away, admiring how his perfectly-tailored suit fit his body. Okay, he hadn’t accepted her invitation. Meryl hadn’t really expected him to. At least they’d shared a few words, finally. The rest would happen in due time. Meryl was accustomed to getting everything she wanted, and she’d already decided she wanted Nik Brantov.

  Chapter Two

  Meryl busied herself with putting all of the toys from the charity drive into storage at the arena, where they would stay until the campaign was over and they’d be delivered to needy families in San Antonio. Once they were finished, the other women were in a hurry to leave the building, and Meryl didn’t blame them. They all had plans with their men. Meryl, on the other hand, would be attending her father’s party, but doing so alone.

  What will you be doing when you get home, Nik Brantov? She wondered as she swiped her VIP pass to access the elevator to the suite level. As she stepped on, the uniformed security guard greeted her with a nod. “Hello, Miss Johnson.”

  “Hi, Joe.” He was always so formal, which Meryl knew her father insisted upon, but sometimes she wished it was less so. She was only twenty, yet referred to as ‘Miss Johnson’ by everyone she met. There were certainly perks to being the daughter of the third wealthiest man in Texas, but sometimes Meryl longed for a little casual informality. The elevator ride to the arena suite level was short and silent. There was no point in trying to engage Joe in idle chatter about the game. She knew he’d never cross that line.

  The party looked to be in full swing already when Meryl entered the suite. Not surprising, since the home team won. The alcohol flowed freely, and she grabbed a glass of champagne off a tray as she surveyed the crowd, finally spying her father holding court in a corner, his much younger wife clinging to his arm.

  Tart. Gold-digging tart. Yes, Veronica Johnson, nee Whitman, had hit the mother-lode when she married billionaire Richard Johnson less than a year after he’d buried his beloved wife. Meryl knew the will had been changed, leaving the bulk of the fortune to Ronnie, as she liked to be called. That was fine. There was plenty of money to go around. If Ronnie made her father happy, Meryl could live with that. As long as she didn’t have to see much of Ronnie, and as long Ronnie didn’t inherit the hockey team. Anything but the team. Meryl wanted it.

  That was a long ways off, though, and for now she’d settle for having one of the players. If that pissed her father off, more the better.

  “Brantov played a great game,” someone said, apparently noticing her jersey as she walked by.

  “Doesn’t he always?” Meryl stopped to ask rhetorically. “He’s got some slick hands.” At least when they handled a hockey stick, and she had a hunch they were slick in other areas as well. Too bad she couldn’t speak from experience about that. At least not yet.

  She made her way over to her father and the tart. “Hello, Father,” Meryl said, greeting him before making any eye contact with her stepmother. “Ronnie.”

  “Meryl, darling, it’s so nice to see you,” Ronnie said through too-red lips. “How did the charity thingy go?”

  Charity thingy? Good grief. As if the witch cared. Meryl thought it would do her father’s new wife some good to show some interest—even if fake, as everything about Ronnie was—in charitable pursuits, but thus far her stepmother was more interested in counting diamonds and flaunting her new status.

  “It was a great success,” Meryl said. “We’ll be helping a lot of kids have a Merry Christmas.”

  Rick Johnson smiled. “It’s nice to see you get involved in such a worthy cause, Meryl.” His eyes darted to the glass in her hand and the smile faded. “I don’t, however, like seeing you drinking. You’re underage,” he reminded her needlessly.

  “So?” To show her lack of concern, Meryl took a swig of Champagne. “Like anyone’s going to arrest me? Or you?”

  “That’s not the point. I still don’t like it.” The smile was completely gone now, replaced by a frown. “I don’t like what you’re wearing, either. Meryl, didn’t I tell you—”

  “No fraternizing with the players.” Meryl rolled her eyes. Some things never changed. “Yes. You told me, and I’m not fraternizing. Just supporting the team. Or would you rather I’d have worn a Jets jersey?”she asked coolly.

  Her father sighed, and Meryl knew she’d won that round. “Only one glass of Champagne, I promise.”

  ***

  Nik drove from the arena to a house that wasn’t his and didn’t feel at all like home, listening to a Russian alternative band called All Tomorrow’s Parties. In the car, listening to his favorite band, was about the only time Nik felt a connection to his homeland. Most of the time, he struggled to find a balance. He needed to learn English, he needed to adapt to an American way of life, but he didn’t want to ever lose his roots.

  He’d already decided that once the hockey season was over, he would return to Russia for a few weeks to visit his family, then spend the remainder of the summer in San Antonio and find his own place to live. Nik was grateful for the hospitality of the Crawford family taking him into their home and help him get settled in an unfamiliar city, but also longed for a little bit of privacy.

  Instead of privacy and quiet, as soon as Nik used his key to unlock the front door of the Crawfords’ house, he was greeted by the enthusiastic shout of a twelve-year-old.

  “He shoots... and scores!” Bryson Crawford ran into the foyer. “Awesome game, Nik! Wicked shot.”

  “Thank you.” Nik reached out and tousled the hair of his host family’s son. Bryson was a budding hockey player and hung on Nik’s very word and move. Although he wasn’t accustomed to being a role model, Nik took the role seriously. Bryson reminded him a little of his younger brother, Aleksei, who was only a few years older than Bryson, and in the months Nik had been living with the Crawford family, he tried to spend as much time as possible with their young son.

  “The poor Jets goalie had no idea what to do,” Bryson continued, his voice animated. “I hope I never have to try to stop a shot like yours.”

  Sam Crawford rounded the corner into the foyer. “Okay, kiddo, at least let the guy get in the house. It’s time for you to get to bed, anyway.” He gave Nik an apologetic smile. “He insisted on staying up until you got home so he could congratulate you, and since school’s out for the holiday, we let him.”

  Nik nodded at the older man as he slipped out of his jacket and loosened his tie. “That’s fine. I’m a little later today because of the charity drive.” For some reason, he felt the need to explain. After all, he was a guest in their home. He might be a professional hockey player and a millionaire now, but he was still a guest.

  He turned to Bryson again. “You should get to bed. Sleep is important for young hockey players,” he said. “But if you want to, and your parents allow it, you can come to the practice rink with me tomorrow.”

  Predictably, the young boy’s eyes lit up. “Can I really?” He looked
up at his father. “Dad?”

  “If it’s no trouble for Nik.”

  Nik shook his head. “No. The skate is optional, and probably only a few guys will be there, but he might enjoy seeing it.”

  Sam nodded. “Then you can go.” That appeased his son, who happily ran up the stairs to get ready for bed, and Sam turned back to Nik. “Thank you. He really looks up to you.”

  “It really is no trouble.”

  “Sue made tacos for dinner, if you’re interested,” Sam said.

  “Maybe in a little bit,” Nik said. “I want to change clothes.”

  “Of course. No problem. Everything’s in the refrigerator if you get hungry later.”

  Nik thanked him and went upstairs to his own room. The Crawfords tried to respect his privacy and give him space, and Nik knew it was an adjustment for them, as well, to take a stranger into their home.

  I guess it’s a good thing I don’t have time for a girlfriend, Nik thought as he hung up his suit and changed into a pair of sweat pants and a T-shirt. His mind shifted to Meryl Johnson. Had she hoped to make a statement by Nik’s jersey to the game? And what about inviting him to the party?

  Nik wasn’t sure exactly what to think of the team owner’s daughter, but she was definitely bold. And pretty.

  Chapter Three

  “Come on, Nik! Go! Shoot!” The boy screamed, and Nik did just that, aiming the puck top shelf over the goalie’s shoulder and into the net. “Tough break, Beck,” the kid said. “You’ll get it next time.”

  Meryl chuckled at the boy’s enthusiasm as she settled into a seat a row behind him at the Generals’ practice rink. If he was any indication, then hockey had caught on with the youth of San Antonio. It was exactly what Meryl wanted to see. There was no shortage of naysayers after the league awarded an expansion team to the central Texas city. Quebec City would have been the better choice, they said. Or Seattle. Even Las Vegas, which didn’t make any sense to Meryl at all. In the end, it didn’t matter. The NHL commissioner believed in San Antonio, and so far the city had responded with strong support for its newest professional sports franchise.