Brutal Love & Stanley Cups: A Slapshot Novel (Slapshot Series Book 7)

by Heather C. Myers

  Fuck him. Fuck being nice.

  Dean was not about to let this asshole put his hands on Dean’s girl again.

  With that, he threw open the door, his knuckles itching for something to hit.

  Chapter 17

  Clara’s heart lodged itself in her throat the minute Bill grabbed her arm. Maybe he wasn’t planning on doing anything. Maybe this wasn’t something where she would need to worry about him hurting her again.

  She could see the look in his eyes - the flash of anger, like lightning. Clara had no intention of sticking around to see if lightning struck twice. She yanked her arm from Bill and managed to pull it away from his grasp. However, her force was so much that she stumbled backwards a couple of times, only to run into the chest of someone.

  Someone familiar.

  Clara glanced up and saw Dean’s chiseled face contorted into a scowl as he looked at Bill. His nostrils were flared like an animal, his eyes slicing through the space between him and Bill like a knife. There was anger there. Clara could feel it. She took in a deep breath and decided this needed to de-escalate as quickly as possible.

  “What did I tell you about touching my girl again?” Dean took a step forward, causing Clara to straighten.

  The problem was, Clara got distracted. His girl? When had they talked about the nature of their relationship? Granted, Clara wanted to be with Dean. There wasn’t a doubt about that. In what capacity, Clara couldn’t say. But she knew she was over Bill. She knew she still had feelings for Dean. She knew she wanted to explore those feelings. And she knew that Dean could injure himself or get into a lot of trouble if she didn’t get him out of here now.

  “Your girl?” Bill’s eyes shifted over to Clara. Any apology that used to be in them, any sign of maybe, just maybe, they would go their separate ways without animosity between them, went out the window. “What do you mean, your girl? Just because you were with her before doesn’t mean she’s yours. You know this, right?”

  “Sure it does,” Dean said. Clara could see the flicker of the corner of his lips, the sparkle in his eye. However, she knew he wasn’t amused. There was no reason to be amused. “She’s always been mine.”

  Clara wanted to roll her eyes. She knew Dean didn’t actually believe that. She knew Dean didn’t think she was an object that belonged to him just because they dated previously. Clara knew he was saying this just to piss off Bill. But that didn’t mean she had to like that he was saying this in the first place. She was going to have a talk with him about this afterwards, that was for sure.

  “Is that right?” Bill didn’t believe him either. Clara hated to admit it, but Bill knew her better than a lot of people. They had been together seriously for just under a year. He knew she didn’t appreciate being anyone’s possession. “Then why has she been crawling into my bed every night the past ten months? Why has she been spreading her legs for me every night? Why is it my name on her lips when I get her to twitch around –”

  “That’s enough.” Clara couldn’t help but cut them off. She glared at both of them.

  “Clearly she wasn’t satisfied with your cookie cutter performance,” Dean said with a nonchalant shrug. “Why else would she come back to me?”

  Clara felt like she had been punched in the gut. Now Dean was playing this stupid game as well? She wasn’t about to stick around to see what either of them said next.

  Without another word, she stepped around from Dean and headed straight for the stairway. Her eyes were blurred with tears but she refused to wipe them away. Doing so would acknowledge them and she was not in the right frame of mind where she wanted to acknowledge them. She pushed the door open and headed down the stairs, hurrying as she did so. One tear fell, and then another. They were slow-moving, not terribly noticeable.

  She managed to get to her car without anything - or anyone - prohibiting her from doing so. In that way, it was almost worse. Not that she expected Dean to run after her like they were in a Hallmark movie, but it would have been nice for him to recognize that she didn’t want to watch them play who had the biggest dick. She started her car and was just about to shift gears into reverse, when someone knocked on her window.

  Clara glanced out.

  Dean.

  She almost drove off.

  Almost.

  Instead, she rolled down her window, shooting him a look that involved one raised eyebrow and a tight-lipped frown.

  “You okay?” His deep voice managed to cause the hair on her neck to stand up.

  Clara took a deep but shaky breath. “As okay as I will ever be,” she said with a shrug. Her tone was clipped and she did not bother to change that.

  “Why’d you run off?” Dean asked.

  Clara snorted. “Stop playing these games, Dean,” she said. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dean said. Judging from the pinched brow and the tilted head, Clara could tell he was being serious.

  She let out another breath, flexing her fingers on the steering wheel and shaking her head.

  “What’s going on?” Dean asked. “Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming here?”

  “You actually think I would come back to this asshole?” Clara demanded. Her body was pinched with energy. She could feel it thrumming through her, needing some sort of outlet. Some sort of release. “You actually think I would –”

  “Of course not,” Dean snapped, though he kept his voice low. “You respect yourself too much to put up with shit like that. You didn’t put up with half the shit I did and I never did anything like that to you.”

  Clara felt herself calm down, hearing him speak. It was nice to know he saw her the way she did herself. Still, she had to tighten her grip on the steering wheel, her fingers shaking.

  “No,” she agreed. “You never did anything like that.”

  “So, what is it?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a look.

  “I just –”

  “Don’t trust me.”

  Clara picked her eyes off the concrete so she could meet his. Hard blue eyes. He was protecting himself, preparing for the worst. She wasn’t sure if she should be understanding or offended. Maybe the fact that she couldn’t even figure out how to react was enough of an answer.

  The past two days had been a whirlwind. So much had happened and Clara hadn’t had the time to breathe, to let everything sink in, to really think what this meant to her.

  “You’re wrong.”

  Clara glanced to her car and shifted her weight. She saw all of her things, things that belonged solely to her, somehow fit into her small car. She could get into the driver’s seat and leave. She could go anywhere she wanted, start over. The thought was depressing. She didn’t want to run away. She wanted to grow roots. She wanted to belong. She wanted to get more clients, bring in steady income. She wanted to stand on her own two feet.

  “I trust you more than you think I do.” Her voice got stronger with each word. “I trust you more than even I realize.”

  “Then why –”

  “I think,” Clara said. She knew she was interrupting him and she knew he was doing a great job, much better than he had, with his patience for that. She pressed her lips together, a small smile on her face. “Sorry. I don’t mean to interrupt.” She looked up at him, hoping to reflect nothing but honesty in return. “I think I needed to do this on my own. I really appreciate all you’ve done so far. I have. But I needed to do this on my own. I really feel like I need to be the one to handle this. And you being there... it might not help things. Not in a bad way, but –”

  “It’ll make it harder for you,” Dean said.

  Clara nodded. “Exactly,” she said. “And, like I said, I love having you with me, I love knowing that you’re here with me no matter what, but at the same time, I need to do what’s best for me first. I feel after you left the first time, I was gutted. Seriously, gutted. It took me months before I was able to pick myself back up. And this isn’t anything against yo
u. You did what you had to do for you and what was best for you. I don’t blame you.”

  “Clara.” His voice was short but not rude. More like she was babbling and he wanted to calm her down so he could speak. “Clara.”

  She stopped talking. Clara felt her cheeks turn pink under the penetrating gaze of his blue eyes. They scanned her face, the contours of her cheeks. She looked away, shifting her weight. She wasn’t comfortable feeling so... noticed before, even if she was noticed by him.

  “Yes?” she asked. “I’m sorry, am I talking too much?”

  “You always talk too much,” he said. The corners of his lips flicked up in amusement. “But actually, I just wanted to let you know that I’m here to support you.”

  Clara blinked. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but she was. Not that Dean was supportive, but that he was willing to let her do this her way, without offering an opinion of how to do it better.

  “If you support me, why compete with Bill?” she pushed. She placed one hand on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “Bill said some pretty messed up stuff about me. But you didn’t help the situation by egging him on.”

  “What are you –” Dean cut himself off and looked away. “Oh.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t trying to say that we fucked or anything like that. I was trying to tell him that regardless of all the great things he thinks he has over you, you still chose... I’m not going to win you over on this, am I?”

  Clara smirked, shaking her head. “See, that? That right there doesn’t help me.”

  “I know you’re right, but I wanted to knock the asshole down. I couldn’t use my fists. He didn’t give me a reason to, though I probably would have just for grabbing your arm a certain way.”

  Clara sighed and glanced away. She heard seagulls cawing. The beach was a five minute drive from these apartments. She would miss being so close to the ocean. Some nights, if it was especially quiet, she could hear the waves crashing on the shore and she would think how perfect life was in that moment.

  “I’m glad you decided not to indulge,” Clara said, her voice flat. “It doesn’t help me when you integrate yourself into my issues with Bill. His whole thing is that I left because of you and not because of what he did. Obviously we know that isn’t true, but he needs to know that. And when you say dumb stuff like that, whether you mean it or not, you give him an excuse he wouldn’t have had otherwise.”

  Dean took a step back. Clara wasn’t sure why he felt he needed to put space between them but she wasn’t going to judge him. Her goal was telling him the truth and she felt as though she was doing as good of a job as she could hope for.

  “We need to talk,” he said finally, pulling his eyes away from scanning the rows of cars parked in the structure, even during the day. “But now isn’t the appropriate time to do that.”

  Clara felt herself move closer to her car at his words. She knew he was right. She knew this. And yet, her shoulders felt stiff and heavy, like she was suddenly carrying a weight she couldn’t quite shoulder.

  “When do you want to do that?” Clara forced herself to ask, her voice dry.

  “Tonight.” He glanced back at the structure. “Once you’re ready. If that’s okay with you.”

  Clara nodded once. “Sounds like a plan,” she agreed.

  “Where are you off to now?” Dean asked, nodding at the car.

  “I’ll probably take this to your place,” Clara admitted, “and then I’ll take some time to myself. Just to get clarity.”

  Chapter 18

  Clara hadn’t gotten home until late that night and she crawled in his bed with no indication that she wanted to fool around. Dean could appreciate the gesture. Granted, he didn’t know if she was doing this out of respect or if she didn’t want to jump back in the sack with him. What he did know was that he had a very important game today, which meant he was out of bed by six thirty in the morning. He grabbed a piece of toast, and downed a cup of black coffee. He slipped into his Jaguar one of his superstitions, and headed to the rink for their morning skate.

  For the time being, Dean put Clara out of his mind. For now, he needed to focus on the game. He needed to focus on getting that second win.

  As he skated on the ice, he made sure to really stretch the muscles in his groin, his pelvis, his legs. He wanted to make sure they were awake and ready to move for tonight.

  Cherney was even more of a dick than he typically was. Dean wasn’t sure if it was because everyone was being an asshole, but he knew tensions were high, considering there were potentially three games left - at the least - and then, the Cup was theirs. It had finally hit the majority of the team that this was it. This was what they had been playing all season for. And not just then, but every single season before that, every single in-house and club hockey game, every single five thirty AM skating practice, every single travel game, every single cardio and weight workout. This was the reason Dean had given up beer. This was the reason why he left Southern California nine years ago only to come back here, playing his former team.

  Tensions were high. Dean could feel it. Everyone could feel it.

  Cherney worked them hard. Dean has never felt strain in his thighs the way he did after he got off the ice.

  When they were dismissed, Brandon Thorpe cleared his throat. Instantly, the side chatter quieted and everyone gave him their full focus.

  “As you know,” he said, his voice soft and low, “we’ve had a turbulent season. But we’re here. Our perseverance, our hard work, all paid off. This is our moment. It’s our birthright. This is ours for the taking. Can you feel it? Can you feel the Cup in your hands as you lift it over your head? Can you hear the roar of the crowd as they’re cheering ‘Go Gulls’? As they’re cheering your name? You should. Can you see your name etched in the cup, along with the greats? Along with Wayne Gretzky? Mario Lemieux? Bobby Orr? Sydney Crosby? Teemu Selanne? You should. It’s yours. Your name is there. Every single one of our names is there. Do you believe it? Do you believe it’s ours? If not, I don’t want to see you back here this afternoon.”

  And that was it.

  Dean grinned. That was probably the best damn speech he had ever heard but the best part was his ending. Thorpe knew how to end a speech.

  Nothing more was said by the captain. Instead, he simply turned and skated off. Dean almost laughed. Jackman chuckled under his breath as he came over to Dean.

  “Thorpe’s a piece, isn’t he?” Jackman asked.

  Dean didn’t answer. Instead, he shook his head, skating off the ice with his friend. He took a quick shower and headed back to his place. He was ready to crawl into bed and take a nap. Now that he wasn’t on the ice, Clara came back to him with such force that he felt as though he was slapped across the face. By the time he pulled into his garage, his heart thudded against his chest like a kick drum. He didn’t know why he was nervous, but he was.

  This was Clara. Clara.

  And yet, he could not help but feel slightly off. Unsure.

  He didn’t know what was going to happen. He knew what he wanted to happen but he didn’t know if what he wanted and what she wanted would align. And that made him nervous.

  Clara looked up at him when he walked into the kitchen. Her tousled hair framed her face, though the majority of it was pulled up into a messy bun. She was in her pajamas - comfy pants and a large t-shirt.

  She looked perfect here. Like she fit.

  He could get used to this.

  She smiled. Her eyes lit up like fire and he couldn’t help but stare.

  “I see you already showered,” she said, glancing down at whatever it was she was cooking.

  It was only then that he noticed she was cooking something. His nostrils flared.

  “I see you haven’t burned the house down,” he drawled. Suddenly, all thoughts of napping went out the window. He could stay and stare at her all day if she would let him. At least until the game tonight.

  “Give me time,” she said with a knowing grin.

  “No Desti
ny’s Child?” He glanced over at the speakers he set on top of the refrigerator. “No old school Britney Spears?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You don’t know how to work the system,” Dean stated, his tone flat.

  She grabbed a spatula and started flipping the pancakes. “I don’t know how to work the system,” she agreed.

  “Watch and learn.” He cleared his throat. “Alexa, play Britney Spears.”

  “Playing Britney Spears.”

  Suddenly, “Baby... One More Time” was playing from the speakers. Probably without realizing what she was doing, Clara started to move her hips side to side, bobbing her head up and down. His heart swelled at the sight. He had seen her naked, he had seen her dressed up, he had seen her in a bikini, in jeans and a shirt. For some reason, he had never seen her look so beautiful as she did in that moment.

  “I love you.”

  The words took both of them by surprise but he refused to take it back. In fact, he felt lighter now that he had finally said them.

  She blinked. It was obvious she was taken aback by his words because of her wide eyes, the way the amusement immediately disappeared from the irises.

  He wasn’t sorry. How could he be sorry for being honest?

  Whatever happened now, however she reacted, he would deal with it. He would throw himself into the game tonight. He would push and shove and possibly take a chainsaw to his bed rather than his sofa, but he would constructively attempt to channel his frustration into something physical in order to feel better. But that was only if something bad came from this.

  There was a chance that something good could come from this. There was a chance she wanted him just as much as he wanted her.

  “I – I –”She flattened her hands and wiped her stomach with her palms, as though she had gotten some cooking residue on her clothes. Clara was nervous. That was obvious. “Dean, I don’t know what to say.”

  Loss of breath. A sucker punch to the guy. But he wouldn’t show it.