Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1)

by Samantha Wayland

  It was a long shot, but he was starting to understand Savannah and her position with the team—as trainer and as the only woman. He might have preferred to woo her, to court her openly, but it was out of the question.

  So he had his plan, and come hell or high water, he was going to be patient and let it unfold.

  He adjusted his cock in his shorts, trying to stem the erection that bloomed at the mere thought of Savannah sitting in her bed, rumpled from sleep and sex. Patience was going to be pure agony.

  Shaking his head, he put thoughts of his lovely friend away and set his mind to their meeting with Reese and Rupert. They’d heard some of what Garrick had said, and they’d listened carefully to what Savannah had told them. But it had been late, with wine and beer and betting on pool games. He couldn’t be sure how much of it had stuck—let alone resonated.

  It had been years since he’d been in school, since he’d drafted anything like the document he was considering crafting, but he thought he could find some good examples on the internet and make a go at it.

  Maybe Savannah would be willing to read it, give him some feedback and edits. If she had time. His goal was to get something messengered over to Lamont’s estate before they left Cape Breton Island in two days time.

  Savannah didn’t know what to expect after spending the night with Garrick, but she was mighty put out that he seemed to be avoiding her.

  Maybe he got what he wanted and was done with her?

  She let that idea rattle around in her head for all of ten minutes, trying to build up a good head of pissed-off steam. All she ended up with was a headache and guilt for thinking so shabbily of him. Maybe she would prove to be a poor judge of character, but she really didn’t think he would do that to her. To any woman. But particularly to her.

  They were friends. Right?

  They had to be, because why else would he have slid his Business and Marketing Plan for the Moncton Ice Cats under her hotel door last night?

  Not exactly a love note—not that she wanted one—but a pretty cool surprise.

  She had no idea when he’d found time to pull it all together. It was everything he’d talked about for saving the team, turning the arena profitable, and her ideas for how to improve the team management, coaching, and fitness. They’d met with Lamont the day before yesterday and in the meantime, he’d spent a night in her room, done his training and fitness work, played hockey, stayed late for a fan event and, presumably, slept. Though she would bet, based on the business plan, that the sleep had been mostly sacrificed.

  Now it was time for a midday Sunday game and the long bus ride back to Moncton. She was about to leave her temporary office and head out to the rink, her kit packed up and ready for the game, when a shadow at the door caught her attention.

  “Hello, Bobby,” she said, irritated at how her pulse sped up. She slid her hand into her kit and gripped her scissors. “Did your wrap come loose?”

  Bobby’s smirk was mostly sneer. “Elbow’s fine. How was dinner Friday night?”

  Why the fuck would he want to know about her dinner Friday night? Then she remembered where she’d been. Lamont’s house. Shit. He couldn’t know about that.

  Could he?

  “It’s none of your business what I do with my free time, Bobby,” she said flatly.

  Bobby laughed, his chuckle grating on her nerves. “It will be my business soon enough.”

  What did that mean? The loser couldn’t possibly believe he would win her over. She studied his face, his mean little smirk. Actually, he probably was that fucking crazy. And stupid.

  Bobby jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He moved out of the door so Mark could step through.

  “Ready?”

  She smiled gratefully. “Sure am.” She hefted her equipment and followed Mark from the room without another word or glance for Bobby.

  An hour later, Savannah stood by the bench, eyes on the game, still trying to shake off her creepy encounter with Bobby. She was starting to worry that he wasn’t just mean and dim-witted, but actually insane. Had he followed them? The idea gave her the chills.

  More so, even, than the thought of him telling the rest of the team she’d gone out to dinner with Garrick. So much for her sterling reputation. All that hard work, and Bobby would no doubt gleefully destroy her standing in the eyes of the rest of the team, even if all he had was conjecture and bullshit.

  Then again, if he’d seen them get out of the limo in the garage that night, it might not be entirely conjecture.

  She was so screwed.

  And as if that weren’t enough to think about, she also needed to find a way to tell Garrick. He’d been doing a really bang-up job of avoiding her these past few days.

  Hell, maybe he could make sense of it.

  Her free time would be Bobby’s business? She shuddered at the thought.

  Over my dead body.

  She was so engrossed in trying to decipher Bobby’s cryptic bullshit, she failed to keep an eye on the game. Her head snapped up when the piercing shriek of the referee’s whistle rent the air and stopped play.

  Shit!

  Savannah shot to the boards, her heart nearly stopping when she saw a red and blue jersey down on the ice. One of hers.

  She was over the wall and out on the ice without a thought.

  Shit, shit, shit. Was it a head injury?

  She almost lost her footing when she realized it was Garrick. She picked up speed, sliding the last foot on her knees, heart pounding.

  “I’m fine!” he said from flat on his back.

  She might have believed him if he wasn’t bleeding all over the damn place. She looked at the ref. “What happened?”

  “High stick. He stopped it with his face mask and…” The ref paused, peering down at Garrick. “Maybe his right cheekbone.”

  She studied Garrick’s face, assessing the damage, and smiled at his thoroughly disgruntled look. “That’s using your head, LeBlanc.”

  “Har har.” He tried to sit up.

  “Stay.” Her hand on his shoulder kept him still. “You didn’t get right up. Did you hit your head on the way down?”

  “Nah, I caught myself. I was just stunned for a second. He clipped my nose before he hit the cheek.”

  With quick economical movements, she released his chin strap and tilted his head back. Not that she didn’t believe him…actually, wait. She didn’t believe him until she saw how his eyes reacted normally to the bright lights above. She took her first real breath since leaving the bench.

  “Looks like you’ll live.” She stood. “But first you’ll come with me and get that cleaned.”

  He easily got to his feet. Spending time down on the ice was considered a sign of weakness. She’d seen men with broken limbs get up and skate off. A simple face rearrangement wasn’t going to keep him down.

  “No stitches,” he muttered as they passed his replacement and stepped up into the bench.

  “What, you don’t trust my sewing?”

  He gave her a bland look, sat on the bench, and yanked off his helmet. The puck and several players moved past them, but she focused on her patient.

  Garrick’s eyes followed the game. His line came back and she was afraid she was going to have to tackle him to get him to stay put when they went out again.

  Working quickly, she cleaned up his face and neck, confirmed no other injuries hid beneath the mess, then leaned in to examine the wound.

  “Did you read it?” Garrick asked quietly.

  She grabbed a couple butterfly bandages to help keep the cut closed and clean. “I did. I’m impressed. I had no idea you knew how to do something like that.”

  Garrick’s head swung as the puck moved to their goal, his gaze narrow. “I didn’t.”

  Now she was confused. “You didn’t write that plan?”

  “No, I did. But I didn’t know how. I looked it up the other night. Figured out what to do. At least I think I did.”

  She leaned in close, her face inches from
his as she applied the first bandage. “I’m even more impressed.”

  He grunted. “Is there anything I should change? Anything I got wrong?”

  “Not that I saw.” She applied the last bandage. “I thought it was perfect.”

  At last he looked away from the game and pinned her with his soft brown eyes. “Thanks.”

  She smiled a little. “You’re going to save this team.”

  His crooked smile and pink cheeks made him look younger. He slammed his beat-up helmet back on his head and at last gave his blood-stained jersey a cursory glance.

  “I’m sure as hell going to try.”

  She didn’t think before she tugged on his chin strap. He cooperated without so much as a blink, tilting his head back and not making make fun of her for acting like his mom. She considered stopping mid-process, but it would only exacerbate her stupidity.

  “Bobby caught me alone in the training room before the game,” she said softly, filling the awkward silence.

  His sharp look made her rush on. “He didn’t touch me. Didn’t even come in the room.”

  Garrick only relaxed marginally. “And?”

  She let her hands fall to her sides, his helmet secure. “He asked me how dinner was Friday night.”

  Garrick digested that for a second before muttering a heartfelt “fuck” under his breath.

  “That’s just what I was thinking,” Savannah said as Garrick cleared the boards with the rest of his line.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Garrick sat on the bus, watching the moonlit winter fields of New Brunswick fly by, and tried to rein in his chaotic thoughts.

  How could Bobby possibly know about Friday night?And more importantly, who was he going to tell? Had he had seen them return? Had he seen Garrick go into Savannah’s room? Scrubbing a hand over his face, he slumped back in his seat. He’d never meant to bring this shit down on Savannah. Her reputation was critical to her success. Hell, she relied on it almost as much as her skills as a trainer. She had to. She was a woman.

  For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t understood that from the moment he’d met her. Fucking dense, LeBlanc.

  Garrick checked his cell phone again, but still no response from Reese. He’d included his email address in the letter he’d sent along with the business plan, indicating it was the best way to reach him.

  Now he was obsessively checking his phone like a teenage girl.

  There were too many loose strings and it drove him crazy not to get at least a couple of them tied off. Confirmation from Reese. Determining what the fuck game Bobby was playing. Figuring out how the hell he was ever going to get Savannah in bed again when Bobby had sent her into a completely justified paranoid freak-out.

  Garrick wrestled with the burning desire to stand up, walk three rows forward, and punch Bobby Kramer in the face. God, that would feel so damn good.

  Just when he was descending into that happy fantasy, thoroughly enjoying the image it invoked, they crossed the Moncton city limits and Mark stood up at the front of the bus.

  “Team meeting,” he announced over the din of conversation and the hum of the bus tires on the highway. “Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.”

  A general groan went up from the crowd. Garrick dug his fingers into his tired eyes.

  Fuck, what now?

  Savannah smiled at Mike Erdo as she got out of her car and saw him lingering in the doorway to the arena. She really was going to have to talk to Mark about this escort thing. Poor Mike was standing out in the bitter cold, hanging around like it was his preference to freeze his nuts off for a while rather than moving the five feet it would take to get into the warm lobby.

  “Good morning, Mike.”

  “Morning, Savannah.”

  She opened the door and held it for him. He hardly even gave her a funny look. She was finally getting these men properly trained. She buried her mouth in her scarf to hide her smile.

  It was almost nine o’clock so they went directly to the meeting room. She stepped through the door and had the worst kind of déjà vu. Maybe she was turning into a pessimist, but she’d bet this meeting wasn’t going to be any more fun than the last.

  Bobby’s glare sure was reminiscent of the last time around. What was new was the little smile, the crinkle in the corners of his beady little eyes.

  Just when she’d thought he couldn’t get any creepier.

  Working her way to the front of the room, she murmured a quiet thank you to Mike when he stepped into a row to sit with Alexei. She continued on, putting her hand on Rhian’s shoulder to get his attention. He started to stand but she pressed down and nodded at his long legs. Sighing, he swung them to the side and let her slide past him.

  Garrick did the same without being asked.

  Yes, the training was definitely starting to take.

  She sat next to Garrick, not bothering to check if Bobby was still smirking at her. She could feel his stare on the back of her neck.

  “Any idea?” she asked.

  “Not a blessed one,” Garrick replied.

  Mark looked over his shoulder from the front row, purposefully catching Savannah’s eye. Her stomach clenched.

  Rhian and Garrick muttered various colorful curses. “Did you see that look?” Rhian whispered.

  She nodded. Garrick sighed.

  Mark stood.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, stepping to the front of the room. “Yesterday the EHL and Edwin Lamont received what is considered to be a reasonable bid for the team.”

  Murmurs rippled around the room but Mark continued, slicing through the noise.

  “It will take a while to sort out the paperwork, and the league will have to approve the purchase. Nothing is final until that happens.”

  Savannah looked at Garrick and he shrugged, his narrow gaze and full attention focused on the team’s manager. A new owner could mean their jobs were all saved, at least for a while longer. But instead of pleased, Mark appeared to be somewhere between uneasy and nauseous.

  Garrick sat forward. “Who’s the buyer?”

  “My dad,” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.

  With dawning horror, Savannah and everyone else in the room turned to see a triumphant Bobby being congratulated by his friends.

  Savannah barely heard a word of the rest of the meeting. Rhian looked like he’d swallowed something sour and Garrick appeared ready to commit murder.

  She wished she had some comfort to offer them. To offer any of her colleagues as everyone quietly fled the room.

  She stood on wooden legs, only vaguely aware of Garrick and Rhian trailing her into the hallway. Neither said a word when she walked right past her door and continued on to the lobby.

  The game wasn’t until seven that night. Normally she would have stuck close, spent the day working on fitness plans, checking in with her players. Today she strode back out into the cold air of the parking lot.

  As the door swung closed, Garrick called, “Savannah—”

  “Leave her be, man,” Rhian said.

  She wanted to turn back. To fling herself into Garrick’s arms and cry all over him. But it was too late.

  At least she hadn’t gotten attached. Much.

  Garrick cursed under his breath as Savannah drove out of the lot. Thanks to Bobby Fuckhead Kramer, she hadn’t felt safe for a month, and now this.

  His hands curled into fists. For his professional reputation—not to mention his criminal record—he needed to avoid Bobby for a while.

  “I’ll be back,” he said, though he didn’t move.

  Rhian stared out at the parking lot like he might drive away too. “Yeah. I’ll see you in the gym later?”

  Garrick nodded, not really sure what the hell he was going to do, but vaguely aware that he did have to come back to do his conditioning, his stretches. Ice. Heat. Go through the routine of a game day and get out on the ice. He had to play, and play well. He owed Moncton and his teammates that much.

>   And he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

  He was the only person who might actually lose his job faster than Savannah, if only because Bobby would want to keep her around so he could assault her again at his leisure.

  That thought got Garrick moving. Jamming the door open, he jogged to his car.

  Fuck, he had to do something.

  He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and checked his email automatically, belatedly realizing why he had not received a message from Reese Lamont about his business plan.

  He allowed himself to feel humiliated by his own stupidity and wide-eyed optimism for thirty seconds while he started the car and drove out of the lot. Then he pulled up the contact he’d programmed in only a few days before and hit SEND.

  It only rang once. “Yes?”

  The first time Reese Lamont’s personal assistant had answered the phone like this, Garrick had thought it was strange. Mysterious and aloof. Now it just irritated the shit out of him.

  “Garrick LeBlanc for Mr. Lamont.”

  “Yes, Mr. LeBlanc. He is expecting your call.”

  Garrick blinked. He used the few seconds he was on hold to pull into a Tim Horton’s and throw his truck into park.

  “Garrick?”

  “Mr. Lamont.”

  A pause. “That mad, are you?”

  Garrick considered his response carefully. “Not mad. Disappointed.”

  Reese sighed audibly over the phone line. “If it’s any consolation, I didn’t get your business plan until after the offer was in to me and the league. In truth, I didn’t expect anyone to offer this much—neither did the league. Turning it down would make me appear insane.”

  Seemed like a trivial concern from somebody who was rumored not to have left his house in a decade. Garrick fought his anger and held his tongue, focusing on what Reese had implied. “Do you want to turn down the offer?”

  “Honestly? Yes. Robert Kramer is a bastard. A dirty, crooked bastard.”

  Garrick blinked. “He is?”

  “Aren’t you from Moncton?” Reese asked. “I would have thought you’d at least heard the rumors.”