Good lord, he was high. She breathed a silent sigh of relief that he wasn’t asking her to mount him and drive his stick like a NASCAR groupie. Also, if he’d been at the clinic all day, then he couldn’t have been near the Arena. Shredder had an iron-clad alibi for the Griffiths incident.
“I’m not surprised, you sound higher than a kite,” she said. “Why didn’t you tell me you were having the procedure today? In spite of what’s happened between us, I’m still your friend. I would have gladly come down and been your waiting room person.”
Silence filled the connection for a moment. “I didn’t think you cared.”
Kylie sighed. Men were the biggest sucks around when it came to being sick, injured, or worse – ignored. Either way, he didn’t appear to have heard the news yet.
“I care, Shredder. I never said I didn’t.”
Another pause. “Please come,” he said. “I want to go home. With you.”
Her heart stirred. She hoped it wasn’t just the painkillers talking. “Okay. Stay there.”
“I don’t have much choice. Can’t really stand.”
Kylie smiled even though he couldn’t see her. “Nope. You can’t, so stay seated so you don’t fall down.”
She took a cab to the clinic and was directed to the laser surgical unit. Shredder waited for her in the reception area. He smiled as she approached. She missed that bright, lopsided grin that made dimples in his cheeks and wrinkles on his forehead.
“Well, you don’t look too bad for being zapped with a laser scalpel,” she said.
“Always jokes with you,” he replied, shaking his head. “Is there ever a time when you’re serious?”
His comment reminded her of the stark reality at hand. She stepped close and put her arms around him, enveloping herself in the feel and smell of him. It felt like coming home. He returned her embrace, and the nearness and warmth of his body broke something inside her. She started to tremble and felt the sting of tears begin.
“Hey,” he said. “I’m okay. Were you that worried?”
“Has Lou or Sheehan called you?” she asked, her voice cracking.
“No, why?”
“There’s been an incident. Griffiths was killed in the parking garage. Someone slit his throat.”
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, locked in each other’s arms. “When did this happen?” Shredder whispered, all traces of mind-altering drugs gone in the flash of understanding in his soulful brown eyes.
“Sometime early this evening. Some poor night janitor found him. Barbara told me.”
“Jesus. That’s nuts,” he said. “Do they have any suspects?”
“I don’t know,” she said with a sniffle. “From what you said, he has a lot of people with reason to hate him.” She drew back to look him in his eyes. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now. Relief. Even though it feels wrong to have positive feelings about the death of another human being, I don’t think anyone would begrudge you if you did.”
He reached up and brushed her pink bangs gently aside. “A million things. But mostly how much I want to be with you. Will you stay with me tonight? Take care of me, like Florence Nightingale? Bring my medicine? Massage my…feet?”
She narrowed her eyes and gazed into his, searching for any sign of insincerity. Finding none, she sealed his offer with a butterfly kiss to his lips.
“Yes. And many other nights, if you want me to.”
“Let’s go home.”
***
A team briefing was held the following day, outlining the events of the incident and the status of the investigation. No one in connection with the team was under suspicion because the security footage in the garage had allowed local detectives to identify a suspect. A man in his mid-twenties with dark, brooding looks and an obvious facial scar. Barbara had advised that the Rochester police had a great sketch artist and within hours of putting out an ABP, they’d arrested him at a local KwikTrip. Dennis something or other. Murphy looked genuinely distraught but conducted himself with surprising professionalism. The search for a new COO would begin again.
After the meeting, Lou sought out Shredder. “I’ve heard back from the Hurricanes. I think you’ll be pleased with their offer. Stop by my office, and we can review the contracts.”
Shredder nodded. “Thanks, Lou, for all the work you’ve done on my behalf. But in light of what’s happened, I think I need to stay and support my teammates through this difficult time. There’s been enough drama in the front office. We don’t need anymore on the ice. I hope The Hurricanes will understand? It’s not like me to be flaky, but these are really extenuating circumstances. The last thing the Riot needs is a change in goaltenders.”
A slow smile spread across Lou’s craggy features. “You’re a wise man, Sheldon. I couldn’t have said it better myself. Good to have you back.” He swatted him on the shoulder and left the conference room.
Cole Fiorino strode over to join Shredder. “Fucking bizarre what happened to that guy. I never even met him, did you?”
Shredder looked at him, then dropped his gaze to the floor. “No. Not really.”
Cole shrugged. “Hey, is Nik Linakker going to move in with you? The big Swede will probably need a good father figure. You look old enough for the job. In fact, you’re so old you watch The History Channel to see your own biography.”
“Funny, Italian Stallion.” Shredder laughed. “I think I’ll hold out for better prospects. See ya later,” he said, moving away. He had a thought and turned back around. “Hey, Fiorino!”
Once Shredder had Cole’s undivided attention, he gave him a crooked smile and a wink. “What do you get when you cross an Italian with a Pollack?”
Cole raked a hand through his thick head of hair and smiled back. Shredder grinned too, enjoying their banter. Shit. He’d miss that guy.
“I can’t even hazard a guess.”
“A guy who makes you an offer you can’t understand.”
Shredder turned and enjoyed the sounds of Cole’s laughter trailing after him all the way to the Community Relations’ office. Barbara’s lair was just down the hall from the conference room. He poked his bald head inside the door.
“Excuse me,” he said. “Is there a lost and found in this office?”
Kylie looked up from her desk, her sixties style reading glasses perched on her nose. “Have you lost something?” she said with a wry smile.
He came closer. “Only my head, my heart, and my pride.”
“But not your sense of humor.”
He spread his arms wide. “If that were the case, then I’d have lost everything. Oh, and a girl with pink hair who disappeared from my bed this morning. Any idea where I can find her?”
Kylie set her glasses aside. “Maybe you’ll find a different one in Carolina. Or Long Island.”
He shook his head. “Maybe. If I was going to either place. But I’m not. I kinda like the Minnesota version. Besides, I need rehabilitation. I hear yoga’s good for that. Naked yoga. No clothes, no restrictions. Only healing. Of the Marvin Gaye variety.”
The pink, bow-shaped lips he loved curved into a full-on smile. A smile he could wake up to for the rest of his life. If she’d let him. She got up from behind the desk and closed the distance between them. She slinked her arms around his neck.
“Ah, sexual healing. Good for the body, even better for the soul.”
Epilogue
The tiny mini mite skated toward him, lowered his stick and fired with everything he had in his diminutive body. He wobbled. He swayed. Remarkably, he remained upright on his skates as the shot whizzed past Shredder’s right shoulder to land squarely in the net.
“Nice shot, Bron. I didn’t even see it coming.”
“Way to go, little man!”
“I told you to call me The Blur!”
Shred smiled his lopsided smile to the beautiful woman standing mid-ice with a hand placed on one shapely and saucy hip. Her long auburn hair flowed around her shoulders. Ever since th
ey’d been married and Shred had gone back to being involved in official Politski business from his home office in Rochester, Kylie had made a compromise on a more natural color of hair dye. It suited her. Still officially a shade within the pink family. Even though he loved her as the feisty pixie and all things Zen, he loved this more subdued version too. Now, the hair down below, that was a different story. She’d probably kept that pink out of sheer stubbornness.
And Kylie’s mom, Jezz, visited often. She’d gone through rehab at Hazelden thanks to Shredder’s generosity. She’d been clean ever since. Her grandson and her daughter were her whole world, and she’d turned into a truly wonderful grandmother, volunteering most of her time to help at the local food bank.
After two more years with the Riot, retirement had beckoned, and he’d gone out at the top of his game. Even while he was still playing, he’d found he couldn’t sleep without Kylie by his side, and it hadn’t taken him long to propose and for her to accept. His mother bellyached for a few months, but once she saw how happy Kylie made her only child, she’d conceded with grace and even helped plan the small, intimate wedding. And now…well, Natasha Politski had nothing to complain about. Kylie even handled the social media for Politski sponsored events. They weren’t quite friends, but they’d developed a healthy respect for each other all centered around family.
“Bronislaw, you need to come in now,” Kylie admonished.
“But Mommy! Didn’t you see it! I blew one by one of the bestest goalies the NHL has ever seen! A future Hall-of-Famer! I’m primed, Mommy. I’m gonna get drafted by the Riot. Just you wait and see. Then, everyone will call me The Blur.”
“How about before you get drafted, you blur yourself inside and have some supper. All future NHL superstars need their sustenance so they can grow into strong, hulking has-beens like their father.”
“Hey, woman,” Shredder said, leaving the crease, his back only protesting a little bit. Doc’s surgery had done the trick, and he’d be close to normal for the rest of his life. No lasting effects from childhood. No wheelchairs in his future until the rest home. “I thought you still thought I was the cat’s meow. At least I didn’t hear any complaining last night.”
Their banter flew right over their son’s head, so Shredder skated over to where his four-year-old stood staring at his mother with an eager look in eyes that mirrored his own. Bronislaw resembled him in just about everything except personality. His spitfire son was all Kylie both on and off the ice. He didn’t have the patience to be a goalie and preferred playing center ala Uncle Cole. Maybe their next child would be a daughter, and she’d be more like him. Cole and El’s first child had been a daughter, and that little bundle of femininity had the great Cole Fiorino wrapped around her tiara-wearing, magic wand waving little finger. Yeah, a daughter would be good.
“What’s for dinner, Mommy? I hope it’s something good like pizza?”
“Guess again, Bron,” Kylie said with a wink. “Do you think I would feed your growing body all those toxic chemicals? We’re having organic roast chicken and veggies.”
Bron stomped his skate on the ice and created a spray of shavings. “Ah, gross. I don’t like chicken.”
Kylie put her arm around her son’s shoulders. “It’s high-quality lean protein. I know you don’t like it now, but you’ll thank me later when everyone’s calling you The Blur.”
Shredder skated to the edge of their manmade rink with Bron and Kylie trailing behind, removed his mask and ran a hand through his thick head of salt and pepper hair. He hadn’t been bald since the day he’d retired. Kylie liked running her fingers through it so who was he to complain? His stunning wife had come out to the surface of the ice clad in her pink Converse so wasn’t as quick to reach solid ground as the two mounted on skates. Bron stopped at the edge and waited for her, his eyes glazed over with wicked excitement.
“Mommy. Mommy!” he said as soon as she was within shouting distance. Once Kylie arrived, he tugged on her jeans with his tiny hand. “We’ve got a surprise for you. You won’t believe it, Mommy. It’s the greatest!”
Kylie’s eyes speared Shredder with that knowing look, probably wondering what he’d gotten himself up to. Being the only woman in the house with the two of them left her the butt of many a joke. Not this time. This was a surprise she might actually like.
“I can’t even imagine. Bron, why don’t you just tell me what it is. Don’t keep Mommy in suspense.”
Their son danced up and down on his skates, anxious to reveal the surprise. He looked up with such eagerness and glee that Shredder nodded. Only when Kylie’s eyes were on him again did he reach up and pull off his helmet.
Kylie shrieked and reached out to touch her son’s mop of thick, formerly blonde curls.
“Blue? My son’s hair is dyed blue?”
Shredder laughed and shrugged. “When I told him the story of how we met at his favorite place for hot wings, Blues & Brews, he insisted he had to have hair dyed a bright color just like Mommy’s. He wanted pink, and we settled on blue to match his jersey.”
“Do you like it, Mommy? Do ya? Do ya?” Bron jumped up and down on his skates, twirled and fell into a heap at Kylie’s feet. She reached over to tousle his blue locks.
“Oh, Bronislaw. I do like it. You are my son in every sense of the word.”
Kylie searched his eyes, and he just smiled back at her. Then she looked at his father with all the love overflowing her heart. Their life, their son, it was all an exercise in perfection.
Exercise. Kind of like naked yoga.
Thank God for that.
BONUS STORY – BENCHED
PART ONE
By
Colleen Charles
Chapter 1
The ivory and gold antique dresser creaked with every shudder, like it needed a good spray of WD-40. A beveled mirror banged against the wall in perfect rhythm.
Heather McNeal clutched the mirror with her tapered fingers as she used it to stabilize her petite frame. The tanned flesh of her back was flush with the cool glass. Her eyes fluttered closed, concealing their unique blue color and her lush lips fell open. Tiny pants of breath escaped on sighs. Her long, silky blonde hair clung to her flushed face.
She wrapped long, slender legs around Mark Spencer’s toned abs and back as he spread her legs wide. Heather’s skirt bunched up around her waist and he snaked an arm around her to yank her closer. The other hand freed her breast from the lacy black push-up bra. He kneaded the plump flesh with his fingers, then bent to taste the rosy tip with a flick of his tongue.
Adam Spencer inhaled a ragged breath. He knew. Knew what was happening before seeing it with his own eyes. Now, the only thing that mattered was the identity of the man with his pants down around his ankles. The one he was about to kill.
And the bitch.
She’d betrayed him. In the damned newly renovated room with its damned cedar ceiling, hand-scraped floors and fucking expensive leather furniture. In that beautiful room was the sight that would be burned in his brain for all eternity.
The sight of his asshole brother fucking his fiancée.
The same girl he’d loved since grade school. The one who loved him just as much. Had loved him. Past tense.
He stood there in the door frame, eyes locked on his brother’s bare ass as his cock pounded in and out of his future wife. Numb. The numbness pervaded, but anger would come later. Right now, he just stared. Patiently waiting for them to notice they weren’t alone. Patiently waiting for them to start blabbing at him with a bunch of bullshit excuses that would make his heartbreak even worse.
Adam’s only sign of emotion was a slight flush of red underneath his Michigan State cap. He clenched his fingers into fists, released and then clenched them again, as his mind focused sharply to another horrid time in his life…
“You have a torn ACL in your right knee. In some cases, athletes recover well and still have a career. You’ll need surgery, Adam. You’ll be sidelined at least a year.”
&nb
sp; “Mark, my God. You’re hitting me in exactly the right spot. I’m going to come. Please…”
Hearing Heather’s breathy words jolted Adam back to the present. With a few long strides across the freshly laid hardwood floor, he hovered just a short arm-length away. As if they weren’t connected to his torso, Adam’s arms snaked out and grabbed his brother by his long, brown hair. He threaded his fingers through the mass of thick waves and yanked. Hard. Harder than he’d done back in the third grade when Mark had wrecked his favorite Power Ranger. Not stopping until he heard Mark’s yelp of pain. Adam finally felt something when he noticed the recognition in Mark’s brown eyes. Quickly replaced by panic.
Adam welcomed the rage. White hot and all encompassing. He took advantage of Mark’s bemused state to land a bone crunching right hook to his pretty face.
“You fucking bastard. You were here for me, huh? Said you’d take care of everything? That include fucking my future wife? Is that the kind of care you were thinking about?” Adam shrieked, not recognizing his own voice.
Heather leapt from her perch on the dresser, only stopping long enough to pull her skirt back down over her exposed pussy with the fresh Brazilian. Traitorous bitch. She wrapped her arms around Adam’s torso and clung to his back like a leech, trying in vain to stop him from kicking Mark’s scrawny ass. That’s when Adam noticed the three-carat diamond solitaire sparkling up at him from her left hand. She hadn’t even bothered to take off his ring while she fucked his brother.
“Stop!” she screamed, terror coloring her voice. “Adam, you’re killing him!”
“Good. That’s what I’m trying to do.” Adam stopped hitting only long enough to spit the words in her direction as he hooked his left arm around her waist and tossed her to the side. Heather hit the floor on her ass. Like the trash she was. “Maybe next time he’ll think twice before whipping his dick out to betray his motherfucking flesh and blood!”
The Crease: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 17