"Vaguely."
"You were ten." I could hear the reflective smile in her voice. "You were so scared of riding that bike without training wheels. Your father refused to let you give up, though. Every day after school for over three months he would hold the back of that seat as he ran alongside you. Some people need someone to hold onto them a little longer than others when they’re afraid."
Yep. She had gotten me right in the feels.
"Hey." Cam’s dark eyes opened slowly I could see the unease lingering in those chocolate depths. I slid closer to him. He watched me closely, perhaps waiting for me to attack him again. All I wanted was to hold him. "I understand why you didn’t tell Jane."
"Jacobi…"
"I know. It’s cool. I shouldn’t be pushing you to do something you’re not ready to do. I’m still with you. "I patted his thigh. I couldn’t feel his toned thigh, of course, not with all the padding. The sentiment was there even if the sensation wasn’t. Cam placed his hand over mine. He held on tight. My eyes flew around the locker room then came back to Cam.
"I told her. She, uhm… She still loves me."
"I love you, too, you know?"
Cam nodded. His eyes were dewy. He lifted my hand, his fingers trembling strongly.
"I know. The feeling is quite mutual." His lips were soft on my knuckles. Then he stood up. I held onto him as he cleared his throat. The locker room fell silent. I ran alongside him as his training wheels fell off one shaky confession at a time. I am still running alongside him five years later. Now it’s me with the upstart pup sitting in the corner eying my crease with lust.
Cam finds that highly entertaining.
# # #
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, belly laughs, anything romantic, Greek mythology, New York Rangers hockey, comic books and coffee. (Not necessarily in that order.) She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a steer named after a famous N.H.L. goalie, a pig with a President`s moniker, and a flock of assorted domestic fowl.
V.L. is a self-published and conventionally published author. She is a proud Torquere Press and Secret Cravings Publishing author. When not writing romantic tales, she can be found enjoying her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand, writing, or cheering on her beloved New York Rangers. She can also be found online on Facebook, Twitter, and GoodReads.
Blind Pass
© Bianca Sommerland
The Dartmouth Cobras 0.5
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
BLIND PASS takes place four years before GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras #1). Many players were not with the team at the time and I’m sorry if you’re not getting your favorites, but so many love Tim Rowe that I had to tell his story. I hope it brings a smile to your lips to see him meet the love of his life and become the strong man the Cobras all leaned on for so long. Happy reading!
Chapter One
Late January
Thirty-thousand feet, nothing but an endless stretch of blue below, no escape in sight on the long flight from Dartmouth, Nova Scotia to Florida. Tim rubbed his temples with the index and middle fingers of both hands and wondered how likely their chances of making the play-offs would be if he gave a few of his boys a crash course in free-falling. There had to be parachutes on the plane. They’d be fine as long as they landed in one piece.
However, with tempers flaring between the men, they might not survive this flight.
“Give the baby his fucking pillow, Kral.” The Dartmouth Cobras’ captain, Sloan Callahan, stared out the window, not even bothering to turn as the two men struggling in the aisle bumped into the empty seat next to him. “He don’t kick your ass for being a pain, I will.”
“The baby” was the team’s rookie left winger, Ian White. When he’d joined the team at the beginning of the season, he’d been a couple inches shorter than the defenseman, Peter Kral, and a few pounds lighter. White had gained about twenty pounds since and now matched Kral in height. Tim wasn’t sure if it was boredom from the long delay before their flight or what, but the players were taking turns getting on each other’s nerves. Kral picking on the rookie for the black pillowcase with a white Transformer’s logo on the pillow the kid carried around to every away game made things so much worse. The team had started calling White “Bruiser” after his first week on the ice. Started because he managed two black eyes, a nasty bruise on his jaw, and a lump on his forehead during that same week.
Now it was because he was recognized as a gritty fighter who would throw down his gloves to defend his teammates. And he turned into a damn caveman when he got riled up.
Kral had gotten White nice and pissed off. Tim undid his seatbelt and apologized to the young assistant trainer sitting next to him as he slid past to separate his players. He banged his head on the underside of the luggage bin as he straightened. The dull pain slowed him down for just a second.
Long enough for things to deteriorate. Shoving and snarling, both White and Kral ended up on the floor. Their biggest defenseman, Dominik Mason, the only black player on the team, hauled White up to his knees by the back of his neck. Tim couldn’t tell what Mason was saying, but he caught a few growled curses from all three.
Better and better.
Near the back of the plane, the team’s head coach, Paul Stanton, glanced up from the newspaper he was reading, looking at Tim expectantly.
Right. Apparently controlling the team is the assistant coach’s job. Get to it, Rowe.
“That’s enough, boys.” Tim pried Mason’s hand from White’s neck. Mason’s jaw ticked, but he stepped back. Now all Tim had to do was separate the idiots on the floor. “White, Kral, get up. You’re representing the team and—”
“I’m gonna kill him! Then I’m gonna throw him off the damn plane!” White’s teeth snapped together at the sound of ripping fabric. The stupid pillow was between him and Kral. The pillowcase had ripped. White released it and drew back his fist. “You son of a—”
“What’s going on here? Excuse me, sir.” A curvy flight attendant carefully sidled by Tim and caught White by the wrist. “Young man, on your feet.”
“He ripped it! That’s mine, you asshole!” White stood and lunged for Kral, who’d scrambled back a few feet. “I’m gonna kill him!”
Thankfully, White didn’t try to get past the flight attendant. But he was shaking with rage and Tim knew he was going to completely lose it if someone didn’t rein him in. The way White’s eyes glistened had Tim wondering if he didn’t need fucking restraints.
The flight attendant spoke quietly to White. Then turned to Kral and held out her hand.
Kral rolled his eyes and passed her the pillow. “Was just fucking with you, kid. You don’t gotta cry about it.”
Several players were standing in the aisle now. They moved as the most levelheaded of them all, Max Perron, made his way up to Kral’s side. His voice was low, thick with his Texas accent, but carried clearly as he put a heavy hand on Kral’s shoulder. “Was the last thing his dad gave him before he got killed in the mines. Ratty old thing, but means a lot. He’s had it since he was eight. You’re smarter than this, man.”
“Shit, I didn’t know.” Kral hunched his shoulders and stared down at his hands. “Why didn’t you say something, Bruiser?”
“Don’t fucking pity me, just stay away from my shit.” White rubbed his eyes with a fist and turned to the flight attendant. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll go sit over there.” He pointed to the empty seats near the front of the plane. “Won’t cause no more trouble.”
“I’d appreciate that.” The flight attendant smiled and followed White to his new seat. She handed him the pillow. “It’s a tiny tear. Do you have someone who can fix it for you?”
White shook his head. “Grandma’s got arthritis bad.”
“Well, I’m with you boys when you head home from Miami. Would you let me take care of it?”
Tim grinned when White nodded with a hesitan
t smile. All the players were sitting and behaving, so he could keep his attention on the kid. And the sweet lady taking care of his boy.
Her dark brown hair was pulled back into a bun, but wavy tendrils framed her face, softening the neat updo. Everything about her seemed soft, from her rounded cheeks and sweet, plump lips, to the thick black eyelashes around her big brown eyes. She wore a crisp, dark blue uniform, all proper with the skirt hitting just above her knees, but her full, curvy figure had a luscious appeal that made him wonder how she’d feel in his arms. She laughed at something White said and the sound drew Tim closer to her.
The plane jolted, making the floor beneath his feet became unsteady as he reached her side. He wet his lips with his tongue when she looked over at him, not sure what the hell he was going to say to her, but needing to say something. He wanted to make her laugh again, wanted to use the time on the long flight to get to know more than her name.
Her name… He glanced down at the badge on her chest. Madeline.
“Sir, are you quite all right?”
She grabbed his arm as the plane shuddered, and he put his hand on her waist to steady her. A melodic ding sounded as the seat-belt light flicked on.
White cleared his throat. “Coach?”
Quiet, boy! Tim rarely lost his patience with his players, but in this moment, he needed to be left alone. With Madeline. “One minute, White.”
“You might want to sit down, brother. And let the lady do her job.”
Tim frowned, turning slightly as Dean Richter, the team’s general manager, spoke up behind him. His half brother usually either slept through flights or used the time to catch up on paperwork. Since Dean hadn’t interceded during White and Kral’s little scuffle, Tim had figured he’d been sleeping.
Madeline’s big brown eyes opened wide. She stared at Dean, her pale cheeks going pink when Dean’s gaze shifted to her. Dean studied her face, the edge of his lips tipping up as he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I appreciate how well you handled the children.”
“Hey!” White folded his pillow against the window, scowling as he propped his head on it. “I ain’t a damn child.”
Both Dean and Madeline ignored the rookie. And Tim.
Not all that surprising—women tended to forget him fairly quickly when Dean showed up. His brother had an aura of power and authority that couldn’t be ignored. It didn’t usually bother Tim since the type of women ready to kneel at his brother’s feet didn’t interest him at all. And with the way Madeline’s lips moved as though Dean’s presence made speaking difficult, she was clearly one of those.
He gave them both a stiff nod and slid into the seat beside White.
White shifted around like he was trying to get comfortable. He sat up straight when Dean and Madeline moved farther back in the plane, watched them for a bit, then shook his head. “Damn, you gonna let your brother cockblock you like that, Rowe? Call her back over and ask her for some peanuts or something.”
“Peanuts?” Tim arched a brow at the rookie, rolling his eyes as the kid shrugged and looked over the back of his seat. “You’re gonna lose your tough guy card if you start trying to play cupid.”
“Maybe, but she’s nice. And the GM ain’t been nice since his wife walked out on him.”
This was true. The divorce had been finalized only two months earlier, yet the marriage had been over for years. Dean hadn’t had many lovers since, and all were submissives who wouldn’t dare ask him for more than a single night of pleasure. And most seemed to find that more than enough. His brother was an intense Dom, but he had nothing of himself left to give.
No, he did give of himself to his family. His fourteen-year-old daughter, Jami, was his whole world and there was nothing Dean wouldn’t do for her. And Tim knew very well Dean would back off the woman if he showed any interest in her.
Maybe peanuts are a good idea after all.
But the captain’s voice came out over the speakers, asking for the flight attendant to take her seat and buckle up. Tim kept his eyes on Madeline as she waited for Dean to settle in and then headed to the front of the plane. She met his gaze while strapping herself into the jump seat and flashed them a bracing smile as the plane began to shudder.
Turbulence didn’t bother Tim; he’d been on enough flights to have experienced worse than this, but by his side, White was gripping the armrest and cursing under his breath with each jolt. Tim patted White’s arm, grinning at Madeline as he spoke in a mock whisper. “You face O’Reilly without a second thought, but you’re scared of a little turbulence?”
“O’Reilly ain’t shaking me around a million miles over the ocean.” White ground his teeth and pressed his eyes shut tight. “Shitshitshit.”
“You fought with your friend for your pillow just a few minutes ago, Ian.” Madeline used White’s first name in a soft voice that carried, and for the first time, Tim noticed she had a sweet southern accent. Maybe Georgia? Either way, he found it soothing and noticed the tight muscles in White’s jaw loosened a bit with her every quiet word. “You’re in no more danger now than you were before. Less, actually, because you both could’ve been injured while out of your seats.”
White’s brow furrowed. He opened his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“The plane ain’t gonna flip over or nothin’? You told us how to use the air masks, but they aren’t out.”
It was very, very hard not to laugh at how ridiculous White was being. And yet Madeline shook her head, her expression serious. “The plane won’t flip. And the masks will come out if they’re needed, but that isn’t likely.” She leaned forward in her seat, her tone so quiet there was no way anyone beside Tim and White could hear her. “Are you always afraid when you fly, Ian?”
Scowling, White shook his head. “I’m not scared. Just don’t wanna die.”
Damn, the kid was tough, but Madeline was right. His skin was cold to the touch, and he was shaking harder than the plane. How had Tim not noticed this before? With how often the team flew, one of the players being this messed up every time they were up in the air shouldn’t have gone unnoticed. Not that there was any way to avoid putting White on a plane, but if Tim had known, he would have made sure to either sit with the kid or put him next to one of the players he could trust to keep White calm.
Like Madeline was doing right now. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, darlin’. I used to be scared to death of flying.”
Tim’s lips quirked at the rookie’s amazed, “Really?” The way White’s mouth hung open made him look so young. Poor kid’s like twelve. Not literally, obviously, but at his age, Mom had still called Tim her baby.
“Really. I was a dancer, did competitions all over the place so I traveled a lot in my teens. Never made it through a single flight without praying that the plane wouldn’t go down. But after I retired from dancing, I realized I missed being able to see the world. So I became a flight attendant.”
“And you weren’t scared no more?”
“Oh, I was terrified. I didn’t want anyone to know, but I wasn’t sure how long I could hide it. During training they went through every horrible scenario you can think of and taught us how to handle all the things that could go wrong.” At a beep, Madeline undid her belt and stood. She continued even as she went to fetch the beverage cart. “By the time I was hired and went up the first time, I was prepared for just about anything.”
“Just about? The plane didn’t go down, did it?” White clamped his mouth shut, lips twisted like he knew he’d said something stupid. He took a deep breath. “I mean, people live, right?”
“Sometimes, but no, the plane didn’t go down. Water?” She held up the large bottle, then scooped some ice into a clear plastic cup and filled it at White’s nod. “I messed up the flight number and stuttered half of my safety instructions. Tangled up the elastic on the mask. Public speaking is much scarier than flying!”
For some reason, White seemed to find that hilarious. He choked on the
water he’d swigged, forcing Tim to pound on his back to get him to stop coughing. A loud click click click sobered White up fast.
Before Tim could assure White it was nothing, Madeline had it covered. She leaned over Tim, her body heat spreading over him, the delicate floral scent of her perfume surrounding him, as she pointed out the window and winked at White. “It’s just ice. You’re not scared of that, are you, honey?”
Looking sheepish, White shook his head.
Before Madeline could move away, Tim touched the back of her hand. He didn’t say a thing, not wanting to embarrass White, but it meant a lot to him that she’d taken the time to ease his fears. He tried to express his gratitude with his eyes and a slight curving of his lips.
Her cheeks grew nice and rosy red. He could feel the heat from her skin as she leaned close to whisper in his ear. “You’re very welcome, Tim.”
* * * *
What the hell is wrong with me? Madeline stared at herself in the mirror above the sink in the Miami airport bathroom. She’d changed out of her uniform quickly, as usual, for some reason never feeling clean after a few hours on a flight, but this time, she didn’t just feel fresher, but more…alive. And about as giddy as a teenage girl who’d finally earned a smile from the handsome high school quarterback.
She couldn’t help but laugh at herself. Through her years working as a flight attendant she’d met rock stars, actors, and plenty of athletes. None of them fazed her because each and every good-looking young man reminded her of her three younger brothers. Being twelve years older than the eldest, she’d had a hand in raising them and never could seem to put aside that motherly instinct. The wild antics of the rich and famous and not-quite-grown-up amused her, which was probably why she was chosen so often for chartered flights.
The boy, Ian White, hadn’t been any different. He was the same age as her second youngest brother, all tough and yet vulnerable, just like Jonathon. She looked over at the pillow she’d taken to fix for him, which brought on a vision of the boy’s coach.
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