His woman had a big heart, and it was one of the things he loved most about her. But he hated not being there to keep that tenderness and caring from leaving her battered and bruised.
A line change brought Tim’s attention back to the action on the ice. He groaned as a skate-on-skate slew foot sent Kral face-first into the boards and caused White to lose his damn mind. The refs missed the dirty play, and White took it on himself to grab the Senator defenseman by the back of his sweater. White shook his glove off and nailed the defenseman with a quick uppercut.
The Senators rushed to the aid of their teammate. The Cobras moved in to make sure White wasn’t outnumbered.
By the end of the scrum, half the damn bench ended up either in the box or ejected from the game. Tim glanced up at the clock, grateful to see less than a minute remained to the game.
To the season.
After the buzzer sounded, he headed straight out, not bothering to stop to talk to any of the players. Not just yet anyway. He waited outside the locker room for White to finally trudge down the hall at the end of the line.
“What the fuck were you thinking, boy?” Tim scowled when White shrugged and moved to step past him. He latched on to the boy’s shoulder. “You were told to cool it out there. Your one-year contract ends this summer, and it won’t take much for you to get traded.”
White dropped his gaze to his skates and bowed his shoulders. “Sorry, Coach.”
Fuck, Tim felt like he’d just kicked a puppy. And he had no right to come down on White, no matter how worried he was about the kid. Yet another thing to improve his wonderful mood. White’s name had been going around the boardroom a lot.
Madeline would kill Dean if she found out. Not that his potential death would change his brother’s mind if he’d decided he could shop White around for a good deal, but life was a lot more pleasant when the two of them got along. Especially since it was usually Tim’s flesh bared when they had pain-inducing toys in their hands.
“Shit, White, don’t be sorry. It’s good that you were looking out for Kral even though he’s a dick to you.” Tim squeezed White’s shoulder, then gave him a little shake when he didn’t look up. “Season’s over and you know I’ve got your back. Go have a beer with the guys. On me.”
Lifting his head, White nodded. Then his eyes widened and his lips parted in a broad smile that showed off the spaces where he was missing a couple of teeth. “Madeline!”
Tim snorted even as he turned. He couldn’t have gotten that reaction from White by telling him he’d be offered a ten-year contract. Of course, his own smile wouldn’t be bigger if the Cobras had made it to the Cup.
“You’re very lucky you two made up.” Madeline winked at Tim as she hugged White. “You have to be nice to my boy.” She tipped her head back to look up at White. “How’s your grandma doing, sweetie?”
“Better, but the blood thinners got her feeling cold all the time. I cut a whole lot of wood last time I went to visit her, and paid some kid to make sure the fireplace is always going.” White ducked his head. “I got a red-eye to go take care of her myself.”
“Good man.” Madeline held up a package wrapped in brown paper. “I made her a shawl with nice thick wool. In the Cobra colors. It should help.”
“Thank you, Miss Madeline. She’ll love it.” White hugged Madeline again, blinking fast. “I gotta go change, but…you’re an awesome lady.”
Tim couldn’t stop smiling. He agreed.
But it was time for the boy to go. If he shed a single tear, Madeline would be petting on him all night. And Tim was feeling a little greedy with her time. He’d figured she’d already be at the airport, ready to hop on the plane that would bring her to her connecting flight in Montreal. Then nonstop to London.
Madeline patted White’s cheek, saying goodbye before the boy disappeared into the locker room. Then she turned to Tim, who didn’t hesitate before pulling her into his arms.
“I hope you’re not usually as grumpy as I saw you out there, because I might regret the decision that brought me here.” Madeline’s lips quirked, telling him she was teasing. “What are your plans for the summer?”
Plans? He inhaled deeply, letting it out slow so he could choose his words carefully. Summer would be busy for her. He shrugged. “I’ll probably go see my parents. My mother’s looking forward to meeting you when you have the time.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult, since this is my last flight.” She grinned at him when he stared at her. “Are you really that surprised? I’ve been doing this for twelve years, Tim. For the first time I have a beautiful house, a home I love. And a different kind of family. One that’s a little easier to deal with than my own right now.”
“You can’t be talking about the team? I’ll admit, some of those boys need a mother in the worst way, but—”
“Yes, I mean the team. And you.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a key on a Dartmouth Cobras keychain. “I’ll be gone for about a week. I’m hoping you’ll be waiting for me when I come back.”
He wet his lips as he took the key. “Waiting for you?”
“You hate your apartment, Tim.”
“Yes.”
She bit her bottom lip. “Was this a mistake? Maybe it’s too soon—I don’t want you to feel pressured.”
“I don’t.” He laughed, swallowing hard as he gazed into her hopeful eyes. Suddenly, all the frustration from his crazy life, the emptiness within from missing her so damn much, faded away. She would still leave him, but only for a little while. Then she’d be his, in every part of his life. “I’ll be there, Madeline. Even if you decide you want to keep flying, keep seeing the world, I will be there when you come home.”
Her eyes glistened with unshed tears that spilled down her cheeks when she closed her eyes as he kissed her. “So you’ll wait for me?”
There was so much he could say, but at that moment, only one word felt right. So he whispered it against her lips. “Always.”
# # #
Visit the Dartmouth Cobras
www.TheDartmouthCobras.com
Also by Bianca Sommerland
The Dartmouth Cobras
Game Misconduct (The Dartmouth Cobras #1)
Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2)
Breakaway (The Dartmouth Cobras #3)
Offside (The Dartmouth Cobras #4)
Delayed Penalty (The Dartmouth Cobras #5)
Iron Cross (The Dartmouth Cobras #6) – Expected 2014
Also
Deadly Captive
Collateral Damage (Deadly Captive 2)
The End – Coming Mid 2014
Rosemary Entwined
Rosemary & Mistletoe
The Trip
About the Author
Tell you about me? Hmm, well, there’s not much to say. I love hockey and cars and my kids…not in that order of course! LOL! When I’m not writing—which isn’t often—I’m usually watching a game or a car show while networking. Going out with my kids is my only downtime. I get to clear my head and forget everything.
As for when and why I first started writing, I guess I thought I’d get extra cookies if I was quiet for a while—that’s how young I was. I used to bring my grandmother barely legible pages filled with tales of evil unicorns. She told me then that I would be a famous author.
I hope one day to prove her right.
For more of my work, please visit: Im-No-Angel.com
Captain, My Captain
© Nikki Worrell
Also by Nikki Worrell
Stories For Amanda October 2013
The Enforcer (San Diego Scorpions Book #1) May 2013
Goalie Interference (San Diego Scorpions Book #2) November 2013
What Mother Doesn’t Know (Forbidden Love, Volume II) April 2014
Glossary of Hockey Terms
Five-hole: The area right between the goalie’s legs.
Backchecking: Checking in the defensive zone when the opposing team is attacking.
; Boarding: Checking a defenseless player against the boards, usually causing their face/head to hit the boards first.
Checking: Using the hip or body to knock an opponent against the boards or to the ice.
Deke: When a player handles the puck in a way that makes the opponent move out of position, allowing that player to get past.
Face-off: The method used to begin play. One player from each team fights for the puck as the official drops it to the ice between them.
Forechecking: Checking in the offensive zone in order to get the puck.
Gordie Howe Hat-Trick: Getting a goal, an assist, and having a fight all in one game.
Hat-Trick: Three goals in one game. Fans traditionally throw their hats on the ice.
Major Penalty: Five-minute penalty.
Minor Penalty: Two-minute penalty.
Offside: When a player crosses the blue line in the offensive zone before the puck.
Poke Check: Poking the puck away with the stick.
Power Play: Results in the one team losing a player for two minutes or more, giving the other team an advantage to score.
Slew Foot: Sweeping or kicking out a player’s skate causing them to fall backwards. Usually results in a match penalty (removed from the game and assessed a five-minute penalty for statistical purposes).
Trapezoid (Trap): Area behind the goalie’s net (behind goal line) where the goalie can play the puck. This is the only area behind the goal line that the goalie can play the puck without receiving a penalty.
War Room: Office in Toronto where video is sent to review a questionable goal.
Prologue
The noise from the crowd was deafening. Keith Lambert, the twenty-two-year-old captain of the Philadelphia Flyers, loved it. Every decibel. However, he could tell by the way Sammy Read was fidgeting with his helmet that the constant chants of “Saaaaaamy, Saaaaaamy” were seriously screwing with the goalie’s focus. The louder the crowd grew, the more agitated Sammy got, which could only be good for Philadelphia—Sammy was Vancouver’s goalie.
They were playing their final game of the season—the most important game they’d play. The Flyers and Canucks were competing for the hardest trophy to win in any sport—the Cup.
There are eighty-two games in the regular season alone. If you place high enough to even make the playoffs, you then face four seven-game series. If you win each series, and go all the way to the end, you’ve won sixteen playoff games.
Hockey also has a grueling schedule, sometimes traveling coast-to-coast from one day to the next. Aside from the intense travel, the daily physical strains put on hockey players are far more than any one person would choose to endure. Their adrenaline spikes up to maximum levels for sixty minutes of play. They’re in full sprint each time their skates hit the ice. No other sport demands quite so much of its players.
They were down to the last fourteen minutes of the seventh game in the last series. Winner takes all. “Come on, guys. Keep up the energy! We’ve got this.” Keith spared a second to scan the crowd. The splashes of blue on the fans wearing the visiting team’s jerseys stuck out in the sea of orange Philly’s fans wore. We can’t blow this. “Let’s do it! G, take the face-off.”
Jake Gourneau’s head snapped up at Keith’s words. “Huh? You want me to take it?” Keith always took the face-offs.
“Yeah, man. You’re better against Drake. I don’t have anything to prove. I just want that Cup.” Keith slapped him on the butt with his stick and took the winger’s position as G bent low to take the face-off.
Gourneau won the draw, but it wasn’t enough. It took a bad bounce off Keith’s stick and went directly to Vancouver’s winger who immediately tried to slap it high into the net, but Ward saw it all the way and snagged it out of the air with his glove hand—mere inches before it crossed the goal line.
“Fuck, that was close, G. Take it again.” Being so close to their own goalie for the face-off was intimidating so late in the game with a tie score. It could be game changing if they lost the faceoff. We need to clear the zone!
Beads of sweat glistened on G’s forehead as he got into position again. One drop, then two hit the ice. The crowd was loud as the referee held the puck two feet up, between Drake and Gourneau, waiting until he was good and ready to drop it. And still they waited. Drake got antsy and stepped back to get a better grip on his stick and the ref straightened up. “Get in position Drake or I’ll let someone else take this faceoff.”
With the threat of losing his spot on the circle, Drake skated back up to the ref and got into position. Seconds ticked by and still the ref didn’t drop the puck.
“Drop the puck!” The crowd started yelling. “Ref, drop the puck!”
The puck hit the ice and bounced back up. G got a piece of it and it flew back to Keith, but was high in the air. Keith hit it straight down with his hand to land on the ice in front of him. He got his stick on it and weaved his way through two Canucks.
Seeing Callahan in front of him, almost at the blue line, he made a fast pass and rushed to join him, hoping G would catch up to them and they could have a three-on-two rush at the net.
The Canucks defensemen were ready to shut them down, but Callahan executed a beautiful deke and went through them to take a shot that rebounded off Sammy’s goalie pad. Keith was right there to gather the puck for another shot, but Sammy covered it and the play was called dead. Dammit!
After a couple of more plays, which bore no fruit for either team, the clock was down to three minutes. Vancouver called a time-out to give their best players a chance to catch their breath.
At the Flyers’ bench, tensions ran high. Ward ripped off his goalie mask and squirted water over his head to cool down. Gourneau was re-taping his stick—that didn’t need re-taping—and nodding his head as the coach spoke. Keith was banging his foot against the boards while trying to convince himself that it was just another game. Their coach made one request before they went back onto the ice.
“Go out there and get me a goal!” One finger waved in the air and he shook it for emphasis. “Just one goal.”
“Fuck yeah.”
“Hell yeah.”
“You got it, Coach.”
“Let’s do it!”
The boys skated out to the face-off circle in Vancouver’s zone and prepared to get that elusive goal. The puck hit the ice, and Vancouver won it. Drake shot it in front of him to a waiting winger. Between the two of them, with some help from their other winger, they made it all the way to Philly’s zone where Ward was waiting, hunched over, his glove hand up and at the ready.
Drake took the puck and skated around the back of the net. Fighting through Callahan and Lambert, he faked a pass to the front. Using that precious millisecond of inattention from the Flyers around him, he wrapped the puck around the net from behind. The Canucks on the bench went wild.
It was as if time stopped. Keith looked at his teammates on the ice around him, brows raised and mouth open in abject disbelief. It couldn’t be! Keith never saw it, G never saw it, and Ward sure as hell never saw it, but damn if that puck wasn’t sitting in the fucking net. The Canucks had just won the coveted Cup—in Philly’s arena.
Chapter 1
A couple of weeks after losing the Cup found Keith on the golf course with his father, getting back to normal off-season life. Most of his teammates had gone home to visit their families, scattered through Europe and Canada. Born and raised in southern New Jersey, Keith was the lone American of the team. Philly was the only pro team he’d ever played for, so he never had to venture far from home.
“You feeling any better yet, son?” Mr. Lambert knew Keith still had the sour taste of loss on his tongue.
A gusty sigh escaped him as he ran a hand distractedly through his windblown hair and looked at his father, shrugging his shoulders. “I guess a little. God, we were so close! I just keep thinking—if we could just have one more shot...”
“I know. I swear my heart stopped beating when I saw that puck go in th
e net, but you boys had a great year. Your performance in the playoffs, all the way up to the finals…” He broke off, his voice husky with emotion. “You gave it everything you had. I’m so damn proud of you, son.”
“Thanks, Pop. It still sucks though.”
Mr. Lambert winced sympathetically as he lined up his next shot. “Yeah, it does.”
The bell coming from Keith’s watch reminded him that he was meeting his girlfriend in an hour. “Let’s finish up, Pop. I’m meeting Phoebe for dinner soon.”
“When are you going to cut that girl loose? She’s not the one for you.” Mr. Lambert put his hand up to stop Keith from talking. “I know. It’s none of my business. Your mother and I, we don’t hate her, she’s just not the one for you. I think you feel more for her than she does for you.”
“While I appreciate your concern, Pop, I think you’re wrong. But you are right about it not being your business.” Keith meant no disrespect to his father, but he wasn’t a kid who needed his parents to make his decisions for him anymore.
“Okay, son. Enough said. We’ll butt out.” He pulled his club back, took his shot and watched his ball sail over the fairway, sweetly landing right on the edge of it, putting the last nail in the coffin. Keith had never beaten his father at golf.
* * * *
“Hey, babe. Get us another round, will you?” Phoebe’s girlfriends looked at her knowingly, waiting to see how long it took Keith to make yet another bar run. There wasn’t much of anything she couldn’t get him to do for her. Truth be told, since they’d been together, she’d gotten kind of lazy. Why do things for yourself when you had a hot boyfriend to do them for you?
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