End Game

by Samantha Wayland

  Savannah’s mom came to them, holding out a pair of jerseys. At his hesitation, she smiled encouragingly. “You don’t have to play.”

  And miss a chance to play with Callum and Duncan Morrison? Not to mention Savannah? Not a chance.

  “I want to,” he assured her.

  “Great. Here.” She handed him the jerseys. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  He had no idea why he would. He held one up and saw the emblem on the front appeared to be some kind of belt fashioned into a circle, with waves and a castle and a hand holding a dagger, of all things, in the middle. Rhian had no idea what the hell he was looking at, but at the top arch it read Morrison.

  They had their own team jerseys.

  “That’s the Morrison crest. It’s a Scottish thing,” Savannah explained with a fond smile at her father.

  Rhian flipped the jersey over and saw the name across the back.

  LeBlanc.

  The blast of jealousy would have staggered him had he not been holding up the wall. The Morrisons had never met Garrick but they accepted him as one of their own because it was what Savannah wanted.

  When had that become something Rhian wanted, too?

  Determined to ignore that terrible thought, he turned to Savannah. “What’s with the two jerseys?”

  “We play each other, usually four on four, though dad’s all excited because with you here, we can try five on five. Anyway, you have home and away jerseys depending on what team you get picked for.”

  That made sense. “Which team needs a defenseman?”

  She grinned mischievously. “My dad thinks if you play the same position for too long, you lose your edge and appreciation for the whole team.”

  Rhian had no idea why this was relevant. “Okay.”

  “So, we pick teams from a hat. Home or away. Then we pick positions.”

  Rhian blinked, certain he’d heard her wrong. “What?”

  “We pick positions. You can end up anywhere. Including goalie.”

  Rhian’s mouth dropped open. “I haven’t tended a goal since I was ten!”

  Several of her brothers laughed.

  “Welcome to the Morrison hockey tradition,” Savannah said brightly, bumping their shoulders again before heading out the back door.

  Rhian followed the long line of Morrisons as they tromped along a path through the woods, equipment bags in tow. He was stunned when they popped out into the parking lot of a large arena.

  “Where are we?” he asked no one in particular.

  Savannah’s mom came to walk beside him. “Berkshire Academy.”

  Rhian didn’t know shit about private schools, but even he’d heard of this one.

  “Bruce is the athletic director and hockey coach here. One of the perks of the job is he can use the ice when it’s available, like tonight.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  She threaded her hand around his elbow and they walked together into the arena. He liked having her on his arm. He liked her. Did her boys have any idea how fucking lucky they were to have a mom like this? She loved her kids. All of them. Equally and without condition.

  What would that be like?

  They gathered in a locker room and drew teams. Rhian ended up in a forward position on the green team. He took a moment to thank the stars he hadn’t picked goalie.

  He pulled Garrick’s jersey over his pads. It was too long, but it fit. Barely. He’d be sure to give Garrick shit about how tight it was in the shoulders.

  As each player left the locker room, they kissed Mary’s cheek, including Chance. What the hell, Rhian thought, before he did it too.

  She patted his cheek and grinned. “Such a nice boy.”

  He grinned back.

  Stepping onto the rink, he went automatically into his usual pre-game routine, starting with stretching out on the ice next to Savannah. It was hard not to notice just how flexible she was. Wow. Her dad dumped a bag of pucks and they took shots at the goals, warming up their goalies and their arms, just like any night at the Boston Garden or any other hockey arena in the world. The familiarity was soothing. Rhian was at his calmest right before a game.

  Tonight, the best part was watching Savannah skate. She floated on the ice, in total command of her body, shifting forward and back effortlessly, speeding into the corners with confidence about her position and timing, never crashing into anything or anyone unless she wanted to. She was fantastic.

  And why the hell was that so fucking sexy?

  He tore his eyes away from Savannah and looked around. There was a shitload of talent on the ice. This wasn’t going to be some easy pick-up game. His first face-off was against Callum, of all people. Mary skated up to begin the game, puck in hand, and Rhian dropped into his game brain.

  From there, it was pure heaven. There was no checking. No threat of a fight. And no second or third line to back them up. But there was something he hadn’t heard on the ice in a damn long time. Laughter. Better yet, it came with genuine friendship. An arm slung around his shoulders. A stern lecture from the referee for “accidentally” hooking her son’s legs right out from under him. Her eyes dancing with amusement at his attempt to appear contrite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d skated as long or hard, or enjoyed it more.

  He was probably the only NHL player who had just figured out he loved to play hockey.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sunday morning came early. Savannah stifled a groan as she rolled out of bed, her body stiff from the long, grueling game the night before. She was in excellent shape—what the hell kind of trainer would she be if she wasn’t?—but it had been a while since she’d played so much, so hard, and her body wasn’t entirely amused.

  She laughed when Rhian stopped packing to stretch his back. “Wishing we had enough Morrisons to form a second line so we had some time on the bench?”

  He smiled at her as he thrust the last of his clothes back into his bag. “I think there are plenty enough Morrisons as it is,” he teased. “But yeah, I’m feeling it today. I can’t believe we played a full sixty minutes.”

  “We always do.”

  They lugged their bags downstairs and Rhian ran them out to the car while she helped her brothers get organized.

  She had just kissed Doc goodbye when Callum caught her hand. “I’m going back to Denver just long enough to pack up some shit, then I’m headed to Moncton.”

  She spun to look at him. “Really? That’s great.”

  “Yeah, I’ll help out with the draft, see what I can do with the construction.”

  “Thank you.” Relief coursed through her. “Garrick is running himself ragged.”

  “I’ll consider myself warned, since I’m booting his ass out of Moncton as soon as I get there.”

  “What?” Savannah grabbed her brother’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

  “With the team? Nothing. But you need Garrick in Boston.” He glanced meaningfully over her shoulder as the door opened. She knew without turning around that Rhian had reentered the house.

  She sighed. “Yeah, I really fucking do.”

  Callum nodded toward Rhian, who had paused to chat with Seamus by the front door. “You know what you’re getting into with all this?” he asked quietly.

  Panic surged through Savannah. He couldn’t know anything. No one did. Not even Garrick.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not getting into anything.”

  Callum smirked. “Uh-huh. Keep believing it, sis.”

  She bit back another response, knowing she would only dig herself a deeper hole.

  “You be careful,” Callum said, serious now. “I’d hate to have to beat Rhian or Garrick up. I’m growing pretty fond of both of them.”

  You and me both.

  What the hell was she going to do? The idea of passing Garrick back and forth between her and Rhian was untenable. It would drive her crazy and it would never satisfy Rhian’s deep need for a family. A need she was increa
singly invested in seeing fulfilled.

  He deserved to be happy. They all did.

  Shaking her head, she shoved those thoughts aside. There was something else she wanted to talk to Callum about before he left.

  “Can I ask your advice about something?”

  Callum cringed, looking from her to Rhian with wild-eyed alarm.

  “I don’t know what you think I’m going to ask you about, dear brother, but it’s not that.”

  He blew out a deep breath and she laughed. She snagged Chance’s arm as he walked past. “I need you, too.”

  When she had their attention, she explained, “There is a young woman—a girl, really—who has been following Rhian around…”

  Rhian slouched on the sofa in the family room, watching the hockey game with Chance, Angus and Bruce. Lachlan came into the room and dropped down on the cushion beside him.

  “How about drinks this week?”

  Lachlan lived in Cambridge, taught at Harvard, and was, apparently, counting on their friendship continuing after this weekend.

  It killed Rhian that he should cut all ties to the Morrison clan as quickly as possible. This was Savannah’s family, soon to be Garrick’s. He had no place here.

  And yet, he heard himself agreeing. Hell, he was looking forward to it. “Sure, what night is good for you?”

  “Tuesday?”

  “Sounds good. I’ll check with Savannah to be sure she doesn’t have anything going on.”

  Lachlan gave him a funny look but Rhian didn’t bother to explain. They all knew about the lump by now, he was sure. The Morrisons were good people and he didn’t doubt they could be discreet, but somehow, that didn’t translate to them being good at keeping secrets.

  “Even if Savannah has plans,” Lachlan said with a little smile, “we can still hang out.”

  “Sure. Yes, of course.”

  Rhian was saved from having to sound any more stupid when Mary joined them and sat down on his other side. He smiled at her, then at Lachlan when he patted Rhian on the shoulder before leaving them alone. Rhian was still trying to sort out what the hell he’d gotten himself into when Mary took his hand in both of hers.

  She was focused on the game, petting the back of his hand, probably without conscious thought, just as she did with any of her children. Rhian had to fight to swallow past the giant lump lodged in his throat.

  He held her hand tightly. Staring at her profile, smiling when she smiled at something her husband was muttering about one of the players. He realized with a jolt that he might just love her. It wasn’t the huge, frightening thing he had with Garrick, but a quieter, gentler emotion. He’d do anything for her. Anything at all she asked. He wanted to put his head down on her lap and tell her everything.

  Not that he would. He couldn’t. But he wanted to, so that was something, wasn’t it?

  God, how he wished for someone like her in his life. A weekend in her home had stripped away years of conviction that this kind of love and acceptance was something he hadn’t missed. That he could happily live without it. It was a terrible, gut-wrenching pain to recognize what he’d lost. What he would never have. It hadn’t hurt like this since he was a kid hoping to be placed in one of the miraculous happy, safe, welcoming foster homes the kids talked about, though none of them had ever found.

  He couldn’t change the past. And he doubted the future would be different. But for the ten minutes he got to sit and hold this woman’s hand, he enjoyed the hell out of it.

  He tried to let go of her when Savannah and Callum came into the room, but Mary didn’t cooperate. He felt foolish, having been caught clinging to their mom like the orphan he was. That she clung to him all the tighter made an achy warmth bloom in his chest, rekindling hope where there hadn’t been any in more years than he could count.

  Callum sat on the coffee table in front of them, his expression serious. Rhian didn’t know what to think when Chance sat beside him on the table, while Savannah curled up at his side and took his other hand in both of hers.

  He was pinned.

  Callum was the first to speak. “Savannah told us about the girl that’s been following you around.”

  Rhian wished she hadn’t, and he couldn’t fathom why Callum wanted to talk about it. His confusion must have shown because Callum leaned in, his voice gentle. “Why don’t you let Chance do some investigating, see if he can figure out who she is and why she might be following you?”

  Rhian shook his head. “No, that’s not necessary. I’m sure she’s just an overzealous fan. I’ll steer clear, that’s all.”

  Callum arched one brow. “Savannah also told us how much luck you’ve had with that in the past.”

  Rhian didn’t need a reminder of Deena, the crazy fan who’d tried to destroy both him and Garrick in Moncton. He looked at Savannah, tucked into his side, holding his hand tightly enough to cut off the circulation. She mouthed the word sorry. He wasn’t pissed. Or particularly surprised. Hadn’t he just thought to himself that this family was lousy at keeping secrets?

  “Okay, maybe I’ll report her to the police?” He didn’t love that idea, but he wasn’t sure why.

  Callum grimaced. “Rhian, Savannah told us the young woman bears a striking resemblance to you.”

  Rhian had been trying awfully hard to forget about that.

  “I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

  Both of his hands got a firm squeeze for that piece of bullshit.

  Callum sighed. “Look, man, I know it might lead to shit with your biological family, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to ignore it.”

  Rhian appreciated Callum making the distinction of biology and refrained from pointing out he didn’t have any other kind of family, so it hadn’t been necessary. He frowned at Savannah. Telling them about a stalker was one thing. Airing all his dirty laundry was another.

  “Sav didn’t tell us anything except that finding connections to your bio family might not be fun for you,” Callum said, pulling Rhian’s attention back to him. “But this woman knows where you live. You need to address it.”

  Rhian tried to think rationally about it, but he couldn’t. This was like a trip to the haunted house when he was a kid. He’d loved the anticipation when he approached a turn, knowing someone or something was going to spring out at him.

  Funny how the experience wasn’t nearly as pleasant now.

  “I can just look into it and not tell you what I learn unless there is something you need to do,” Chance offered gently.

  Chance McCormick was owner and president of McCormick Associates, the largest private security firm in Boston. If anyone could manage a discreet inquiry, it would be Chance.

  Rhian sighed. “Okay, do it. But tell me what you find. I might as well know.”

  The Morrison women squeezed his hands again, and he supposed he’d done something right. He smiled reassuringly, he hoped, at Mary, while rubbing a thumb over Savannah’s hand. He wondered if he’d have the guts to do this if they weren’t here beside him.

  Callum and Chance were getting to their feet when Rhian blurted out the truth. “My mother’s name is Diane Lynch.”

  Callum eased back to his seat slowly.

  Chance fell onto the table with a thump. “From Boston?”

  Rhian shrugged. Why did Chance sound surprised? “I’m not sure. I think maybe so. I was really young when…when I last saw her.”

  Kieran walked up behind Chance. “Did someone say Diane Lynch?”

  Chance’s hand clamped over Kieran’s on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, it’s my mother’s name. Why?”

  Kieran frowned down at Chance. “Uh, just a common name in New England, I guess.”

  Chance eased his grip on Kieran’s hand. “Was your father’s name Savage?”

  Rhian rubbed his thumb in double-time over Savannah’s while he considered how to respond. Shit, in for a penny…

  “No, not Savage. I don’t know who my father is. If I ever met him, I don’t remember.”


  Everyone absorbed this information in silence. Rhian contemplated explaining his random last name, but he couldn’t get it out. He’d said enough.

  The concern on everyone’s face, the encouraging looks, the tight grasps on his hands, kept him steady. For the first time in his life, he understood what it meant to be surrounded by people who cared.

  It was a gift he could never repay.

  Chapter Nineteen

  The Bell-in-Hand Tavern was established in 1795, making it the oldest pub in America. The beautiful corner location in the heart of the city made it the perfect place for locals and tourists to stop for a drink. Tuesday night was no exception and it was packed to the rafters with people of all ages, college students rubbing elbows with bankers.

  Savannah and Rhian stood in the door, searching the crowd for Lachlan. She smiled and waved when she found him defending his claim to the high-top table he’d somehow managed to score. The moment he spotted them, his expression pleaded for the reinforcements needed if they had any hope of retaining the precious real estate.

  Rhian chuckled close to her ear. “You go save Lachlan. I’ll get us a round. Beer okay?”

  She turned toward him, their noses almost brushing. “Yes, thank you. That’s great.”

  He smiled, his blue eyes dark in the dim light, and she shivered. His hand brushed her back and trailed along the strip of bare skin between her shirt and jeans as he turned away. Her toes curled in her boots.

  Was he driving her crazy on purpose?

  If Lachlan hadn’t been desperate for her help, she might have followed Rhian and asked him. She wasn’t sure, but she thought the little touches, the surprising but fleeting intimacies, had increased since their return from Connecticut. Or maybe she was just more aware of them.

  Lachlan shooed away another group and Savannah shook off her reverie. Weaving through the dense crowd, she fastened her smile in place, aware that Lachlan was entirely too perceptive.