Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7)

by Lisa B. Kamps

  Unless he was worried she'd ask for some kind of settlement. Yes, that had to be it.

  "We can get an annulment. I won't ask for anything. We can even make up a prenup right now before you leave, date it for yesterday—"

  "No."

  "But—"

  "No." He didn't even look at her when he said it, which only confused her more. Why was he so adamant about this? Why did he care?

  But now wasn't the time to ask because he was next in line. And just her luck, there were seats available and the woman happily switched her ticket as well so they could sit together. Natalie wanted to tell her it didn't matter if they sat together, wanted to tell her that Ben's whole newlywed story was a joke, just like their fake marriage. But she didn't.

  And she didn't say anything as they waited in the security line or as they hurried to their gate. Or when they boarded the plane or when they sat on the tarmac waiting to take off.

  She didn't talk at all on the long flight. She couldn't because if she did, she might ask him again why he was doing all of this. Why he cared. Might insist that he actually answer the question.

  And for reasons she didn't understand, she was afraid to hear what he might have to say. For better or for worse, they were together.

  At least, for now.

  Chapter Four

  Ben's ass was dragging and everyone knew it—especially Coach Torresi. Ben was starting to think the extra drills were just to prove a point to him and him alone. The idea was ludicrous, of course. If Torresi was pissed at him, he'd devise some other form of torture meant for Ben instead of punishing the entire team.

  The drills were because they'd had off a few days. Some of the guys had probably behaved and worked out, or even come here to the practice rink. Others—like Ben—had taken advantage of the downtime and left town for a few nights of craziness.

  Craziness. Yeah.

  Getting married sure as hell fit into that category.

  Ben dug his blades into the ice and pushed off, thigh muscles stretching and burning as he raced across the slick surface. He tapped the boards with his stick, spun around, and raced back to the other side. Back and forth, until sweat dripped into his eyes and his lungs burned with the need for oxygen. At least he wasn't the only one struggling, which should give him some comfort.

  It didn't but he was too fucking tired to care. No, scratch that—he was beyond tired. He was fucking exhausted.

  There was only one thing worse than showing up to practice drunk or hungover, and that was showing up to practice with no sleep. He'd done the former once—and only once.

  This morning was the first time for the latter. They—Natalie and him—finally got to her apartment around eight last night after the flight from hell. And apartment didn't exactly describe the small studio she lived in. He had paused in the doorway, momentarily stunned speechless. She had a futon that worked as both sofa and bed—and how the fuck did anyone even sleep on something like that, anyway?—three small end tables, one chair...and a collection of assorted crap that he still had trouble recalling.

  She had started pulling things into piles as he stood there and watched, listening to her talk to herself as she tried to organize the cluttered disaster. That shit had lasted fifteen minutes before he finally stepped in and demanded to know if she had suitcases. She did—two of them. Two freaking-ass huge ones.

  He tossed them onto the futon, opened them, and started tossing things in—only to have Natalie pull them back out and try to reorganize everything. An argument of sorts immediately followed. Maybe not an argument, but definitely a difference of opinion that lasted entirely too long, until he convinced her that she didn't need to bring everything with her right this minute. That he really would arrange for movers to get her stuff—such as it was.

  She didn't believe him. And he couldn't blame her because he was having trouble believing it himself. She kept asking him why—why was he helping her, why was he insisting on her coming to Pennsylvania with him, why was he doing this. The only answer Ben was able to give her was because they were married now.

  But it wasn't a real answer, even he knew that. The problem was, he didn't know why. If he was fucking smart, he'd file for a divorce or an annulment or whatever and just let her go. But he couldn't. He didn't know why, just knew that he couldn't.

  And that fucking bothered him. What he'd done—what they had done—made no fucking sense at all.

  So why the fuck was he insisting on continuing the damn charade?

  That question stayed with him the entire time they packed her shit—just the stuff she needed now. It stayed with him during the horrendous subway ride to Penn Station, where they'd barely caught the last train to the airport outside of Baltimore. Then they had to wait for a fucking shuttle bus to show up to take them from the train station to the actual airport, then catch yet another shuttle to the long-term parking lot. By the time they'd finally made it back to his place in York, it was after four in the morning. He'd shown Natalie to one of the two spare rooms in his condo, where she had immediately crashed.

  But sleep was out of the question for him, not when he had to be at the rink in less than five hours. So he had unpacked and started a load of laundry, killed some time catching up on email and social media, played a few stupid fucking games of solitaire on the computer until he started to nod off. The last time his head jerked up with enough force to crack his neck, he pushed out of the chair, took a quick shower, then finally headed here.

  Where he'd been in hell ever since.

  Yeah, showing up to practice with no sleep and bordering on the edge of exhaustion was a stupid fucking thing to do. Ben hoped like hell it would be the last time he did something so damn stupid because holy hell, he felt fucking old. Older than he should at twenty-seven. Even Pop—Aaron Malone—was skating circles around him this morning, and he was the oldest guy on the team.

  Bullshit.

  Ben dug deeper, desperately searching for a burst of energy, and picked up his speed. He whipped past Kyle Middleton then slammed to a stop against the boards as Torresi blew the final whistle.

  Thank fucking Christ.

  "Not bad—for an old married man."

  The jibe came from Nathan and he said it just loud enough for a few of the other guys to overhear him. Several heads whipped around—Pop, Zach Mummert, Dustin Rios, Tyler Bowie. He saw the surprise in everyone's eyes, heard the unasked questions lingering in the chilled air. The only thing keeping those questions unasked—for now—was Torresi talking to them, going over the lines and special teams for tomorrow night's game against Springfield.

  Coach's monologue only saved him until they reached the locker room. Ben didn't even have a chance to get his helmet off before he was barraged by questions.

  "What was Nate talking about?"

  "Married? You? No fucking way."

  "What the hell, Leach? Seriously?"

  "Congratulations, Ben." The last comment had come from Travis Bankard, the words quietly spoken and filled with sincerity. Ben paused with the jersey halfway off and turned to look at the younger man. There was no malice in the kid's eyes, no curiosity or disbelief. Just genuine congratulations.

  Shame filled Ben as he yanked the sweat-soaked jersey over his head. Out of all the guys crowded around him in the locker room, Banky was the one who had every right to be giving him the third-degree—as well as a load of grief. Ben had pretty much lit into the younger man a few months ago when it became public knowledge that he'd knocked up a one-night stand. Not just knocked her up, but stayed with her. Had her move in with him.

  And then married her, just a few weeks ago on New Year's Day.

  In Vegas.

  Shit. The fact that he now had more in common with the younger man than anyone else on the team should amuse him—in a sick, twisted kind of way. And it probably would, in a few weeks or months or hell, maybe a year or two down the road. But right now? No, Ben couldn't find the humor in it, not when the heat of shame was still filling hi
s face.

  He tossed the jersey to the side, offered Banky the slightest nod of acknowledgment, then continued stripping out of the gear. The other questions and comments went ignored and unanswered. At least, by him. Nathan and Kyle and Ryan were more than happy to fill in the blanks for everyone, particularly Nathan.

  "Yeah, he's married—to some woman he doesn't even know."

  Ben slanted a sideways glance at Nathan and clenched his jaw. "I know her."

  "Bullshit. Not according to what you told us."

  "I told you she was a friend of my sister's—"

  "That you haven't seen in ten years and that you barely even remember. Therefore, you don't know her." Nathan pulled his foot from one skate and let it drop to the floor. "They got hitched the day before yesterday. And get this: he hasn't even slept with her."

  Ben clenched his jaw again, ignoring the laughing questions as he glared at Nathan. "And I told you—"

  "And she's hot." Nathan kept talking like Ben wasn't even standing there. "Like, seriously fucking hot. Why the hell he hasn't hit that yet—"

  Ben's arm shot out without thought. His fist caught Nathan upside the head hard enough to make the other man jerk back—for two seconds. Then he was on his feet, lunging toward Ben, hands reaching for him as surprised fury lit his eyes.

  Those closest to them jumped in, some pulling Nathan away while others held Ben back. A few loud shouts echoed in the room, finally silenced by Nathan's own bellow.

  "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

  Ben shrugged out of the arms holding him but no made no move toward Nathan. "I told you the other night to watch how you talked about my wife."

  "Your wife? Christ, Leach, just because you've got a slip of paper saying you're married doesn't make it real. And for the record, that was a dig at you, not her."

  Ben started to say something, stopped at the last second when he realized he had no idea what to say. He grabbed his shower kit and towel and headed toward the other room before he dug himself in even deeper. He had just turned on the water when he heard someone enter behind him. A quick glance over his shoulder had him biting back more words when he saw Banky enter the stall next to his.

  "You shouldn't let him get to you."

  Ben grunted and dipped his head under the streaming water before reaching for the soap. Banky didn't take the hint and kept talking, his voice quiet and reserved as usual.

  "He's just teasing, is all. You know that."

  "Do I?" Teasing? Christ, was that what Banky thought? No way could he still be that fucking naive. Then again, maybe he was. Or maybe naivety had nothing to do with it. Maybe Banky was just the kind of guy who didn't have a mean fucking bone in his body and who wanted to get along with everyone.

  "A little teasing never hurt anyone." Banky kept talking, his voice soft and hollow-sounding against the spray of water. "They'll stop eventually. Once they realize you love her, I mean."

  He froze at the words. Love? Was Banky fucking serious? Fuck, he really was naive. Ben gave a short laugh then turned off the water and reached for his towel. "I don't love her, Banky."

  "Then why'd you marry her?"

  Ben started to throw the question right back at him and ask why he married Cara, but one look at Banky made the words die in his throat. Fuck. The kid actually loved his wife—the girl he had married after only being together for two months after learning he'd knocked her up after a one-night stand. He could see it clear as day in the gray eyes staring at him with genuine curiosity.

  Two months ago, Ben wouldn't have cared about giving Banky a hard time. Wouldn't have cared about how sharp and biting his words were. But now...no, he couldn't bring himself to say them, couldn't bring himself to burst the bubble of naive happiness that Banky was lost in. So what if the kid was deluding himself? Let him have his delusions, for as long as they lasted until real life finally intruded and taught him a hard lesson.

  Ben glanced at the other guys streaming into the room then lowered his voice so he wouldn't be overheard. "I married her because she needed help out of a bad situation. That's all there is to it. Don't go reading into it." He quickly dried off then wrapped the towel around his waist and started to walk away. Banky called out to him once more with yet another question that stopped him in his tracks.

  "Are you bringing her to the game tomorrow night so we can meet her?"

  Ben shot a scowl in the other man's direction. Was he fucking serious? Did he actually think Ben had any intention of letting his teammates meet Natalie? It was bad enough a few of the guys already had—no way in hell was he going to bring her to the game and act like they were actually together. Hell, for all he knew, Natalie would be gone by the time he got home, without even a note explaining where she'd gone or why.

  That thought propelled him from the room, filling him with a sense of urgency and dread he didn't quite understand.

  Chapter Five

  The door banged open with such force that Natalie jumped in surprise—and fear. The book she'd been trying to read fell from her hands and landed in her lap before tumbling to the floor. She whirled on the sofa, ready to launch to her feet, then collapsed against the overstuffed cushions when she saw Ben standing in the doorway. The sense of relief washing over her was short-lived, replaced by fear of another sort when she noticed the wild expression in Ben's eyes. Or maybe she had only imagined the look of panic in his eyes because when their gazes met, she saw only...relief? No, that didn't make sense, either. It was just her mind playing tricks on her, probably because she was still exhausted from the whirlwind of the last few days. She'd only managed a few hours' of sleep, then woke groggy and disoriented, not quite sure where she was, only knowing that she wasn't home.

  Until reality finally settled in and she realized she was home. Maybe. But only because Ben had insisted she come here to his house instead of her apartment in New York.

  Since they were now married, did that make this sprawling condo her house, too?

  She pushed that dizzying thought—the one about them being married—from her mind and leaned down to retrieve her book. "Do you always tear down the door when you open it?"

  Ben frowned at her, turned that same frown on the closed door behind him. "What?"

  "The way you stormed in here. Is that how you always enter a room?"

  The frown deepened. "I—no. It's not." He dropped a small duffel bag by his feet then moved toward her. Each step was deliberate, predatory. Another wave of emotion washed over her—not fear this time, she wasn't sure what it was, just knew that she didn't like the way her heart was pounding in her chest. He stopped at the edge of the sofa and looked down at her, those deep hazel eyes studying her with an expression that made her slide away from him.

  "I was expecting you to be gone when I got home."

  Natalie pulled her gaze from his but said nothing, no matter how much she wanted to ask him why he'd think something like that. How could she ask him that when the thought had occurred to her? When she'd been tempted, if only for a few minutes, to simply grab her bags and leave? She didn't have to go back to New York. She could go south. Or west. She could go anywhere she wanted and start all over—

  Except she didn't have the money to start over. She barely had enough money for train fare back to New York.

  But that wasn't the only reason she had stayed.

  She glanced back at Ben—not at him, but at his left hand, and the silver and gold band on his ring finger. He was still wearing the damn wedding band, like they were actually married. Shouldn't he have taken it off by now? Tossed it in a drawer, maybe, or put it someplace where it would be quickly forgotten. There was no reason for him to still be wearing it, not here where the charade no longer mattered.

  She glanced down at her own hand, at the matching band still circling her own finger. There was no reason for her to still be wearing the wedding band, either, but she hadn't taken it off.

  She wasn't sure why.

  And that was the biggest reason why she
hadn't left. She couldn't bring herself to just pick up and disappear like that. When she left—and she would leave, because she couldn't stay here indefinitely—she wouldn't sneak away without a word. Ben deserved better than that.

  She released a small sigh then offered Ben a bright smile. "No, I'm still here."

  He grunted, turned away from her. "I'm going to take a nap."

  "Wait!" Natalie jumped to her feet, started to reach for him then stopped herself from doing something so foolish. "Do you have a newspaper or anything?"

  "No. I usually just check the news online."

  "Oh." She clasped her hands in front of her and looked away. "Is there a store nearby where I could get one?"

  "Not really. Not within walking distance. Why do you need a paper?"

  "I need to look at the classifieds. At the help wanted ads."

  Ben's dark brows lowered over intense eyes. "Why?"

  "Why?" She repeated the question, disbelief dripping from her voice. "Because I need to get a job, that's why."

  "Why do you need a job?"

  "Um, because I need money and—"

  "You don't need to worry about that. Not right now. I can take care of everything."

  "But—"

  "We can talk later. After I get some sleep." He turned away, leaving her staring after him in open-mouth shock. Had she really heard him right? Why would he think she didn't need to worry about that? Surely he didn't expect her to rely on him for everything.

  Natalie glanced around the large condo and frowned. Not that he couldn't afford it but—

  No. Absolutely not. Forget the fact that she didn't want to mooch off him—she may not have much but she did have her pride and she always worked for whatever she had. He'd already helped in ways she could never repay, she didn't want to owe him even more.

  And she didn't want to be controlled by him, either. Forcing her to rely on him for everything was nothing but a way to control her. She'd been through that with Brandon—and with the guy she'd been with before him. She absolutely refused to let herself fall into that trap again.