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

by Lisa B. Kamps

Natalie sat there for a long minute as thick silence settled around her. She looked down at the plate filled with food that had made her mouth water only moments ago then pushed it away, her appetite gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Ben spun backward, blades slicing the ice as he swung his stick to the side across the slick surface. The player from Charlotte cradled the puck with the blade of his own stick, protecting it from Ben's sweep, and darted right.

  "Shit!" Ben spun back around and tore off down the ice, picking up speed. But he wasn't fast enough and the other man took the shot. The puck flipped through the air, only to be snagged by Gardel's glove hand. The goalie bent over, cradling the puck against his chest. The whistle blew, signaling the stop in play, but the guy from Charlotte kept going, slicing at Ryan's hands in an attempt to free the puck.

  Ben charged forward and slammed into the guy, sending him flying. He started to turn around, ready to ask Gardel if he was okay, when the other player lunged for him.

  That was all it took.

  Ben threw his stick and gloves to the ice, blocked the first punch then swung out with a cross hook. His fist connected with the man's jaw. Sharp pain exploded in his knuckles but Ben ignored it and swung again, this time catching the guy in the shoulder. Every ounce of anger and frustration he'd ignored the last few days bubbled to the surface, fueling him as he kept swinging and masking the pain of the blows that landed on his cheek and against the side of his head.

  Fuck this shit.

  The fury he'd succeeded in keeping buried since this morning exploded. He advanced on the other player, caught the man's sweater in his left fist and swung out with his right. A jab. An uppercut. One more time, delivering another hit to the guy's jaw.

  Ben pulled back, ready to deliver yet another blow when something grabbed him from behind. He shrugged the hold off, started swinging again only to have his arm yanked to the side. Ben spun around, sweat stinging his eyes as he stared unseeing at the cluster of players surrounding him.

  Aaron Malone. Nathan Shaw. Harland Day. He glanced over his shoulder, realized the string arms wrapped around him belonged to Dustin Rios.

  His teammates. Pulling him away. Holding him back. Keeping him from totally losing his shit. Yeah, too fucking late for that.

  He nodded, silently assuring everyone he was fine, that the blind fury that had seized him only seconds ago had faded to nothing more than a dull irritation. Pop skated around him, quietly addressing the officials. Dustin finally released Ben and he moved away, pausing long enough to straighten his jersey before leaning down to gather his helmet and stick and gloves.

  He tossed a quick glance at the scoreboard suspended over center ice, noticed the time on the clock then slowly skated toward the sin bin. There was no doubt in his mind that he was getting five for fighting, might as well just head over there now and save everyone the trouble.

  One of the officials caught up with him, blocking his way to the penalty box. Ben frowned, ready to ask what the hell was going on when he heard the sound of the shrill whistle split the air, followed by a loud voice behind him.

  He heard the words but they made no sense, even when the official in front of him grabbed his arm and turned him in the direction of the bench. What the fuck?

  "No fucking way!" The shocked words fell from Ben's mouth before he could stop them. He expected the five minutes for fighting but a game misconduct? For what?

  He paused several feet from the bench, fury lighting his eyes as he stared at the official waving him off the ice. Ben started toward him, ready to open his mouth and ask him if he was fucking blind, but Aaron intercepted him and pushed him backward.

  "Let it go."

  "It's bullshit!"

  "I know but let Torresi deal with it."

  Ben's gaze snapped to the bench and rested on Torresi. The coach's face was red with anger, his cold green eyes focused on the officials. The roll of papers that was an ever-present sight in his hands was crushed from the force of the grip he held them in. He waved for the official to come to the bench, his face getting redder by the second as the official staunchly ignored him.

  Ben wanted to jump on the bench and shout right along with Torresi. To rail against the injustice of the call and plead his case. One quick look at the coach's face warned him to keep quiet. Ben bit back his frustration and anger and stormed to the bench, ignoring his teammates' words of encouragement and commiseration as he went straight through to the tunnel that led back to the locker room.

  He threw his stick in the direction of the rack and kept going, his pent-up anger reigniting with each step.

  Anger at the bullshit call.

  Anger at being ejected from the game.

  Anger at himself for losing control.

  Anger at the fucked-up scene this morning in his kitchen.

  I'm not some whore who expects to be paid in the morning just to ease your guilty conscience.

  Fuck!

  He started to push through the door, wanting to do nothing more than strip out of the damp jersey and thick pads. He was waylaid by the trainer, who took one look at him and motioned for him to follow him.

  "Let's get you patched up."

  Ben hesitated, wondering what the hell the guy was talking about. Only then did he become aware of the dull ache in his hand and the sharp stinging around his eye and mouth. He glanced down, noticed the spatters of blood staining the gray trim of his collar.

  He bit back another oath and followed the man into a small room. Ben peeled off his jersey and pads and shirt and dropped them to the floor before climbing onto the small padded table.

  The guy was talking out loud, taking inventory of the scrapes and cuts and bruises. Ben didn't know if he was actually addressing him or talking to himself and he didn't really care. Wasn't the first time he'd been banged up on the ice, wouldn't be the last.

  The cut under his eye was cleaned and stitched. The same with the cut on his lip. The guy gently grabbed Ben's right hand and held it up, twisting it back and forth as he studied the bruised knuckles and torn skin. Ben swallowed a hiss of pain and jerked his hand back when the guy tried to bend his middle finger.

  "Hurt?"

  Ben scowled at him. "It's fine."

  The guy grunted but didn't say anything, just cleaned him up and bandaged the worst of it. He reached for a small splint but Ben quickly shook his head.

  "I don't need it, I'm fine."

  The other man grunted again then placed the splint to the side. Quick instructions on how to take care of the stitches followed, instructions Ben barely heard. It wasn't like he needed them anyway—he'd been through this enough, he knew the drill.

  He slid off the bench then made his way to the locker room, stripped down and headed for the shower. The rush of hot water pummeling his body did nothing to relax him and not even the annoying sting of the cuts could pull his mind from this morning.

  I'm not some whore who expects to be paid in the morning just to ease your conscience.

  Christ. Is that what Natalie thought? That she was nothing more than a whore in his eyes? But why? He'd done absolutely nothing to make her think that.

  Or had he?

  He tilted his head back, tried to focus on the steady stream of water washing over his face and hair instead of the hours he'd spent in her bed last night.

  Instead of the words he'd so hastily thrown at her this morning.

  My conscience is clear.

  Except it wasn't. How could it be, when he'd used her so roughly, so selfishly, last night? She hadn't deserved treatment like that, even if he hadn't intended to act that way. Yes, he was a miserable, selfish bastard who didn't deserve happiness. That message had been hounded into him for more than a decade by the only person who knew him better than he knew himself.

  The only person he'd ever tried to impress.

  That was why he'd married Natalie. The idea had popped into his head, completely unbidden. Having a wife would prove someone cared about him, that he was worth
caring about—even if he knew it was nothing more than show. The idea had seemed simple enough a few days ago. Natalie needed help, and he needed a way to prove he was worth something in someone else's eyes.

  It should have been easy. Uncomplicated. And it would have been—if he hadn't slept with her. If he hadn't lost all control and used her the way he had.

  Maybe it wasn't too late to fix his mistake. Maybe there was something he could do to make it up to her. Maybe he could explain why he'd done what he'd done—why he'd married her—and she would understand.

  Or maybe Natalie would get so pissed off that she'd simply walk out and never look back. It was nothing more than what he deserved.

  And nothing he wasn't used to.

  Something sharp and unexpected sliced through him, causing his breath to hiss in the humid air of the shower.

  Maybe Natalie was already gone. Maybe she had left this morning, right after he did. And why wouldn't she? There was nothing there for her, no reason for her to stay.

  Sharp panic sliced through him, causing his breath to escape in another rushed hiss. He reached behind him and turned off the water, grabbed the towel and quickly dried himself off. He needed to call Natalie. Now. Try to explain things.

  No, he couldn't explain, not over the phone. But he could at least ask her to stay. To wait until he got home tomorrow night so they could talk. After that, if she wanted to leave, he'd—

  He didn't know what he'd do. Didn't even want to think about it. He'd figure it out then, if it came to that.

  But first, he needed to talk to his wife.

  Chapter Twelve

  There was another lull in the conversation, this one stretching out even longer. Natalie ran the palms of her hands along the top of her thighs then shifted in the chair, glancing around the room. At least she'd had the foresight to turn some music on. If she hadn't, the silence would be even more uncomfortable than it already was.

  Not that she'd turned it on in anticipation of having company. She simply wanted some background music while she read, something quiet that wouldn't make the sprawling condo seem quite so empty. Something to keep her company.

  She should have been more careful with what she wished for because she certainly had company now—company she hadn't been expecting.

  The three women had made themselves comfortable on the sofa and the other easy chair. If not for their curious glances when they first arrived, she would have thought they'd been here before. But they hadn't, a fact made even clearer when the redhead—Haley—had asked for a quick tour of the place.

  That had surprised Natalie almost as much as their unexpected appearance at the door over an hour ago. She'd stammered, trying to figure out a subtle way to refuse, but the woman had swept by her and quickly walked through Ben's place, commenting on how it hadn't been what she expected. Natalie had run ahead of her, making sure to close the door to her room. The last thing she needed was for any of the women to realize that she wasn't sharing a bedroom with Ben. That would open the door to too many questions—questions she had no idea how to answer. If Haley thought her mad rush to close the door was strange, she at least had the decency not to say anything about it. She'd just commented again how the place wasn't what she expected then joined the other two women in the living room.

  Natalie looked around again, wondering exactly what the other woman had expected. The condo was open and spacious, decorated with a slightly modern flair in mostly neutral colors: tans and creams and browns. Splashes of blues and greens in the artwork, throw pillows, and area rug kept the place from being too boring and bland. The furniture seemed almost new, large pieces that were actually comfortable and meant for using instead of for show. It was a nice place.

  Definitely nicer than her small studio back home.

  Except that small studio wasn't her home anymore, this was. At least, for now. Until she figured out what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go.

  Because she couldn't stay here and she most definitely couldn't stay married to Ben. The way she had overreacted yesterday morning told her that much. First, she had read entirely too much into the time they had spent in her bed Friday night, putting more importance on the sex than it deserved. Then, as if that wasn't bad enough, she'd thrown that awful accusation at Ben when he'd tried to give her money.

  Because she'd had her feelings hurt. Because he hadn't scooped her into his arms and professed his undying love.

  Okay, maybe that was extreme even for her. She hadn't expected any declaration, of undying love or anything else. But she certainly hadn't expected his stone-faced regret. And yes, it had hurt. Even now, if she thought about it too much, it still hurt.

  She pushed the thought from her mind and once again ran her hands along her legs. Her gaze landed on the empty glass in front of Megan, the woman wearing the colorful Chucks. She jumped at the chance to slide into the role of hostess.

  "Would anyone like something else to drink?" Natalie was already standing, ready to collect the glasses and take them into the kitchen for refills, but the third woman—Jenny—was shaking her head.

  "Actually, what I really want is food. Anyone else hungry?"

  Natalie's stomach dropped when the other two women nodded in agreement. They expected her to feed them? How? Her search of the pantry yesterday afternoon had turned up some macaroni and cheese, a few cans of soup, some spaghetti and sauce, and two boxes of Pop Tarts. The refrigerator was just as empty, holding nothing more than a few eggs, a carton of milk, some creamer, and half a head of broccoli that was at least a week past being fresh. She'd been able to scrape enough together to make herself dinner last night and a late breakfast this morning but that was it. There certainly wasn't enough to throw together a meal for unexpected company.

  "I—I think there's some spaghetti left. I could put water on—"

  "Good God, she thinks we expect her to cook for us." Jenny shook her head, a smile curling the corners of her mouth. "That wasn't meant as a request for you to feed us. I was thinking more like burgers and wings. There's a place not too far from here."

  "Oh." Relief washed over Natalie—not just because she wouldn't have to figure out what to feed them, but because that meant they'd be leaving soon and she'd by herself again. She offered the three women a bright smile as she collected the empty glasses. "Well, thanks for stopping by. It was nice meeting you. Again, I mean."

  "You're not going with us?"

  They were inviting her to join them? Surprise washed over her, rendering her silent for a few seconds. Then reality took its place. Even if she wanted to join them—and she wasn't sure she wanted to—she couldn't. There were two obstacles in her way. First, she didn't have enough money for something as extravagant as eating out; and second, and she had no way of getting there.

  Natalie was thinking of some excuse to give them without telling them the truth when Haley stood and grabbed two of the glasses from Natalie's hands.

  "Here, let me help with those. And of course, she's going with us."

  "I—I can't." She offered them her most apologetic smile then shrugged. "Ben will probably be home soon and—"

  "The guys won't be back until late." Jenny glanced at her watch then looked back at Natalie. "Not until eleven, at the earliest. Didn't Ben go over the schedule with you yet? Tell you what to expect?"

  "Um, no. I guess not. Not yet. It doesn't matter, I still can't go."

  Haley paused halfway to the kitchen, a small frown on her face. "Can't go or don't want to go?"

  Was it Natalie's imagination or was there a chilled edge to the other woman's voice? Did she think Natalie was refusing to go with them because she didn't want to associate with them?

  She almost pounced on the excuse Haley was giving her. So what if the other women thought she didn't want anything to do with them? It wasn't like she was going to be around for much longer. There would be no time to build friendships, casual or otherwise. All she had to do was say she wasn't interested, that she didn't want to go w
ith them.

  Except part of her did. She didn't understand the reason behind it, knew it made no sense. Knew, too, that forging any kind of friendship with these women, no matter how superficial, would only lead to disappointment in the future.

  But for once, she didn't care.

  Natalie's gaze swept across all three women, finally resting on Haley. She ignored the heat filling her face and told them the truth. "I can't. Um, I don't have a job so money is tight and—"

  "Ben didn't leave you anything to get by on for the weekend?"

  Natalie thought of the cash she had placed on top of his dresser yesterday morning. One-hundred-and-ninety dollars, meant for her to go grocery shopping—shopping she couldn't do. "He did but that's his money. I wouldn't feel right taking it."

  Haley tilted her head to the side and studied Natalie for a long minute with clear hazel eyes that saw too much. Then she shrugged and moved toward the kitchen once more. "Then my treat. You can pay me back later."

  "But—" Natalie threw a helpless glance at the two women still seated on the sofa. Both of them were watching her, nothing more than curiosity in their gazes. She bit back a small oath and followed Haley into the kitchen. "I still can't go. I don't have any way to get there."

  "I saw Ben's car outside. Are you telling me he forgot to leave the keys?"

  "No."

  Haley placed the empty glasses in the sink then reached for the two in Natalie's hands. "Then what's the problem?"

  "I don't know how to drive."

  Shocked silence greeted her statement. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned, swallowed back a groan of embarrassment when Jenny and Megan entered the kitchen. Both women looked as surprised as Haley.

  Megan was the first one to recover her voice. "You seriously don't know how to drive?"

  "No. I went through driver's ed in school but that was ten years ago and I never finished or got my license. And then I moved to New York and I didn't need to worry about it because nobody drives there, not when it's easier to walk or take the subway." And she would have never been able to afford the expense of a car even if she could drive, not that they needed to know that.