"Ben—"
"He used to play hockey. Never made it too far but he's the reason I'm playing now. I think I was four when I got my first set of skates. He'd wake me up and drive out to the rink and make me do laps until I stopped falling down." Ben smiled again, knew that it was nothing more than a cold and empty expression. "He was always there, always pushing. 'You can do it,' he'd say. 'Don't give up. I'm counting on you.'."
Memories washed over him, of the cold mornings and sore muscles. Of being so tired that he'd fall asleep in class. Of his father yelling at his teachers, telling them it didn't matter because hockey was more important. Because his son was going to be a star. Because he was going to succeed where his father had failed.
But God help him if he didn't keep his grades up.
He stared down at their clasped hands and pushed the memories away.
"Everything was about hockey, even during the off-season. I wasn't allowed to play baseball because it was for sissies. I wasn't allowed to play soccer because I might get hurt. I hated my father for that."
"Ben—"
"In the end, it didn't matter if I hated him or not because I fell in love with the sport. Hockey suddenly became the only thing that mattered. The most important thing. I wasn't playing for my dad anymore, I was playing for me." He squeezed Natalie's hand and quickly glanced at her, at the carefully blank expression on her face.
"My father wasn't good enough to make it in the pros but I convinced myself I was. I was going to go all the way and prove that I was better than he was. Better than he could have ever been. Not just a better player, but a better man. My dreams were going to come true and I was going to throw all my fucking happiness right in his face."
Silence wrapped around them, thick and heavy. Natalie shifted on the stool, the heat of her gaze boring into him. "What did he do when you succeeded?"
Ben looked up, the sarcastic laughter strangling him. He shook his head and looked away. "Nothing."
"Why not?"
"Because I never made it. Turns out I wasn't as good as I thought I was."
"But—" She paused, a frown creasing her forehead. "I don't understand. You're doing what you wanted to do. You're playing hockey and—"
"Not professionally. Not in the big league."
"But—"
"I was drafted right after I turned eighteen and played my first year in Dallas."
"Dallas, not here?"
"No, not here. Definitely not here." Bitterness crept into his voice and he swallowed it back. "I was traded to Toronto at the end of the season but only played a few games for them before being reassigned. Then it was a trade to LA and another few games before being reassigned again. And then, four years ago, the Banners picked me up. I played two games in Baltimore before they sent me here."
"You mean, they traded you again?"
Ben laughed, the sound short and hollow. "No, Natalie, they didn't trade me—they reassigned me. They sent me here, to their minor league affiliate."
"I don't understand what that means."
"It means I've never been quite good enough to make it all the way. It means I'm just like my father."
There was another pause, this one even longer. Natalie's hand tensed in his and he expected her to pull it away, to jump to her feet and call him a loser. She didn't.
"But isn't he proud of you? You followed your dreams and accomplished—"
"Nothing. I accomplished absolutely nothing, Natalie. I'm not a pro and never will be. That chance is long gone, especially when there are dozens of other players younger than me. Better than me."
"Is that what your father said?"
"No. No, Dad was a bit more blunt than that." He shook his head. Closed his eyes as the memories washed over him, as sharp and clear as if he'd just spoken to his father this morning.
"You're a loser, son. I should have known better than to pin my hopes on you. Should have known you'd let me down. You had life by the balls. You could have made it happen—you just didn't want it bad enough."
Ben sat on the only chair in the empty living room, surrounded by boxes he had never bothered to unpack—boxes that were now bound for York, Pennsylvania. His hands were clasped in front of him, his knuckles turning white as his father raged his disappointment.
"Don't sit there looking so miserable, like you weren't expecting this to happen. You got exactly what you deserved: nothing. Not a goddamn thing. The Banners were your last chance and you fucking blew it. You threw it all away, just like I knew you would."
"I didn't—"
"Bullshit. I don't want to hear your excuses. You got exactly what you deserved: nothing. Congratulations. And you only have yourself to blame. Remember that in the years to come, when you're nothing more than a washed-up has-been who will never find happiness. Remember that this was all your fault. You don't deserve happiness. You don't deserve shit."
The rage simmering beneath his calm exterior finally boiled over. Ben launched himself from the chair, came face-to-face with his father. Satisfaction filled him when he saw the fear in his father's eyes, when he noticed the exact moment that his father realized he was no longer a little boy to be pushed around.
"Just like you, Dad, right? I'm a miserable son-of-a-bitch—just like you."
Ben finished the tale, his voice fading on the final word. Now Natalie would leave. How could she not, when she knew what kind of man he really was?
But she didn't move, not even to shift on the stool. Even her hand was completely still in his, in spite of how hard he was squeezing it.
He finally eased his grip on her fingers and dared to look up, afraid of what he'd see on her face and in her eyes. What he didn't expect was the glimmer of tears quickly blinked away, or the gentle touch of her palm cupping his cheek.
"I'm glad I never met your father. I don't think I would have liked him."
His laugh—if that's what he could call the brief rush of air that escaped him—surprised him. He lifted Natalie's hand to his mouth and pressed another kiss against her bare finger. "No, I don't suppose you would."
"But—I still don't understand, Ben. What does any of this have to do with why you married me?"
He released her hand and stood, busied himself with cleaning up the first aid supplies littering the counter. Better to focus on that than on the disappointment or even anger that would surely cross her face when he told her.
"Dad told me nobody would ever care about me because I had proved to everybody that I was a loser. That I was miserable and selfish and didn't deserve happiness so I was destined to be alone the rest of my life, just like he was." Ben glanced at his reflection in the mirror, curled his mouth in disgust at what he saw there then averted his eyes. He grabbed the empty packages of sterile wipes and crushed them in his hand. "I figured getting married would prove him wrong. That it would prove somebody did care, even if it wasn't for the right reasons."
Ben whirled around and leaned against the counter, his gaze focused on the gleaming black tile under his feet. "Pretty damn pathetic, isn't it?"
And it was. The thoughts themselves were bad enough but to hear the words out loud? To know that he'd admitted it to someone besides himself? Yes, that was a thousand times more pathetic. "The only thing I proved was that he was right. He's been right all along."
The stool legs scraped across the tile as Natalie pushed to her feet. He expected to hear her steps dart across the floor as she fled the bathroom. Expected to hear the sound of the condo door close behind her as she walked out.
He didn't expect to feel her arms wrap around his waist or the lightest touch of her lips against his neck. His body stiffened and he fought the urge to pull her closer. To crash his mouth against hers and lose himself in her, if only to forget. Only for a little while.
Instead, he held himself utterly still, refusing to even glance down at her. "I don't want your pity, Natalie."
"This isn't pity. Not for you."
"Then for who?"
"For the litt
le boy whose father lied to him."
"Natalie—"
She silenced him with a kiss, just a featherlight brushing of her lips against his. Once. Twice. Soft and gentle. Coaxing. No, not coaxing—seeking.
He forced his eyes open and found the courage to look down at her. What he saw took his breath away. Made his chest tighten. Made his lungs, his heart...his entire body...ache.
Because what he saw was acceptance—for him. For who he was, pathetic story and all. Not just acceptance, but need. Raw and honest, a reflection of the own need coursing through his veins.
He lowered his head, caught her mouth with his own. Swallowed her sigh as he deepened the kiss. She draped her arms around his neck and pressed her soft curves closer. The shudder that went through her matched his own, released something wild and primitive that went beyond basic desire and passion.
This was need, pure and primal. Raw. Untamed.
Not the need for sex, but the need for the woman in his arms.
For Natalie.
He ran his hands along her back, palmed the soft roundness of her ass and pulled her hips closer. Moaned when she pressed herself against the aching length of his erection.
He dragged his mouth from hers, traced the column of her throat with his mouth. Licking. Nipping. Tasting. He caught the hem of her sweater in his shaking hands and dragged the material up. Up higher, over her raised arms, over her head. Her thick hair fell around her face, the soft strands teasing his hands. He thrust his fingers into the golden cloud that framed her face and lowered his mouth to hers once more.
Whatever control he thought he had snapped. He wanted her.
Now.
Needed her. Needed to feel her hands on his body. Needed to see her eyes flare with the same desperation raging through him as he drove into her.
He needed her.
Now.
He reached between them and undid his shirt, shrugged it from his arms then grabbed her hands and placed them in the center of his chest. Her touch threatened to topple him, to bring him to his knees. A groan rumbled in his throat, escaped from his mouth to join with hers and echo in the hot air around them.
He dragged his hands along her arms, skimmed her sides. Her hips. Her thighs. Up again, to the snap of her jeans. There was a small pop as he released the snap, a whispered hiss as he eased the zipper down. He grabbed the waistband of her jeans and tugged, no longer gentle, no longer patient. Patience had left him long ago, as soon as she came to him instead of turning around and leaving.
He needed her.
Now.
He shoved the jeans past her hips, her thighs. There was the faintest sound of metal hitting the tile at his feet then spinning away. He didn't care, didn't stop to see what it was. His entire focus was on Natalie. On the overwhelming need to make her his. To plunge into her wet heat and hear her call his name as she came undone.
Her jeans and shoes hit the floor, followed by his own clothes. Then it was just them. The two of them. Skin to skin, with no barriers between them.
Ben didn't want barriers. No more. He wanted Natalie. Just her and him, with nothing between them. He dragged his mouth from hers, struggled to catch his breath as he stared down at her. At her glazed eyes and mussed hair. At her lips, swollen from his kisses. At the flush staining her cheeks and shoulders and breasts.
"Are you on birth control?"
She pressed herself closer, dropped her hand between them and closed her fingers around his throbbing cock. Then she nodded, her lips trembling as she answered him. "Y-yes."
His head dropped back, his jaw clenching against the painful pleasure of her long strokes. He took a shuddering breath, reached between them and closed his hand around her wrist, halting her sweet torture.
Another shuddering breath, then he opened his eyes, caught her gaze. "Any other worries?"
The flush on her cheeks deepened, from embarrassment this time. She shook her head. "No."
"Same here." He dipped his head, teased her lips with his mouth and pulled away. He didn't try to hide the intensity he knew was burning in his gaze. "I don't want anything between us, Natalie. Not now. Not tonight. Are you okay with that?"
Her eyes widened and for one awful second that lasted a lifetime, Ben was afraid she'd say no. Afraid she'd insist on a condom. That was her right, he wouldn't try to talk her out of it—
She nodded, the small motion followed by a whispered, "Yes."
And he was lost.
The last of his control—if he had ever possessed any—shattered and disappeared. He grabbed Natalie around the waist, lifted and turned at the same time, sitting her on the edge of the granite vanity. Nails dug into his shoulders as she reached for him. A sharp gasp of surprise fell from her parted lips when he grabbed her hips and pulled her to the edge of the counter. He spread her legs wide and stepped between them. Wrapped his hand around his cock and guided the tip toward her slick entrance—
Then plunged into her with one long stroke, shuddering as he sheathed himself in her wet heat. Shuddering at the sensation of bare flesh meeting bare flesh. He fisted one hand in her thick hair, used his other hand to grip her hip and anchor her in place. His mouth crashed over hers. Hot. Hungry. Demanding.
Conquering.
Surrendering.
He drove into her, over and over. Hard. Fast. Deep. Losing himself.
And when she flew over the precipice, he gladly, eagerly, followed. Her cries mingled with his as his body shattered into a million slivers. As he pumped his very life into her welcoming body.
As he finally discovered the only place he truly belonged.
##
Ben woke several hours later, sleepy contentment filling him. He pushed up on one elbow and gazed down at the woman curled next to him. At the way the hair fell across her face. At the way her full lips parted ever-so-slightly in sleep. He grabbed the edge of the comforter and pulled it over her bare shoulders then quietly eased from the bed, careful not to disturb her.
He closed the bathroom door then turned on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness. It took less than a minute to find what he was searching for.
Light reflected off something small and round resting on the floor by the whirlpool tub. He bent down and retrieved Natalie's wedding band, held it in his palm and stared at it for several long minutes.
He washed it off and quickly dried it, then made his way back to the bed. He'd keep it safe for her, hold onto it until she wanted it back.
To wear, he hoped. If not...it was hers to do with as she chose.
He ignored the sharp pain that thought brought and opened the nightstand drawer, ready to tuck the ring safely inside. He must have made more noise than he realized, or maybe the bed had dipped under his weight, because Natalie stirred and rolled to her side, her sleepy gaze meeting his.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing. Just..." His voice trailed off and he stared down at the ring tucked into his palm, wondering if he could get it into the drawer before she noticed. She brushed the hair from her face and pushed up on her elbow.
"What's that?"
"Nothing. It's just—" He glanced at his closed palm then bit back a sigh when he noticed Natalie do the same. He opened his hand, careful to avoid her gaze. "It was on the floor and I thought...I was just going to put it in the drawer until you wanted it back."
And fuck, that made him sound pathetic and whiny. He was grateful for the shadows in the room, grateful that Natalie couldn't see the blush creeping across his face. He cleared his throat and forced a carelessness he didn't quite feel to his voice. "I didn't mean to wear. It's yours. You can do whatever you want with it. Even pawn it. I don't—"
"Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"Can I have my ring back?"
"What? Oh. Yeah. Sure. Of course." He started to hand it to her then stopped. His lungs squeezed tight and for one second, he actually thought his heart might stop.
Natalie didn't reach for the ring as he expected. She extend
ed her left hand toward him, palm down. He hesitated but only for a second before he took her hand in his and gently slid the ring onto her trembling finger.
Much the way he had when they were married a month ago.
And just like he had done that day, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her—only this time the kiss was real, the sign of a promise instead of the seal of a contract.
Chapter Twenty-One
Ben's mood shifted from optimistic joy to downright pissed in the space of two minutes and twelve seconds. How the fuck had Providence scored back-to-back goals so damn fast?
The Bombers had hit the ice at the start of the third up by two. Thanks to those two damn goals, they were now tied. And damn if it didn't look like Providence was ready to score again.
He leaned forward on the bench, both hands wrapped around the shaft of his stick, his teeth absently gnawing on the guard hanging from his mouth. Their offense was breaking down, falling apart right in front of his eyes. The fucking defense wasn't doing much better because Dustin Rios let the puck move right past him, completely missing the chance to keep it away from Providence.
And fuck! Number twelve was racing down the ice, heading straight toward Gardel in the net. Loud cheers echoed from the rafters as the crowd surged to their feet, cheering for the home team.
Ben blew out a deep breath, the sound swallowed by the crowd's groans as Ryan made a pad save then bent down to cover the puck. Damn, that had been a fucking close one.
Too damn close.
If Providence scored again and got the lead, the Bombers would have a hell of a time getting it back. It didn't matter that they still had fourteen minutes left in the third—Providence had come out energized and they were on fire, a fire fueled by the energy of their home crowd.
Ben glanced to his left and swallowed a groan. Torresi was fucking pissed. The man's face was a dull red and his cold green eyes flashed fury as he watched the teams get into position for the faceoff.
Ben turned back to the ice and slid to the edge of the bench, ready for the line change he knew was coming. As soon as the puck dropped and the Bombers cleared it from the zone, Dustin would skate in and Ben would take his place.
Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7) Page 15