And he hoped like hell he'd do a damn better job than what Rios had done the last few minutes.
He adjusted his grip on the stick and pushed to his feet, ready to jump the boards. Any second now, as soon as the puck dropped and—
The horn blew a split-second after the puck hit the back of the net. What the fuck? How the hell had Providence scored so damn fast, right at the faceoff?
Something crashed behind him. Ben didn't bother to look around, he knew what it was. That last goal sent had Torresi over the edge and he either kicked something, or threw something. Ben didn't blame him, not when he had the urge to throw something himself.
He dropped back to the bench. Would Torresi pull Gardel and send Tyler in? Yeah, that's exactly what he was doing. Tyler was already climbing over the boards, his long stride eating up the distance as he went to relieve Ryan in the net.
Ben glanced at the giant screen then bit down on the mouthguard in frustration. Their lead had been shot to hell in just over three minutes. Was that a new fucking record for them? Maybe—but it sure as hell wasn't one to be proud of.
It only got worse as the clock ticked down to the end of the game. By the time the final horn blew, the Bombers had had their asses handed to them with a score of six-to-three.
Unfuckingbelievable.
An oppressive weight hung over the locker room as they undressed, nerves stretched tight as they waited for the inevitable explosion courtesy of Coach Torresi. The man didn't disappoint; he stormed into the room, face dangerously red, eyes glittering with fury. Ben lost track of how many times the man used the words fuck and incompetent and unacceptable, or how many times he strung them all together, calling them unacceptable incompetent fucks. The tirade lasted less than fifteen minutes but there wasn't a single man in the locker room whose play hadn't been verbally flayed. Even Banky wasn't immune and the kid had scored two of their three goals and logged an assist on the third.
Silence settled over the room and mixed with the disappointment and guilt that Torresi left in his wake after he and the rest of the coaching staff left. The oppressive stillness was finally shattered by the simple act of Gardel throwing a pad across the room with the force of a major league pitcher.
"Fuck!"
Yeah, that pretty much summed it up.
Forty minutes later, they were on the bus headed to Bridgeport for tomorrow night's game. Ben shifted in the seat, trying to get comfortable enough to take at least a small nap during the trip. Instead of closing his eyes, he stared down at the ring on his finger and wondered what his wife was doing.
His wife.
Those words still had the power to sucker punch him and leave him weak. Not because they were as shocking and unbelievable as they'd first been, but because they filled him with...
He frowned, trying to think of the right word. Peace? No, that was the wrong word. Contentment? Maybe. Satisfaction? That wasn't quite right, either. His mind went through a list, rejecting each choice because the word didn't quite convey how he felt. It should be a big word, at least four syllables. Something long and complicated and fancy to describe the emotions of the past month.
Of the past week.
Harmony? No.
Gratification? No.
Fulfillment? No, not that either. Not that he wasn't all of those things but they still weren't quite right.
Happy?
He hesitated, his head tilted to the side as he ran the foreign word through his mind again.
Happy.
Yeah, the word was definitely foreign to him, something he would have never imagined using to describe himself. Foreign or not, it fit.
He was happy.
Something had changed this past week, some slight shift in the universe as he knew it. His relationship with Natalie had changed. They'd been working toward friendship for the past month, something else that had surprised him, but it was more than that.
He'd shared his darkest fears with her and she had stayed. Even after the way he had hurt her that night at Mystic's—and he knew he had, whether he'd meant to or not, whether she admitted it or not—she had listened. She had stayed.
And she cared.
Maybe that was the most surprising thing of all, that someone actually cared about his miserable, selfish, worthless ass. Not just someone—Natalie. She cared. She knew his greatest vulnerability and she still cared.
Just like he cared about her. He never thought he had the capacity to care about someone but that changed with Natalie. Hell, he wasn't even close to his own family, had separated himself to the point where they barely exchanged holiday cards or calls. He hadn't been back to Michigan in years, had made his home here once he realized York was as far as he'd ever get.
Maybe he'd go back this summer, take Natalie with him and introduce her to his mom and sister. She was his wife, after all, she should meet at least part of his family. Not that she didn't already know them but even she had admitted that a lot of years had passed. For all he knew, his sister wouldn't even remember her.
Now that the thought had surfaced, he realized that he wanted to take Natalie home for a visit. More than that, he wanted to bridge the distance he had wedged between him and his mom and his sister. Maybe it was too late, maybe he had fucked that part of his life up too much and that distance would always be there—
But he wouldn't know unless he tried.
He had Natalie to thank for that—because she had stayed. Because she had shown him it was possible for someone to care about him—and for him to care about someone else.
Yes, he cared for Natalie. Would he ever love her? No. He didn't believe in love. Hell, he wasn't even sure what the fuck love was. But he didn't need it. He was married to someone he cared about, someone he actually liked and could be friends with. That was a hell of a lot more than some people he knew.
Like Aaron. From what Ben had heard, his first marriage had been a nightmare, one he was still learning to put behind him. He had to, for the sake of his two daughters. But the older man was engaged now, moving on to wife number two and from the looks of it, the second time would be a home run for him.
Then there was Nathan. Ben didn't know much about his teammate's marriage, only knew that it had lasted less than four months and had turned Nathan into a cynical playboy who trusted absolutely no one. He hid it well, behind a facade of calculated carelessness that fooled almost everyone.
Everyone but Ben.
Because he knew better. He could see the biting harshness and misery that lurked beneath the surface of the man. And why wouldn't he? Looking at Nathan was like looking in a mirror.
At least, it had been, until this past month.
This past week.
As if his thoughts had conjured him, Nathan dropped into the seat next to him. Ben swallowed a groan and shifted, wondering if he could feign sleep so the man would leave him alone. No such luck, not when Nathan could see that his eyes were wide open.
He stared down at Ben's left hand then smirked. "Still married, I see."
"Yeah."
Nathan shook his head and made a small tsking sound. "Figured you would have wised up after last weekend. It's tough to play around when you have a wife hanging onto you."
"I wasn't playing around."
Nathan snorted. "Yeah. Sure you weren't. I wasn't the only one who saw Stacey getting cozy with you."
"It wasn't like that."
"If you say so." Nathan slid down in the seat, stretched his long legs in front of him, and settled in. "You should have never gone after her."
Ben clenched his jaw. Took a deep breath and pressed his hands against his thighs before he did something stupid—like wrap them around Nathan's neck. "I told you it wasn't like that. I didn't go after her, she—"
"The hell you didn't. Everyone saw you take off after her when she ran out of the bar."
He wasn't talking about Stacey, he was talking about Natalie. Ben shifted again, forced his hands to remain where they were. "She's my wife—"
"Yeah, I know. And she's hot and all but shit—you need your fucking head examined for marrying her. Still don't know why the fuck you did something so damn stupid."
"I had my reasons—"
"Yeah? Like what? I know sure as hell you didn't knock her up like Banky did with his woman. At least he has an excuse. What's yours?"
Ben fought to control his temper, held onto it with a tenuous grip. "I told you, I had my—"
"Reasons. Yeah, so you said." Nathan leaned forward, caught Ben's gaze and lowered his voice. "But what about hers? Did you ever stop to wonder about that?"
"It's a long story."
"Yeah?" Nathan's brows quirked up, the sarcasm clear with just that small expression. "I just hope the hell you know what you're doing and not letting her use you. For all you know, her story was nothing more than a bullshit ploy to con you into giving her everything you have."
A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Ben. How long ago had it been since he'd had a similar conversation with Travis? That afternoon came back to him, crystal clear in its clarity. The irritation he had felt at what he was convinced was Banky's gullibility. The warning he'd given the other man to be careful, that he was being set-up, that the girl was only using him.
The way he'd separated himself from the rest of the guys soon after that, no longer hanging out with them. Putting distance between them because he was convinced they were all fools. Harland and Jason and Tyler. Zach. Aaron. Even Banky, who was probably the most emotionally stable guy on the entire team despite his young age.
Only Ben had been the fool, not them.
He pushed to his feet and climbed over Nathan, paused to lean over him and spoke in short, clipped tones. "Do yourself a favor, Shaw. Get your fucking head out of your ass before it's too fucking late and you turn into a miserable, lonely, son-of-a-bitch like I was."
Nathan's face was carefully blank but the surprise and anger were clear in his eyes. Ben didn't wait for him to respond, he just turned away and made his way down the aisle, taking the empty seat next to Gardel, who was already asleep.
Ben stretched out and tried to get comfortable. Closed his eyes and hoped for sleep to come.
And silently cursed Nathan for making him wonder if maybe there was more to Natalie's story than he knew.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Natalie watched in silence as Ben pushed the food around on his plate. He'd done the same thing for the last ten minutes: take a bite, push the food around. Take a bite, push the food around. At first, she thought that maybe it was another pre-game superstition except she'd never seen him do it before. And he looked distracted. Not in his zone, as he had called it, but like his mind was somewhere else, a million miles away. He'd been that way all week, ever since coming back from the weekend road trip.
They'd be curled up on the sofa watching television and he'd just go silent, like he was no longer there with her. Or she'd catch him watching her at the oddest times, when she was folding laundry or sorting the pictures she had taken that day or studying for the driver's test she was taking in a few days. She had asked him several times if something was wrong and he'd shake his head, almost like he was clearing it, then tell her everything was fine and pull her in for a kiss.
But she couldn't escape the niggling in the back of her mind that said he wasn't telling her everything. That, despite all his reassurances, something was on his mind—something to do with her. Part of her wanted to believe it was just her imagination but another part of her—that little girl who always expected the worst to happen—warned her that all good things must come to an end.
That included the relationship that had started to grow and bloom with Ben. And if it was going to end, part of her hoped it would end sooner rather than later, before she did something monumentally stupid, like fall in love with him.
If it wasn't already too late.
She pushed her empty plate away and folded her arms on top of the table. Maybe the only thing wrong was that she had somehow messed up his dinner. How, she didn't know, since she'd been cooking it every night before his home games for the last several weeks.
"Is everything okay with dinner?"
Ben looked up and suddenly blinked and she got the impression that he just realized she was still sitting across from him. And she hadn't missed that distant look in his eyes, the one that told her his mind had been elsewhere.
"Yeah. Fine as always." He took several bites back-to-back then reached for the glass of milk. Natalie hid her wince as he washed down the food with several long gulps. Ben must have noticed her reaction because he smiled at her—a real smile, not a distracted one—then wiped the milk mustache from his mouth with the napkin.
"You don't know what you're missing."
"Yeah, I do." They'd had this conversation several times already and it usually ended when Ben teased her because she didn't like milk and didn't understand how he could drink so much of it.
Only the teasing didn't come this time because he resumed his new ritual of taking a bite then pushing the food around on his plate. Over and over, until the last bite was gone.
She reached for the empty plate but he beat her to it. This was new, too, Ben clearing the table. Usually she did it while he relaxed before heading to the rink.
Natalie pushed away from the table and stared at her husband.
"Ben, is everything okay?"
"Yeah, why?"
"Because you're acting like something is wrong."
He placed the dirty dishes and silverware in the dishwasher, closed the door, then leaned against the counter. "How am I acting like something's wrong?"
"You've been preoccupied all week. You spent more time playing with your food than eating it." Natalie waved at the empty table. "You cleared the dishes."
One dark brow shot up. "So that means something's wrong? I do know how to clean up after myself, you know. I've been doing it for a long time."
"That's not what I mean and you know it." She rose from the table and walked toward him. Placed her hands against hips and tucked one finger into the belt loop of his jeans. But she didn't lean into him. Didn't push up on her toes and brush her mouth against his.
If she did that, they'd spend the next thirty minutes in bed and then she'd never get any answers because he'd have to rush to get to the rink on time.
Ben had other ideas because he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer. Bent his head and caught her mouth in a searing kiss meant to make her forget her own name—
Or forget that she had asked him what was going on.
"Ben—"
He silenced her with another kiss but instead of deepening it, he pulled away and studied her with those deep hazel eyes ringed with gold. Studied her for so long that a frisson of unease skittered along her spine.
"Tell me why you married me, Natalie."
The words were spoken so casually that she didn't understand the question at first. Then she stiffened in his arms as the frisson escalated to panic.
She tried to pull away but he tightened his arms around her and held her in place. The panic grew and for a fleeting second, she thought to fight him. To push away until he freed her.
He knows. Oh God, he knows.
The words spun through her mind with dizzying speed. Her heart raced and her breath came faster. Her stomach twisted and soured at the implication of his question.
He knows.
"Natalie?"
The gentleness of his voice caught her off-guard. She met his gaze, tried to decipher what she saw in his deep eyes. Not accusation. Not anger or condemnation or judgment. Just...curiosity.
Maybe he didn't know. Maybe her secret was safe. Yes, he knew there was more than the brief story she had given him—because she'd told him there was more, that night in the bar in Vegas, right before he suggested they get married.
But he didn't know what it was.
Her mind was already concocting a plausible lie. It would be so easy to do, to weave a story that would
satisfy his curiosity. To fabricate details that would place all the blame on Brandon.
She opened her mouth, ready to do just that...then stopped. The lie wouldn't come. If there was to be even a slight chance that this facade of a marriage might become real—if what she was starting to feel was real—she needed to tell him the truth.
Even if it meant seeing the warmth in his eyes turn cold.
His arms tightened around her once more when she tried to step back, then he reluctantly released her. Natalie wrapped her arms around her middle and moved across the room. Leaned against the refrigerator and focused on the coolness of the stainless steel that seeped through her jeans. Focused on the expensive tile beneath the soles of her shoes.
"I told you: to get away from Brandon."
"Was that the only reason?"
Yes, it was—he just didn't know why she needed to get away from Brandon. Not really. He had never asked and she had never bothered to tell him, not when she knew he assumed it was because her ex was a threat to her safety. And he was—but not for the reasons Ben thought.
Natalie dug her fingers into her arm and risked a quick glance at Ben. He leaned against the counter, his long legs stretched in front of him and crossed at the ankles. Both hands were braced behind him, the muscles of his forearms and wrists so strong and clearly defined beneath his warm flesh. She was suddenly struck by how attractive he really was, with his athletic body built by a lifetime of dedication to a sport he truly loved, no matter why he started playing. With his thick hair as dark as night and those deep eyes flecked with gold and those sinfully long lashes that any woman would kill for.
She focused on his hands, on the long fingers and blunt tips. On the shadow of a bruise that stained his knuckles, either from practice or left over from one of last weekend's games. Strong hands. Capable hands.
And yet they could be so very gentle, too. She longed to go to him, to wrap her arms around his waist and feel the heat of his body as he held her close. To feel those hands caress her and hold her and protect while he told her everything would be okay.
Playing His Part: A York Bombers Hockey Romance (The York Bombers Book 7) Page 16