Defending the Reaper: A Standalone Steamy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 5)

by G. K. Brady

  A trade would be good. God, he hoped Herb could find him a team with a shot at the Cup. Dave wasn’t that old by NHL standards—D-men didn’t hit their stride until their late twenties, and he was in the prime of his career—but it didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out he was on the downhill side of that career. And the broken hand wasn’t helping. But he’d do what he had to—the legitimate way, no matter how tough that made it—to make sure it healed all the way.

  A nagging little doubt poked him now that his blood pressure had tumbled a few steps. Usually, he was the last man off the ice after practice or a game. It’s what good captains did, whether they were healthy or not. Today, though, he’d played the little bitch and stormed out before everyone. Embarrassment heated his cheeks, and his inner Yoda pointed out he hadn’t done himself any favors. Tomorrow he’d be apologizing and prostrating himself, metaphorically speaking. Dancing like a monkey on a chain, groveling for peanuts.

  His inner Han Solo shouted the green Jedi down. “They should be apologizing to you,” Han railed. “For fuck’s sake, give a guy a break already!”

  Okay. Now I’m listening to voices in my head. Voices that belong to fictional characters. Time to get a grip, Grims. He dragged one of the covers off, revealing a cardinal-red metallic Mercedes-Benz GLS 450, and couldn’t keep a grin from tugging his mouth.

  His phone buzzed, and his fledgling smile crashed. Dropping the cover, he picked up the call from his attorney he’d been expecting. “Tom?”

  “Yeah, Grims. Am I reading your message right about you T-boning someone?”

  Tom Carlisle had been his attorney for so long that they’d forged a friendship—an amazing accomplishment, considering they were both irascible. Dave filled him in, and the first question Tom barked was whether anyone had been hurt. Tom’s tongue could slice you like a newly sharpened skate blade, and his next question carried even less tenderness than the first.

  “Let me see if I have this straight. You run a red light and T-bone a woman. You admit it to everyone, including the woman you hit. Then you advertise you’ve got assets by offering to buy her a car of her choice, carte blanche. Am I right so far?”

  “Hadn’t thought about it quite that way, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.”

  “You not thinking is why I get the big bucks. Let me tell you what else you didn’t think about. She’s going to call one of those ambulance chasers on TV who promise to get her what she ‘deserves.’ That lawyer will hand her a menu of possible latent injuries and say, ‘Pick one! Hell, pick four!’ Every single choice will be so debilitating that she won’t be able to work for the rest of her life, and guess who will pay for that, dude?”

  When Dave didn’t respond, Carlisle snorted. “That’s right, brainwave. You!” Then he grumbled, “For fuck’s sake, why is it my clients only call when they’ve behaved like morons?”

  “If they only called when they were acting smart, you wouldn’t have any billable work, now would you, asshole?” Dave shot back in frustration.

  Carlisle chuckled. “I’ll give you that one, Grims. I’ve heard it put more eloquently, but your point is well taken. All right. Let me handle this going forward. I’ll see that Ms.—what’s her name? Never mind—the other driver’s vehicle is replaced with something reasonable. In other words, it’s crystal clear she doesn’t get to pick a brand new, fully-loaded Maserati Levante. From now on, though, I’m the point man on this. Your job—your only job—is to keep your pie hole shut. If you can do that, I’ll see about squeaking you out of this situation without exposing your ass more than you’ve already bared it to the world.”

  “Gee, thanks?”

  “Trust me. You’ll thank me later.” Tom chuckled. “You’ll even be whistling as you pay my bill.”

  They hung up, and Dave exhaled. The bubble of joy he’d felt admiring the Mercedes had popped. In fact, his entire car collection wouldn’t be enough to stitch his frayed nerves back together. This conclusion was confirmed seconds later when his phone rang again.

  He opened the driver-side door and slid behind the Mercedes’s steering wheel. “Hey, Nicole.”

  “Did you get my text?” she snapped.

  “Which one?”

  “The one about taking Benny next weekend! You never answered me when we were on the phone earlier.”

  A doozy of a headache was building behind his eyes, and he rubbed his forehead. “I did answer you. You just didn’t like the answer. That weekend won’t work. I’ve got too much going on.”

  “Like what?” He could picture her jutting out a hip and parking a well-manicured hand on it.

  “Like two home games. And like I was in a car accident today.” Not that the accident had anything to do with taking the dog, but still. He wasn’t above playing a sympathy card, although she hadn’t been moved by the busted hand. No, it would probably take a gasping deathbed scene to pull an icy tear from Nicky’s arctic heart.

  “Oh.” A few beats of silence passed, then, “Wait. I’m talking a week from now, and you don’t need a car to have Benny stay. I’ll even bring him over.” Her voice lilted, which usually signaled she was trying to sell him on something he didn’t want. “Besides, you have a whole fleet of other cars you can use.”

  He squeezed his eyes shut. “Aren’t you even going to ask if I’m okay?”

  “I’m guessing you are because you’re taking calls. You are, right?” The lilt was gone.

  His head spun, and what little energy he had seemed to drain from a hole in his soul. “Never better.”

  By the end of the conversation, he’d agreed to take the dog—because bottom line, he loved that damn Australian shepherd-boxer mix that had once been his dog. He shook his head, wondering how she’d managed to finagle him again. She’d used her usual MO, which was to use what he cared about against him and wear him down, that’s how.

  He started up the Mercedes and hit the garage-door opener. The thought of returning to four walls of space devoid of any living thing dragged him down further, so he detoured and, fifteen minutes later, parked in a strip mall in front of a salon. A cheerful pink-and-black sign read, “Shear Indulgence.” A bell rang over the door as he opened it—an old-fashioned touch that quirked a corner of his mouth—and his eyes swept the stations as they adjusted to the darker interior.

  A chorus of “Hi, Dave” greeted him, as did smiles from five hairdressers in various stages of styling clients’ hair. A few added exaggerated eyelash flutters and soft giggles. Even some of their clients joined in the flirty greetings. The attention didn’t faze him—he was used to it—so he nodded his hellos and focused on a mop of bright red curls emerging from the back. He shaded his eyes with one hand.

  “Whoa! Now that’s bright!”

  She stopped and shot him a lofty look. “Always the charmer.”

  When he reached her, he pulled her into a bear hug and rubbed his knuckles over her curly crown.

  She gave him a playful shove. “Off me, you big ape!”

  He kissed the top of her head and released her. “You love it, and you know it.” He scanned her hair and realized shocking pink was woven into the red. “New color?”

  She fluffed her do. “Nice of you to notice.”

  “Christ, how could I miss it?”

  “What’s the occasion? Obviously nothing special since you’re toothless today.” She clapped her hands. “Ooh, I know! You’re finally going to let me take off that rat’s nest that found a home on your chin.”

  A set of fingernails climbed the back of his bicep, surprising him, sending chills up his arm. Next came an overpowering spicy scent. He swiveled his head and leveled his gaze at a shapely, overly made-up brunette.

  “You going to introduce me to your handsome cousin, Sonoma?” The woman was talking to Sonoma while eyeing him like he was her next meal. He took a step back, but she followed him right into his personal bubble.

  Sonoma rolled her big blues. “Mandy, this is Dave. Dave, this is Mandy.” Before he could give
the expected cordial answer, Sonoma gripped his arm, pulled him into her back office, and shut the door. He caught a vague, disappointed-sounding, “Hope to see you soon, Dave,” behind him.

  “New girl?” he asked.

  “Obviously. God, I get tired of them doing that.”

  “How do you think I feel?”

  She flicked her wrist at him. “Pfft. You’re a man. You love it.”

  “Not so much. You realize that if I didn’t play pro hockey, they’d completely ignore me. Or run the other way.”

  She shrugged a shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s been a while, but as I recall, you do clean up well. Besides, a lot of women fantasize about being dragged off to a cave somewhere, so for them, the Bigfoot thing is very appealing.”

  Apparently not to the woman he’d hit. He arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Yeah, especially when they think Bigfoot has deep pockets.”

  “Poor you. So what brings you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

  He shoved his hands in his front pockets. “I wondered if I could buy my favorite cousin a drink?”

  She studied his face. “Need to talk, huh?”

  He blew out a breath. “Meh. Maybe.”

  Soon they were seated at a corner table in his favorite bar. The dark wood, small-tiled floor, and smoky mirrors reminded him of something from the old west—probably because it was a relic from the 1800s—and it wrapped him with a sense of comfort, like a warm blanket. Wonder if I’ll find a place I like as much in my next town? The bartender gave him a wink and said, “The usual, big guy?” as soon as she’d spotted them walking in.

  “How come she only recognizes me when I’m with you?” Sonoma grumbled.

  He tweaked her hair. “Because you change your hair color all the time? You’re a woman of mystery, Nome.”

  Sonoma preened and took a sip of her wine. “So what’s got you blue, dude?”

  One swallow and he’d consumed a third of his beer. Then he told her about the accident.

  “Oh shit, Dave. But you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. Apparently, I wasn’t going as fast as it felt like. And I guess it’s better to be the T-boner than the T-bonee—from a preservation-of-body-parts point of view. Fortunately, even though it was old, her van did its job safety-wise.”

  “And she said she was okay?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but you know how those things go. She might wake up in three months and be in pain.”

  Sonoma snorted. “Yeah, after being coached by a lawyer.”

  He twirled his pint glass. “That’s not what I meant. What if she really is hurt but it doesn’t show up for a while? That could really fuck up someone’s life. I don’t know what she does, but she looked fit, athletic. Say she runs marathons and suddenly can’t because she’s got a pain shooting down her leg. That would suck.”

  Sonoma gave him a sympathetic look and let out a little sigh. “What if you don’t worry about it until it’s an actual problem? I swear you love to punish yourself.”

  He straightened and wiped his palms on his thighs. “No, I don’t.”

  Bright blue eyes appraised him. “Yeah, you do. It’s why you stuck with Nicole for so damn long.”

  “You forget. She stuck with me. Until she didn’t.”

  “Yeah, well, you know where I stand on that whole deal. You’re better off without her. Or are you without her? Is she still roping you into doing stuff for her?”

  He ducked his head before throwing back more beer.

  “Oh, Dave,” Sonoma tsked.

  “I’m watching Benny, which isn’t that big a deal. Besides, this way I get my fix.”

  “You don’t look so happy about it, though.” His cousin then had the gall to point out the pathetically obvious. “You need to stop telling her yes so she stops asking. But maybe you can’t because you’re hoping that if you keep doing shit for her, she’ll realize what a mistake she made and come back. Is that it?” She arched a red eyebrow at him. Jesus, she’d even dyed those.

  “No. It’s just that … she’s used to me doing things for her and Isaac, and I can’t just stop when they both still need me.”

  “When was the last time you saw Isaac?”

  He finished his beer and signaled the bartender for another one. When he lifted his chin at Sonoma, she placed her hand over her mostly full glass and shook her head.

  “Well, that would be June-ish, before he went to stay with his grandparents.” He squelched the discomfort digging into his spine like barbed wire.

  “Uh-huh. So you’ve seen him, what, three times since you two split?”

  He shrugged. “You forget he’s not my kid.”

  “Not biologically, but damn, for a few years you were a better dad to him than his own father!”

  Dave winced inside. Yeah, losing Nicky had meant losing her eight-year-old too, though the relationship between him and the boy had become strained with “Dad” in the background tugging on the poor kid’s emotions. Isaac had been caught between his parents, pulled like a Stretch Armstrong toy, and Dave had been helpless to do anything about it. The few times he’d tried, Nicky had shot him down faster than a clay pigeon at a top-gun shooting tournament. Still, after innumerable relationships in his life that had gone nowhere, he’d gotten a taste for being a family with Nicky and Isaac, and he’d liked it—even if it had taken Nicky throwing down an ultimatum to move in together. Once he’d grown accustomed to living with her, he’d liked that too. Liked being needed.

  His mind zipped back to when he’d first met her. It had started like all the other relationships. He’d been at a club with some teammates, and when he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been dazzled. So had his buddies. She was beautiful and sleek and flashy, like his cars. An air that screamed, “Unobtainable!” had rolled off her, and the challenge had been too tempting to resist, especially when one of the guys threatened to make the first move. Competition was a strong motivator. Just like his unexpected captaincy, though, he was perpetually amazed that girls like her—the tens, the ones who’d never given him a second glance in high school—would actually fall for him.

  Confident he might actually catch her, Dave had chased her—or at least he thought he had. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d simply played him, pretending to run until she let him snag her.

  “Can we talk about something else, please?” he pleaded. “Like that great accident I was in and the awesome car I’m going to buy for this woman?”

  “Before we do … I just want to say one thing.”

  He puffed out a derisive breath. “Which really means six.”

  “Behave.” She gave him a fake glower. “I’ve known you a long time, and from where I sit, it looks to me like Nicole is taking advantage of your protective side. You’re probably still giving her money, aren’t you?”

  “Nome, you know I love you like a brother, but that’s none of your damn business.” So what if he wrote Nicky a check once in a while to get stuff for Isaac? Dave made a lot of money. And he had a lot to make up for.

  “You just answered my question.” Sonoma sipped her wine primly.

  “It was hard on her,” he muttered. He and his teammates weren’t the only ones affected by his fall from grace.

  That comment earned him another pointed look from Sonoma. “Guilt colors judgment, Dave. But let’s put that aside. Either you’re still in love with her and you want her back or your battered ego wants her back because it needs a victory right now. But you forget she put you through hell, even during the good times. The woman thrives on drama, which is the complete opposite of who you are. If she called you today and told you she’d changed her mind, would you really want her back?”

  Did he want Nicky back? A little voice—Yoda, probably—piped up with a nope. Though lonelier, life was simpler in many ways with him not living under the same roof as Nicky, and it freed him up for the single-mindedness he needed to keep his head in the game. All training, all the time, no distractions—even more critical now that
he was looking for a trade. Sometimes he’d felt like she was a rock collar suspended around his neck, pulling him under, drowning him. Admitting it, though, forced a fresh surge of guilt.

  His second beer appeared, and he slugged down half before setting the glass on the tabletop. He admonished himself to slow down—alcohol was a little too easy to throw back these days. “I guess not.”

  “She’s got you in a choke hold, and the only way you’re going to break it is to get yourself unwrapped from her little finger.” Sonoma peered at him, mischief dancing in her eyes. “And I know the perfect way to do that. Bonus: it could give your self-esteem points in the win column—”

  “My self-esteem is dandy, thank you very much,” he snorted.

  Ignoring him, Sonoma kept right on going. “Let me set you up with my neighbor.”

  “No.”

  “She’s cute, smart, not a man-eater …”

  “Curls clogging your ears again, Nome? What part of no did you not hear?” God, she drove him crazy, but she was his best friend, and—he grudgingly admitted to himself—he loved her. A mere two years divided them, and they’d had each other’s backs growing up together in Utah, the only children born to their twin-sister moms. His bond to Sonoma was like entwined steel cable, far stronger than any bond he shared with his younger half brothers, who lived with his dad and stepmom in far-flung Singapore.

  Which was why he was sitting across a table from her right now, indulging her inclination to feed him a bunch of annoying bullshit, including her trying to set him up—again—with her mysterious neighbor. He didn’t want to hear it, no matter how much she insisted he needed to.

  Sonoma let out a sigh of defeat. “Okay. Just trying to put a smile on your face again. It’s been MIA way too long.” She took another sip of wine. “If you won’t let me help you, how about you helping me? I have a salon chair I need to move into storage. Could you maybe bring your truck and meet me early tomorrow, Mr. Muscles?”