Sin Bin

by Maureen Smith

  “Yeah. That’d be good.” Meadow was coming back tomorrow, so he wanted to look nice for her. Nice and civilized.

  Fifteen minutes later as he and Hunter were leaving the barbershop, Hunter clapped him on the back and drawled, “Look at you making all these changes.”

  Logan pretended not to know what he was talking about. “What?”

  “Growing out your hair. Going back to school.” There was an amused gleam in Hunter’s eyes. “Looks like she’s already having a major influence on you.”

  Logan took out his key fob. “Not sure what you mean.”

  “Yeah, right.” Hunter grinned, sliding on a pair of designer sunglasses. “I knew she’d be good for you.”

  Logan shrugged, rubbing his freshly sculpted beard. “Jupiter’s cool.”

  “Cool? You shouted her out after the game, bro. I’d say she’s a helluva lot more than cool.”

  Logan grinned and started backing up toward his truck. “Good luck on your speech. Hope you see some hot chicks in the audience.”

  Hunter chuckled. “I’m not there for that.”

  “Which would make it even better.”

  “Uh-huh. Later,” Hunter said, sauntering off to his Aston Martin.

  As Logan climbed into his truck, his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, hoping it was Jupiter even though she’d told him she would be running last-minute errands all day.

  Sure enough, she wasn’t the one calling. It was Lakendra Howell, the mother of one of the kids he mentored.

  He hit the answer button and said warmly, “Hey, Lakendra.”

  “Hey, Logan.” She sounded tired. It was the way his mother used to sound after a long shift at the casino. Every hour she’d spent serving drinks to customers and fending off sexual advances had taken pieces of her soul.

  “Sorry to bother you—”

  “You’re not bothering me.” He’d given Lakendra his personal number, told her to call him if she ever needed anything. She’d never taken him up on the offer.

  “I was just about to head over to see Davion,” he said. “Everything okay?”

  “Not really.” She sighed heavily. “Can you call me after your visit to let me know how he’s doing?”

  “Of course.” Logan was frowning. “What’s going on? Is he okay? They promised to call me if anything happens.”

  “Nothing’s happened. At least not that I know of.” Lakendra hesitated. “I haven’t seen him in two weeks.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “He doesn’t want to see me.” She sounded like she was fighting back tears. “Every time I go up there to visit him, he turns me away.”

  Logan clenched his jaw, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Thank you, Logan,” Lakendra whispered gratefully. “I appreciate you.”

  “No problem,” he said gruffly. “Try to get some rest. I’ll be in touch.”

  As he drove to the juvenile detention facility, his thoughts didn’t stray far from Lakendra Howell and her three boys. The thirtysomething single mother worked as a waitress and a hotel housekeeper. Even with two jobs she struggled to make ends meet, but she was too proud and independent to ask for help. The one and only time she’d allowed Logan to pay her rent, he’d had to force her to take the money. The long hours she worked meant her sons were often left home alone to fend for themselves. She’d been working a double shift at the hotel on the night Davion was caught shoplifting with some friends. Because it wasn’t his first offense, he was convicted of felony theft and sentenced to six months in juvie lockup. Lakendra still blamed herself for not being there to stop him from going out that night.

  When Logan arrived at the youth services center, he signed the visitor’s log and spent a few minutes shooting the breeze with the corrections officer before he was escorted to a visiting room. Davion came shuffling through the door moments later. The fourteen-year-old was tall and lanky, ninety pounds soaking wet.

  As soon as he saw Logan’s bruised cheek, he burst out excitedly, “Holy shit! Did you get into another fight?”

  Logan gave him a sarcastic smirk. “No, I tripped and fell into a wall.”

  Davion laughed, dropping into the chair across the table from Logan. “They took away my TV privileges, so I didn’t get to watch the game last night. Who were you fighting? I bet you kicked his ass! You never lose a fight!”

  Logan grimaced guiltily. Some role model he was.

  “Why’d you lose your TV privileges?” he asked.

  Davion’s expression turned belligerent. He looked away to glare at the far wall. “I got into a fight.”

  Logan frowned. “What happened?”

  Davion gave a hard shrug and chewed on his thumbnail.

  “That’s not an answer.” Logan sat forward, leaning toward the teenager. “Why were you fighting?”

  Davion’s sullen dark eyes returned to him. “It ain’t important.”

  “C’mon, kid. Drop the tough guy act and talk to me.”

  Davion flopped back in his chair and mutinously crossed his arms. He reminded Logan of himself at his age—surly, cocky, rebellious as fuck. He’d spent more than his share of time in juvie lockup and seemed destined for a life of crime until Santino intervened. He’d redirected the path Logan was on, helping him channel his rage and aggression into hockey.

  “It was stupid,” Davion grumbled irately. “Some fool was talking shit about me, so I beat his ass. End of story.”

  Logan gave him a steady look. “I know it’s hard to walk away, Davion, but you really shouldn’t be fighting.”

  “Why not? You fight all the time.”

  Got me there. Dammit.

  “That’s different,” Logan muttered.

  “How?” Davion challenged.

  “I’m a hockey player. That’s sorta what we do.”

  “Not all hockey players,” Davion shot back. “Hunter Duchene hardly ever fights.”

  Logan frowned. The little shit had him again.

  “Hunter’s the team captain. He has to set a good example for the rest of us. Anyway, you’re supposed to be getting out of here soon. You need to be on your best behavior so they won’t push back your release date.”

  “They can’t do that,” Davion asserted.

  Logan snorted. “Think they can’t?”

  The boy wavered, his bravado slipping.

  “I’m just gonna be straight with you, kid. You’re African-American, so that means the system is pretty much stacked against you. Don’t give these people any reason to think you haven’t learned from the mistake that landed you here. Don’t give them any reason to think this is where you belong.”

  Davion swallowed visibly and glanced toward the closed door. He looked sufficiently concerned.

  Logan rapped his knuckles on the table. “So no more fighting. You got that?”

  Davion started to nod, then changed his mind and gave Logan a look of challenge. “If you stop fighting, I’ll stop fighting.”

  Logan narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how this works.”

  A slow, knowing grin spread across Davion’s face. “Can’t do it, can you? You love fighting. You can’t stop.”

  Logan scowled. “Of course I can.”

  “No, you can’t.”

  “Can, too. I’ll prove it.”

  “Uh-huh. We’ll see.”

  Logan folded his hands on the table and pinned the smug teenager with a direct look. “Why are you refusing to see your mom?”

  Davion’s smirk faded as his dark eyes narrowed with resentment. “She told you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Davion scowled and sucked his teeth. “Man, that bitch—”

  “HEY!” Logan shouted, his voice thundering around the room. “Don’t you ever disrespect your mother like that!”

  Davion stared at him with a mix of fear and defiance. “You don’t understand—”

  “Oh, I understand just fine!” Logan cut him off furiously. “I understand that your mothe
r works her ass off to take care of you and your brothers! I understand that she blames herself for not being home the night you and your friends decided to pull a smash and grab at an Apple store! I understand that she’s worried sick about you, and every day you spend here feels like a fucking eternity to her!” Logan stabbed a finger in Davion’s face. “I’d give anything to have my mother in my life, you ungrateful little brat. If I ever hear you disrespect your mama again, I’m gonna break my foot off in your skinny ass! Are we clear?”

  The boy swallowed hard and nodded, his chin quivering ever so slightly.

  Logan wasn’t done with him. “When I leave here, you’re gonna tell the corrections officer that you want to see your mother. When she comes to visit you, you’re gonna hug her and thank her for all the sacrifices she’s made for you, and you’re gonna tell her you love her and appreciate her. Because you do. You just don’t realize how much yet. But someday you will, and you’ll thank me for showing you the error of your ways. You understand?”

  Davion nodded again, blinking back tears.

  Logan blew out a long deep breath. “Look, I get it, all right? It sucks being poor and living in the projects. It sucks not being able to afford new clothes or the latest gadgets. I know you hate having to look after your brothers when your mom’s at work. I’m sure it’s no fun being cooped up inside while your friends come and go as they please. Part of you probably resents your mother for not being able to give you a better life. And you know what? Your frustration is understandable. But that’s no excuse for treating her like shit. She’s doing the absolute best she can, and she’s all you’ve got. So cut her some slack, all right?”

  Davion’s nostrils were flaring and his eyes brimmed with tears. He swiped at them with the back of his hand, staring hard at the table.

  “I hate my dad,” he whispered fiercely. “He’s trash.”

  Logan nodded very slowly. “I know how you feel.”

  Davion looked at him, his jaw clenched tight. The rage blazing in his eyes was all too familiar to Logan. He’d seen that same rage every time he’d looked in a mirror. It was like a tribal brand burned into the skin, the rage of fatherless sons.

  “Let’s play Spades.” Logan pulled a deck of cards out of his back pocket and shuffled them with the dexterity of the poker dealers he used to watch at his mother’s casino.

  Davion sat up slowly in his chair and took the hand he’d been dealt. As they started playing, he said in a small voice, “Logan?”

  “Yeah?”

  Davion hesitated, eyeing him carefully. “What happened to your mom?”

  The question hit Logan like a gut punch. Without lifting his eyes from his cards, he said curtly, “She left.”

  “Why?”

  It was a long time before Logan could answer. “She didn’t want me anymore.”

  Davion gave him a sympathetic look that scraped his nerves raw.

  “Your mother hasn’t left you,” he said gruffly. “Always remember that and be thankful.”

  Davion nodded slowly. “I will.”

  “Good.” Logan gave him a crooked half smile. “When you get out of here, I’ll teach you how to play pool.”

  The boy’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Promise?”

  Logan’s smile softened. “Te lo prometo. I promise.”

  * * *

  As soon as he got back to his truck, he called his Realtor at Sotheby’s and instructed her to find him a spacious four-bedroom house with a big backyard and pool.

  “It needs to be in a family-friendly neighborhood with top-rated schools, low crime and lots of outdoor activity options for kids,” he rattled off his requirements. “And I want the house fully furnished.”

  “Got it. I’ll contact Imogene,” his Realtor said, referring to the interior designer she outsourced to her wealthy clients. There was a teasing grin in her voice as she added, “You finally giving up the downtown bachelor digs like Hunter and Reid did years ago?”

  “Nah, not yet,” Logan murmured. “This is for someone else.”

  “I see.” Her voice grew warm. “You’re a good man, Logan Brassard. I don’t care what Islanders fans are saying today.”

  The remark made him chuckle. “The boys are fourteen, ten and seven. Their rooms should be decorated accordingly.” He smiled. “And I want a pool table in the game room.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll get right on it and send you some listings to look over. Then we can talk logistics.”

  “Sounds good. Thanks, Kaye.” Logan hung up and sat staring out the window at the juvenile detention facility. He’d have to figure out a way to convince Davion’s mother to accept a new home for her and her boys. He knew she was going to give him a hell of a hard time.

  But as far as he was concerned, he wasn’t doing anything he wouldn’t have done for his own mother had she stuck around.

  Chapter Thirteen

  MEADOW

  * * *

  Meadow spent all thursday running errands and getting her car tuned up before the long road trip. When she finally got around to checking her missed calls that evening, she was pleasantly surprised to find a message from Agatha at the adoption center. Her pleasure turned to chagrin as she listened to the voicemail.

  “Everyone’s talking about Logan Brassard saying hello to you after the game last night. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but Diego’s caseworker did some digging around and found out that you and Logan were at the same group home years ago! I can’t believe you never told us!”

  “Young lady, you got some ’splaining to do!” Tavvi could be heard in the background.

  Meadow groaned and slapped a hand to her forehead, silently cursing Logan’s big mouth—even though her stomach got all fluttery every time she thought about what he’d done. She just hoped it wouldn’t draw the wrong attention.

  She saved Agatha’s message so she would remember to call her back at some point. Then she headed outside to her car, where her father was double-checking the pressure in her tires. She didn’t have as much stuff as she’d expected, so she was able to rent a small U-Haul cargo trailer that hitched up to her car.

  When it was time for her to leave, she exchanged tearful goodbyes with her father, who made her promise to text him every hour on the hour until she arrived safely at her aunt’s house. She endured an overly exuberant hug from Wendi, who’d been treating her like a Powerball lottery winner since learning that she and Logan were old friends. She’d looked up his net worth—which was substantial—and was now encouraging her daughter to keep her options open to professional athletes, even suggesting that Meadow could introduce her to some of Logan’s teammates. Meadow didn’t know whether to be amused or disgusted by the woman’s shameless opportunism.

  It was just after eleven when she finally hit the road. Within minutes of her leaving home, Logan called as if he’d placed a GPS tracking device on her car. She smiled from ear to ear as she put him on speaker.

  “Hey, beautiful.” His voice was low and massively sexy. Just the sound of it spiked her blood. “You on the road?”

  “Yup. I’m on my way.” She pictured him lying in bed with one arm tucked behind his head, bare chest packed with muscle, hooded lids lowered in that lazy, sexy way of his. She wanted to be there with him, nestled against his side, wearing one of his big T-shirts with her head on his shoulder and his arm around her, holding her close.

  She shook off the dangerous thought. “Congratulations on the big win tonight. You guys totally demolished Buffalo.”

  He chuckled. “We do our best.”

  “I’m impressed. You scored a goal and stayed out of fights.”

  “Yeah, well, I sorta made a pact with someone.”

  “Who?”

  “This kid I mentor,” he grumbled. “He promised to stop fighting if I do.”

  “Oh, boy.” Meadow laughed. “I can’t believe you agreed to that.”

  “That makes two of us.” There was a wry smile in his voice. “Did you get some sleep before hitting
the road?”

  “A little.”

  “Got coffee?”

  “Yup. And 5-hour Energy drinks.”

  “Go easy on those. They’re bad for you.”

  She sighed. “Yes, Daddy.”

  He laughed. “On that note, baby girl, let’s rock ’n’ roll.”

  They talked nonstop as the miles stretched away, taking her farther from Las Vegas and closer to him. His deep, lazy voice wrapped around her as she drove through the Nevada desert along a lonely stretch of highway. He kept her smiling and laughing as the Utah scenery flew past her window, the spectacular mountains stretching to the horizon.

  He told her about the places he’d traveled to, with his team and on his own. She listened raptly as he described in vivid detail everything that he’d seen and experienced. He hung on her every word as she told him about the life-changing summer she’d spent in Botswana, the adventurous week in Paris with her aunt, and the many other places she hoped to visit someday.

  They whooped and cheered together when she crossed the Colorado state line. He stayed on the phone with her when she stopped for gas in Grand Junction, known as the hub of Colorado’s wine country. After filling her tank and using the restroom, she bought coffee and a Danish, then spent a few minutes describing the beautiful predawn scenery to Logan. He told her they should return in the summer to explore the vineyards and do some wine tasting. It scared her how good his invitation sounded. Scared her to admit even to herself how much she enjoyed being with him.

  As the first soft rays of dawn broke across the sky, she forced him to get off the phone and grab a power nap before practice. The moment he was gone, she missed the sound of his voice, the dark richness of his laughter. She popped in an audiobook, but the narrator’s animated tones were no substitute for Logan. So she put on some music, thinking of him as she crooned along with Ella Mai’s “Boo’d Up.”

  When she was thirty miles from her aunt’s house, Logan called her again. “Just got out of practice. Where are you now?”

  “I’m almost there. I ran into some traffic, so it should take another forty-five minutes or so.”