Benched: Gold Hockey Book 4

by Elise Faber

  “It’s Kelsey,” said the woman. “I meant to catch up with you today then got distracted. I figured since it popped into my head now, I’d better take the chance to call.” She laughed. “Sorry. Rambling. Anyway, a few of the other girls and I were going to meet up for a drink tomorrow. Do you want to come with?”

  “Me?” she asked, reaching the ground floor and pushing through the door to the lobby.

  “This is Angie, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  She could almost hear the frown forming on Kelsey’s face. “Then, yes, I want you to come.”

  “Oh.”

  “Is that—” A pause. “I mean, are drinks bad?” Kelsey’s voice dropped. “I mean are you not drinking?”

  Angie’s lipped twitched. She’d gotten to know the other woman a little bit over the last months. Kelsey was nice, and it was her own brain and past that was pushing this conversation onto the wrong side of awkward.

  “No,” she said. “I am. Drinking that is.”

  Silence. Then, “Oh. Okay.”

  And Angie barely held back her groan.

  “I’m sorry. I’m in a weird headspace,” she admitted. “I’d love to grab a drink.”

  Look now, that wasn’t hard, was it? Just accept the offer graciously and move on. Unfortunately for Angie, the rebuke came in the form of her mother’s voice, and that just made everything so much worse.

  She needed to end this call then go home and self-medicate with a carton of double fudge brownie ice cream.

  Thankfully, Kelsey seemed to sense her discomfort, which couldn’t be hard, especially considering how freaking weird Angie was being. Regardless, after the barest hesitation, Kelsey hung up with a cheerful, “See you tomorrow!”

  “See you,” Angie said. “Sorry, I’m so—”

  The call had already ended.

  G.R.O.A.N.

  God. Why was she so weird?

  Childhood trauma. Yup, there was that.

  Or maybe because she was an engineer.

  Yeah. Probably that, too.

  Three

  Max

  Max stared through the kennel door at the shelter and couldn’t help but wonder what in the ever-loving fuck he was doing. Seriously. Was he really considering adopting a dog because he didn’t want to have a tough conversation with his son?

  Was he that crappy of a father?

  “If you adopt that one,” Anna said, “I will cut you with your own skate.”

  Yes. He’d called in the big guns. But Brayden asking for a new mom had definitely warranted the big guns. It was DEFCON 1 as far as he was concerned. And luckily, he and Anna had been discussing getting a dog for a while now, so this morning’s visit to the shelter hadn’t been totally unplanned.

  Just accelerated by a seven-year-old’s request and his own panic in dealing with the situation. Pussy? Yes. But also a new mom?

  Fuck. No.

  “You’d have to fight Richie”—the Gold’s equipment manager—“for my skates,” he retorted. “He practically guards them under lock and key.”

  Anna crossed her arms. She was all of five feet nothing, but with long blond hair and piercing blue eyes that never failed to make him or Brayden behave. “I’d win.”

  Max grinned despite himself. “Yes. Yes, you would.”

  When she smiled and dropped her arms, he pointed back at the black and white pup inside the cage. “So, what’s wrong with that one?” he asked.

  “Um, hello Mr. Observant,” she teased. “Aren’t you supposed to be one of those really good players who reads the plays in the game before they develop?” She tapped one blue-painted fingernail to her chin. “Weren’t you Playmaker of the Month, or something?”

  “Player of the Month,” he grumbled, still trying to figure out why the cute little pooch had raised his nanny’s red flags.

  “Still don’t see it?” she asked and when he shook his head, she pointed to the back of the cage. “Pooped and peed inside, so not potty-trained yet. That’s not disqualifying on its own, but he’s also shredded his bed, so he has destructive tendencies that need to be addressed. Not to mention the manic look in his eyes and the amount of barking when we walked in.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Destructive. Loud. High energy. Not housebroken. All things that you can train, but not with an owner who’s out of town for a good chunk of the year and a nanny whose main responsibility is the child, not a dog.”

  Damn.

  She was good.

  “You’re right,” he muttered. “Annoying as shit but still right.”

  Anna clasped her hands to her chest, fluttering her eyelashes. “You’re so good to me.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You’re not getting a raise.”

  A sigh, but her lips were twitching. “Damn. And I was trying so hard for one, too.”

  “Sure, you were,” he said, moving on to the next kennel. This one held some sort of tiny white fluffy dog. Yeah, no. Not happening. He could practically hear the ribbing from the guys already. Next. “You and that smart mouth of yours. So, which one would you choose?”

  Anna flicked her long blond ponytail over one shoulder and pointed to the end of the hall. “First, my smart mouth is why you hired me. I wasn’t bending over backward to prostrate myself at the feet of the Hockey God. And second, if you are actually getting a dog today, I would go with that one.” He trailed her to the kennel she’d indicated. “He’s older, so less likely to be adopted. But he’s also calm, housetrained, and his card says good with both kids and other animals.”

  Max tilted his head from side to side. “He’s not much to look at.”

  The dog was medium-sized with dull brown fur that was patchy in places. Its eyes were set closely together, his tail misshapen, and one ear stood up while the other flopped to the side.

  Anna punched his shoulder. “Neither are you.”

  His mouth twitched as he glanced at the card hanging on the outside of the door. The pup’s name was apparently Sparky, not the greatest, but that could be changed. More importantly, the tag also proclaimed that Sparky was good with kids, other dogs, and even cats. His cage was clean, and his demeanor calm, almost bordering on reserved as Anna and Max watched him.

  But more than that . . .

  “Damn,” he said, as he studied Sparky’s face. Because the pup’s eyes held a trace of sadness, as if he knew it was unlikely he would ever leave the shelter, that this was his future, to sit inside a sad and lonely cage for the rest of his meaningless and short life.

  Fuck him, but that was maudlin.

  “Damn what?” Anna asked.

  He sighed. “I guess we’re getting a dog today.”

  Anna smiled as she glanced down at her phone. “Well, you’d better get moving with the adoption if you’re going to pick up Max on time. I’ll step out to call the vet and get Sparky an appointment, so you can make sure all is good with him. Then we’ll stop by the pet store and get him the essentials.” She nodded, almost to herself, then pulled up her notes on her cell and started making a list of the essentials as she walked back down the hall.

  “I have a vet?” he asked.

  “I did some research when you told me this was a possibility.”

  “Damn,” he muttered again.

  Because that right there was why Anna was getting another raise.

  Four

  Angelica

  Why was she doing this?

  Or more importantly, how could she be doing this?

  She had heels on, for God’s sake. Heels and a dress and—

  Angie pulled open the door to Bobby’s Place and peeked in. Music blared from speakers, all pop-tastic and modern. Women with perfectly coiffed hair gathered in clusters around men who wore . . . really tight jeans and man buns and—

  Nope. She couldn’t do this. Fear coiled in her stomach, crept up her throat.

  Yes, she was in a dress, but it was a dress with Star Wars characters on it. Yes, she had heels on, but they were adorned with buttons of her favorite droid.
And all of that was covered, or nearly covered in the case of her heels, by her favorite, coziest, and somewhat frumpy sweater/cloak.

  Yes, she said a sweater/cloak.

  No, it wasn’t just a sweater and it wasn’t quite a cloak. It was a sweater/cloak—long and baggy like a cloak, but made out of a cozy knit that was as soft as cashmere.

  Had she mentioned that she didn’t have friends?

  Angie risked one more peek inside, but nope, the trendy, gorgeous patrons hadn’t transformed in the last thirty seconds into less attractive, more normal albeit nerdy humans.

  They were still beautiful and outgoing and confident, and she was still . . . her.

  She let the door go.

  Turned to leave, but just as she did, the door popped back open and Kelsey’s head appeared, whack-a-mole style.

  “You’re not leaving, are you?” she exclaimed.

  Well, shit.

  Angie scrambled, shaking her head. “Oh. No. Of course not. I . . . uh . . . just left my phone in my car and was going back to get it.” She pointed a hand behind her, then realized it held her cell. She was. So. Smooth. Ugh. “Oh, never mind. Look at that. I’ve got it right here.”

  Kelsey studied her for a moment then smiled. “It’s been a long week.”

  Angie smiled weakly, thankful for the bone being thrown her way. “Really long.”

  “Come on then,” Kelsey said and took her arm. “You need a drink, but brace yourself, because we’ve got to wind our way through the models in the front room to where us normal folks hang out in the back.”

  “Normal—?” Angie started to ask, because Kelsey was absolutely gorgeous in her own right, but Kelsey had already opened the door and the rest of her sentence was drowned out by pulsing dance music.

  Probably a good thing, considering her track record with making things awkward.

  Some people got eidetic memory as their superpower.

  Others could do math in a fraction of a second.

  Angie?

  Her superpower was making things weird.

  Put that on a T-shirt and sell it.

  Kelsey tugged her at a quick pace through the bar and down a hallway that had been invisible from the front door. Funny, that, not being able to see the whole picture of a place from a single glance—or two, rather.

  Sigh. She really needed to get out more.

  Anyway, Kelsey led her down the hall and through an open doorway that led into another bar.

  Now this one was what Angie had pictured.

  Warm wood coated the walls, several booths lined the perimeter of the room, stools covered in cheery red leather perched like drunken soldiers in front of the bar. All the wood was slightly worn, just on the right side of lived in.

  Instantly, Angie’s discomfort faded.

  This was a place she could be comfortable in.

  “Come on,” Kelsey said with another tug. She pulled Angie toward a booth filled with women in the corner of the room. “Hi, girls,” she announced. “This is Angelica Shallows.”

  “Angie,” she said, extending her hand to shake each of the women’s hands in turn. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

  “Hi,” a petite redhead with whiskey-colored eyes said. “I’m Kate.”

  “Heidi,” said a brunette with striking hazel eyes.

  A nod from the last. “Cora.” Her smile was slightly wicked, and it matched her dark brown hair and eyes.

  And . . . cue awkward.

  “Thanks for letting me crash your get together tonight,” Angie said, shifting from foot to foot as the silence extended.

  Kelsey seemed to shake herself. “Scoot,” she told Cora and all but shoved Angie into the booth. She grabbed a chair from a nearby table then plunked down into it. “Okay,” she said. “Here’s the rundown. I know Angie from work. Cora from elementary school. Kate and Heidi, we met in college.”

  “Met?” Heidi said with a smile. “You all but dragged me into your little circle.”

  Kelsey pointed a finger at her. “Worth it,” she said. “We’re awesome-sauce.”

  Cora wrinkled her nose. “Except when you use that word.”

  “Awesome-sauce?” Kelsey’s brows drew together. “But that’s a great word. It shows that I’m hip and—”

  Kate interrupted. “We are definitely not hip. And we’re all too old to use awesome-sauce in normal conversation.”

  “Come on,” Angie said. “I mean, look at you guys, you’re all beautiful and your clothes are amazing, and I’m all nerdy and dorky and weird.”

  Holy. Fucking. Shit.

  She clamped both hands over her mouth because. She. Had. Not. Just. Said. That. Her cheeks flared red-hot, her throat tightened, and her eyes burned.

  It was like she’d forgotten how to interact with other human beings.

  What in the hell was wrong with her?

  Ever since her sister had emailed her, ever since she’d seen Mandy’s engagement, learned the truth of her sister’s upbringing, Angie had been a wreck.

  She started to stand. “I’m sor—”

  “And damn, all that without a drink,” Cora said, staying her motion with a hand on her arm. “Girl. We’re all weird. Hell, I have an unhealthy affinity for unicorns, Kate is obsessed with Hermione Granger, Kelsey is freakishly smart, and Heidi, well don’t get me started about Heidi. She’s the absolute craziest of us all.”

  Heidi gasped then reached across the table to smack Cora across the shoulder. “What the hell?”

  “You are weird.” Cora shrugged. “It’s just one of those things.” She turned to Angie. “So, you. Star Wars, obvs. What else makes your freak flag fly?”

  “Umm.” Her voice was small. “Harry Potter? Reading? Cozy socks?”

  “No.” Cora tapped her chin. “You like those, but what really gets you hot?”

  “Stop,” Kelsey said. “She’s new, give her a break.”

  Angie felt her lips curve, despite herself. “No, you’re right. While I do love all those things, what I love more than all other things is Star Wars. I swear, I must have watched the original trilogy of movies several hundred times in high school. I’d come home from school and put on Empire or Return of the Jedi and I’d just . . . I don’t know . . . believe that good could prevail over bad for a change.”

  Even if it was purely just fiction.

  Because, God knew, good couldn’t prevail in her own life.

  She winced.

  Heidi reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “I know just what you mean, and while I’m not a huge Star Wars fan, I can appreciate what it did for you. That’s why we all love these fictional stories.” A shrug. “For escapism. To hope for the fantasy and to forget how miserable our own lives are.”

  Yes. That exactly.

  Angie smiled at her. “Thanks. It’s nice to meet people who actually get it.”

  “We get you,” Kelsey murmured. “We’ve all been there.”

  Cora laughed and lifted her beer. “Hence drinks.”

  Kate grinned, raising her own glass. “Or juice. We’re all pretty easy here. You do you.”

  “I’ll just go grab a rum and coke,” Angie said, starting to stand again.

  “Sit.” Kelsey pointed at the bar. “I’ll get this one—”

  “I couldn’t—”

  “You can get the next round.” And staying any further arguments, she pushed to her feet and hurried to the bar.

  “And it’ll only be one more round,” Cora stage-whispered, “because we’re all lightweights, so don’t let her con you into a third.”

  “I’m in good company then,” Angie replied. “Because any more than that, and I’ll be hating myself in the morning.”

  “Not me,” Kate teased, sipping from her glass of what appeared to be apple juice. “I can do more rounds than any of you guys combined.”

  “Juice.” Cora tipped up the bottom of the cup, causing Kate to gulp and then nearly spit out her mouthful. “And you can’t even drink that properly, so get out of her
e with that nonsense.”

  Kate wiped her chin before taking another drink, though a more dignified one this time, as it was complete with a raised pinky.

  Heidi rolled her eyes.

  “So, what are you into, Heidi?” Angie asked into the silence that descended. “I heard about freakish smarts and Hermione and unicorns. What’s your secret—or not so secret—nerd-dom?”

  Heidi took a sip of her cocktail. “Twilight.”

  “She has a fantasy about vampires sucking her lady bits while she’s on her—”

  “Cora!”

  “Barf,” Kate said.

  “Stop trying to shock Angie,” Kelsey said, returning to the table and setting a glass down in front of her. “We’re a lot to take in one sitting.”

  “I’m a lot—” Cora began.

  “Yes,” they all—including Angie—practically shouted.

  Cora huffed, but she was grinning. Then Kate began sharing a funny story of Kelsey in college—young, super smart, with lots of naïveté thrown in. It made for plenty of hilarity and pretty soon they were in hysterics.

  They stuck to the aforementioned two rounds—Angie buying the second round. Eventually, the bartender brought over a pitcher of water, and they laughed and teased each other and giggled like loons in that booth in the corner.

  It was, hands down, the best night of Angie’s life.

  Five

  Max

  Max slipped on his helmet and stood. Brit, their starting goalie and the first female hockey player in the NHL, was standing by the door leading out of the locker room, mask on, stick in hand, and ready to lead them out onto the ice.

  His nerves jangled like an overloaded set of car keys and his heart raced.

  But it was always like this.

  The game itself—the speed, the hits, the pucks, and the cold slap of the ice upon entering the arena. Max could not imagine doing anything else.

  He fell into line behind Blane, slapping the forward on his shoulder.

  Blue, the rookie who they really shouldn’t be calling a rookie since he was on his third season in the big leagues but who they still labeled a rookie anyway because hockey and ribbing went hand in hand, tapped Max on the ass.