Taming Beckett: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (The Playmakers Series Hockey Romances Book 1)

by G. K. Brady

  “I’m glad Henry and the kids were willing to let you go for a few hours to spend time with me.”

  “Well, Auntie Paige gets a lot of leeway in our house. Besides, it’s for a good cause, right? One last visit to the Wildlife Sanctuary before I move to Seattle.”

  “It’s hard to believe how quickly that’s coming up. I’m glad Henry got the job with the super-swanky architectural firm, but did it have to be so far away?”

  “I know, though I gotta say I’m looking forward to the bigger paychecks.”

  As they drove, the cityscape’s hard angles gave way to a patchwork of farmland, a quilt of browns and golds. Forty-five minutes later, they pulled into the Wildlife Animal Sanctuary’s parking lot.

  Gwenn stared out the windshield. “God, Paige. It just keeps growing. How long since you’ve been here?”

  “Months. I’ve been too busy with work to volunteer like I used to. But at least my company’s bringing in enough now that I can afford to pay for Tyrone’s upkeep.”

  Gwenn laughed. “I remember when that mangy critter first arrived. You wouldn’t stop babying him.”

  Paige nodded. “Poor little guy. I cringe every time I think how pathetic he was when they first rescued him.” Picturing Tyrone, her majestic Bengal tiger, shot warmth through her. Like the other exotics housed here, he lived at the sanctuary twenty-four-seven, and yet she felt he was hers, her tame tiger—if such a beast could truly be tame. “He’s still my favorite passion.”

  As they headed to check in, Gwenn snorted. “More than the other ‘passion’ you picked up here? I’ll never forget how your eyes bugged out when Adrian spoke to you at the fundraiser we were working.”

  “They didn’t bug out,” Paige protested.

  “Okay. Bulged. Remember what you told me?” Gwenn lifted interlaced fingers to her chin and fluttered her eyelashes. “‘Oh, Gwenn, I just met the perfect man.’ Then you called him Mr. Tall, Dark, and Yummy.”

  Adrian had bowled Paige over that day with his amber eyes, with his intelligence, with a laugh as smooth as bourbon cream sauce and just as decadent. The fact he’d carried self-confidence well on his muscular six-foot frame hadn’t hurt either. That he had even looked Paige’s way had blinded her like a sign flashing “Yes!” She’d been rendered brain-impaired and tongue-tied. There’d been no turning her heart back.

  She ambled along the walkway beside Gwenn, and they paused to watch the bears romp. “We’ve been married three years now, Gwenn, and sometimes I still wonder what he saw in me, why he married me.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Seriously, Paige, Adrian’s the lucky one here. You’re gorgeous, incredibly kind, and you work your ass off. I don’t know where you get the energy.”

  “Maybe too much energy,” Paige muttered. They turned from the bear pen and headed toward the wolves.

  Gwenn leaned over the railing. “What do you mean?”

  “Oh, just … I don’t know. You and Henry have been together longer than Adrian and me. How’s—do you still, you know, enjoy sex? Like you did in the beginning?”

  Gwenn let out a hearty laugh. “If Henry had his way, we’d ‘enjoy’ as much sex, or more, than we did in the beginning. It’s not that I don’t like it, but with the kids and all, it’s more of a challenge to be ready to go every time he is, which is pretty much twenty-four-seven.”

  Silence hung between them. “So I take it things between you and Adrian have cooled?” Gwenn asked. “Is it because he’s gone all the time?”

  “I don’t know. You’d think absence would make him that much hotter for me every time he gets back from a trip, but lately … When we were first dating, he told me one of the things he liked about me was that my switch was always flipped to ‘on.’”

  “Then according to every man I know, you’re the ideal woman,” Gwenn chuckled.

  Paige’s mouth curved into a half-smile.

  Gwenn rested her hand on Paige’s arm. “And? What else did he like?”

  “He said I was smart, driven. But sometimes it’s like he thinks I’m too smart, and he has to prove who’s smarter.”

  “He’s probably just in a phase. He’s got a lot on his plate. Have you talked to him?”

  “No. I hate to rock the boat when he is in town. We have so little time together as it is.” Paige pulled in a breath and released it. “Maybe it’s because I’ve been so consumed with my business. It’s a kick, you know, when things are going well, but it takes a lot of my time and focus. Maybe he feels neglected.”

  “Possibly. Men are basically large children, just with more hair.”

  Paige let out a little laugh. “What am I going to do without you, girlfriend?”

  “You’ll call me and text a lot.”

  “But I won’t be able to do this.” Paige wrapped her arms around Gwenn’s shoulders and hugged her tight.

  CHAPTER 3

  Free Fallin’

  Beckett scanned the holding cell as the metal door closed behind him with a heavy clang. A shudder rolled through him. He took in windowless, whitewashed concrete-block walls, a long bench where another lucky guest sprawled, and a stainless steel toilet dominating one side of the cell like a goddamn throne. If only the circumstance were so royal.

  He’d been through this drill a few times before—an unfortunate outcome of a good time gone too far—though it had never gone as far as putting a girl in the hospital. Nor did it make being here any less chilling.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  He took a seat on the cold concrete bench as far from his cellmate as possible. The guy reeked of liquor and, with an arm flung over his eyes, was probably out for a while. Not that Beckett smelled any better. For now, he was essentially alone, which was, no lie, a bright spot in this cluster-fuck. There could’ve been ten other guys pressed together in here, stinking up the claustrophobia-inducing space.

  How long before he got sprung? Jesus, the call to Coach had been painful to make, though not as hard as dialing 911 to report an unconscious girl whose name Beckett didn’t know and whose address was as big a mystery. He’d covered her and tried to warm her up until the paramedics finally arrived and took over. Good thing you called when you did, Mr. Miller. Any longer and she might not be with us.

  Yeah, he was a real prince.

  Not long after the EMTs had shown up, the cops joined the party and decided Beckett should take a ride with them. By then, all visible traces of the cocaine had been wiped clean, and he’d made his call to Coach. If Coach ever spoke to him again, it would be a miracle. It would also be a miracle if the girl made it. Beckett bowed his head and begged for that miracle, praying to a god who didn’t know him.

  He’d never been religious, but as his cellmate stirred, turned his head, and puked on the grimy floor, Beckett sent up a second plea—one for redemption he didn’t deserve.

  God might have been listening in because, an hour later, Coach was speaking to Beckett again. Through clenched teeth. Beside the lawyer he’d rousted to get Beckett’s stupid ass out of jail.

  “You didn’t consent to a drug test, right?” the attorney grumbled. Looking as rumpled as Beckett felt, the guy gave him a sharp look that broadcast what a fucking idiot he thought Beckett was.

  “No, sir. I followed Coach’s instructions.”

  “The only smart thing you did tonight, Miller,” Coach growled.

  “Any news about the girl?” asked Beckett. Please say she’ll be okay.

  “Not yet.”

  The attorney took off, and Beckett followed Coach into a cab, sitting alone in the back while Coach grabbed the front seat. Beckett studied the man’s crooked-nose profile. Coach Marty LeBrun—a guy Beckett had known since playing in the United States Hockey League and respected a hell of a lot—had been responsible for saving his career three years ago when he’d lobbied for Beckett to join the Blizzard in Denver. The LA Kings—the team Beckett had been with since graduating from the University of Denver, had served as assistant captain, and had helped win a Stanley Cup
—had kicked him to the curb. You’ve become a liability to the team, Miller. We can’t afford your lifestyle anymore, and frankly, neither can you if you want to continue playing in the NHL.

  No other team had wanted Beckett, even though he could still play like a motherfucker. So just shy of turning twenty-nine, he’d become property of the Blizzard, the laughingstock of the league—a mishmash of broken-down veterans and pimply faced kids.

  Three years later, the trade still stung; that the Kings had won their second Cup after he was traded only ground glass into the wound. The sole upside had been Marty LeBrun, who’d wanted Beckett on board to help mold the young players. You can still play like hell, Miller, and I want that to rub off on the kids. What I don’t want rubbing off is your off-ice behavior. Quit acting like a frat boy.

  Shit. Beckett hadn’t even gotten that right.

  The cab dropped them in front of the hotel, and Coach walked Beckett to his room. As Beckett was poised to unlock the door, Coach looked him over and jerked his chin at him.

  “I’ve said this before, but apparently you weren’t listening, so you’re going to hear it again. You’ve been lucky in your career so far, Miller. No major injuries, no arrests that stuck. But your luck will run out. Like I told you when you first came here, I’m not your friend. I’m your boss, and I put my ass on the line for you. I promised you then that if you got sideways, I’d throw you to the wolves. That starts here. Now. Pack your stuff and get your sorry ass to the airport. You’re booked on a flight to Denver, and you’re on indefinite suspension. When you get there, you’re reporting for drug counseling before you even think about doing anything else.”

  Beckett nodded, hiding the emotions roiling in his gut. Suspension. Not being able to play. For how long? Fuck, fuck, fuck!

  With Coach standing sentry in the hallway, Beckett entered the room and softly latched the door behind him. His teammate stirred with a grunt before resettling, and Beckett ducked into the bathroom, stripped, and turned on the shower full blast.

  How the hell did I get so far down this road?

  .~ * * * ~.

  Paige guided her shiny, new gold Toyota Tacoma—her baby—curbside at Denver International as she scanned the passengers. When she spotted Adrian, her heart beat a little faster. She broke out in a smile as he opened the door, tossed his bag in, and slid into the passenger seat.

  “Hi.” She leaned over the console for a kiss.

  “Hi.” He pecked her lips.

  “How was the flight from London?”

  “Long.” He buckled up. “You really didn’t have to come get me.”

  “I know, but I wanted to see you sooner. Besides, I wanted to show off my new truck.” She nosed the vehicle into the stream of cars heading away from the airport. “Well? What do you think?”

  He looked around the cab, flipped open the glove box, powered the window down and up, and patted the console. “Not bad, though I still don’t understand why you didn’t go for something more upscale. The Denali’s much cushier.”

  “I test drove one. The thing was a monster. Plus, it gets about two miles to the gallon.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” he chuckled.

  “Well, this one suits me better. It’s my size and easier to handle.”

  He glanced at her. “Well, it’s your car.”

  “Anderson Homes’ first company car. Isn’t that so cool?” she gushed.

  He slouched against the door, closing his eyes. “Good for you, sweetheart. Took you long enough.”

  Her shoulders slumped an inch, and her chest deflated. Not that he noticed. He’s tired.

  She gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Um, Adrian, I know you’re exhausted, but do you mind if we take a little detour on our way home? It’ll only add a minute or two.”

  He opened one eye and fixed it on her. “What for?”

  She cleared her throat. “I want your opinion on a property. I’ve been chatting up the owner, and he wants to sell, but his house is in bad shape. I was thinking, well, this might be the perfect one to scrape for that new build I’ve been wanting to do.”

  “What’s special about this one?”

  “It abuts the park, it’s just down the street from my current project, and it’s got a newer two-car detached garage. One less line item on the budget.”

  He flapped his hand. “Fine, but can you make more than chump change? Your last remodel brought in, what, a measly forty grand? And how much time did you put into it? Did you ever calculate your hourly rate on that project like I suggested? I doubt you made a hundred an hour.”

  An angry swell began rising from her belly. “The margin is huge on the scrape. As for the remod, forty grand is a great profit in this market.”

  Both eyes open now, he gave her a contrite grin. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. It’s just that I deal in numbers with a few more zeroes, and sometimes I forget.”

  He sat up a little straighter. “How’s your new assistant? What’s her name?”

  Paige chose to bury Adrian’s stinging slight and focus on a bright spot. “Her name’s Katie. She’s only been there a week, and she’s already organized the office.”

  “Well, thank God for that! Construction aside, that’s where you need the most help, Paigey. Now maybe our house won’t look like a bomb just went off. Remember what I said about getting friendly, though. Never get close to your employees, or they’ll eat you alive. Especially these construction types—they’re the bottom of life’s barrel.”

  As she drove, Paige stared at the flat ground stretching before her like a swath of brown suede. In the distance, it was swallowed up in dusky green pines and glittering high-rises framed by the serrated Rockies. A brilliant azure sky completed the sublime scene. The sight usually brought a smile to her face, and she locked on to it, trying to lose herself in it.

  She hadn’t always been in disarray—Grandma had brought her up better than that. But limited hours in a day had forced Paige to prioritize. Acquiring projects, managing them, selling them off—that was what she loved to do. She was good at it, so she’d aimed her attention there. It was where she made her money.

  Grandma would have understood. No doubt, she’d have cheered Paige on, been her biggest fan. She’d have pulled Paige into a pillowy, rose-scented embrace, telling her how proud she was. Paige could almost feel Grandma running her hand along her cheek and cupping her chin. “Don’t sweat the little stuff, honey,” she’d have said.

  A tear stung Paige’s eye, and she scrubbed it away.

  Turning her gaze, she glimpsed Adrian sleeping, his head resting against the door frame. Maybe he thought Paige had relegated him to the “little stuff.” She’d have to work on doing better.

  .~ * * * ~.

  Hours later, Paige cleared the table, insisting Adrian relax. She’d made his favorite comfort foods—meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and gravy—as part of her campaign to convince him he was as important to her as her business was. Maybe she’d inspire him to delay the next business trip.

  “That was good, Paige.”

  Surprised, she stuttered a step into the kitchen. “Thank you,” she called over her shoulder.

  “Don’t sound so surprised,” he laughed. “You know you’re a good cook.”

  She strolled back into the dining room and placed her hands on his shoulders, dropping her mouth to his ear. “Is that all you married me for?”

  He patted her hand. “One of the reasons.”

  Settling herself into her chair, she rested her chin in her hands. “Why did you marry me?”

  He took a sip of wine, appraising her. “Because I loved you. Why else?”

  Her eyebrows squeezed to her hairline. “‘Loved’? As in past tense?”

  With an eye-roll, he said, “You know what I mean. Don’t look for drama that’s not there.”

  She opened her mouth only to close it again.

  “It wasn’t for your ability to pick lots, that’s for damn sure.” He smirked.

  “What?” Her che
eks heated from the rebuke. No matter how playfully he tried to present it, it was definitely a rebuke. A poke at her dream of building houses from the ground up, creating new homes from dirt, taking eyesores and razing them—like the property she’d shown him. She was still kicking herself for driving him past it when he’d been dog-tired, when he’d looked at it through a jet-lagged lens and pointed out everything wrong with it, dismantling her vision brick by brick.

  His expression softened. “I’m just trying to protect you from costly mistakes. Remember, you have a lot less experience at this sort of thing than I do.”

  “What about the one you told me to pass on last year?” Her voice began rising. “It just sold for a small fortune. I could have built that. That could’ve been my small fortune.” That deal poked at her like a scratchy garment tag, persistent and inescapable, and she couldn’t tear it away.

  Adrian sighed. “Luck.”

  “It wasn’t luck. It was imagination and hard work.”

  He stood and kissed her cheek. “Let it go, sweetheart. There’ll be others.”

  She bit down on her thumb, holding her inner grumbles in check. No disharmony of any kind tonight. Maybe Adrian was right. After all, he knew so much more than she did. What he did, he did for her, driven by his concern. Of course.

  After she loaded the dishwasher and set pans to soak in the sink, she curled up beside him on the couch, intent on distracting him from watching business news. She kissed him and dragged his hand up her body. Fondling her through her clothes, he kissed her back, soothing her ruffled feathers until he pulled away.

  “Sweetheart, I have to check email.” He pecked her lips.

  “I’ll finish up in the kitchen and meet you in the bedroom.” She smiled at him seductively.

  Paige padded back to the dirty pots and cleaned them quickly, then locked the doors and turned off the lights. When she got to the bedroom, he’d already climbed under the covers and drifted off.