Cage's Misconduct (NHL Scorpions #3) (11 page)

“Hockey players are stubborn. Obstinate. Headstrong. Not to mention persistent.”

Zoe laughed and gave me a pointed look. “Are you reading dictionary definitions now or are you actually talking about someone in particular? Another goalie perhaps?”

I hadn’t known Zoe all that long, but she was pretty damn insightful. Although maybe it wasn’t such a stretch—I mean all the girls had questioned me about Cage at the club.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think so, but now I’m not so sure. Jesus, if I ever went out with Cage as anything other than a friend, Jody would flip his lid!”

“The way I see it, that’s Jody’s problem.” She laughed again. “And maybe Cage’s. Since when do you call him Cage, anyway? I thought you called him Dalton.”

“Just recently. The more I get to know him, the more I think of him as Cage. Dalton is utterly too docile a name for him. It’s a good name, but Cage fits him better.” Besides, I thought it was a pretty cool name, him being a goalie and all. I always wanted a nickname like that. The closest I’d ever gotten was Brat—you could probably guess who called me that.

I went on to tell her about our dinner and even admitted that he kissed me. “In my defense, I did push him away, both times, but …”

“Both times? Oh do tell.”

“This is just between us, right? I don’t want Jody busting a blood vessel for no reason. I know it probably seems silly to you and Lacey that I allow him to be so overbearing with me, but believe me, he has his reasons.” I wasn’t going to go into detail about my past with Freddy again. I figured she probably knew about it anyway.

Zoe put her hand on my arm in a comforting gesture. “Yes. I know about Freddy, and I’m so sorry you went through that, Karen. I’m sorry Jody feels like he failed you too, but again, that’s his issue, not yours.”

“I know. I guess I just don’t want to stress him out about Cage for no reason. Speaking of which, he wants me to invite them over to his place for dinner. Cage, that is.
He thinks it’s a way to break the ice with him and Jody. Maybe he’s right. At the very least, Cage and I are going to be friends.”

“I think that’s a great idea. If you want three more, Vlad and I could come and bring Crystal. She’s a great tension breaker and she’s half in love with Cage. He’s really nice with her, too. It might be good for Jody to see that. What do you think? I’m not trying to bust in, though, if you’re trying for a bit of one-on-one with the two guys.”

Actually, that was a fantastic idea, and I knew Cage wouldn’t say no to me. “That’s brilliant! I’ll talk to Cage when we get home and set up a date and time. He mentioned next weekend, but had to look at their game schedule.”

“Great. Just let me know. I’m so glad they made the playoffs. I think they’re going to sail through the first round.”

We talked hockey for a little while and then Zoe left.

***

Cage and I were both busy at times when the other was not, and only spoke or texted occasionally. I found myself sitting on my deck missing him from time to time. I knew once the run for the Cup was over, I’d be able to spend some time with him, so I endeavored to keep myself busy until then.

Through the end of April, I spent a lot of time volunteering with various groups of children that Zoe put me in contact with. I even did some more trips with the Big Sisters group.

While working at the clinic filling in for one of the therapist of Zoe’s colleague, the doctor in charge asked me about my plans for the future.

We were chatting before my first client was due to arrive. It was my third time helping Dr. Farmer out. “Pretty soon we’ll have to put you on the payroll.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t mind helping out. As much as I love a vacation, I’m going to be here until August or so. I’d go crazy with nothing to do all the time.”

Dr. Farmer’s white coat was so clean and perfect that it didn’t even crease when he crossed his arms across his chest. “Oh? Why only August? Moving somewhere?”

I’d never really had a chance to chit chat with him. Zoe had vouched for me and that was good enough for him, but it was clear he didn’t know my story. “Oh, no. I’m Canadian. I’m just visiting my brother for the summer. The school where I worked had to downsize so I’m searching for jobs on the Internet while I’m here. I’d love to stay here in the States, but it’s not quite as easy as simply wanting to stay.”

“No, I guess not. Those passports and visas and such, I’m sure.” He waved his hand around, and then sighed. “Well, that’s a real shame. We could use someone like you around here.”

I’d love that, but when I looked into staying here permanently, I wasn’t sure if my job skills would meet the criteria for having an employer sponsor me in order to get a green card. It’s all so complicated.”

“You could always get married. That’s a long process, too. I believe, although it’s an immediate temporary green card.”

“Not sure I would marry someone just to stay in the country. And I think it was after three years of marriage that I’d be eligible to apply for citizenship. From all the information I found, marriage is the easiest, but also the biggest commitment. No, it looks like it’ll be back to Canada for me at the end of the summer.”

“Is that such a bad thing?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. I love my home, but I love it here, too.”

Dr. Farmer uncrossed his arms and pulled on his lapels, straightening his already ramrod straight lab coat. “Well, I wish you the best of luck.” He looked at his watch and handed me a chart. “Okay, Denny Mitchell will be here in about ten minutes. He’s a sweet boy. I think you’ll like him.”

“I’m sure I will. He’s the little guy with the stutter, correct?”

“That’s right. You’ll love him, Karen. All right, I’m off. I’ll see you in a bit. And thanks again for helping out. I would have hated to cancel on him. His mother doesn’t drive and it’s hard for her to get here sometimes.”

The rest of my afternoon flew by. I saw three children, each sweeter than the last. It was wonderful having a full hour to devote one-on-one to a child who needed me. Maybe I should have asked if I could get Dr. Farmer to sponsor me, or if my skills would even be up to snuff for Uncle Sam to allow me to stay.

Thinking about staying led to more thoughts of Cage. I hadn’t seen him in weeks, and I was missing my wayward friend.

Cage

“Mother fucker!” Three goals. San Jose had scored three goals on me already, putting us in a precarious position to say the least. We were playing game six of the first round in the playoffs. If we lost this game, we had to go to game seven. We could have been done and on to the next round if it wasn’t for my shitty play.

“It’s not over yet, Booker. We have one more period to go. What’s going on out there?” Coach DeLeon was standing over me in the locker room during intermission, clipboard in hand as usual.

“I don’t know, Coach. Nothing hurts, I feel like I’m in the zone, but I can’t argue with the outcome. Fuck!”

“Relax. I’ll tell you what I see. You’re a second behind tonight. A shooter drops a shoulder to fake you out and you bite. You’re better than that. You’re one of the best in the league at reading players. Go out there with your cocky-ass attitude and just do what you do. Defend your net. Do what you were born to do.”

Quite honestly, I was shocked he wasn’t pulling me. It was a pretty damn important game. Well, no pressure, huh? I rubbed my lucky clover tattoo three times as always (one for each regular period of play), ate a KitKat, got up, spun to the left (never to the right) to grab my stick and helmet and walked down the tunnel patting my chest twice. What? Goalies are …different.

***

“God dammit to hell!” You guessed it. They fucking scored again. Coach motioned me over to the bench, and I knew my night was over. I certainly couldn’t blame him, but that didn’t stop me from turning my stick into toothpick sized pieces of wood. I had somewhat learned my lesson, though. I waited until I was behind the boards to kill it. No one even gave me a second glance. They well understood my frustration. There wasn’t a player there who didn’t know how hard I played. They may not be in love with me, but not one of them had ever had a reason to question my heart for the game (except Rush, and that d-bag doesn’t count). Not one of them could possibly be harder on me than I was on myself.

We got two goals in the third period, but it wasn’t enough. Game seven loomed on the horizon. Two days off and then back at it. To make things slightly better, the last game was in their arena. Their arena was fairly new. Out of the last eleven games held there, we’d won nine of them, and dammit, I was going to make that ten out of twelve.

Too wound up to go home after the game, I stopped off at some little bar that I knew wouldn’t have any of my teammates in it. I wasn’t in the mood to be told that I’d done my best, or I’d get them next time, blah, blah, blah. I was in the mood to get my drink on.

***

“Come on, man. Back off. I don’t want to hurt you. You have a game this weekend.”

Who the hell was this fucker? And how did he know who I was? What was I thinking? Of course he knew who I was—Cage Motherfucking Booker! Numero uno goalie for the fucking Scorpions. And I was pretty sure I’d had too much to drink. What did I need to back off from anyway?

I looked around me trying to figure it out. I mean I didn’t want to get in a fight. Especially in a bar. Been there, done that. I was on the AHL team at the time, and my coach didn’t appreciate having to get pick me up from the jail.

Oh! Jesus. I had my arm wrapped around his girl. And she didn’t seem to mind. Well, hell. “Whoops.” I tried to get my arm back, but she leaned into me. Or I leaned into her, I’m not sure, but either way we were still stuck together. Fuck, I was drunk.

He pushed me and I stumbled back, luckily landing on a bar stool.

“Pretty sure you’ve had enough, Cage.” The bartender held out his hand.

“What do you want?”

“Your keys.”

That was probably a good idea, but I wasn’t done yet. “Tell you what. I’ll give you my keys if you give me another drink.”

Since I was behaving myself for the most part, I was sure he didn’t really want to cut me off. He looked over at the guy whose girl I had briefly snuggled with and lifted his brows.

“Hey, I’m not his mother. We’re good.”

I turned around and apologized for, well, I forget what I apologized for, but he shook his head and they left. Must have been my incorrigible side rearing its head again. Huh. Funny stuff.

“Whisky. Double. Neat, and keep ‘em coming.” He poured me my drink, but instead of walking away, he put his forearms on the bar, clasping his fingers together.

“So what’s up with the drinking, Booker? You lose one game and what? That’s that? Don’t worry so much. You’ll get ‘em in the next game.”

I slapped my hand on the bar. “Jesus. Not you, too. I came to this place to avoid all the pep talks. I fucked up tonight. I can’t fucking play like that. If I play like that again, I could cost my team the fucking Cup! Believe me, I know I’m going to have a bad game now and then, but I don’t care right now. These are not just any games. It’s the playoffs, man! Dammit. I feel like shit, and I feel like drinking. We don’t play for two days. I’m not going to fuck up again. So, whiskey, double, neat.”

He held his hands up in surrender and reached under the bar. “Okay. As long as you don’t drive or start trouble, I’ll keep serving you.” He pointed to my phone beside me as he poured. “Might want to call someone now, though.”

I drained my glass and pushed it back over to him. “Thanks.” When I picked up my phone, my lips curled up and continued their journey upward as I selected Karen’s name out of my contacts.

***

Karen

The moon was high in the sky when my cell phone started blaring
Sound of Madness
—Cage’s ringtone. It was after midnight so I was concerned when I answered the call.

“Cage?”

“It’s me, darlin’.” Darlin’? Cage did have a slight country accent, but it was usually well buried.

“Darlin’? Are you okay? I saw the game.”

“I’m fucking fantastic. So, whatcha doin’?”

His voice was slurred and I had a sneaky suspicion he’d been drinking. I know, I was a genius, right? “Where are you?”

“Hmm. Not exactly sure. Where are you?”

“In bed. It’s after midnight.” I could hear country music in the background and a picture immediately came to mind of Cage sitting at a bar downing drinks faster than the bartender could pour them. And possibly picking a fight with someone. Shit. The game had put him there, I knew it.

“Want some company, sugar?”

“How drunk are you?”

“A little. Come join me for a drink or bring me home and I’ll let you have your way with me.”

Believe me when I tell you that I knew without a shadow of a doubt that going to meet Cage in a bar after midnight when he was already hammered was a bad idea. So, of course I said yes.

“Sure, why not? You have to tell me where you are, though.” I heard some mumbling and then a new man’s voice.

“Hello?”

“Hi, who’s this?”

“Sam. I’m the bartender at Slow Sam’s. The country bar on the strip? Your friend here has had a rough day. I’ve got his keys.”

I assured Sam I knew where his place was and that I was on my way. Zoe and I had been to Slow Sam’s a few times. It was only a little over a mile from my rental, which was good. I wanted to get there quickly and try to put an end to Cage’s drinking binge.

Once I was in the bathroom, I plugged in my flat iron and got my makeup out. Then I stopped. What was I doing? This wasn’t a date, and I certainly didn’t have a bunch of time to kill. I was simply going to go pick Cage up and take him home, so I put everything away and didn’t bother doing anything with my hair besides run a brush through it. My makeup had long ago been taken off, and I left that off too. As a matter of fact, I wound up throwing on a pair of jeans with a hole in the knee that were bound for the trash, and then grabbed a red sweatshirt out of the dresser. Since Cage was under the influence, I was afraid he might get the wrong idea if I went to too much trouble just to pick him up. Heck, I was afraid I’d give myself the wrong idea, but man, I hated going out without makeup. I was almost out the door before I turned around and ran back into the bathroom to throw on just a bit of mascara and lip gloss. Hey, we all have some vanity, don’t we?