GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (41 page)

“Yeah, as long as either T.J. or Mason are with him. He’s pissing people off.”

The whistle blew, and the crowd laughed. Sloan and Carter leaned forward to watch Vanek pantomiming boxing in front of the Wild’s bench. Mason blocked a player who lunged at Vanek, then made a “wanna go?” motion with his hand. The other guy backed off.

As Vanek sidestepped to take a seat on the bench, Tim leaned over and grabbed a handful of his jersey. “What the fuck is up with you? You’re too good for that kind of bullshit.”

“I’m just having some fun, Timmy boy.” Vanek spit out his mouth guard, then chewed on the end like a cocky calf. “Chill out!”

“Timmy boy?” What the hell?
Sloan motioned Carter back, picked up a water bottle, and tossed it at Vanek. The bottle hit Vanek’s chin and he jumped.

“Do that again, and I’ll make sure you sit out the rest of the game,” Sloan shouted before heading onto the ice. “You looked like an asshole out there.”

“Fuck you, Callahan.” Vanek gave him a one-finger salute, which showed on the scoreboard as Sloan rushed into play.

He glanced up just long enough to get nailed. His knee hit the ice, and he vaulted forward, sweeping his stick out after the puck. The blade of his stick nicked the back of a player’s skate, and the man dove like he was an Olympic swimmer going for distance.

A shrill whistle. The ref swung one arm down and pointed from Sloan to the box.

“Tripping? Are you fucking cross-eyed?” Sloan groaned when the ref pointed again, doing the usual “deaf official” thing. Not like he really expected the guy to change the call, but he couldn’t go quietly to the sin bin when he hadn’t done anything. “Hang up your whistle and go paint some water lilies, Monet.”

Skating backward, the ref came to his side and patted his arm. “You’re a smart guy, Callahan. How about you use those brains and shut up before I toss you?”

Good idea.
Sloan nodded and ducked into the penalty box. Two minutes—he’d still have about fifty seconds to score once he got out.

From behind the thick glass, he watched as play carried on. Vanek was on with Carter, T.J., and Mason. Good thing the rookie had the team’s giants as backup, because they were facing the Wild’s biggest line. Vanek won the face off, but T.J. missed the pass, forcing Mason to circle behind the net to retrieve it. He made a risky cross ice pass to Carter who surged forward, Vanek on his heel. Vanek picked up his pace and tapped his stick on the ice. Carter snapped the puck to him at the blue line, then crossed just on side. He swiveled around a lone defenseman. The Wild scrambled to catch up. Vanek delivered a perfect saucer pass and got pummeled by the second defenseman.

Thornton.

Play seemed to switch to slow motion as Vanek left his feet. His helmet flew, and he dropped like gravity had suddenly kicked in. His head bounced off the ice.

The horn sounded, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Then the cheers died.

Vanek didn’t move.

Carter’s skates made a slashing sound as he raced to Vanek’s side. The ref shouted for the trainers. Sloan stood, his brain going over what happened, like a recap could make it less real.

A puddle of blood formed a halo around Vanek’s head.

“You bastard! I’ll kill you!”

Mason’s roar tore Sloan out of numb oblivion. The big man had Thornton down and didn’t seem to notice the two officials trying to pull him off as he jackhammered punches into the Thornton’s face.

T.J. stood to the side, staring at Vanek. Trainers and doctors crowded onto the ice. One of the linemen opened the door to the penalty box.

Sloan flew from the bin, and the rink blurred around him as he tackled Mason. He got an elbow in the jaw for his efforts. Mason wasn’t seeing him. By the haze in Mason’s eyes, he saw only blood. Rage had him in a lockjaw and wouldn’t let go.

Blocking a punch, Sloan bodily hauled Mason around until he lay on his back. Mason snarled and took another swing, throwing his whole body into the motion. Sloan evaded, then fisted his hand into the collar of Mason’s jersey and backhanded him hard enough to snap his head back.

“If I don’t get to help the guys lift up Vanek on that stretcher, I swear to God I’ll stay here and beat on you until they need to cart you out on another one.” Saliva and blood spilled over his lip. He sucked it in and spit over his shoulder. “Pull yourself together.”

Mason nodded. Sloan stood and helped him up. They both went to watch the medics tend to Vanek.

His stomach clenched as the doctor spoke right in Vanek’s ear, trying to get a response. Minutes felt like hours, and an eternity passed before the trainers carefully rolled Vanek onto the dark blue board and secured him with straps. Huge orange blocks were placed at either side of his head, and another strap went across his forehead. The doctor let Sloan, Mason, Carter, and T.J. heft the board up. The crowd, still standing, clapped and cheered as they gently laid the board on the stretcher.

Vanek still hadn’t moved. His long lashes rested on his cheeks. He looked like a little boy, fast asleep. Bloody blond curls matted to his head ruined the image. And sleeping boys’ chests rose and fell with deep breaths.

Sloan watched Vanek’s chest, preying as he followed the stretcher, whispering to whatever higher power there might be for just one breath.
Just one.
He swallowed as he reached the end of the ice and the stretcher was rolled out of sight. The rookie’s chest remained still.

No rising. No falling. Nothing.

* * * *

The raw sound of Oriana’s scream echoed off the walls of the press box long after the medics took Tyler away. Or maybe they only echoed in her head. She couldn’t really say because she wasn’t quite
there
anymore. Hands under her elbows supported her as though her body couldn’t manage to stand upright on its own. Someone led her into the hall. Each step was automatic, her legs on remote control. A wash of cold coated her insides, and she felt like she might vomit coolant. She choked on a sob as a door opened in front of her.

Max’s smile froze on his face and melted away. “What’s wrong?”

“T-Tyler . . .” Violent tremors stole her voice, stole her breath, and silver-specked darkness almost stole everything else. She gorged her palms with her nails. “He’s hurt.”

Wrapping her up in a solid embrace, Max half-carried her into the office and forced her to sit. He thanked someone, then handed her a bottle of water.

A tiny sip and her stomach lurched. Max held her hair back, and a trash can was held out. After her stomach emptied, Max dabbed her lips with a gray handkerchief.

“Tell me what happened.”

She looked up. He wasn’t talking to her.

Richter took a knee at her side and patted her hand. “Vanek took a bad hit and cracked his head on the ice. He was rushed to the hospital.”

Max’s color dropped several shades. He swayed a little on his feet. One fist clenched at his side. He thumped it into his thigh again and again. Finally, he gave a jerky nod and crouched in front of her.

“We need to go, Oriana.” His tone sharpened a bit more with every word. He took her hands and eased her nails from her palms. “Please. We need to go. When he wakes up, we should be there.”

“Yes.” She inhaled and closed her eyes to find her center. Then she pushed to her feet. “My God, I’m sorry, Max. You’re wasting time here with me when—”

“Don’t start that. I know what it’s like to see a man down on the ice, not moving. It’s fucking scary, especially when it’s one of your own.” He didn’t rise from his crouch right away. Rubbing his hands briskly against his knees as though his palms were cold, he stared at the floor between her feet, nodding to some voice only he could hear. “Damn kid, I told him not to wear his helmet strap so loose. He never listens . . .”

Seeing Max struggling to pull himself together, Oriana was disgusted by her own weakness. Max cared about Tyler, on a much deeper level than she possibly could after such a short time. And her falling apart forced him to focus on her pain rather than his own. Rather than siphoning off his strength, she should be lending him hers.

She bent down and cupped his face in her hands. “Max, let’s go see him. He’ll learn his lesson after this, even if we have to tie him up and beat it into him.”

Max straightened with her, brushed a soft kiss over her lips, then gave her a tentative smile. “He’ll be okay.”

Brave mask glued on, she pulled Max’s hood up, then wrapped her arm around his waist. “Of course he will.”

Outside the forum, Oriana hesitated by the passenger side of Max’s car and gazed up at the slice of moon, surrounded by dirty, snow-colored clouds. She could only find one pinprick of light in the hazy sky and couldn’t tell if it was a star, a satellite, or a plane, but, whatever it was, she made a wish on it.

Please let him be okay. Let me have been overreacting.

No wishes could change the facts they got at the hospital. Tyler wasn’t okay.

But he was alive.

T
he small waiting room was crammed full of sweaty bodies. Cozy in beige and brown tones, with three blocky sofas, a coffee table full of magazines, a tiny TV up in one corner replaying the game and big windows shrouded by thick curtains. A hush fell over the room as The Hit came on screen. Oriana winced as Thornton’s elbow connecting with the back of Tyler’s neck played out in slow motion. The ref hadn’t made a call because at first it looked like a clean hit. But the NHL board of governors would review the hit and probably suspend Thornton.

Unless they had their heads up their asses. Which sometimes happened.

Carter, who hadn’t stopped pacing since he’d arrived, punched the stack of magazines and jabbed his thumb over his shoulder at the screen. “He didn’t even have the fucking puck anymore! Don’t tell me that wasn’t intentional. Thornton had it out for the kid.”

Across the room, Ingerslov braced his forearms on the window ledge, parting the heavy curtains to reveal the dark pitch of night. “The puck left Vanek’s stick a millionth of a second before Thornton hit him. Doesn’t even count as interference.” Grumbles from the other men had him turning and taking an “I surrender!” pose. “I’m not saying I think it was an accident; I’m just not holding my breath on Thornton getting penalized.”

Dominik’s thigh flexed under her hand. He moved as though to stand, and she pressed her hand into his rock-hard stomach. Then she looked at Max.

He inclined his head. Good, they were on the same page. Screw appearances.

She straddled Dominik and clucked her tongue as she checked the cut at the edge of his lip where Sloan had hit him. “I don’t like seeing you guys fight one another.”

Rubbing up and down her legs, Dominik glanced around the room, then shook his head. “I’m not surprised that you’re disappointed. I’m the most experienced of the bunch, and I lost it. Why should you trust me not to do that with you?”

“I’m sorry, I missed the memo about Doms being completely infallible,” she said in a hushed voice. “If you were in control all the time, I’d start questioning your humanity. You did what I wanted to, Master.” She leaned close to whisper the last in his ear. “Whether the league punishes him or not, Thornton’s hurting. You beating him to a pulp was fucking sexy.”

“Bloodthirsty bunny.” Dominik chuckled, then smoothed his hands over her hair. “You know how hot I get hearing you get all passionate about the game? I don’t feel like I have to justify the time or energy I put into all this. You fit.” He curved his hands around her waist and tugged her close so she could feel him nice and hard between her thighs. “Perfectly.”

“I think so, too.” And despite feeling him ready for her, she made sure her eyes told him the words went beyond amazing sex. She slid her lips over his and whispered. “You know what I mean, right?”

“I do,” he said. “But I think you’ll be more comfortable telling me when we’re alone.”

Carter made a strangled sound behind her. “I’m so confused. No offense, Oriana, but am I getting my turn too?”

Leaning all her weight on Dominik so he couldn’t get up and rip Carter to shreds, she peeked up at the man and smiled. “Sorry. My roster’s full.”

The waiting room door swung open, revealing Sloan.

“Two skull fractures.” Sloan lightly scratched the bottom of the scar on his face, bone white against his pale skin. “They had to do some kind of surgery to relieve the pressure on his brain. He’s in stable condition, but they’ve got to observe him for a couple of days.” He glanced up at the TV, shook his head as The Hit played again from a different angle. He grabbed the remote off the table and clicked the power button. “They’ll let me know when he wakes up. The rest of you might as well go home. I’ll keep you all updated.”

Most of the men mumbled agreements and trudged from the room. Max and Dominik stayed where they were. Carter lingered in the doorway for a moment.

“Can he still play? Do they know?”

“It’s too soon to tell, buddy. From what I know, with this kind of injury, takes at least a year before the doctors will even consider clearing him for contact. If there are no complications.”

“Damn.” The shadows already around Carter’s eyes darkened, stealing the youth from his face. “He crashed at my place last night, and all he could talk about was making the playoffs. He said it would be tough without Perron, but he thought we could do it.”

“We can. And we will.” Sloan gave Carter a carved stone smile. “That’s one of the first things I’m telling him when he wakes up. We’re doing this for him. And Perron just might be able to help us.”

Max shot off the sofa as though propelled by a loose spring. “How? I’m suspended.”

“That might change. Another player has come forward, willing to testify that Coach talked him into making sure we lost—”

“Who?” Dominik asked in a dangerously low tone.

Sloan continued as though he hadn’t heard the question. “And your lawyer got the cops to question the hospital staff. The report from a triage nurse conflicted with the doctor’s findings. Another nurse said Paul had a couple of visitors while he was waiting for treatment. And the doctor who treated Paul agreed that he could have gotten the cut on his head exactly like you said. This case is messy, but your lawyer seems pretty damn confident that he can get all charges dropped and get your suspension revoked so you can play Friday.”