IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance (9 page)

Chapter 14

Brad

This time, Coach Randall's face was a lovely shade of brick red when he blew his whistle. "Listen up!" he shouted.

"I thought you were supposed to fucking mellow with age," one of the new recruits panted heavily. "He's just getting meaner."

I turned and smiled in the kid's direction. His first name was Jayden or Aiden or Brayden or something, but we all settled on calling him Blondie; firstly because of the straw-colored mop on his head and secondly because his last name looked like someone had spilled a Scrabble game across his jersey and none of us had the balls, or the interest, to figure out how to pronounce it. "You get used to it," I encouraged him. "You need to start thinking of it less as getting screamed at and more like getting patted with his voice."

"Try slapped," Blondie mumbled.

"Shut up back there!" Coach Randall thundered.

Blondie folded his arms over his chest. "Or punched," he clarified.

"Got some news for you," Coach Randall shook out a ratty, folded piece of paper from his pocket. "I just got the word from the office. The game in Denver is being postponed."

A murmur went up. Postponed? We were supposed to be flying out tonight. "More like rescheduled," Coach added. "Storm in the Rockies is supposed to be dumping like two feet overnight. Flights are being canceled left and right."

"So, we have tonight off?" Blondie piped up excitedly. "Yes! It's Friday!"

"I'm getting so fucking wasted," one of the new recruits crowed.

I winced. Big fucking mistake, dude.

Coach Randall turned violet. "Technically, yes, you have the night off." He looked like the idea of us relaxing was causing him extreme duress. "But rest assured that I'm going to kick your asses from here to Sunday right now. From now until five, you belong to me."

A groan went up from the team. "Idiot," Oswald muttered at the recruit.

Coach Randall was true to his word. He took us back to the basics, drilling stick-work like we were a bunch of kids starting peewees. I could do this shit in my sleep if I was left alone, but Coach had us switching off partners, cycling through the new guys with the veterans.

I could quickly see the method to his madness. We had been playing as individuals, not as a team, a defect that had been plainly obvious our last two games. Coach's whistle blasts marked the intervals, and we drilled again, and again, and again, until my muscles were jelly and there wasn't room in my mind for anything else but the moment.

That was the best part of playing. When everything else fell away and the sudden, crystal clarity was revealed. I started moving without thinking, anticipating blocks and shots before they even happened. When I was a kid, I used to think hockey gave me superpowers. I would go home to my mother crowing about having ESP, about reading my opponents' minds. About being a superhero.

Then she'd smack me for my mouth and drag me off to confession.

Pride was one of the seven deadly sins.

I winged a shot, missing the puck and sending a spray of ice into the air. "Watch it," Ian called, zipping behind me at the speed of light. He took up the puck, dribbling to the net where Oswald was ready. With a short snap, he feinted left, and then to the right.

Then he faltered. I saw his face contort with pain and rushed in to take the shot.

Oswald moved fast, but I was faster. "Nice recovery, Scott!" Coach called across the ice.

I allowed myself a small grin of triumph. Coach didn't usually praise me. I didn't get my ass kicked much either. Usually, I just floated along in the mid-ranks, not bringing too much attention to myself. Hockey was my job and I did it well, but I was no star.

Coach blew the whistle. "Take a knee," he called.

"How is
your
knee?" I called to Ian. He was wincing and favoring his right leg.

"Gonna go see the medic," he breathed. He sounded like he was barely coping. "Something snapped in there and it felt important."

I winced in sympathy as I watched my best friend hobble off the ice. His knee was never going to be the same, not after his fall in the locker room. Our ex-teammate was now sitting in prison, serving seven to ten years for attacking Candace out of some weird, jealous obsession with Ian. Thank god Ian had shown up when he did and chased Jake when he'd run. But Ian had slipped as he tackled Jake in the showers, landing hard on his kneecap. The bone hadn't so much shattered as it had exploded.

Jake had wanted to get Ian off the team. And in a roundabout way, he may have achieved his goal after all. I wondered how long Ian was going to be able to keep playing.

Then I pushed that thought from my mind and took a knee with the rest of my team.

Coach Randall glared at us, and we all immediately fell silent. He made a couple of announcements about scheduling and then yelled at Oswald about his goaltending for a while. The rest of us shifted uncomfortably. The cold was starting to seep into my muscles. I needed a hot shower or I was going to be stiff tomorrow.

Finally, Coach Randall cleared his throat, always a sign he was wrapping up. "At the start of the season," he rumbled, "I gave you all an assignment."

"Shit, really?" Blondie whispered. His eyes were like saucers. "I don't remember getting an assignment. Was it a test?" I had to laugh at his panic. The kid probably graduated from high school only a few months ago. He still probably had nightmares about pop quizzes.

"Carter is resigning as captain," Coach Randall went on. "And you lazy fuckers were supposed to be coming to me with nominations for the position. And as of," he looked at his watch, then leafed through his clipboard, "eight o'clock this morning, I have received exactly," he flipped the pages back and then forth again, mumbling numbers under his breath....

"Zero names!" he finally thundered, throwing the clipboard to the ground. "Nothing! You do all understand that the captain is the one who represents you, right? The only player who can discuss a ref's call?" He stared at each of us in turn and I swear some of the new guys looked away like they were about to cry.

"Yeah, Coach, we know," Ian's deep voice sounded from the back of the pack.

He was dressed in his street clothes and still hobbling. Under his warm-up shorts, I could see his knee was tightly taped. "But I gave you a name," Ian went on. "So you didn't get zero."

Coach Randall blinked and for some reason, he looked at me. "I didn't realize that was official," he said, his voice significantly lower in volume.

"I guess it really wasn't," Ian agreed. "So I'll make it official right now." He limped around the clustered pack of us and took his position next to Coach Randall like he belonged there. Because he did.

Then he looked right at me and opened his goddamned mouth. "I nominate Bradley Scott as team captain," he grinned.

*****

"You're an
asshole
."

Ian banged his locker shut. "So you've mentioned once or twice," he chuckled.

But I wasn't in the mood to joke with him. "Why the hell didn't you tell me you were nominating me?"

Ian lifted his chin. "Because you wouldn't have let me."

"Damn straight I wouldn't have let you. Why the hell do you think I should be captain?"

"Why wouldn't you be captain?" Ian gestured around the locker room to the rest of the team, all strenuously avoiding eye contact with us. "You're the most experienced guy here." He raised his voice a little. "The rest of this team is still in diapers." He patted my shoulder. "They need a father figure."

In any other instance, Ian's teasing and joking would be all I needed to lift the black cloud of anxiety that loomed over my head. But not today. Not about this.

I stepped closer, fists clenched, and lowered my voice. "I don't know why the fuck you'd pull this, Ian. You know why I can't represent the team." Heat flooded my face and along with it the tight tension in my neck and jaw. "Y-you know," I managed to spit out.

A flicker shadowed Ian's face.

"Holy shit," I exhaled. "You didn't even think about it at all."

"Well... no!" Ian exploded. He started pacing. "But, how much does it matter?" His voice was scolding and more than a little defensive. "You barely stutter anymore, dude...."

"Keep your goddamned voice d-down," I hissed. The rest of the team was still milling about, blatantly eavesdropping.

"You just need to relax."

"That is literally the w-worst thing you could s-say to me." I was losing it and the more I freaked out about losing it, the worse my speech would get. I slammed my locker shut, looked at Ian and then shook my head. Nothing was coming out, no matter how I tried to summon the words. I just clenched my fist and then pointed at him.

He needed to fix this. He knew what I was trying to say.

He ducked his head and turned back to his locker. I pressed my lips together and wordlessly walked out of the locker room.

Ian had done what he thought was best for me.

Thing was, he'd never considered what
I
wanted.

I was tired of setting myself aside. I was ever more tired of listening to people tell me what was good for me.

I knew perfectly well what I wanted.

A certain dark-haired woman being first on that list.

I walked out of practice and into the bright autumn sunlight. The Chicago heat wave had finally broken and the air was crisp. A light breeze blew in off the lake, a herald of the winter winds that would soon be whipping down the urban canyons.

I was home unexpectedly, with a surprise night off.

But I wasn't going to be spending it at my place.

Chapter 15

Olivia

The hostess with the pierced tongue smiled widely, and then shifted a little to her right to peer behind me. "Expecting anyone else, tonight, Miss Bryant?"

Part of me wanted to smile at her. It wasn't her fault, after all, that I was here alone tonight. She, of course, would know nothing about the rift that had opened up between Candace and me.

Things would be right between us. They always eventually turned out right. Maybe tomorrow I'd stop being angry at her for being so blunt about my worst faults. The things I had always feared were flawed about me - the deep, dark hurts I kept hidden - those were the things Candace had dragged out in the daylight and forced me to look at.

Bluntness was a character trait I admired in myself but didn't really enjoy in other people.
I
was the one who was supposed to be doing the dragging. 

"No," I said to the hostess. "Just me tonight. I need some me-time."

"Of course." She grabbed for the menus but I stopped her. "Just pour me a glass of Fox Valley Chardonnay and leave the whole damn bottle behind."

The hostess, Hannah I think her name was, had the professional demeanor down cold and didn't widen her eyes. But I wouldn't have given a shit if she did. Tonight I was going to drink - alone - and patrol for some mindless man-candy. Brad was in Colorado tonight, so that meant I was free to have some no-strings-attached fun.

I grinned. There was an entirely different crowd here at the Grapery on Friday nights. I usually stopped by during the week after work, when it was filled up with neighborhood types, low-key locals who didn't go for flash.

But on weekends, it transformed. A baby grand I had never seen before now took up half the place. A beardy-hipster-type was rolling arpeggios up and down the keys while pulling constipated looking faces. Hannah brought over my bottle and poured the glass for me, and I sighed as I took my first sip.

This place was filled with jet-lagged business travelers and three-piece-suited stockbrokers who looked like they might be into some really kinky shit in the bedroom.

I'm going to have some fun tonight.

I was
single
. The terms I had laid out with Brad made that amply clear. And looking around at my competition, I couldn't help but smile and lick my lips.
Oh, ladies, is that all you brought?

I sat back prettily, crossing my legs and leaning back so that my tits jutted out. I was wearing a brand new, black, tightly-fitted, body-con dress tonight. Sure this dress was a little slutty, a little more in-your-face than my usual sexy librarian look, but tonight, well...

I
looked
a little desperate because I
was
a little desperate.

From across the room, I caught eyes with a dark-haired man, leaning his elbows against the bar. I shot him a smile, looking him over once, then twice, letting my eyes slide down his figure. Sizing up the goods. Hair all in order. A nice bit of five o'clock shadow on an otherwise smooth cheek.  His jawline was a little soft, his mouth a little feminine for my taste, but we weren't thinking long term here.

This was just a way of proving to myself that I
meant it
when I told Brad we were part time.

He was dressed in a three-piece suit. Goddamn, that really was lingerie for men.  He stood up when I smiled, moving towards me like I had hooked him on a line. I smiled, and shifted in my seat, allowing my little scrap of a skirt to ride even higher.

"Hi there," he said. His voice was smooth, though a little higher than I'd like. He was wearing cologne - quite a lot of it, actually - but it was
nice
cologne. Heavy and musky and
expensive
smelling.

I licked my lips.

"Nice suit," I said.

He looked down. "You like my suit?"

I nodded, looking him right in the eye. "It's very becoming."

Fuck! Abort! Abort!
But he was already looking at me curiously. "Becoming?"

I cleared my throat awkwardly. Why was I using this line, of all lines? "But then again, if I were on you, I'd be coming too," I said without any enthusiasm whatsoever.

Brad's line
a little voice chastised me in my head.
That was Brad's line.

I tried to wave the thought away, realized what I was doing, then settled my hand firmly down into my lap before this guy started thinking I was a crazy person.

But he didn't seem to notice how my soul suddenly died in front of him. His plucked eyebrows zoomed upward and he practically started salivating.
At least I know the line works?

"Can I buy you a drink?"

I leaned back. "You can if you think you can afford to."

"Why, do you have expensive taste?"

"What have you got?" I shot back, looking him in the eye. Using Brad's line had thrown me off my game. I needed to regain the upper hand.

"What do you want?"

Man, this guy was shit at dirty talk. I tried to throw him a lifeline. "Why don't you get me something you think I'd like," I purred, casting meaningful glances towards the whiskey selection. If I was going to sleep with this dweeb, I needed to switch to the hard stuff.

"Um...," he dithered.

I rolled my eyes and turned away from him. There was movement over his shoulder. I don't know why my eye went there, maybe because I was already bored of this entire charade. But something stirring in the corner caught my eye.

Not something.

Someone.

My body reacted before my mind could and I bounced up from my seat. My skirt was hiked up to gynecological lengths, but I yanked it back down again.

It didn't matter, because I felt suddenly naked and laid bare, knowing that he was here.

He slouched, glowering in the corner, his long legs sticking out from under the table. A pair of familiar motorcycle boots that made my hands clench, my nails digging into my palms before the thought even connected in my brain.

"Brad," I said out loud.

"No, Pat I said, my name is Pat. Short for Patrick?" the suited guy corrected.

Brad unfurled himself from the shadows, and my heart seemed to stop mid-beat.

Then it started to thud so fast I could barely hear a word the suited guy was saying. Brad came right over to us, standing, no,
looming.
And the second he stood next to the suited guy, I wondered how I had ever thought that fancy-pantsed fucker could be adequate. Brad stood there in his white T-shirt and jeans - with nothing more than pure, unadulterated masculinity as his cologne - and just
blew him away
.

"Excuse me." Brad's voice was tight, controlled. I felt a flash of something wicked go through me with a jolt. My body was a traitor, through and through.

Pat turned and looked at him. "Can I help you?"

"Yeah. Get the fuck out of here."

"Excuse me?"

Brad stared down at him. "I said it's time for you to leave."

Pat looked at me and his voice inched higher. "Do you know who this asshole is?"

My mouth was dry, but I still swallowed convulsively, over and over. "Yeah. I know him," I said. Why was I feeling guilty?

Why was he here? He was supposed to be gone. He was supposed to leave tonight.

"One last time, my man. Go ahead and get out of here."

"I don't think I want to."

Brad's voice was low and dangerous and unlike anything I had ever heard come out of him. "Is this really the night you want to die?"

Pat turned white and ran away.

"Jesus Christ, Brad!" I exhaled. "What the hell was that? What are you doing here? Are you spying on me?" I asked threateningly.

He laughed and said nothing.

"Did you decide to cash in your part time fuck buddy card?" I challenged, craning my neck to get into his face. Damn. I loved how tiny he made me feel. At five foot nine, there weren't too many people in the world who made me feel small, but Brad had a full five inches on me, a gap I couldn't close even with my highest heels. I felt that shiver run through me when I smelled him, the clean scent of his soap, the way it turned to sweetness on his skin as the day wore on. "Figured it was time to use your home team advantage?"

I hoped like hell he would say yes.

But Brad didn't rise to the bait at all. "If I wanted that, I would have called you, don't you think?"

I blinked away the hurt. "I guess so."

He looked down at me. "I had an unexpected night off. Snow in Colorado."

Why didn't you call me?
I didn't say. Instead, I said, "So you decided to come to a wine bar? That doesn't really seem like something you would do."

I expected him to laugh. I expected him to look sheepish, look away, disavow that this whole thing was happening. I definitely did not expect him to grab me by the shoulders and pull me close. "You don't know
what
I would do, Olivia."

He kissed me and it was the kiss in the restaurant all over again. Every time I tried to get a handle on things, arrange them back the way I liked them, Brad pulled the rug out from under me. Every time I tried to set down rules, he turned them on their head.

I pulled away, the heat from his mouth still searing my lips. I sounded almost drunk when I said, "I know
you
."

Maybe I was also trying to convince myself.

Brad gave a small shake of his head. Almost like he was saddened by what he had to say. "No. You don't."

I looked up at him and clenched my teeth. "I don't?"

"You think you do. But you have no idea."