“Craig...”
“I’m serious. It’ll all get cleared up eventually. Just...drop it.” Wyatt stepped toward the door. “Now get your ass out there. We’ve got a game to win.”
Brody watched the other man stalk off. A part of him wanted to run after Wyatt and shake the names out of the guy, but another part was telling him to let it go. Trying to force Wyatt to confide in him wouldn’t achieve anything. Craig would just get angrier, more volatile, and the last thing Brody wanted to do was piss him off, not before one of the most important games of their season. This was do or die. Win or kiss the Cup goodbye. He needed his captain focused on the game, not on personal shit.
And he needed to focus on the game, too. Lately, he’d spent too much time worrying, doubting his fellow players, wondering if his career would be blown to hell by the scandal. He had the truth on his side, the knowledge that he’d played clean and hard all season, but that didn’t mean shit. Guilty by association, or whatever the hell they called it.
He would be a free agent in a few months, but another franchise might be loath to pick him up knowing he’d been investigated for bribery. All he could hope was that the investigation was quick, painless, and that his name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud for something he hadn’t done.
Cursing softly, he left the locker room and headed down the tunnel. When he entered the arena, the deafening cheers of the crowd assaulted his eardrums. The Lincoln Center was filled to capacity tonight, the bleachers a sea of silver and blue. Seeing all the fans warmed Brody’s heart, but it also renewed his anger.
All these fans who’d come out here tonight—the people yelling words of encouragement, the kids wildly clapping their hands. They deserved a team they could be proud of.
Unfortunately, there was very little to feel proud about, especially when ten minutes into the first period, the Warriors were already down by two goals.
And it was one of those games that went from bad to worse. The Kodiaks cleaned the ice with the Warriors. By the second period, Brody was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and wanting to bodycheck everyone from the refs to his coach. It didn’t even seem to matter how fast they skated, how many times they rushed the net, how many bullets they slapped at the Colorado goalie. The opposing team was faster, sharper, better. They had the advantage of good morale on their side.
When the third period rolled around, Brody could tell most of his teammates had given up.
“This is bad,” Becker muttered once they’d sunk down onto the bench after a line change.
Brody squirted a stream of water into his mouth then tossed the bottle aside. “Tell me about it,” he muttered back.
He could feel the entire season slipping away with each second ticking off the clock. They were down by three goals. Three fucking goals. With ten minutes left in the third. It was the kind of uphill battle that rarely had a good outcome.
The ref’s whistle pierced the air, and Brody looked over to see who’d taken a penalty. Wyatt. Goddamn it.
There was no more time for chatting as Coach Gray tossed them both back onto the ice for the penalty kill, and although Becker scored a ridiculously incredible shorthanded goal, it wasn’t enough. The buzzer went off, indicating the end of the third period and the game. The final score was 4–2, Kodiaks.
The Warriors were out of the playoffs.
TWENTY-FIVE
It didn’t take a genius to figure out the Warriors had lost the game. Hayden could see it on every face that left the Lincoln Center. Her father was probably devastated.
She was tempted to go up to the owner’s box and offer some sort of condolences, but she was in no mood to see her dad right now. If she were, she’d be inside the arena instead of loitering in the parking lot and waiting for Brody.
She leaned against the back of her rental car, which she’d parked a few spots from Brody’s BMW, and scanned the rear entrance of the building, willing him to come out. She’d texted him after the game ended, telling him she was waiting in the players’ parking lot. He messaged back almost instantly to say he’d be out as fast as he could.
God, this day had been pure hell. Listening to Sheila’s awful tale of Presley’s drinking, hearing Doug’s heart break on the other end of the line. She didn’t want to think about any of it anymore. That was why she’d left the penthouse and driven over here. The need to see Brody and lose herself in his arms was so strong she’d been willing to wait out here for nearly an hour.
Other players had already come and gone, several of them giving her strange looks. Derek Jones was the only one to come over to say hello, and he’d seemed to buy her lie that she was waiting for her father.
Now the private lot was empty. When Brody finally emerged from the building, she almost sobbed with relief. And when his midnight blue eyes lit up at the sight of her, she wanted to sob with joy. Maybe their lives didn’t mesh, maybe their careers were colossally different and their goals weren’t aligned, but she couldn’t remember the last time a man had looked so happy to see her.
She couldn’t tear her eyes from him. He looked so good tonight. His hair was damp, his perfect lips slightly chapped. He’d confessed to licking them too much during games. He wore a loose wool suit that couldn’t hide the defined muscles underneath it, and the navy blue color made his eyes seem even brighter, more vivid. She knew the league expected the players to look professional on and off the ice and, she had to admit, she liked seeing him in a suit as much as she enjoyed his faded jeans and ab-hugging T-shirts.
“Hey, sorry that took so long,” he said, approaching her. His expression was subdued. “Coach needed to talk to me about something.”
“I’m sorry about the game. Are you okay?”
“Not really. We got killed tonight.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
Unable to stop herself, she stood on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his lips.
Brody pulled back in surprise, a flicker of humor in his eyes. “What was that for?”
“I don’t know. I feel bad that you lost. And I had a bad day, too. I just wanted to feel your mouth on mine.”
His expression sobered. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you all about it later. Let’s get out of here first before anyone sees us.”
“Meet you at the hotel?”
She was about to nod when something stopped her. “No. How about we go to your place tonight?”
He seemed baffled, and she honestly couldn’t say she blamed him. Since she’d agreed to explore this...thing...between them, they’d been doing things her way. Brody had asked her over to his place a dozen times, but she always convinced him to stay at the penthouse instead. She’d felt that being on her own turf, sticking to familiar surroundings, would stop things from getting more serious than she wanted.
Yet suddenly, she found herself longing to see Brody’s house, to be with him on his turf.
“All right.” He unlocked the door of his SUV. “You want to follow me in your car?”
“Why don’t we just take yours? I can take an Uber back for mine tomorrow.”
His eyebrows soared again. “You’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t you? You do realize your father will see your car in the lot and know you didn’t go home?”
