Chapter 3—Thin Ice

That evening, Marina sipped a glass of wine with her friend, Kaley Gonzales, at a bar down the street from the SHAC.

Kaley had been with the team as an admin when they were in Florida, and Ethan had kept her on when they’d moved. At her request, she’d been promoted to player assessment and scouting, where she assisted with the salary cap and did research on prospective players.

Kaley was at her best when juggling a ton of balls. Marina’s Aunt Mina had introduced them a month ago when Marina had moved back to the States. They both had long, dark hair and brown eyes, causing people to mistake them for sisters, assuming they didn’t recognize Marina. They’d bonded over being petite and having to bear the brunt of short jokes and been fast friends ever since. Kaley was one of the few people unaffected by Marina’s tarnished reputation. If anything, she embraced it.

“How’d it go today?” Kaley asked as her gaze followed a tall, buff man across the restaurant. She had an eye for good-looking men and a knack for picking out jerks, or so she told Marina.

“Better than expected. Some of the guys soaked it up like a sponge. Most gave it a try. A few hated it.”

“Do you think it’ll work into a full-time job next season?”

“I hope so. It’s not outside the realm of possibilities. Other teams have hired figure skaters as skating coaches.”

“But you’d be giving up your dream of competing again?”

“That’s all it is. A dream. An impossible dream. I’m too old.” Marina refused to be dragged down by one stupid mistake bolstered by arrogance and immaturity. She wasn’t that person anymore. “But I really enjoyed this work. I think I could see myself doing this type of thing for a long time. I love helping others. Granted, I saw myself as a coach to figure skaters, not hockey players, but this could work out.”

“I’m happy for you.” Kaley raised her beer, and they clinked their glasses together.

“I hope so, too.” The smile fell from Marina’s face.

She had Kaley’s full attention now, the gorgeous guy all but forgotten. “But what? I heard a but.”

Marina sighed and wondered how someone she’d only known a month could read her so well. Maybe she was just that bad at hiding her emotions. She spilled the entire conversation she’d heard discussed.

“That’s brutal. And you have no idea who they were?”

“None whatsoever. They could’ve been players or coaches. Hell, they could’ve been staff.”

“Did you tell Coach G or Ethan?”

Marina shook her head. “I’m determined not to cause drama, especially since they’re expecting me to.”

Kaley nodded and looked to the ceiling for a moment, as if pondering what to say. “You don’t cause the drama. It’s the press that causes it.”

“I know, but I’m still paying for that one screw-up. Now I have to prove myself, which will be doubly hard.”

“It’s easy to fall in a hole and bury yourself but not so easy to dig your way out.”

“Tell me about it.”

Kaley waved her hand in the air, dismissing the current subject. “Let’s drop it for now. So, any guy on the team catch your eye?”

“I’m a coach. I might be temporary, but I want to keep this job. They’re waiting for me to screw up, and the last thing I need to do is start an affair with a player on a team bound for the playoffs.”

“We can both look but not touch. For myself, I’d love to get Jasper in the showers, his naked body all glistening with sweat and watch the warm water run down his chest to his abs to his dick. He is one hot guy. Imagine that boundless energy focused on you.”

“I try not to.”

“Oh, come on. One of those hot pieces of sugar had to appeal to your sweet tooth. Even if it never goes further.” Kaley leaned forward, a wicked gleam in her brown eyes. “Just between us. Who would it be?”

Marina rolled her eyes. She didn’t need a man right now. She had enough going on without the complications of a relationship.

“Well, the last guy on earth would be Drew Delacorte,” Marina admitted, regretting the words as soon as she spilled them. She’d waved the red flag in front of the bull.

Kaley’s eyes lit up, and a sly grin crossed her face. “Really? Drew? I’d have never guessed that one. He’s cute and appealing if you like to fix broken men.”

“Broken? Him?”

“Oh, yeah. You’ve never seen him with his father, have you? Though his mother is a sweetheart.”

“His mother hates me.”

“Because of SkateGate?”

Marina nodded glumly. “Leaving her after my first Olympic games, corrupting her star pupil in the second, and ruining her career.”

“You ruined her career? Now that’s a stretch.”

“I’m sure she feels that way.”

Kaley sat up straight and glared at Marina. “Don’t take on other people’s issues. Her career spiral had nothing to do with you.”

Marina stared downward. She gripped her wineglass stem so tightly it should’ve broken. “I think it does.” She lifted her gaze to meet Kaley’s concerned one. “I really do, Kay.”

“I say it doesn’t. We’re all responsible to play the cards we’re dealt, good or bad hand. You do what you can. Sometimes you bluff, sometimes you fold.”

“Never knew you to be a poker player.”

“Trust me. I’m not.”

“So, what did you mean about his father? Drew’s a big boy, on his own. What can his dad do to him?” As a skating coach, anything that might affect her players was important information. Her interest was purely professional.

“Telling you about Stafford won’t do him justice. You’ll have to see for yourself. And you will. Just hang out near the locker room before the next game.”

Marina could tell by the set of Kaley’s jaw she wasn’t going to spill any more dirt on former hockey legend Stafford Delacorte, but she’d Google him tonight to see what she could dig up online. Not that it mattered. Drew’s relationship with his father was none of her business unless it affected his play.

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. Maybe it did. Maybe it all played into why he was skating late at night. When she’d asked if he still loved skating, his response had been less than convincing. His coaches claimed he wasn’t enjoying much of anything lately, and when she’d checked his stats yesterday, they’d fallen off since the year before, even though he was still considered one of the NHL’s elite, up-and-coming players.

Perhaps, there were problems.

She’d have to keep an eye on him, keep her mind out of the gutter, and focus on the goal. Drew’s performance might be the team’s key to winning the Cup. If she unlocked what was troubling him and improved his game, she’d have a permanent job for sure.

Somehow she’d have to get close to him without getting close to him.

* * * *

Drew nursed his beer and stared unseeingly at the TV on the wall of The Place, a neighborhood bar not too far from the SHAC. The Skookums were playing the Yankees, but he didn’t have a clue what the score was, and he didn’t give a shit. Seattle’s baseball team was the least of his problems.

He glanced at the time on his phone. He should go home. He’d been hiding out here for a couple hours after working out and watching film. Hell, it was only seven p.m. He didn’t want to go home. Either he’d be alone, or even worse, Dad or Mom would be there. He’d been stupid to give them keys.

If his teammates knew how much his parents meddled in his life, he’d have no end of grief. Worse than that, he let them control him to a point. If they hadn’t lived elsewhere, he’d have jumped off the Space Needle by now, unable to tolerate his dad’s constant badgering and his mom’s hovering. They did it because they loved him, making him feel like an ungrateful son for being resentful. There were days when the guilt weighed so heavily, his head pounded, his chest ached, and he could barely breathe. Add in his current obsession with Marina, and his guilt built to a fever pitch. She attracted him, and she shouldn’t. Damn it. Sleep had eluded him as he fantasized about having her, and he hated his inability to control his reaction to her.

A distraction was what he needed.

Maybe Bronson could use some help. He perked up at the thought.

Drew threw a couple bills on the counter and headed for the door. Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into a parking spot next to his buddy’s PI office. It wasn’t exactly the best part of town, more like a warehouse district, but Bron didn’t care. The man was badass. He’d been Special Forces and seen stuff Drew couldn’t begin to imagine. He also taught karate a few nights a week, which was how Drew met him.

He squinted into the darkness beyond the dirty front window and made out a dim light in the back office.

The door was locked, so he pounded on it. Finally, Bronson stalked to the door and yanked it open.

Typical Bronson—his dark hair stood on end, and his T-shirt was rumpled and smudged with dirt. Drew suspected he slept at the office, but he’d never asked him. None of his business.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Bronson consulted his watch. “Isn’t it past your bedtime?”

Drew snorted. “Nah, I have another hour before Mommy tucks me in.”

Bronson cocked a brow and said nothing, probably because there was a little too much truth to Drew’s statement.

“I’ll buy you a beer.”

“Beer and a hamburger,” Bronson countered, yawning and scratching his stomach.

“Shithead.”

Drew followed Bronson out the door and waited for him to lock it. They walked a couple blocks to the only bar in the area, a real dive Drew wouldn’t go into by himself, but no one messed with Bronson. He had an air about him that scared the crap out of the biggest of idiots. He was as big as a bear and all muscle. His dark eyes watched everything with a perpetually menacing glare.

In the past two years, despite his crusty exterior, Bronson had become Drew’s best friend and closest confidant.

They’d bonded over their pasts once when they’d gotten a little too drunk. They’d suffered similar childhoods with controlling, overly critical fathers and equally critical mothers. There’d been no actual physical abuse, but emotional and mental abuse could be just as bad. They’d both been burned by women and were gun shy about a relationship, preferring casual one-nighters instead.

Drew had already told Bronson about his late-night encounter with a female skater at the SHAC. He waited until Bronson and him were settled at a table with their beers before he filled him in on the latest development.

“The Sockeyes have a new skating coach. A woman. The woman who was skating late at night.”

Bronson grunted. Despite his macho persona, he had no problem with women in traditionally male jobs.

“Marina.”

Bronson’s head shot up. “Marina?”

“Yeah, the infamous figure skater. Marina Sanders.” Drew rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on.

“Huh?” Bronson was a man of few words. He leaned back and watched Drew. As usual, his expression was inscrutable.

“You know. SkateGate? The scandal at the Winter Games four years ago?”

Bronson narrowed his eyes and shook his head. “No clue. Don’t follow that crap.”

“You really don’t know? What the fuck. Have you been living in a cave or something?”

“Yeah, at times.” Bronson wasn’t joking. He didn’t know. Four years ago, he’d probably been on some mission in the Middle East with his team, more concerned with staying alive than paying attention to figure skating drama.

“You wanna me to fill you in?”

“Sure, why the fuck not.” Bronson put his hand over his mouth to suppress a yawn. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and leaned forward. Despite his tiredness, his eyes sparked with interest.

“Marina was a former Bronze medalist, and my mom’s most talented skater. She left my mom for another coach after her first winter Games. Fast forward four years, she’s in gold medal position but has to nail her long program to seal it. She goes clubbing the night before with other team members, including my mom’s newest prodigy. The group got wasted, and reporter caught it all on camera. The next day she had the worst performance of her career and blew not just the gold but any chance of a medal. Her teammates blamed her because none of them medaled, either. It blew up all over social media and the press. She was disgraced and went from America’s darling to America’s villain in less than twenty-four hours. She was suspended indefinitely from figure skating competition and the others were suspended for a year.”

“I see.” Bronson took a long pull on his beer and studied Drew with his usual intensity.

“Who does that? Who blows a chance of a lifetime getting drunk the one night they should be on best behavior?”

“Hockey players do it all the time. You’ve done it.”

“Not before a big game. Not like that.”

Bronson’s left brow spiked. He planted his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “And Marina’s presence is a problem for you how?”

“The connection to my mom.”

“It’s not like you had any say in this. You can’t control who the Sockeyes choose to hire. Your dad might think he can, but he can’t. Where does your mom stand?”

“She never mentions the entire mess. The subject is forbidden in our house. There’s more.”

“OK.”

“My mom’s pupil, Stacy, was my girlfriend. She dumped me, went into hiding, and struggled with depression and drugs afterward.”

“So you’re the one with the unresolved issues?”

“I don’t think so. Stacy’s rejection did sting. I thought I was in love with her, but I got over it fast enough.”

Bronson arched a brow and signaled for another beer.

“I did. I moved on, but I don’t know how my parents will react. Why do I let them do this to me? I’m twenty-six years old. I should be able to function without my parents’ constant interference.”

His buddy studied him meaningfully over the rim of his glass. “You should, but you know why you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do. It’ll come with time, but I love them, and I know they love me. They’re overprotective because of what happened to David.”

Unblinking, Bronson stared at him but said nothing.

“I feel like I have to live my life and David’s because of what happened.”

“I don’t think you’re living your life. You’re living your brother’s.”

Drew shrugged. Didn’t matter. His life wasn’t his own. The second his brother had taken a bullet meant for him, his life had changed irrevocably. Over the years, he’d come to terms with his fate. Until lately. Now he was resentful, angry, and guilt-ridden.

“So, this Marina. You interested in her?”

“Oh, fuck no. She’s a coach, for starters.”

“Yeah?” Bronson studied Drew with his unnervingly penetrating gaze.

“I’m trying to lessen the drama in my life, not increase it exponentially. Marina might be gorgeous with a killer body, but she has too much baggage.”

“There is that.”

“I’m not looking for a relationship, and I doubt she’s into hookups.”

“If you say so.”

“I’m sure of it.” But Drew wasn’t sure of anything. There’d been something between them. Something he hadn’t felt in years. Not since Stacy. If he’d ever felt this same uncontrollable need with Stacy. He’d lusted after her. God, how he’d lusted with the enthusiasm of a twenty-two-year-old horny male. Maybe what disturbed him the most was a niggling fear this Marina thing wasn’t just hormones.

He’d hated Marina after the Games and blamed her like everyone else had. Those had been dark times for them, and he’d be all kinds of a fool to dredge up all that shit once again.

Eventually, he’d let go of his anger. He didn’t blame Marina for what happened. She’d been young and invincible. He’d done some dumb things himself at twenty-two. Besides, he’d known Stacy pretty well, and she’d been a wild one. No one had held a gun to her head and made her do it. There’d been several occasions she’d led him down the wrong path, and he’d blindly followed. Regardless, he didn’t trust or particularly care for Marina, other than this misplaced sexual attraction most likely caused by some deep-seated psychological need or something stupid like that. He’d gone a long time without a relationship, while his teammates succumbed one by one to the love of a good woman.

That time during the Games was a blur to him. Stacy had dumped him over a text message and refused all contact and emerged a couple years later as the star of a reality show centered around the cutthroat world of skating competitions. Stacy never regained her championship form and last he heard was a married mother.

Drew hadn’t had a relationship since. Just hook-ups.

His attraction to Marina might be disastrous if he followed through with it—of which there was zero chance in hell. At least he was feeling something, and feeling anything was better than the numbness he’d lived with for too long.