Chapter Nine

 

Sweat ran down his face, stinging his eyes behind the shield. Caleb ignored the burn, kept his focus on the puck as the forward from Anaheim raced toward the net. The score was tied three-to-three with two minutes left in the game. If Anaheim scored, they'd end up winning. Caleb knew a lot could happen in two minutes. Hell, he'd played in games where the final score had been decided in a tenth of a second. But he couldn't shake the feeling that nothing like that would happen tonight.

If Anaheim scored, they won, as simple as that. Caleb knew it in his gut.

Which meant they couldn't score.

He didn't have to look behind him to know that Connelly was struggling in the net. He'd been struggling all fucking night, sliding out of position, losing sight of the puck. It was a fucking miracle the Banners weren't down by five.

Anaheim couldn't score. No fucking way could that happen.

Caleb skated backward, his legs burning, his ankle throbbing. He ignored the pain, gritted his teeth against the mouthguard, and moved to the right. Watching, waiting…

Now.

He pushed forward, a burst of speed propelling him in front of the net a second before the puck went flying. He leaned forward, skates digging into the ice as he reached with his stick and shot the puck away. Shane Masters caught the pass, spun around and headed up the ice.

Caleb sucked in a deep breath and pushed after him, catching up as thousands of fans jumped to their feet. Shouts and curses mingled with the boos as Anaheim's chance of scoring disappeared. It was their puck now, and Caleb would make damn sure it went in.

He shouted at Shane and tapped the blade of his stick against the ice, waiting for the pass he knew was coming. A second later, the puck connected with his blade, nice and easy, like it knew it belonged there. With him.

Caleb bit back a smile as he darted to the left and spun around Anaheim's D. Jaxon Miller was several feet away, already in position, wide open. All Caleb had to do was pass the puck to him—

Except Anaheim's goalie was ready for that move, Caleb could see it in the way the man was already leaning to the side, his glove hand ready. Fuck that shit. Caleb hesitated, pulled back like he was going to pass, watched as the goalie followed-through on changing positions.

There. Now.

Caleb pulled the puck toward him, leaned low and drove toward the net. The goalie realized his mistake and struggled to get back into position but it was too late. Caleb shot the puck through the air, his legs sliding out from under him as he watched the hunk of galvanized rubber sail toward to the net—

And hit the back with a satisfying whoosh that Caleb could hear over the echoing jeers of the crowd.

He bit back another smile as his teammates crowded around him, clapping him on the back. Jaxon leaned in close, something flashing in his eyes before he could blink it away.

"Nice shot. You should have passed it, though."

"No fucking way. He was ready for you."

"I would have gotten it in."

"I told you, no way." Caleb tapped him on the helmet and skated toward the bench, grabbing a towel to wipe his face as he took a seat. He looked up, watched the replay on the giant screen, and nodded when he saw the puck careen into the net in slow motion.

Ninety seconds later, the Banners made their way back to the locker room, cheering and celebrating their win. Coach Donovan pulled him to the side, leaning in close to be heard over the noise. Was that irritation in the coach's eyes? No, he was just seeing things, that was all.

"You're up for interviews, Johnson. Keep it simple. And humble. For fuck's sake, stay humble."

Caleb frowned, wondering what the hell the other man meant by that. He shook it off with a shrug then made his way to the outer locker room where interviews were conducted. A few reporters were already talking to Connelly, which gave him enough time to get his helmet and jersey and pads off. He ran one hand through his wet hair and dropped to the bench, a wide smile on his face as several reporters crowded around him.

"Johnson, how's it feel to be back in the game after being out for so long? Ankle giving you any issues? Are you at one hundred percent?"

Caleb glanced down at his ankle then looked back at the reporter with a bright smile he knew would look great on the cameras. "Well, it feels like it to me. We've got the coaching staff, the trainers—you know they're not going to let me back in before I'm ready. And you saw that last goal. Yeah, I'd say I'm a hundred percent."

"About that last goal—" Another reporter shoved a microphone at Caleb. "Why didn't you pass it to Miller? He was wide open, he would've made the shot."

Caleb swallowed his frustration, keeping his smile in place. "Yeah, he was wide open. But I was watching Anaheim's goalie, he was waiting for it. I had to make a quick judgment call. I saw the opportunity and I went for it. Any one of the other guys would have done the same thing."

"There were rumors earlier this season about some discontent in the locker room. That some of the guys weren't happy with what's been called your showboating. Any comment on that?"

Caleb tossed his head back and laughed, the sound low and deep and completely void of the frustration growing in his chest. He shook his head, ran a hand through his hair again, and kept on smiling. "Just rumors, I'm afraid. You guys know how it goes. And there's no showboating. We're a team, each of us giving two hundred percent every time we're on the ice."

He turned away from the reporter, using subtle body language to shut him down before he could ask any more questions. Another microphone appeared in front of him, the hand's owner speaking above the other voices to be heard.

"Speaking of rumors—any truth to the one about you being involved with the goalie of the Chesapeake Blades? With Shannon Wiley?"

Caleb had been wondering if someone was going to ask him about that, but he hadn't expected to hear the question here, in the locker room after a game. It didn't matter because he was prepared. He looked up at the reporter, knew that the cameras—both video and still—were focused on his crooked smile, on the dimple appearing in his cheek, on the teasing sparkle in his eyes. "Now you know a gentleman doesn't kiss and tell."

It was the perfect answer, drawing a chuckle from the surrounding crowd. The words admitted nothing while his expression hinted at something completely different. Would Shannon see or hear it? It didn't matter if she did or not, because he knew someone would definitely be telling her, one way or the other. It was just enough to force a reaction out of her—and he was pretty damn confident it would be the exact reaction he wanted. Sure, she'd be pissed at first. But after…yeah, he was looking forward to after, because he had no doubt she was interested. She just needed a little nudge, that was all. And if that didn't nudge her, he didn't know what else would.

"Speaking of the Blades, what are your thoughts about the exhibition game coming up in a few weeks?"

"We're looking forward to it. It's a great way to raise some money for charity, and it'll give us a chance to play a nice, relaxed game."

"So you're not worried about any real competition?"

Caleb choked back his laughter, turning it into a small cough. He covered his mouth with the back of one hand and quickly smothered his smile. The back of his neck itched with a faint tingle of warning and he reminded himself he needed to be careful with how he answered. Insulting Shannon and her team certainly wouldn't win him any points.

"I don't think any of us are looking at it as a competition. Like I said, we're doing this for charity. It'll be fun."

"So you don't think the ladies have a chance of winning?"

Christ, couldn't the guy move on to another question already? How many times did Caleb have to answer? His smile dimmed but he was careful to keep the edge from his voice when he spoke.

"Again, we're not playing to win. It's just a fun way to raise money, that's all." Caleb turned his attention to another reporter, eager for a change in topic, but the first guy wasn't quite ready to concede.

"The game might be a fundraiser but, if you had to bet, who would your money be on?"

Caleb turned back, his smile just a little forced, an irritated edge clear in his voice. "Well, if I was forced to bet, you know my money would be on the Banners. That's the only thing that makes sense, right? We're the professionals, after all—"

"So you're saying the Blades aren't a professional team?"

"No. Of course not. It's just—"

"Or is it because it's a women's team?"

"That's not what I said. All I meant was that—"

"So you don't think they have a chance at all, do you?"

"If we were really playing? I'd have to say no, I don't. The Blades are too new, too inexperienced. You can't even compare them to us—"

Coach Donovan appeared out of nowhere, placing his body between Caleb and the reporters. "Okay gentleman, that's all for now. We've got our postgame meeting then a flight to catch."

One by one, the reporters grabbed their gear and made their way out of the locker room. Caleb breathed a sigh of relief then bent down to undo his skates, pausing when he noticed that Coach Donovan hadn't moved. He looked up and felt another tingle of warning dance along his skin at the stormy expression on the coach's face.

"For fuck's sake, Johnson. What part of humble don't you understand? Do you have any idea what kind of shit storm you just caused?"

"I didn't—"

"Yeah, you did. Christ. Tomorrow's going to be a real treat."

"But—"

"I don't want to hear it. Just get your ass in the shower. And start thinking long and hard about how you can spin this when you get called on it tomorrow."

Caleb stared at the coach's retreating back, wondering why the hell the man was so convinced there was going to be a shit storm. Could Caleb have said things differently? Yeah, of course. But nothing he said had been bad. Not even close.

Which did nothing to explain why that tingle of warning was getting worse with each passing second.