KEEPING MY HANDS to myself around Natalie, the way I’d promised I’d do, might actually kill me. Especially now that Carter was on a flight back home to be with his mother, so Snoopy was the only potential road block remaining.
Other than my own conscience, at least. Which meant that my conscience was the only road block, because Snoopy didn’t want to get between us unless it meant getting snuggles from both of us at once. It would be way too easy to just close a door and leave Snoopy on the other side of it.
And since I now knew that Natalie wanted to take things between us to another level, possibly even as much as I did, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be able to hold out. Yes, I knew she needed more time. She recognized it, too, if she slowed down for long enough to think things through.
She had started speaking with a trauma therapist and a sexual assault counselor in her biweekly rehab sessions at the hospital, at least, so she had other people who could help her recognize that she might be getting in over her head. But even with counseling and therapy, it was still so soon for Natalie to be thinking about jumping into a physical relationship with anyone.
I was afraid she was just walking into the first open arms she could find, and they happened to be mine.
Now, if she needed me to be her rebound, I’d do it in a heartbeat—I’d be whatever she wanted me to be. But if that was what happened between us, if I was nothing more than the guy she felt safe enough with to get her mojo back, it’d be hell on me when she moved on.
Because I wanted this to be more. I was falling for her, and I was falling hard.
Maybe the guys were right and I was just a big softie, someone who picked up random strays and took them home with me.
I’d done it with Snoopy, after all. He and I were kindred spirits.
And in a way, Natalie and I were kindred spirits, too. I didn’t think this connection I felt with her was solely because I’d been through an experience similar to what she’d been through, though. There was something bigger between the two of us. Something that ran deeper than the surface. We both felt it, and that had to be what had drawn her to seek out a physical component to our relationship.
If I ended up with a broken heart, so be it. I was an adult; I could take it. After all I’d been through, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that I could deal with whatever life threw at me. I was strong enough that I could take a metaphorical beating easily as well as I could take a physical one, and still get up and move on with my life.
It’d rip me to shreds for a while if Natalie wanted to move on—maybe a very long while—but I’d survive it.
The problem was, I didn’t want to survive it. Not if it meant watching Natalie walk away, once the danger had been dealt with, once she had healed both physically and emotionally.
It might be more than I cared to handle. I’d do it, though.
She could use me for whatever she needed me for, and then I’d let her go. I had to, or I’d be no better than Lennon and his friends, no better than my own father. So even if it ripped out my heart to let her walk away, I’d do it.
With even a smidge of luck, I wouldn’t have to face that fear.
I just had to stand my ground about not jumping into bed with her so soon. I wasn’t sure how I could be certain when she was ready, but I knew it wasn’t now.
We had a game tonight against the Red Wings. I’d already taken my pregame nap and was starting to get ready to head up to the arena when my phone buzzed with a text message.
Carter: Mrs. K said play good 2nite but not too good cuz the Wings need to do better this year.
Mrs. Kuchner, otherwise known as Mrs. K, was Carter’s second-grade teacher this year. I chuckled to myself and shot off a response.
Me: Tell Mrs. K that the Wings can survive a loss this early in the season. We’re going to try to win.
Carter: She said you can beat every1 else, just not the Wings.
Me: I can make no promises.
Carter: Just let Larkin score a goal, kay? He’s her favrite.
Me: Not sure Hunter will agree to that, but I’ll see what I can do.
He seemed to find that answer acceptable, because he let it drop. But I had no intention of asking Hunter to let in any goals, regardless of who was shooting them.
Natalie was just coming back from rehab when I headed out into the living room. She had Tallie and Harper accompanying her. Harper ran straight over to Snoopy and hugged him around the neck. Good thing that dog loved being loved. He licked her face and they collapsed together onto the floor to roll around; she giggled and he barked like a loon.
Tallie shot her eyes skyward and shook her head.
“Maybe you should get her a puppy of her own,” I suggested.
“Hunter wants to get her a baby brother or baby sister of her own. I think we’ll start there.”
“Dogs are easier than kids,” I pointed out.
“True. But kids eventually deal with their own poop. Dogs just like to eat it.”
“They don’t all eat poop. Snoopy doesn’t,” I said, laughing, but my eyes were on Natalie.
She headed for the kitchen. When she came back a moment later, she set a bottle of water on the coffee table before propping her crutches against the side of the couch and settling in. “I would’ve offered to bring some for everyone, but I only have so many hands.”
“We can all get our own,” I replied.
With a shy nod, she took a moment to situate a pillow under her broken leg, then finally leaned back and relaxed.
“You need me for anything else right now?” Tallie asked.
“You’ve already done more than enough,” Natalie said, shaking her head.
“London’s picking you up later for the game?”
“Yes, I’m riding in with London and Erik.”
“Then I’ll see you tonight.” Tallie extracted her daughter from climbing all over Snoopy, and a moment later, they were gone.
Snoopy watched out one of the front windows, barking when the car backed out of the driveway. Then he rushed back into the living room and jumped onto the couch next to Natalie, draping his head across her lap.
Damn if I didn’t want to do exactly the same thing.
Especially when she stroked his head, almost absentmindedly. In no time, his tongue was lolling out of his mouth, and he rolled onto his back with his belly in the air, his tail wagging between his legs, and she automatically started rubbing his belly.
Yeah, I’d be toast if she stroked me that way. Lucky fucking dog.
“What?” she asked, dragging me out of my stupor.
I shot my gaze up to meet her eyes, finding an unanticipated heat there. “Just thinking about you touching me like that,” I admitted.
“You’re the one who said we have to wait.”
“I know it. Doesn’t mean I don’t want it, though.”
Natalie bit her lower lip and looked down at my kid’s dog, putting even more effort into rubbing his belly. His back legs started doing an out-of-control shimmy-shake, which meant she’d found exactly the right spot.
“He’ll love you forever if you keep rubbing him exactly like that for the next hour or two,” I said.
“What about you?” Natalie’s eyes flashed over to meet mine for just a second before focusing on Snoopy again. “Would you love me forever if I rubbed you a certain way?”
She didn’t need to rub me for that to happen.
TO MY FRUSTRATION, Mrs. K got her wish two times over by halfway through the third period. Larkin and his linemates were already spilling over the boards again; he was on the hunt for a hat trick.
Prince and I needed to get off the ice for a line change, but the Wings had us trapped in our own defensive zone. Every time we thought we were going to clear out the puck for long enough to dive over the boards and get some fresh legs on the ice, the Wings’ D somehow got it past our forwards and back into our defensive zone before even a single one of my teammates could get off for a change.
Larkin skated straight for the net, but one of his linemates had the puck and headed for the corner with it. Prince followed that guy, trying to knock the puck free, so I stayed in front of Hunter at the net, doing everything I legally could to get Larkin away from my goaltender.
No matter how many times I shoved his body, the fucker kept coming back like an annoying gnat. I pushed him hard in the back, finally getting him to move a few inches away from my goaltender’s crease.
He shifted to the side, calling me a few choice words.
I whacked at his ankles with the blade of my stick.
He glanced over to see where the ref was before jabbing backwards with his elbow to get me off him.
They finally cleared the puck out of the corner, but the Wings controlled it, so we were still stuck.
The Wings’ defensemen passed it from point to point, setting up for a slapshot.
It flew toward the mass of bodies that was Larkin, Hunter, and me.
Larkin just got the toe of his blade on the puck before I got my stick in the way, angling the puck away. Hunter got his glove on it just enough that the puck clanged off his pipe and squirted back out into the pile of bodies now converging on his crease.
I managed to trip and make it look accidental, taking Larkin down beneath me. Sometimes it paid to be big. No call on the play, thank fuck, and Frisky—otherwise known as Viktor Frisk, our Swedish top-line center—managed to get past all the Wings on the ice and corral the puck to prevent an icing call on the play.
I skated off the ice and chugged some water while the coaches shouted contradictory orders at us. Prince rolled his eyes at me when they headed down the line to yell at someone else. He didn’t need to say anything; his eyes said it all.
“Exactly,” I muttered.
The clock and the heat were the only things working in our favor right now. The Wings players weren’t accustomed to playing in the kind of temperatures we’d been dealing with, and it was starting to take its toll on them. They were looking sluggish, and they weren’t getting as much oomph on their shots as they had earlier in the night.
On our next couple of shifts together, Prince and I did a better job of keeping the play to the outside, so Hunter had a good view of the puck at all times. He made a couple of spectacular diving saves, and then I managed to skate the puck down to the other end of the ice.
I passed it off to Prince, who had a clear lane to the Wings’ net and one of our forwards streaking into position to tip in his shot. He wound up for a slapper and somehow got it through all the bodies coming together without needing any assistance. It was his goal—no doubt about it. Our goal light went off and the horn sounded, and then the arena erupted into a tribal war chant.
“Fucking right,” I said, slapping him on the back of the shoulder while the rest of our teammates converged to dogpile on top of him.
We were still losing the game, and Larkin might still come away with a fucking hat trick if we weren’t careful—but we weren’t going to be shut out tonight.
One thing at a time.
BEFORE IT WAS all said and done, Prince had scored again, tying the game to make it interesting.
Neither he nor Larkin had come away with a hat trick, but the Wings had managed to win it all in overtime on a sneaky Nyquist backhander that had slipped past Hunter on a breakaway. But Prince had come insanely close to scoring a third goal with only seconds to spare in the third period, which would have made him the first player in the history of the Thunderbirds franchise to accomplish such a feat.
Because of that, all the reporters in the arena wanted a piece of him—which was essentially his worst nightmare.
I’d already finished showering and dressing after the game, but he still had a swarm of cameras surrounding his stall—many of them from the regular Detroit sports press. Since my stall was near his, I listened in so I could lend him a hand if necessary.
“What’d you think of the way your teammates kept getting you the puck there at the end of regulation?” one of them asked.
Prince shrugged and took a moment. “Thought they wanted to help.”
Short and sweet—that was how he usually kept his responses.
“When Mrazek went down with only about twenty seconds left in the game, what were you thinking?” another asked.
“Th-thought shoot hard.”
“That’s it?” the same guy asked with a smirk in his tone. “Shoot hard?”
A few of the others surrounding Prince laughed. Fuckers.
“Yeah. Shoot hard.”
I dragged a towel over my wet hair, listening intently. Most people didn’t know that the reason Prince didn’t tend to talk much was because he had a bit of a stutter. And frankly, I didn’t know it; I had always just assumed it, which, admittedly, was probably not the best way to get my information. But he seemed to be growing more and more agitated, and that wasn’t likely to help if my assumptions were correct.
Then some jackass I’d never seen before spoke up. “Travis, there’s been a lot of talk around the league about the Thunderbirds name. What do you think about your team being named after one of the native tribes in Oklahoma? Isn’t it degrading and demeaning? Should there be a call for the name to be changed?”
That did it. I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to these sons of bitches for one second longer. I shoved my way in and stood next to my teammate, who was blinking in shock over the question, and I crossed my arms in an intimidating stance.
“First off, who wants to know what we think about the team name?” I bit off.
A couple of the reporters snickered and pointed at one guy near the front of the pack.
“You?” I asked, nodding toward the one they’d indicated.
I recognized him from growing up in Michigan. He’d been covering the Red Wings for a long time for one of the local papers. I’d always thought he was an ass, but this confirmed it.
He gave me a sheepish look, but he nodded. “I just thought you boys might have something to say about denigrating a people by making a mockery of them.”
“Yeah, so here’s a clue for you. Thunderbirds aren’t a people. They’re not a tribe. They’re not a nation or whatever. They’re a symbol, or maybe a god or some other sort of deity, depending on who you ask. But they’re not a people, all right? So do your research before you go on the attack next time. And furthermore, you might try looking into what the Supreme Court has to say about team names like the Seminoles, the Indians, the Red Skins, and whatnot. There’s been a ruling. A recent one, even. They say it’s fine. But whether the Supreme Court agrees with it or not, an athlete plays for the team that signs him—end of story. Fucking idiot,” I finished under my breath, but it was loud enough that Prince shot a look over at me and had to fight to keep from laughing.
Which meant it was loud enough for all the microphones around me to pick up.
Which meant I might be facing a fine with the league.
And probably with the team, too. Mrs. Jernigan wouldn’t be too happy about that one, at the very least. I doubted ponying up a fine for the team’s swear jar would be enough to mollify her this time.
It didn’t matter that almost everyone in the room was laughing. I’d stepped over the line. That much was evident by the reporter’s red face of fury staring back at me through the sea of faces.
“Funny,” the guy said. “Really funny, especially coming from a guy who likes to throw around baseless accusations of assault. Did you know your father’s getting involved in the case involving your teammate?”
“Former teammate,” I bit off.
“Mr. Lennon’s been wrongly suspended. I’m sure the suspension will be lifted once the team and the league are aware of the truth and all of this has been cleared up, which your father is helping to do. But he might just choose to sue you after that—defamation of character or something.”
I bit my tongue because otherwise I might have bitten the guy’s head off then and there. But that wouldn’t help anything. Especially not with every other reporter suddenly leaning in, hoping to catch every little word they could.
“Did any of the rest of you guys have any questions for the Prince, here?” I asked, trying to deflect the attention off myself and put it back on my teammate, who’d been the only one on our side to score. He deserved to see a bit of the limelight after the night he’d had. And this was supposed to be about hockey, not about me and my father and Hayes Fucking Lennon.
One of them was quick to rescue me. “How’d it feel to have your first two-goal game in the National Hockey League?” a reporter near the back of the pack asked, and I dipped my head and left them to it. Prince could handle himself well enough from here.
When I got back to my stall, Spurs was waiting for me.
“The fuck were you thinking?” he bit off.
I shrugged. “Guess I wasn’t.”
“That much is clear. Gary’s already on a call with the league.”
Gary Asher was the team’s general manager.
“Will I be suspended?”
“Definitely fined. I don’t think the league can do more than that, according to the current Collective Bargaining Agreement—depends on what they decide to call it, possibly—but you’re getting a fine no matter what. You can’t spout off like that in front of reporters.”
I nodded. I could accept that.
“The team’ll fine you, too,” he added.
“Mrs. J will insist on it, even if you weren’t going to already.”
Spurs chuckled. “That she will.” But then he dropped his voice and leaned in conspiratorially. “Off the record, I would have had a hard time not decking the guy, so you did well just to curse at him. But don’t do it again.”
“Noted,” I said, and I went back to changing my clothes.
He left, heading over to listen in on the rest of the Q&A session.
A few minutes later, Prince was finally relieved from talking to the press. He shuffled over to his stall, tucking his long hair behind his ear since it kept falling forward into his face. “Thanks,” he said quietly.
I shrugged. “Nothing to thank me for. He’s an ass and an idiot. I pointed it out. End of story.”
“But y-you didn’t h-have to—” Prince cut himself off, and he took a moment to collect his thoughts. “Just thanks,” he finally finished, speaking slowly and staring down at the gear he was taking off.
I nodded and slapped him on the shoulder. Something told me the guy could use a hug, but he wouldn’t take it well if I drew him in for a bro hug in the middle of the locker room—especially not with all the cameras and reporters still lurking. A shoulder slap would have to do for the time being.
But now, I wanted to get out of there so I could collect Natalie and head back to the house. We hadn’t spoken since she’d talked about rubbing me in a certain way and wondering if I’d love her forever. I hadn’t given her an answer then.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure she was ready for my answer. Lord knew I wasn’t. But the truth was, I might already be in love with her, and it had nothing to do with her touching me physically.
She’d touched me deeper than that, somewhere in the darkest, ugliest depths of my soul, where all the hurt and anger couldn’t touch me, but somehow her goodness and light made its way through the darkness. And there’s no going back once something like that happens. Not that I wanted to go back.
I was a goner when it came to Natalie.
A lost cause.
Toast.
And I was perfectly okay with that.