Chapter 7—Empty Net

A day later and the day of the Sockeyes first home playoff game, Marina arrived at the SHAC at eight a.m., despite Coach Gorst telling his staff to come in late and get some rest. She’d laid low the day before, avoiding Drew at all costs, and worked with the guys who needed her the most. She couldn’t avoid him forever, though, and she continually caught herself searching for him in the crowd of practice jerseys at the opposite end of the ice.

Today she’d approach him as if he were any other player, because he couldn’t be that guy. They both knew it, and they’d both been fighting the cold, hard truth. No more. She resolved to keep their relationship strictly business despite their one slip-up.

The head coach was already in his office. He glanced up as Marina walked past his open door.

“Marina, join me for a cup of coffee.” He waved her in, unusually jovial for a man whose team had started the playoffs with two decisive losses.

Marina hesitated but stepped inside. She feared Coach might read on her face she had the hots for his up-and-coming star player who was currently struggling. She’d been tasked with helping Drew get his game back, not getting him naked.

“Have a cup and let’s talk.” He pointed to the Keurig on a small table.

Marina gratefully made a cup of coffee. She needed some serious caffeine this a.m. She’d barely slept a wink last night as her brain kept replaying the feel of his mouth on hers, hot and insistent and promising a smorgasbord of sexual gratification. Too bad she’d never be able to dine at that table.

Her thoughts would be safer if she directed them to how incredible skating with Drew had been. His eyes had lit up with joy, and she suspected he didn’t show much joy lately. Her body had shivered with excitement when he’d touched her, and in pairs figure skating there was a lot of touching. She wouldn’t be able to avoid it.

She was doomed. Thoughts of Drew had infiltrated her brain until she wanted to scream in frustration or admit defeat and cling to him as he sank deeply inside her and drove her to blissful completion.

Gah, this line of thinking had to stop.

She glanced at Coach, who regarded her quizzically. “Sit down, Marina.”

She sank into a plush chair near Coach’s desk, grateful for the support before her knees gave out.

“Have you had a chance to work with our project yet?”

“Project?” She blinked several times and fought to clear the mental fog.

“Drew.” Gorst cocked his head and watched her with interest. She hoped he couldn’t read minds, but some of his players swore he could.

“Yes, we worked on a routine. He catches on fast. Incredibly fast, in fact.”

“Drew is crazy talented. He’s the full package physically. Now if we can repair his emotional state and help him find his passion.”

“I’m not a miracle worker. I’m a figure skating coach.”

“Is he giving you a hard time?”

“Not at all. I think he enjoys it, not that he’d admit to anything.”

“He wasn’t all that good at practice yesterday or the optional skate this a.m. His timing is off. He seems lethargic. I hoped moving him to the second line would give him a needed kick in the ass. He almost seems worse.”

“I think he’s struggling with personal issues.”

“I’m fully aware of those personal issues. If the disruption continues, I won’t hesitate to remove any disruptive influence from this facility and the Sockeyes arena, and I don’t care if the offender is Wayne Gretzky.”

“Close, but not quite.”

Gorst grimaced, his expression grim. “Delacorte may be a hockey legend, but he’s overstepped his bounds too many times. Ethan’s patience is wearing thin, as is mine. Every time he shows up, which is often, Drew plays like shit, not to mention my staff and I being subjected to his armchair coaching.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what I can do.”

“I’m not asking you to do anything other than help him reconnect with his love of skating and hockey.”

“Assuming he ever had it.”

Gorst pursed his lips and rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s hope he did. The future of this franchise is riding on Drew’s back. He was drafted high to be the next star of this team. He showed promise the first few years up until his injury. I thought maybe his issues were related to that, but I suspect they go deeper. I’m worried he’s considering hanging up his skates. We can’t have that. We need a complete Drew on this team for now and into the future. You can help us with that. Show him how much skating and hockey truly means to him.

“I’ll try, but I don’t know that I’m the right person.”

“You’re exactly the right person. Be his friend. Give him someone to lean on. He’s been missing that.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Marina, if you can pull this off, you’ll have a permanent place with this team. Ethan’s said as much.”

Marina swallowed the last of her coffee and stood. “I’ll do my best.”

Gorst managed a sincere smile. “I know you will. Good luck. And if Stafford gives you any shit, you come to me. I’d be glad to take care of him.”

“Certainly.” She smiled and left the room. The last thing she’d do is go to Coach with anything related to Stafford. And Cassandra? Marina didn’t have a clue where she stood with her, especially after the weird conversation in front of the hotel elevators. Cassandra was a genuinely good person, so perhaps she’d moved on. Like Marina should do.

Only now she was coaching Cassandra’s son. What a weird, twisted world she lived in.

* * * *

Drew came to the arena early. His father had gone to the airport to pick up a friend. He wasn’t aware of Drew’s demotion to second string, though Drew had attempted to tell him multiple times. He texted him and asked him to meet outside the locker room before the game.

Drew had to catch him before the game. He couldn’t find out the hard way. Especially since one of the network announcers was an old teammate of Stafford’s, and Drew had heard his dad earlier on the phone with the guy bragging about Drew. Funny, he never said anything positive to Drew’s face, but he sure bragged him up to anyone who would listen. Of course, every remark was punctuated by Stafford’s belief he’d gotten Drew where he was today via DNA and hard work.

Surprisingly, several of Drew’s teammates were already in the locker room. The atmosphere was festive. Even though they’d lost the first two games, the guys weren’t down about it. Music was playing. Guys were kicking a soccer ball around in the hallway. Drew stopped to kick the ball with them a few times before entering the room. He was going to tape his sticks and check his skate blades.

He sat on the bench in front of his locker and shrugged out of his suit. He hated wearing suits. Getting dressed up for a minute walk from his car to the arena made no sense. Neither did wearing them for hours on a plane. The argument was it made the players look more professional. Whatevs.

Coop stopped at his locker and looked down at Drew. “Do you want me to talk with Ethan?”

Drew glanced up in confusion, his brain still on the business suit subject. “About wearing suits?”

Coop blinked a few times and squinted at him as if he’d lost his fucking mind. “Suits?”

“Uh, sorry. I was thinking about something else. You mean my being on second string?”

“Nah, not that. You have to work to earn your spot back.” Coop didn’t have the most patience, and he was getting visibly annoyed.

“Then what?”

“This ridiculous pairs skating exhibition.” Coop rolled his eyes, and a couple guys nearby chuckled.

“First, Brick does a figure skating routine with his daughter, which was cute by the way.” Ziggy paused and waited for the rest of the clowns in the group to utter an exaggerated ahhhhh. Some even clasped their hands to their hearts. “But now you’re doing a figure skating routine? Shit, when will it end?”

“Better him zan me,” Rush chortled. “I not look good in sparky stuff.”

“Sparky stuff? That’s sparkly. Sequins, stuff like that?” Ziggy asked.

“Yeah, I don’t like sea-queens, but I can skate.” Before Ziggy could respond, Rush grabbed his hand and yanked him to his feet. Ziggy recovered quickly, and the two clowns danced around the room in a crappy imitation of a pairs routine, leaping and spinning. The rest of the guys were in an uproar.

Drew threw a puck at Rush and pegged him in the back of the head. Rush whirled around and rubbed the spot, glaring at his teammate.

Coop stepped between them. “Don’t you have something better to do, Rush? How about getting onto the ice and working on your edges. I know Marina is waiting for you.”

Sheepish, Rush turned away, as did Ziggy. They slinked off like dogs being disciplined by their master. Smooth stood and tapped Drew on the back, winking at him.

“You would look hot in sea-queens.”

“Fuck you.” Drew chucked another puck in Smooth’s direction. He snagged it out of the air with one hand and made a show of juggling one puck. Matt threw him another, and he incorporated it into his performance. With the team’s attention turned elsewhere, Drew turned back to lacing his skates.

So, the cat was out of the bag. His teammates knew about his pairs skating routine. He could see a shit-ton of pranks coming, and it wouldn’t be pretty.

Moving Drew to the second line had been the team’s best kept secret outside the locker room. Yesterday’s practice had been closed, and the lineup hadn’t been released yet. Gorst loved to wait until the last minute.

He’d finished taping one stick by the time Smooth topped out at juggling four pucks. He needed to get some more tape from the training staff since the rest of his teammates had hogged the locker room supply.

When he walked out of the locker room to find a trainer, his father and Mack Morris, his dad’s buddy from his playing days and an announcer, were doing an interview near the locker room door.

When they took a break, Drew strode toward his father. “Dad, I need to speak with you in private.”

All smiles and basking in the attention, Dad waved him over. With feet of lead, Drew shuffled to his father’s side. Stafford threw a comradely arm around him as if they were the best of pals.

“Dad, we need to talk—”

“Not yet.” Stafford pulled him toward Mack.

Shit.

Drew didn’t want to do any pre-game interviews, and the coaches had protected him by not signing him up for any, but his father didn’t get that memo and wouldn’t have read it if he had.

“The most talented father and son to ever play hockey,” Mack commented into the mic. Stafford beamed, and Drew forced a smile.

“Drew, how are you feeling about the coach’s decision to move you to the second line?”

His father’s arm stiffened around him like a boa constrictor trying to squeeze the life out of its prey. Drew glanced at Stafford. His amiable smile was still plastered on his face, but he’d always been a good actor when necessary. He was truly pissed as hell.

“It’s a temporary setback. I’ve been in a slump lately, and the coaches made the right decision. I’m going to get my game back soon. When I do, I’ll be back on the first line.” Drew extracted himself from his father’s vise grip and put a few steps between them. “I need to get to my pre-game prep. Nice talking to you as always.”

Stafford’s eyes burned a crater in his back as he ducked into the training room. Resentment boiled inside him. He was fucking tired of being torn apart by his father’s endless criticism and guilt trips. If he could channel his fury into his game, maybe he’d be back on first line by the end of the first period.

Marina was coming out of one of the trainer’s offices where she had a desk and computer. She saw him and hesitated then continued forward until they were a few feet apart. The heavenly scent of her perfume wrapped around him and made him crave something he couldn’t have. And he wanted a lot, such as being somewhere private and buried deep inside her, forgetting all his troubles.

“Drew? Are you OK?”

He jerked his chin toward the door. “Dad’s outside being interviewed. He didn’t realize I’d been moved down to the second line until the announcer mentioned it.”

“Oh. That can’t be good.”

“It won’t be.” He’d explain, as if it’d do any good. Tomorrow he’d put his dad up in a hotel, pay for it himself, and take away his house key. He couldn’t concentrate on the playoffs with his father underfoot.

“I’m sorry.”

“I need to show my dad he can’t run my life anymore. It’s mine, not his. I just don’t want him to take out his anger toward me on you.”

She laughed. “I’ve dealt with a ton of asses in the past four years. I can handle him.”

Drew grinned at her as she walked away. His gaze dropped to her fine ass. He smiled wider.

“Wanna pick your tongue off the floor and mop up the drool?”

Drew spun around, knowing guilt was written across his face.

“You’re hot for her.” Smooth threw back his head and chortled. Drew hurried off before Smooth knew how close he was to the truth.

Whether it was seeing Marina standing behind the bench or his decision to cut his father out of a portion of his life, Drew played better. Not good enough to win his spot back, because Caveman was phenomenal. If he kept up that level of play, Drew would have to take his game to an entirely new level to unseat him.

The Sockeyes won by two to one thanks to Smooth and Coop, who scored a goal each with assists from Caveman. Drew held his own on the second line and had a few shots that barely missed the net.

Afterward, he took his time in the locker room showering and changing. He wanted to give his father time to disappear, and he was hoping for a chance to talk to Marina again. His phone vibrated, and he answered. He’d avoided this conversation too long.

“Hey, Dad. I’m sorry. I tried to tell you.”

Stafford waved him off. “We’ll discuss it later. A bunch of the guys are meeting me after the game for a beer. I want you to meet some of my old teammates.”

The last thing Drew wanted to do was spend the evening with drunken, retired hockey players reliving the glory days. His racked his brain for a way out, one his father would accept.

“Oh, I wish I’d known sooner. I have plans,” he blurted out before he could come up with a better idea.

“Plans? With who?” His dad sounded incredulous but hopeful. He’d most likely heard the gay rumors also, though he never brought them up.

“Marina. I’m giving her the low-down on some of the guys and their weaknesses. I’m running late. Catch you later.” Drew said the first female name that came to mind. Once the words were out, he couldn’t take them back. Feeling like the worst kind of chickenshit, he pressed the End button, turned off his phone, and stuffed it into his pocket. Stafford would be burning up the cell towers trying to call back.