Chapter Nine

Legs stretched, muscles burned, lungs struggled to pull in air. Aaron clenched his jaw and pushed through it, ignoring the pain, forcing his body forward.

Move. Move, dammit.

He bent at the waist and slid right, pain shooting through his knee with the move. He forced the pain to the back of his mind and reached around with his stick, shoving at the puck. His blade tipped it, sending it sliding to the left and earning him a hard elbow in the ribs for his efforts. He ignored the hit, ignored the way his breath left in a sharp hiss, and spun around. He jabbed his elbow behind him, catching the player from Syracuse in the side, then took off up the ice.

Just a little bit of payback.

Jason moved forward with the puck, dodging to the left, crossing into the zone. Aaron was right behind him, Harland to his right, racing to get into position.

"Emory!" Aaron called Jason's name and tapped his stick against the ice, the clacking sound muted and hollow. Jason pivoted, shot the puck toward Aaron, a perfect pass against his tape. He moved forward, his mind registering the activity exploding around him. Syracuse's d-man, coming in hard and low. Harland, spinning around and getting into position. Syracuse's goalie, already anticipating Harland's shot as he slid to the right, dropping to one knee.

And Jason, wide open on the left. Aaron tightened his grip on the stick, flicked his wrist, and sent the puck straight to Jason's tape. The other man turned and shot, sending the puck straight to the top shelf.

Something heavy crashed into Aaron from behind, sending him sprawling face-first as the blare of the horn ripped through the cheers filling the arena. He got to his knees, moving slower than he wanted, then jumped to his feet, his stick and gloves already flying. The ref was there before he could throw the first punch, pulling him back as Harland and Jason and Ben and Dustin Rios rushed to his defense, ready to join in the fight.

But there was no fight, because the ref had acted too quickly, stopping it before they got the chance to start.

"Stupid fuck." Aaron muttered the words under his breath as he shot a stream of spit to the ice. And okay, maybe the words were louder than they should have been because the idiot from Syracuse spun around, ready to charge him again. Aaron just laughed, collecting his gear from Harland before making his way to the bench.

The kid was new, playing his first year, and had been trying to prove himself the entire game. Prove what, Aaron had no idea. He was hitting too late, anticipating the wrong moves, waiting too long to pass or take a shot. Yeah, it was the first game of the season, there was plenty of time to smooth the rough edges. But if the kid had dreams of getting called up—and Aaron knew he did, hell they all did, that's what they were here for—then he needed to work a little harder on finessing those rough edges.

He slid to a stop in front of Syracuse's bench, jabbing Scotty Wells on the side of the arm. He was another old-timer, just like Aaron. Fuck, probably older. They had played together for two seasons in Buffalo, a lifetime ago.

"Your boy needs to work on his timing."

"Yeah, no shit." Scotty leaned to the side and spit, then grinned at Aaron, revealing a hole where his front tooth had once been. "Noticed he still put you on your ass, though. Old man."

"Not as old as you. Or as fucking ugly."

"Yeah. Says who?"

"Your wife."

Scotty threw his head back and laughed, then reached out and bumped Aaron's fist with his own. "We'll catch up later."

"Sounds good." Aaron skated forward and pushed through the door of the Bombers' bench, resting his stick against the boards behind him and reaching for a water bottle. A sharp pain shot through his side and he winced, straightening with a hiss.

Travis Bankard slid closer, his brow lowered in concern. "You okay, Pops?"

"Yeah, fine." Aaron yanked at his jersey and pulled it up, craning his neck to study his side. A bruise was already forming, mottling the flesh along his lower rib cage. He gently poked at it with the tips of two fingers, pushing and prodding around his ribs, lower along his side, back up again. Didn't feel like anything was broken. That was always a positive sign.

He let the hem of the jersey fall back into place then accepted the water bottle Travis held out to him. He took a long swallow, his gaze meeting Coach Torresi's. The other man moved toward him, his green eyes carefully blank.

"Everything good?"

"Yeah."

"Need tape?"

Aaron glanced at the scoreboard and noted the time. "It can wait."

"You going to be pissing blood?"

"Don't think so."

Torresi nodded, the motion short and efficient. "Let me know if anything changes."

Aaron nodded then turned his attention back to the game. They were just over a minute away from the end of the second period, and the Bombers were still two ahead on the board. Not a bad start for their first game.

And not a bad way to impress Savannah. Maybe. The woman knew absolutely nothing about hockey so she might not be impressed at all.

He resisted the urge to look around for her, figuring he'd catch even more shit from the guys if he did. He had let it slip earlier that he had a guest here tonight, that she might be joining him at Mystic's after the game. From the stunned looks he received, you'd think he had just announced that Mr. Hockey himself had been resurrected and was coming to York to be their new coach. And Christ, if he had known it was going to be that bad, he would have never said a word.

The horn sounded again, long and loud, signaling the end of the period. Aaron rose to his feet with everyone else and grabbed his stick, waiting to follow the rest of the team back through the tunnel. He shifted his gaze to the left, trying to study the crowd without being obvious about it. It didn't matter because he couldn't see a damn thing, not with the way everyone was standing and moving around, heading out to the concourse for refreshments or to use the bathroom, or whatever the hell else people did during intermission.

The interrogation started near the end of the intermission, after Torresi had given them his usual spiel, after cuts had been bandaged, ice packs handed out, and Aaron's ribs had been taped. He felt like he was holding court, right there from the bench as he pressed his arm against his side and willed the pain to go away.

Six of the guys hovered around him, curiosity mingled with concern as they watched him holding his side. Well fuck, did he look that bad?

He dropped his arm and eyed his teammates, wondering if he should just draw fucking numbers to see who went first. It didn't reach that point because Jason broke the ice by jumping right to the point.

"Okay, Pops. Who's this date and why haven't we heard about her?"

Aaron blinked, ready to shake his head at the stupid question. Zach beat him to it by elbowing Jason in the side hard enough to cause the other man to stumble. "You are fucking stupid. You know that, right?"

"What?"

"Are you really that unobservant? It's his neighbor, you stupid fuck."

"His neighbor?"

"Yeah. Remember her? You should, you fucking walked in on them at Aaron's house this summer."

Recognition finally flared in Jason's pale eyes, a quick grin spreading across her face. "So you guys are together now? Cool."

Aaron swallowed back his choked laughter and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. One of these days, things would finally click for Jason. Until then, Megan had her hands full.

"We're not together. I just got her tickets for the game tonight, that's all."

"If that's all, why are you bringing her to Mystic's?"

Aaron glanced to his right, his gaze meeting Travis' solemn one before sliding away. "I just invited her along. You guys are reading too much into it."

"Bullshit, I know better." Zach dropped to the bench beside him then leaned forward, stretching his back with a few sharp pops. "What about the girls? You're not actually going to bring them to Mystic's, are you? I mean, I don't think you can. It's a bar."

"Isabelle and Brooke are home. My mom's watching them." He still felt a little guilty about that, and probably would have changed his plans if his mother hadn't insisted. Brooke had been throwing a fit about coming tonight anyway, telling him every chance she got that hockey was stupid and she didn't want to waste a Saturday night watching him play some stupid game.

Yeah, because spending it in her room was so much more exciting.

Isabelle had been the one who was disappointed—until he gave her a choice between staying up late and going to the game tonight, or going down to DC tomorrow. The Air and Space Museum had won, hands down.

But yeah, he still felt a little guilty. Would it always be this way? His gaze slid to Harland, the only other guy on the team with a kid.

Harland looked up, one brow raised. "What?"

Aaron shook head. No, he wasn't going to ask Harland now, not in front of everyone else.

Ben nudged his skate against Aaron's own, pulling his attention from Harland. "So this is your first date in how long?"

"Are you kidding? They didn't have dates when Pops was growing up." Banky started laughing at his own joke, the laughter dying in his throat when everyone just stared at him. His ears turned red and he looked away, mumbling to himself.

"It's not a date."

"Yeah? Then what do you call it?"

"We're just getting together for drinks. That's it."

"Really?" Zach's voice was filled with doubt. "Bullshit. If you wanted to get together for drinks, you'd take her somewhere else. But you're taking her to Mystic's. With us. That's a date. Hell, it's more than a date, that's like declaring your intentions. And you know it, so don't go bullshitting us. Or yourself."

"Guys, it's not—" Aaron snapped his mouth closed, frowning as he worried about saying too much. Oh, fuck it. These guys were his family, as much as his daughters were. "It's not that simple. I'm divorced. I'm still adjusting to taking care of two daughters I barely know. Savannah doesn't want to get in the middle of shit like that. No woman would."

"Then why are you bringing her tonight?"

"Like I said, it's just drinks. Nothing else."

Aaron didn't have to worry about trying to convince anyone he was telling the truth, because Coach Torresi poked his head around the corner, a frown creasing his chiseled face. "You lazy fuckers going to get out there and play? Or are we just going to call it a night and let Syracuse go home with the win?"

Activity exploded inside the locker room as everyone grabbed their gear and headed out, Aaron and Zach the last two in line. Aaron was just ready to step onto the ice when Zach grabbed him, his dark gaze too intense.

"You know I call bullshit, right?"

"Doesn't matter, Mummy. It's just drinks. Nothing more." Aaron pulled his arm from Zach's grip and headed toward center ice, knowing the other man didn't believe the words any more than he did.