Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (22 page)

“Let’s go.” He kept his eyes down, as if he had to watch his
step.

She didn’t move and he looked back. Fresh tears already slid
down her cheeks.

“Do you want me to go back to my apartment?” she asked.

Garrick sighed. He was hurting and a little pissed off about
it, but he wasn’t an asshole and he hadn’t lost sight of what was most
important to him. Even if it wasn’t reciprocated.

“I need you safe. Please come home with me.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She went to her desk, threw on her coat,
and grabbed a few files. “We need to get you in the bath and then stretch out
some of that damage.”

If that was what it took to get her home again, for however
long he could keep her there, he’d take it.

Three days later, Savannah opened her eyes as the last ring
of Garrick’s house phone faded away. She lay in a wash of warm sunlight, sprawled
across Garrick’s huge bed, feeling decadent and spoiled. It had to be after ten
o’clock. She smiled into the pillow and stretched all her aching and
love-bruised parts. She hadn’t slept this late since college.

The house phone rang again. She ignored it. Again.

Garrick was
definitely
feeling better and he’d proven
it last night, twice. And once more this morning. His torso still looked like
something out an episode of CSI, but his face was almost back to normal and his
hip, thank god, was doing far better than either of them had expected after the
fight. In fact, after thoroughly ravaging her this morning, he’d left for the
arena and practice. Mark and Rick had told him to stay home another day. She
and Garrick thought he’d be back on the ice for tomorrow night’s game, though
probably not for as much time as he’d normally play.

Savannah chuckled, thinking how much that would piss Garrick
off. He’d be back where he belonged within a week.

And so, sadly, would she. She forced the thought aside,
knowing full well it would crawl back to the top of her mind before long. It
was always there, hovering.

Connecticut. Mom and Dad.

In the meantime, she didn’t have anywhere to go. In fact,
she didn’t have anywhere she
could
go. Garrick, the sneaky bastard, had
caught her at a low moment this morning. Or maybe it was a high moment? Her
muscles had still been quivering with post-orgasmic joy. Her head still
swimming with the rush of pleasure that had only just roared through her body.
And her body still stretched with his thick cock jammed in her to the hilt as
they lay gasping on the bed. Of course she’d promised to stay home today while
he was out. How could she
not
have pledged to sleep in and relax and
worry about packing later that night?

Truth be told, she hadn’t been worrying about packing much
at all over the past few days. Instead she’d devoted herself to helping Garrick
mend and sending her resume to every professional sports team and college or
university athletics department she could find. She’d had some nibbles, but
nothing firm.

Mark had graciously let her out of her contract without
forcing her to trudge through two weeks—let alone the balance of the season—humiliated
at the hands of the Kramer family. The head trainer from the Université de
Moncton had agreed to help Steve until her replacement could be found.

She had Mark’s promise to put a positive spin on her sudden
departure to anyone who called seeking reference. One scandal in the far
reaches of New Brunswick wasn’t certain to spread across the entire sport, but
it wouldn’t shock her if it did. Scouts, management, players—it was a business
of networks, travel and keeping track of who was doing what. Once a rumor
caught on the wind, it could travel far and wide in little time.

Her best hope was to jump to a new gig as quickly as
possible. And regardless of how long her hunt lasted, she couldn’t stay in
Canada. She’d been granted her Canadian visa through a sponsorship—the Ice
Cats—and there weren’t many opportunities for new sponsorship in the area. She’d
looked.

The phone rang again and she eyed it. It was like Grand
Central Station around here today. She still didn’t answer it. It was Garrick’s
phone. What if it was his mother calling? Or his sister?

She’d spend the day finding a moving service. The Ice Cats
had paid for her relocation up here, but she was on her own to get back to
Connecticut.

She’d told her parents and brothers what had happened,
figuring it was better to hear it from her on their monthly Skype call than
through the grapevine. She’d barely convinced them not to come to New Brunswick
and inflict untold damage on the Kramers. Garrick had sat across the kitchen
table and outside the view of the camera, silently cheering her family on the
whole time she’d been trying to contain seven enraged hockey players—her dad
being the worst in the bunch, much to Garrick’s entertainment.

She rolled to the edge of the bed, loving and wincing at the
various aches and pains Garrick had left behind. Staggering to her feet, she
shuffled toward the bathroom. She was about to close the door behind her when
her cell phone buzzed on the bedside table. Sparing it a glance, she shrugged
and gave in to the call of the shower first. Whoever it was would leave a
voicemail if it was important.

Garrick sat in his car and stared down the alleyway behind
The Sugar Shack. His phone buzzed again and he checked to make sure it wasn’t
Savannah. Rhian. Sighing, he shoved the damn thing back into his pocket.

It was late morning, almost noon, and the bar wouldn’t open
until five. He’d been watching the back door for a couple hours now, noting the
people coming and going. The beer delivery seemed routine. The driver genuine.
The bar-backs hauling all the cases and kegs inside were just a couple of
college kids working their asses off, from the looks of them. Nothing nefarious
from what he could see.

But he hadn’t imagined that back room, and there was
definitely something more going on in the Sugar Shack then just prepping for a
night’s work. Robert Kramer had come and gone once this morning, not long after
seven people—none wearing the Sugar Shack’s uniform of a black t-shirt and
jeans—had arrived, each stopping to knock on the back door before quickly being
admitted by someone Garrick couldn’t see. He’d bet his left nut it was one of the
thugs he’d tangled with on his last visit to the Shack, and he cursed the
placement of the dumpsters that had forced him to plant himself at this end of
the alley. The view from the next street over would have been closer to the
door and he’d have been able to see who was acting as doorman, if it weren’t for
those damn dumpsters.

Not that he had any idea what he would do with the
information. Hell, he didn’t have anything even approaching a plan. All he knew
was he’d woken up this morning to Savannah’s soft body curled into his, her
smooth ass cheeks wriggling against his morning wood, and he’d known complete and
utter happiness, followed by mind-erasing bliss.

Then he’d returned to reality. And the rage.

He wanted the Kramers to
pay
. Savannah couldn’t stay,
and he wouldn’t ask her to even if he thought she would. She had worked too hard
to chuck her career for some soon-to-be-retiree. She was starting her career just
as his was coming to a stuttering halt.

He couldn’t change any of that. But goddamn it, he was going
to do his level best to see the Kramers didn’t get their heart’s desire—the Ice
Cats—either.

It only seemed fair.

Not to mention, it felt damn good to channel all his anger
into something, and if successful, that something would be good for his
friends, his teammates, and his hometown. The Kramers owning the team would be
a disaster. Preventing it would be just.

Maybe if he succeeded, the rest of it wouldn’t hurt so damn
much.

He caught a brief flash of color, movement, in the corner of
his eye and he brought his head around quickly, his hand reaching for the
ignition as he scanned the sidewalk and the street behind him. Nothing.

When, after five minutes of scanning the street, nothing and
no one had materialized, he let go of his key and relaxed back against the
seat. Glancing at his watch, he sighed. Staking out an alley was boring as hell,
and already he was imagining things in his rearview mirror. It was going to be
a long day.

Fortunately, he
could
sit here all day and no one
would miss him. He’d mentioned to Rhian he might be back to work today, but Mark
and Rick had told him he should wait another day or two. Not that he listened
to them. Savannah felt he was ready and he trusted her opinion above all others.

He’d left his house this morning with every intention of
proving Rick and Mark wrong. Of proving to Bobby Kramer he wasn’t down or out
of this fight. It would be satisfying to return to the ice before Bobby. Rumor
had it he had a couple more days of recovery, at least. Garrick had been
halfway to the arena, his mind churning with thoughts of the Kramers, when he’d
turned his truck for the city instead.

The only good news about his renewed obsession with the
Kramers and their dirty dealings was that while he was focused on that, he
couldn’t think about anything else.

It was a welcome respite. He wished he could drag it out,
keep his crusade alive until Savannah was done packing and had left Moncton
forever. Unfortunately, the league was eager to proceed, and Garrick had to act
fast if he was going to make this work.

He considered the odds of him being able to slip in the back
hallway and get pictures of the room he’d seen. Only, the bar didn’t open for
hours. Maybe he could sneak in the back when some of the staff or back office
workers started to come and go.

He glanced at his watch again. The five minutes that had
passed since he’d last checked the time might have been the longest five
minutes of his life. Settling deeper into his seat, he told himself to relax
and keep his eyes on the door.

His phone started in again and he yanked it from his pocket.
Rhian. He never should have told him he’d be back today. At least it wasn’t Savannah.
She was going to be pissed if he left her trapped at the house all day and
night. Maybe he’d call Rhian back later, when he would be off the ice after
practice, and see if he’d go keep Savannah company. Maybe even take her to her
place to pack.

Yeah, making that Rhian’s job suddenly seemed like a great,
if totally cowardly, idea.

Savannah took a long, leisurely shower, and let the hot
water and Garrick’s soap—a smell now forever branded in her memory—work its
magic on her sore body. When her skin had finally pruned to the point she could
no longer feel things with her fingertips, she shut off the water and wrapped
herself in one of his big, fluffy towels.

She loved this house. He’d made it a home. One she’d been
more comfortable in than any other since she’d left her parents’ home to go to
college. She brushed out her hair and took the time to dry it thoroughly. It
had been her routine to tie her wet hair up into an unforgiving knot each morning.
Now that she was unemployed, she relished having the time to blow it dry and the
freedom to keep it loose around her shoulders.

By the time she stepped back into the bedroom, she was ready
to tackle another round of job hunting online. She scooped up her phone and
pressed the button for voicemail.

“Hello, Savannah. This is Brian with the Boston Bruins Human
Resources Department. I’m pleased to be calling you regarding an offer for the
Head Athletic Trainer position here in Boston. Please call me at…”

With a low growl, Garrick yanked his phone from his pocket
and hit the answer button. “Dude, shouldn’t you be at practice?”

Silence stretched until Rhian’s low voice replied, “Shouldn’t
you?”

Shit.

Thinking quickly, Garrick put the phone to his other ear and
turned to keep an eye on the alley. He’d seen four big men go into the bar a
few minutes ago and hoped something interesting was going to happen.

“No. I decided to sit it out one more day,” he said,
cringing at how inauthentic he sounded.

Based on the long pause, Rhian didn’t buy it. “What are you
doing?”

“Nothing.” He fought the urge to bang his head against the
steering wheel. He still lied like a fourteen year old. “I’m home.”

“Yeah? Why aren’t you answering your phone?”

“I was in the shower,” he said.

“For the past three hours?”

“Dude, what are you, my mother?”

Rhian didn’t say anything and Garrick scowled at his own reflection
in the window. The kid sure knew how to make him feel like a jerk.

“It’s nothing, Rhian. Just some shit I’m looking into.”

The back door swung open and the four men came out again,
moving swiftly to the SUV parked at the other end of the alley. Garrick shifted
in his seat, craning his neck to see their faces. He considered starting up the
truck and following them, but let it go when they quickly pulled away and drove
toward the highway.

Too late now.
He was trying very hard not to be
irritated with Rhian.

“Garrick—”

“Look, I have to go.” He tried to sound like he was just
busy and not pissed about sitting in his freezing cold truck for another couple
hours because Rhian had forced him to miss his first attempt at tailing the bad
guys. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Garr—”

He hung up on his friend. He felt pretty bad about it too,
but there was no way he was going to tell Rhian a damn thing. Not that he
didn’t trust the guy—hell, Rhian was the only one on the team who knew about
him and Savannah, and even
she
was cool with that—but dragging him into
this mess would be the worst thing Garrick could do.

His phone vibrated again and he shoved it back in his
pocket, stretched his cramped legs as best he could, then settled back to watch
the dirty alley do nothing some more.

He really needed to work on his plan.

Savannah sat at the kitchen island and stared out the back window
at the barren winter fields, trying to wrap her head around the fact that she
was due in Boston in a week.

It had to be the single biggest moment of her professional
career. A top ten moment in life.

So why did she feel like crying?

She was so lost in her thoughts, she didn’t think anything
of the sound of a car crunching over the gravel in the driveway, the slam of
the heavy car doors. She heard these sorts of noises all day while in town. When
the doorbell chimed, she started, sloshing hot tea over her hand.