Las Vegas Sidewinders: Dominic
Read Las Vegas Sidewinders: Dominic Online
Authors: Kat Mizera
LAS
VEGAS SIDEWINDERS:
DOMINIC
(BOOK 1)
By
Kat Mizera
Copyright @2016 by Kathy
Mizera, all rights reserved
All rights reserved. No part
of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including
internet usage, without written permission from the author, except in the case
of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
These are works of fiction.
Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s
imaginations or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons,
living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design: Dar Albert,
Wicked Smart Designs
The Las Vegas Sidewinders
became a reality in my head years ago, long before there was ever any talk of
bringing a real NHL expansion team to Las Vegas, simply because I love hockey
and I love Las Vegas. The characters I created are a conglomeration of every
hockey player I’ve ever met, watched play or read about, with a touch of all
the things we love (and hate) about men in general. The casual references made
to players like Carey Price, who really plays in the NHL, are only meant to
bring a sense of context to the story for people who know the sport. I tried to
be extremely careful with the frames of reference so that it never impacts real
games that were played or their records. I do apologize for changing the
winners of the Stanley Cup in the years that the Sidewinders do it because,
when it’s all said and done, this is fiction and it’s supposed to be fun!
Special thanks to the
Florida Panthers, who made me fall in love with hockey in 1993—you’ll always be
my #1 team!
This book wouldn’t have been
a reality without my husband, Kevin, whose insight into the sport pales in
comparison to his insight of me. All the long nights of writing that left me
asleep while he got up with the kids for school, listening to me describe a
scene and giving me a comeback line, and most of all, reminding me that I could
do this. I love you, babe.
For my parents—who gave me
the heart, support and love to believe I could do anything.
For Mary Bevilacqua, my high
school English teacher, who started me on the road to being a writer and gave
me the foundation for all things written. You are forever my mentor and friend.
For my besties—Jodie, Lisa,
Christine and Tasha—who always have my back and whose faith in me never
wavered. Who listened and laughed and pushed my limits. My partners in crime. I
look forward to the next adventures!
BIG thanks for Jodie for her
expert editing and endless advice.
Nothing would have been
finished on time if it hadn’t been for my trusty assistant, Lisa Sealey. Thank
you for your hours of research and the thankless job of keeping me organized.
Really, nothing would have gotten done without you!
And very special thanks to
Joanna Campbell Slan who took me under her wing and helped make this dream a
reality. Her friendship, insight and willingness to help made all the
difference in the world. I could not have done this without you!
March 2012
There were ten
minutes left in the game and Nashville was down 2-1. The Montreal Canadiens
were playing hard tonight and Dominic Gianni watched the game unfolding on the
ice with a practiced eye. His team, the Nashville Predators, needed this win,
and Montreal wasn’t going to make it easy. As the clock slowly wound down, Dom
felt the usual surge of adrenalin that came with knowing he would be on the ice
in another minute or so and that it would be up to him to make something
happen.
He watched the
Canadiens’ rookie forward Bobby Thomas skating up the ice fast, chasing one of
the Predators. The two were neck and neck when Thomas stole the puck just
before they reached the goalie.
Skating back in the
other direction, Thomas headed towards the Predators’ goal with two of the
Predators on his tail and Dom clenched his jaw as he watched the rookie closing
in on the goalie. Just as Thomas was winding up to shoot, Nashville’s captain
got the puck away from him and turned to head in the opposite direction.
Frustrated, Thomas wheeled and threw an elbow into the goalie’s face, sending
him sprawling.
“Are you kidding me?”
Dom was on his feet, yelling at the refs who’d missed the illegal hit. Their
goalie was still on the ice with the trainers tending to him and the backup
goalie was already warming up: a tall Canadian named Rob Rousseau. The backup seemed
like a stellar guy and teammate, though Dom didn’t know him very well.
“Go get him, Gianni!” the
coach shouted. Dom leapt onto the ice and joined Rob skating out to the net.
“That hit was bullshit,” Rob
groused under his breath.
Dom nodded. “Don’t worry—I
got this.” He exchanged glances with Thomas, who arched an eyebrow at him, as
if inviting him to make a move. Dom mentally shook his head; rookies were way
too cocky these days. Barely 20 years old, Thomas should have been a little
more respectful; Dom would make sure he learned that.
The ref dropped the puck,
and Dom watched Thomas win the face-off and immediately head for Nashville’s
net. Dom deftly angled in and cut him off before he got in front of Rousseau.
Giving him a dirty look, Thomas pivoted back and passed the puck to one of his
defensemen. Dom turned to follow the play, but kept his eye on Thomas,
positioning himself to keep the rookie off to the side so Rousseau would have a
clear view of any coming shots. Thomas came back around to fight for position
in front of the net, but Dom was ready for him. Older and more experienced—not
to mention three inches taller and at least 25 pounds heavier—Dom knew what the
kid was up to: circling around, Thomas was building up speed, thinking he would
come in fast enough to push past Dom, using a combination of speed and momentum
to overcome Dom’s 6’5” frame.
Dom braced his legs and
almost laughed when Thomas collided with his shoulder and practically bounced
backwards. “Not this time, hothead,” Dom chortled, sliding back a few feet.
Thomas watched in
frustration as his teammate shot the puck and Rousseau easily kicked the
rebound into the corner. Dom followed the puck and in one motion banked it up
off the glass as one of his forwards streaked up the ice to intercept. Dom
caught a glimpse of Thomas coming up behind him and turning to follow the play.
Thinking Thomas was going to keep going, Dom turned his head to watch the puck
just as he felt a sharp stabbing pain at the back of his right knee. The pain momentarily
stunned him: almost anyone else would have gone down.
Sonofabitch!
Dom
had to clench his fist to keep from dropping his stick. The pain from the
unexpected assault made him growl deep in his throat; that little fucker had
just used his stick to slash him in the back of the knee, one of the only areas
not protected by a pad. A quick look at the refs told him everything he needed
to know: neither of them had caught the bastard!
Again
.
Now Dom was pissed.
Exchanging a look with Rousseau, who’d seen it and was shaking his head, Dom
experienced a surge of pure fury so intense he literally saw red. Powering
through the pain, he started to move forward. He was too angry even to
entertain the notion of heading back to the bench to have his leg looked at;
all he could think about was getting revenge on the little bastard wearing
number 87.
He moved through a haze of
pain and rage, his mind blank except for his focus on the back of Thomas’s
jersey as it got closer and the numbers got bigger. Unaware of the blood
dripping down his leg, it was as if his mind had shut off everything except
what he had to do. The cocky little shit was going to pay—for what he’d done to
their goalie as well as what he’d done to Dom.
No one
fucked with Dom
Gianni or his friends, that was for damn sure.
The puck was heading his way
and Dom picked up speed as he crossed the red line. Thomas wasn’t far away now,
watching the puck and tapping his stick to let his teammates know he was open.
The scraping of Dom’s skates grew louder as he sped up, and Thomas heard him at
the very last second. Instinctively bracing himself, Thomas bent his arms at
the elbows and brought his hands up as he ducked his head, but it was too
little, too late; Dom left his feet and drove into the numbers on the back of
Thomas’s jersey, sending him headfirst into the boards.
Underneath the thud of the
helmet and pads hitting the boards was a sound unlike anything Dom had ever
heard: an unmistakable snap, like King Kong cracking his knuckles. Breathing
hard, Dom stopped and watched in a kind of slow motion as Thomas’ head made
contact with the glass and snapped back before he slid to the ice and lay
motionless. The refs blew their whistles frantically and motioned for the team
trainer.
Dom still hadn’t moved when
one of the refs skated up to him. “That’s five and game, you’re done.” Five
minutes and a game misconduct; no surprise there.
Dom nodded slowly, his eyes
still on Thomas’s prone figure.
What the hell had he done?
“Get Gianni off the ice,”
the ref was saying as several of Montreal’s players moved in Dom’s direction.
Was Thomas dead?
Someone nudged Dom. “Dom,
come on, man. You need to go.”
“Yeah, I know.” Dom felt a
wave of nausea as he skated back towards the bench.
Rob was getting another
bottle of water. “I saw what he did,” he said. “I’ll let them know.”
“Yeah. Thanks.” Dom had to
force his legs to keep moving as he started down the tunnel.
“Did you break his fucking
neck
,
Gianni?” someone yelled from Montreal’s bench.
“You’re toast, Gianni!”
someone else called out.
Dom had to pick up speed to
get to the locker room in time to heave into the nearest garbage can. He held
on to the edge, swallowing down the bitter taste of bile, sweat and remorse.
What
the fuck had he just done?
As the adrenaline left his
system and he started to crash, he slowly sank to the ground and hung his head,
resting his arms on his knees. He’d done it again. What the hell was wrong with
him? Somehow he knew it was bad this time; this time, he was going to have to
pay.
“I’m sorry, Brian,” he
whispered into the stillness. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
June,
2012
Las
Vegas, Nevada
Dom stared out the window of
the elegant condo feeling mildly irritated. He had just arrived in Las Vegas
and apparently he was here for good. For the next year, anyway, and this was
the last place he wanted to be. Who the hell had thought it would be a good
idea to bring a professional hockey team to the desert? He certainly didn’t,
and he definitely didn’t want to be part of it.
After finishing his seventh
season in the NHL, having played for Detroit, Buffalo and, most recently,
Nashville, he’d been shipped off to the desert, warned by the NHL that one more
on-ice “incident” of unsportsmanlike conduct and he’d be out for good. No one
wanted to play with him now, much less if anything else happened. The only
reason he was here was because Brad Barnett, his coach from college, was the
head coach of this Las Vegas expansion team, and because Dom's best friend Cody
Armstrong, who had been recruited as well, had talked him into it.
“This is your last chance,”
Coach Barnett had told him on the phone. “We’re going to have a serious
conversation when you arrive. Then you’ll come to dinner at the house—Andra
can’t wait to see you.”
Dom smiled as he thought of
Andra. Mom Andra, they’d called her in college. Most of the team had spent
nearly every weekend that they weren’t traveling at the Barnett household,
being fed, having their laundry done and generally being mothered by Andra, who
was not only their coach’s wife but their teammate’s mother: Coach’s son Brian
had played with them at Boston College, and they’d been about as tight as a
group of men could be, more like brothers.
“So, what do you think?”
Cody asked him, startling him out of his reverie.
“It’s nice.”
“You said furnished, so it’s
got everything. Did you sell all your stuff?”
“Yep. Decided if I was going
to get a fresh start, I'd do it right. Sold almost everything except the two
big screen TVs, my mom’s dining room set, and some random crap. I’ll keep the
dining set in storage until I figure out if I’m staying long enough to buy a
house, and figure out the other crap when it all gets here in a week or two. “
Cody nodded. “You can store
stuff in my garage too—plenty of room.”
“Thanks. Make sure you let
me know how much I owe you for the deposit.”
“I’ve got the paperwork
right here.” Cody passed over an envelope.
Dom glanced at the contents.
“Thanks,” he said again.
“You all right?”
Dom made a face. “
Really?
I got traded for the second time in two years, to an expansion team in the
freakin’
desert
, living in a suburban condo and on probation with the
league for being an asshole. Does it sound like
anything
in my life is
'all right'?”
“It doesn’t have to be this
way, you know.”
“Oh, God, please tell me
you’re not going to give me another lecture. I’ve gotten them from everybody
and I have a meeting with Coach first thing tomorrow.”
“I’m picking you up at 8:30,
by the way. After the meeting we’ll go car shopping. You know what you want?”
Dom was grateful for the
reprieve and change of subject. “I don’t know. Feels like I need to get past
the sports car phase.”
Cody arched an eyebrow.
“Seriously? You’re twenty-eight years old, single, making seven figures and
playing professional sports. You’re going to buy an SUV?”
“You have one.”
“I’m married with a kid!”
Cody laughed. “I spend more time dragging him places than I do playing hockey!”
“How’s Suze?” Cody’s wife
Suzanne had also gone to college with them.
“Good. We don’t see each
other much. I’m on the road or at practice, and she has her life, her friends.
Cody Junior keeps her busy.”
“You just moved to Vegas in
April. She already has friends and a social life?”
“Well, as soon as she
enrolled Cody in school she started meeting other moms, and she’s pretty tight
with Dave Marcus’s wife Tiffany.” Dave Marcus was an associate coach on the
team.
They were quiet again as Dom
took in the view, wondering how the hell a kid from upstate New York was going
to live in a place like this. Nashville had been bad enough, but the desert? He
knew he probably deserved it, but right now the punishment didn’t seem to fit
the crime. He hadn't meant to hurt Bobby Thomas, or even to hit him that hard;
he had just hit him. Dom didn't know the kid was going to put his head down at
the last minute and hit the boards headfirst. Now he was out indefinitely with
a broken neck and a concussion, and Dom was banished to the desert with an
expansion team, a hefty fine that had taken a chunk out of his bank account,
and the warning that this was his last chance.
“You want to talk about
Bobby Thomas?” Cody asked, reading his mind.
“There’s nothing to say. He
was playing dirty and needed to be taught a lesson, but I left my feet and
smashed him into the boards. Dumbass put his head down; I didn’t mean to hurt
him. Everybody knows I hit hard—why did he put his head down?”
“I don’t know. But that was
the third time you’ve been called for boarding, and this guy might not come
back. The only reason you’re still here is because it’s obvious he put his head
down and Rousseau told them about the slashing.”
Dom sighed. “Believe me, I
know.”
“When do you start anger
management?” Cody knew that anger management classes during the summer were
part of his probation.
“Next week.”
“You want me to go with
you?”
“You don’t have to babysit
me.”
“I’m not babysitting. You’re
one of my best friends—I don’t play games—with them or with
you
. You
have to give yourself a break, man. I know what you’re going through.”
“Okay.” Dom was somewhat
taken aback. Even in college, Cody had been the quiet one of the group. He was
six foot, two inches of lean muscle with short sandy blond hair and blue eyes.
He’d been a leading scorer in the NHL the last few years, and no one understood
why he’d opted to leave his successful career in Canada to come to a brand-new
NHL team in Las Vegas. Dom had a funny feeling it had something to do with
him—in addition to a potentially humongous contract—and they had to talk about
that soon. He just wasn’t sure what to say. Friendship was one thing, but Cody
putting his own career on the line took everything to another level. He was
grateful but didn’t feel like he deserved it.
When Cody was ready to go,
they wandered out of the building and down the street, walking towards the
adjacent block where he had parked.
“The coffee place over there
has fresh scones and croissants every morning—really amazing,” said Cody.
"Suze sends me down here sometimes on weekends for a dozen of them and
freezes them so we have a few during the week.”
“Good to know.”
Cody pointed out an art
gallery that had fun Friday night exhibits that included alcohol and lots of
eligible women, as well as a few restaurants and a store that sold vintage
sports paraphernalia.
When they ran out of small
talk, Cody said evenly, “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but don’t you
think we should?”
“Talk about what?” Dom ran a
hand through his tousled dark brown hair; it fell to his shoulders and often
stuck up when he didn’t want it to. The longer it got, the better it behaved, but
he’d gotten a bad haircut before he left Nashville and now was anxious for it
to grow out.
“Maybe it’s time to forget
the past and move past all this,” Cody said. “Find a good shrink and talk it
out. It could be time to focus on finding a nice girl, settling down…”
“Yeah, right. Aside from the
puck bunnies that are after either my bank account or bragging rights about
banging an NHL player, there’s no decent woman out there who’s going to want my
messed-up life.”
“You’re a smart,
good-looking guy who makes a ton of money. How do you know there’s no one out
there? Just because you have some anger issues on the ice doesn’t mean you
would ever take it out on a woman.”
“Who the hell knows what I
would do if I spent a lot of time with someone?”
“You know, the doom and
gloom is getting old already. You have to look at this as a second chance—the
NHL is letting you play. Coach brought us here to start a whole new franchise.
New city, new fans, new teammates—”
“Oh, give it a rest!” Dom
snapped. “We’re all a hot mess and you know it! Look at you and Suze—I mean,
she had a one-night-stand with her fiancé’s best friend, got knocked up and
wound up being married to a guy she doesn’t love! How is that less fucked up
than my life?”
“First of all—” Cody’s voice
went cold “—don’t talk about my wife like that. We were grieving. We made a
mistake, but we got married and are raising a beautiful little boy who we love
very much. We’ve moved on, though, while you’re still floundering and getting
in trouble.”
“Look,” Dom took a deep
breath; he didn’t want to fight with Cody. “I appreciate your putting in a good
word for me—”
“I didn’t. Coach called me
and asked if I’d come. He said you were coming—this was your last chance and he
didn’t know if you could get through it without someone like me here to have
your back. Suze didn’t care about Toronto one way or the other, so here we are.
We thought all of us being together might be healing for all of us. We’ve moved
on, but you’re right—it hasn’t been the same, and Suze and I have had our share
of problems. Being here together could be cathartic, damn it, so you’re going
to try, even if I have to beat you into submission.”
Dom rolled his eyes. “That
didn’t work in college, and I’m pretty sure it’s not going to work on the
dirtiest player in the NHL either.”
Cody grinned. “Oh, but I’ve
been watching, my friend—and I’m onto you!”
They chuckled, a moment of
familiarity washing over them. Finally, Dom cleared his throat. “I know I’ve
been a dick the last few years. I haven’t been a very good friend, but you know
that there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you guys—you’re all the family I have,
and even though I don’t always act like it, I love you.”
“We know that. Suze can’t
wait to see you. Coach says Andra is going to spoil us.”
Dom laughed. “I can only
imagine—”
His words broke off as a
loud scream tore through the air.
“What was that?” Dom turned,
his eyes darting up and down the street. There were fewer people here near the
building than further up the street by the restaurant. There was an alley
across from his building that led to a parking garage, and they both darted in
that direction.
A woman was crying, and they
could hear a man shouting.
“You stupid cow! I should
throw your ass off the side!”
“Do it!” the woman screamed.
“Go ahead—you’re the big man! I dare you!”
There was the sound of a
thud and a muffled scream.
Cody and Dom ran up the ramp
of the garage towards the sounds. A stocky man in his 40s was holding a woman
by the throat, pushing her perilously close to the edge of the railing. She
wasn’t fighting, her arms and head hanging limply despite the anger in her
eyes.
“You dumb, fat bitch—you
don’t lie to me and get away with it! You understand me? I will kill you!”
“I already told you
to—what’s the matter, Tim? You chicken?” Her body was limp but there was spirit
in her voice that belied her helplessness. “You don’t love me! You don’t want
me! You can’t stand to touch me—so go ahead!”
“That’s too fucking bad!
You’re mine and you will not get off that easily!” He pulled his fist back and
smashed it into her stomach just as Cody and Dom got to the level they were on.
“Hey!” Dom yelled, sprinting
toward the couple. “You need to settle down.”
“I’m a police officer.” The
man turned, a badge in his hand. “This is a private matter. You don’t need to
involve yourself.”
“I just saw you punch an
unarmed woman,” Dom shot back. “Where I come from, that’s not what police do.”
The man turned and eyed
them, his eyes squinty and mean. “You need to turn around and mind your own
business. This is my wife, my business.”
“You made it our business
when you went public with it,” Cody said, standing next to Dom with his arms
folded across his chest and his phone visible in his hand.
“Just go,” the woman
whispered, sliding to the ground. “I’ll be okay. Don’t get involved.”
“Shut up, bitch!” The man
kicked her in the side and she whimpered from the pain.
“I’m not going to tell you
again to step away from her,” Dom said, moving into a threatening stance. He
was an imposing figure on or off the ice, and with shoulders as broad as a
truck and biceps the size of small trees, he wasn’t a man many would stand up
to.
Cody had discreetly begun
recording the altercation. If there was going to be a fight with a policeman,
he was going to make sure there was video of it.