Power Play (15 page)

Landon didn't sit down when he arrived at the bench. Instead, he kept walking straight back toward the dressing room, which meant that he needed stitches.

It took every ounce of self-control to not run up the stairs and bang on the locker room door until they let me see Landon with my own eyes. The hockey fan in me knew how dumb that sounded. He got up. He skated off the ice. He's fine.

The girlfriend in me still had to hold back. Or find something else to think about.

As if answering a silent call, someone knocked on the glass in front of me. When I turned, I saw Luke skating in a circle before he had to line up for a face-off. As he skated past the glass again, he twisted his glove, lifting his thumb up in the air. Then he caught my eye and nodded. Shooting him a smile of relief, I nodded back.

Luke Daniels. The epitome of Captain. And a pretty damn good friend.

“Are you okay?” I rushed to Landon as soon as he emerged from the Pilots' locker room after the game. My fingertips hovered over the gash across his right eyebrow while my other hand splayed across his chest.

“I'm fine. The eye area bleeds a lot more than other areas. Makes it look worse than it is.” Landon closed his hand over the one I'd placed on his chest. Then he leaned down to kiss my forehead. “Don't worry. I know a good doctor.”

Deep down I knew he was fine, because he'd returned to the game just a few minutes after leaving the ice, but I felt better after checking him out myself.

“He's a cardiologist.”

“I keep his career options open. He's been stitching me up for years.”

Instead of laughing, as I should have, I threw my arms around him and squeezed as hard as I could. Landon responded by returning my hug and kissing the top of my head, since my face was buried in his dress shirt. He would end up with two damp streaks of mascara on his crisp blue button-down when I'd pull away. I'd buy him a stain stick. I hadn't realized just how much I needed to make sure he was really all right.

I lifted my face off his chest and met his eyes. “No concussion?”

“Absolutely not.” He bent his head and pressed his forehead against mine. “Just a cut. I promise.”

Landon's arms stayed locked around me as I exhaled a deep, relieved breath. A concussion would not be good. A concussion could lead to bigger health problems and be career-ending.

He lifted his head to look me in the eye. “Wanna go visit Uncle Brian? I need a beer.”

“Me too,” I joked.

Landon released me from his bear hug and grabbed my hand, leading me toward the concourse of the arena. “We'll take your car. I'll leave mine here since our lot has security. Cool?”

I nodded. “Aren't you afraid people will recognize you?”

“I'd be fucking stoked if anyone recognized me. But I'm pretty sure most people have cleared out by now.”

“Don't be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“You know what guy.”

“The Gribov?” Landon asked.

“Exactly.”

Pavel Gribov, showboating star center of the Pilots, had a reputation for being a hothead and taking badly timed Unsportsmanlike Conduct penalties.

“Could you ever see me acting like Gribov?”

Could I see Landon squat down to one knee and bring his stick to his eye as if peering through the scope of a rifle to “shoot” at a goalie he'd just scored on? Could I see Landon running his mouth at the referee until the man in black and white stripes would get so pissed that he would send him to the penalty box?

“No,” I answered. “But fame changes a person.”

My mind immediately wandered to the remarks an already huge-headed Gribov had made to the media after being called up to Charlotte last season. He sounded like such an egotistical prick, it made me want to fly down and smack him. Thankfully, he'd been bucked off his arrogant horse when the Aviators sent him back to Detroit.

Gribov finally met karma. Not that it did any good. He still hadn't stopped yapping.

“Yeah, except the fame didn't change him. That's just how he is,” Landon said.

“Fame won't change you. Fame will just give you a bigger platform. The platform you want to prove yourself to the world.”

Landon stopped abruptly and my arm practically jerked from its socket. He dropped my hand. His light brown eyes clouded. The skin around his eyes creased in concern. “Is that how you think of me, Gaby? Crybaby attention whore?”

“No.”

The temperature in the concourse of the arena seemed to drop even more and a shiver racked my body.

“No. Not at all. Why would you take that comment as an insult?”

Landon's head dropped, his eyes on his feet. “Because you're the only one who knows how selfish I am underneath it all.”

“I wouldn't use it against you, Landon. Everyone is selfish. I'm selfish. I'm jealous. It's innate.”

Landon still hadn't lifted his head, so I grabbed his hands and squeezed them. “Landon, look at me.” He didn't. But I continued anyway. “You are one of the kindest, most selfless people I've ever met. Siblings get jealous of each other. We all want our parents' attention.”

“I know. I just have a different situation. And it makes me feel like an exceptional dickhead.”

“So does wanting my older brother to hit the road so I can have the family business all to myself.” I dropped Landon's hands and lifted my fists toward the air. “Bertucci Produce shall be mine! All mine!”

Landon shook his head, but a laugh escaped his upturned lips, so I'd diffused the situation. He took hold of my hand again and we continued to the arena doors.

“For the record”—I glanced at Landon—”I meant the NHL would be a platform to show the world what an amazing player and man you are. I wasn't even thinking about your family.”

“I know, Gaby.” Landon gave me a half smile as he pulled the handle on the arena door. “I had a rough game and I feel like shit right now. I'm wallowing.”

“Well, let's go cheer you up with a depressant.” I skipped out the door into the cold night.

“If you'd rather skip the bar and let me fuck you on the hood of my car, just let me know. I know all the sex endorphins would cheer me up.” Landon grabbed my hips as he joined me outside. “And I know you liked that, Gaby.”

Thankfully, the winter wind whipping against my cheeks masked the fact that his shocking suggestion had put the color there.

Especially since he was right.

And a tiny part of me wanted to take him up on his offer.

Shit.

My stomach turned and tightened when Landon raised his arm and waved to a large group of people cramped into a large round booth in the far corner of the bar.

Going for a drink at Brian's bar seemed like a great idea. Until I realized we were meeting a group of Landon's friends there. I scanned the people occupying the booth. Two hot hockey players, two puck bunnies, and a girl who looked more natural than bunny.

Apprehension cemented my feet to the floor. Landon took a step forward and was jerked back, like the owner of a stubborn dog refusing to walk on a leash. I'd kept his hand locked in mine and hadn't moved from my place. He whipped around, eyes wide with questioning.

“Sorry.” I pointed down. “I thought I dropped my ChapStick.”

Big fat lie. Huge lie.

Please don't take me over there, Landon.
My plea was silent, but I hoped he'd notice the apprehension in my posture.

Landon's lips curved up into the sweet smile he always had for me. He brought our joined hands to his mouth and kissed the back of mine. Then he pulled me forward again. Though I tried my hardest to think of another lame excuse to stall, one wouldn't come to mind, so I had no choice but to follow.

“Taylor!” one of the guys yelled as we approached. He lifted his fist and reached out.

I recognized his face as one of Landon's Pilots teammates, but I didn't know his name.

“Hey!” Landon leaned over the table and pounded his fist. “Everyone, this is Gaby.”

A jumbled chorus of “Hey, Gaby” rang out over the loud music flowing through the stereo system.

Landon placed his hand on my back, directing me into the crowded booth next to the dolled-up bleached blondes I knew were bunnies. One had less meat on her bones than a discarded turkey leg at a Renaissance Festival, while the other girl's carrot-colored skin seemed to glow, even in the dark corner of the bar. Fake tans weren't difficult to spot in the middle of winter in Michigan.

As I slid across the tattered vinyl seat, I gave the girls a quick nervous smile. Landon stole a chair from the next table over and posted up next to me. He placed a comforting hand on my knee, but instead of calming my nerves, it made my stomach twist.

Not the good kind of twisting where a hand on my knee meant that we'd be making out on the hood of his Mazda later. Instead, it was the anxiety-ridden, sweat-producing twist of an introvert being thrown into the lions' den. I hated being the new person in a large group of people who all knew one another. The outsider. The misfit.

Soon I realized I didn't have to worry, because the conversation continued around me like I'd never sat down. The girl next to me hadn't returned my smile but just turned her back to me and continued her previous conversation.

“What do you think, Gaby?”

“Excuse me?” I looked in the direction from where I'd heard my name being called.

“You knew Tay Tay before his haircut. What do you think of it?” The question came from the guy who'd waved us over to the table when we'd walked in.

Tay Tay?

“I like it,” I said, though I barely heard my own words. I coughed and repeated them, slightly louder than the first time.

“Flow is gone. What she gonna grab when you fuck?” another guy said in broken English. Because the Pilots currently had only one Russian on their team, and this guy had a Russian accent, I assumed it was Pavel Gribov.

“Dirty.” The guy across the table from me shook his head.

“Fuck off, Gribov.” Landon raised his beer bottle and tapped it down on top of Gribov's bottle. A blast of beer bubbled and gushed out over Gribov's hand like foamy lava.

“You suck.” Gribov jerked his hand away and shook the beer off. “You owe me this beer.”

“Get a round, Taylor. You're last one here.”

“Be right back,” Landon told me before standing up.

I raised my hand to get his attention. “I can help.”

But Gribov pushed back from the table and followed Landon to the bar before I had a chance to slide out of the booth.

The conversation clicked around me. I caught a sentence or two here, and a roar of laughter there. The bar was loud. Our crowd was loud. A rush of shivers traveled from my shoulders to my fingertips and shot straight down to my toes. Perspiration broke out on my forehead, drops of distress appearing one by one, but I doubt anyone would understand the silent SOS.

Freezing and sweating simultaneously. Telltale signs of a misplaced misfit afraid to jump into a conversation with her peers.

“I'm going to use the restroom,” I announced to no one in particular, since the only person who cared about my presence stood at the bar laughing with his uncle and his teammate as he ordered drinks.

When I'd finished in the restroom, Landon and Gribov were standing at the bar, still waiting on their order. Instead of going back to the table without Landon, I headed for the door. Once outside, I took a deep breath of cold, smoke-filled air, as all the nicotine addicts were huddled around the entrance puffing on their cigarettes.

Totally worth it for a minute alone to regroup. Between the crowd and the conversation, the bar seemed claustrophobic.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the two girls from the booth walking out of the bar. The ones who hadn't looked up from their conversation to say a word to me since Landon and I had arrived.

“What's up with that girl Landon brought?”

“Maybe he lost a bet?”

“I know, right? She must give good head.”

“Why?”

“Why else would he be with her?”

The fresh air I craved was turning out to be rancid and bitchy. Of course, good head was the only reason Landon would choose to be with someone whose hair hadn't been bleached so much that even horses would mistake it for straw.

“Do you smoke?” I heard a woman's voice behind me. One of the mean girls.

“No.” I shook my head.

“Then what are you doing out here?” Her tone was clipped and annoyed.

“Needed some air.” I looked out and down the street, ready to hail a cab if one even came near this place.

“So, you and Landon are a thing?” she asked.

“We're friends.”

“Friends.” She laughed. Her brown eyes searched my face before lowering to scan the rest of me. “Landon gets bored easily. You might want to try using a mint next time.”

The other girl snort-laughed. Super classy. Both of them.

An older man next to me threw his cigarette down as he pulled the door open. The still-smoking butt landed inches from my feet. I stepped on it, smashing it into the concrete with a few rotations of my foot.

“Excuse me, sir. Can I bum one of those?”

“Anything for you, sugar.” He pulled a pack of menthols out of his front pocket and shook the pack until one popped up higher than the others. Then he plucked the cancer stick out and handed it to me. I nodded my thanks as he disappeared inside and I passed the cigarette on to the girl.

She scowled. “I could've done that.”

“But you didn't. I did.” I opened the door to go back inside, but a rush of pride stopped me.

As the only girl in a family with two older brothers, I'd learned to stand up for myself long ago, despite my nonconfrontational personality. Annoying bunnies always followed Drew around after his hockey games. I'd been stomped on by too many fan girls who'd believed me to be his girlfriend instead of his sister. I couldn't let these two miserable chicks, who had no effect on my life at all, ruin my night.

Using my foot to hold the door open, I dug in my purse for the tin of mints I always kept in there. “Here.” I opened the container and tossed a handful of mints into the air.

She missed catching any of them, and the mints bounced across the sidewalk like tiny, rubber raindrops.

“You'll need those before I will.” I nodded to the mints covering the concrete. “Pretty girls don't need to suck dick.”

“Fucking bitch!” The girl lurched forward. Instead of rushing inside to hide, I conjured every hockey fight I'd ever witnessed and took a step toward her, ready to pull her shirt over her head, hockey-jersey style. Evidently, she wasn't expecting me to challenge her advance, because she backed away.

I laughed and slid inside. Once safe, I pressed my back against the door and took a deep breath.

My hands trembled. My heart hammered.

I'd never been in a fight in my life. I'd never said anything so rude to anyone in my life. Worried that one of them might try to get in and ram me in the back, I stepped away from the door and hurried back to the table.

I'd just painted myself into an awkward corner for when the girls would return to the group. Repercussion of acting before thinking. This is why I stayed home and read books on Friday and Saturday nights.

When I sat down, the only other girl at the table, who had previously been sitting between Gribov and the guy who'd called us over to the table, whose name I still hadn't caught, got up and slid into the booth next to me.

“I'm Caroline. I'm so glad Landon finally brought you out. We were beginning to think you were an imaginary girlfriend.”

“Gaby,” I said, though I knew Landon had already introduced me.

“You are gorgeous. Who does your hair?” Without permission she reached out and touched a lock of waves hanging in front of my shoulder. I jumped, surprised at the unexpected contact.

“Um, my aunt?” I don't know why I phrased it as a question. My aunt had been the only one to touch my hair since I was a little girl. Just a trim. No color, no highlights, nothing except a hot pink extension every October in memory of my grandma who passed away from breast cancer five years ago.

Caroline released my hair, then watched as I flipped it over my shoulder, out of reach. “I'm so sorry. That was totally creepy, wasn't it?”

I immediately felt guilty, since my movement was just a natural reflex to push my hair out of the way, even if she hadn't touched it. “It's fine. That's just a habit. Always in the way.”

“I'm Blake's wife.” She pointed to the guy across the table, the one who'd called us over originally. Blake Panikos. He's another one of the Pilots defensemen.

Caroline leaned closer and whispered conspiratorially. “Isn't it nice to know you can pull any guy you want?”

“Excuse me?” I asked. My grip tightened on the just-for-show beer bottle in my hand.

“You pulled Landon Taylor. He's impossible.” She straightened in her seat and raised her glass to her lips.

“I—” How do I respond to a comment like that? I've never “pulled” anyone in my life.

“How the fuck I get rid of this skank?” Gribov was talking so loudly he may as well have been asking everyone in the bar.

“That was subtle,” Landon said, taking a sip of his beer. He glanced at me and nodded.

I smiled and nodded back. I liked that he checked on me, even when we were at the same table. And Caroline seemed much nicer than the girls smoking outside.

“He's talking about the girl he brought, who brought her friend. The ones who haven't spoken to anyone but the guys and each other,” Caroline explained.

“I know the ones. We had a slight altercation outside.”

“Really?” Caroline patted my leg. “Tell. Tell.”

I gave her a brief rundown of the interaction with the girls. Retelling made me sound like a badass, even though I'd been running only on anger-induced adrenaline.

Caroline elbowed Gribov. “I think Gaby may have solved your problem.”

“What did you do?” Landon's tone matched the one Papa used when he scolded our dog, but the gleam in his eyes showed more amusement than anger.

“I turned their own stupid joke on them.”

“Oh tell them, Gaby! They'll think it's great,” Caroline urged.

“I don't really feel, um—” I couldn't retell a story involving giving head in front of four guys.

“Can I tell them?” Caroline asked.

“Go ahead.” I lowered my head and wrung my hands in my lap, avoiding eye contact with every guy at the table.

“So they made this really rude comment about how Gaby must give good head to be dating Landon. Then they told her he gets bored easily and she should use a mint if she wanted to keep him happy. And Gaby threw a tin of mints at them and told them pretty girls don't need to suck dick.”

“I threw mints to them, not at them,” I corrected, as if that was the main point of the story.

Though the music still thrummed and bumped in the background, the bar seemed to take on a moment of silence. Then all at once, a thunderous roar of laughter erupted from everyone at the table, including Caroline.

My brothers and I used to play a game when we were kids. One of us would laugh to make the other ones laugh. It's infectious. You can't not laugh when others are laughing. Even if it started as a fake laugh, like the childhood game.

“And that's why I love her.”