Seduced by the Game (36 page)

Rachel is changing things
up on the fly for her family, moving them somewhere she can be the kind of mom
her kids deserve. Allowing anyone else to be in their lives is out of the
question, at least until her instincts get back on track. How else can she be
sure who to steer the kids clear of? Right now she trusts no one, including
herself, and especially not a man like Brenden Campbell. He’s way too handsome
and a little bit cocky. Falling for a guy like him is a mistake she can’t
afford to make twice.

* * * *

Catherine Gayle is a
bestselling author of Regency-set historical romance and contemporary hockey
romance with a New Adult feel. She’s a transplanted Texan living in North
Carolina with two extremely spoiled felines. In her spare time, she watches way
too much hockey and reality TV, plans fun things to do for the Nephew Monster’s
next visit, and performs experiments in the kitchen which are rarely toxic.

If you enjoyed this book
and want to know when more like it will be available, be sure to sign up for
Catherine’s
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. You can find out more on her
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blog
, at
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A Valuable Trade

© Jaymee
Jacobs

“Dallas.”
Fuck
.

“We’ll pack up your things
and send them along for you. Thank you for your years of dedication, Bryan.
Good luck with your new team.” The general manager of the Tornadoes stretches
out his hand, which I reluctantly shake. Then I shake my coach’s hand—well, my
ex
-coach’s
hand. I can’t look either of them in the eye.

As I leave the GM’s office
and head for the exit, the threshold from my old life to my new one, I run into
a couple of my teammates. My
former
teammates now. They express their
regrets regarding my trade and say they’re sorry to see me go. That they’ll
miss me. But it’s not like that matters.

Soon after my conversation
with my old GM, I get a call from my new GM of the Dallas Comets. He’s excited
to bring me on board and talks a lot about how I’m going to fit in with their team
and help them make the play-offs. He lets me know that they’re going to take
care of everything for me and help arrange my move; that way, I only have to
focus on my play.

I don’t want to go, but I
don’t really have a choice. So I head home to my girlfriend Corinne to break
the news to her. Somehow, though, she already knows. As soon as I walk through
the door, she stands and asks, “Is it true? Are they sending you to Dallas?”

My shoulders fall. “Yeah.
Just got the news.”

“How can they do that? How
can the Tornadoes just give you away?”

“It’s the business side of
hockey,” I explain to her. “The Tornadoes needed a forward, and the Comets
needed a defenseman. Unfortunately, I’m the guy caught in the middle.”

Corinne frowns and crosses
her arms over her chest. “Don’t be selfish, Bry. You’re not the only one
involved in this. What am I supposed to do?”

“Come with me, of course.
I’m flying out tonight.”

“I can’t! I have to pack
everything up, arrange to move it all, get this place listed...” Her voice
fades out as she thinks about all the things that need to be done.

“The Comets’ll take care
of all that. Cory, baby,” I say, grabbing her hand and pulling her body into
mine. I need the comfort more than ever now. “I just need you with me. Please
come with me to Dallas.”

She takes a deep breath; I
feel her body expand and then shrink back down. “I think I should stay, though.
Oversee everything. And then I’ll follow you down.”

It makes sense, but that
doesn’t mean I like it. I’m getting traded, and I could use the familiarity of
a friendly face to keep me company in a new place. But what else am I supposed
to say? I’m saddened that she won’t be joining me on my flight. “Okay.”

“Texas,” she spits out. “I
can’t believe we’re going to
Texas
. Why couldn’t they have traded you to
New York? I’ve always wanted to live there.”

I wish I had an answer for
her—or yet, a better locale to take her to. Dallas is a great sports town in
general but not necessarily a great market for hockey. Corinne doesn’t sound
very pleased with it either. She and I met our freshman year at the University
of North Dakota, where I had been playing with the Fighting Sioux. Once I went
pro and started playing for the Tornadoes, she kept up with her studies and
graduated with great grades. She wanted to move to New York to start her
career, but I persuaded her to come with me to Raleigh by telling her that
long-distance relationships don’t work. I don’t think she ever really adjusted
to North Carolina.

Because of a freak
snowstorm in Raleigh that lays down more snow than anyone expected, I’m stuck
here until the following morning. I know I won’t have a chance to make it to
the morning skate before the game they’re playing tonight, so I’ll have to play
without getting a practice under my belt. It’s bad enough getting traded...but
how am I supposed to make a good first impression when I have no practice and
no chance to learn the new systems?

The flight feels both too
short and too long. I want it to be over, but I want it to never end, either.
But I can’t have it both ways. When I get off the plane and pick up my bag, I
keep my head down and head toward the taxi stand. As I navigate through the
crowd, though, I see my name scrawled on a poster board and tentatively head
toward the holder of the sign. It’s got to be a joke, though. The person
picking me up is a caricature of a Texan. She’s wearing dark jeans with a hole
in the knee, a clingy white tank top, cowboy boots, and a cowboy hat. Or is it
a cowgirl hat? Is there a difference?

“Hi, Bryan, I’m Georgiana
Pierson. I’m from the Comets. Welcome to Dallas! We’re so excited to have you.”
She has a southern drawl, but it’s anything but slow. The smile on her face is
wide and genuine. She extends a well-manicured hand. I expect a weak handshake,
but she surprises me with a firm grip and vigorous pump. “We’ve got housing set
up for you, and I’m going to help you get settled in before tonight’s game. If
you need anything as you get acclimated here—and I do mean anything—then I’m
your girl. Let me help you with your bag.”

I’m kind of overwhelmed by
her. She talks fast and moves even faster; before I can tell her that I’m more
than capable of handling my own stuff, she takes the duffel bag of mine and
hoists it over her shoulder. The sight is reminiscent of something out of a
rodeo, the way she manhandles it. She’s solidly built, but not in a masculine
kind of way. No, she’s all woman, with curves and dark brown curly hair that
spills out of her hat almost like a wig. Her brown eyes smile just like her
mouth. It’s kind of catching, except I don’t feel like smiling. As we head for
the door, I wonder if she’s picking me up from the airport on a horse.

* * * *

I may not be a hockey
player, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t know how hard trades are. When I
said goodbye to winger Tim Fletcher, it was like I was losing a brother. I may
not be a player on the Comets, but the players have always made me feel like I
was a part of the team. Like I was one of them. I care about them, and I try to
make sure they’re all taken care of. Sure, it’s a part of my job, but Lord
knows I don’t just do it because I’m paid to do it; I do it because I want to.
I’m like a mother hen keeping her chicks in check. I’m polite and kind, but I
can get feisty and sassy if I need to in order to get things done.

So when I meet our newest
star at the airport, Bryan Comstock, I can immediately tell that he’s wary
about this new city and his new team. I can see it in his slumped posture. He’s
a big man—or at least that’s what his bio says. He’s six feet tall and 195
pounds, but he looks smaller as he walks toward me. Of course I’m sad to see
Tim go, but he’s not under my wing anymore—so my allegiance stays with the
Comets. Now, everything in me is telling me to take care of Bryan and help him
adjust to Dallas. My maternal side comes out, and I want to fix whatever’s
wrong. After all, I’m a problem solver. I make things better.

Bryan never smiles at me,
even though I try my best to make him feel as welcome as he should. We’re all
hoping that he’ll lift us out of the slump caused by injuries and fatigue, as
well as by a little bit of complacency. As I drive him into the city, I do what
I can to break through to him, always by talking about Dallas and the promise
of the future of the team as well as his bright potential here—and never
talking about the past or Carolina. None of those things matters anymore. I do
most of the talking as we cruise down the highway with the windows down; it’s
hotter than a goat’s behind in a pepper patch. Before coming to the airport, I
had been making sure everything was set up and ready for Bryan’s temporary
housing, until he is able to find something of his own, and I am hot, sweaty,
and dehydrated from working in this heat.

I really didn’t know who
this guy was before the trade. We played the Tornadoes months ago and won, but
I don’t remember much out of that game. Especially Bryan Comstock, who I
wouldn’t have recognized if I hadn’t been shown his picture before being sent
to the airport by management to pick him up. Physically, there’s not much that
makes him stand out. He has brownish hair cropped close to his head, brown
eyes, and thin pink lips. He’d be handsome if he smiled, but he doesn’t look
like he does much of that.

Bryan looks stoic but also
a little queasy, I think. It had been a big day for him, with getting the news
and all. I know that Tim was taken aback, too. It’s hard to start over in a new
city alone, but that’s why I’m helping: to ease the transition. When we get to
the small townhouse where he’ll be staying—bought by the Comets for instances
just like this, conveniently complete with a car in the driveway for him to
use—I help him bring his bag inside and give him a brief tour before telling
him that directions to the arena are printed out and on the passenger seat of
the car.

“And the keys are on the
counter. So you’re all set,” I tell him. “Coach said not to worry about trying
to figure out our system yet—we’re just gonna let you play your game, and we’ll
see what you’ve got. I know I’m excited to see how it goes.”

He nods, but he doesn’t
look excited. I wish I could make him see that this is going to be good for
him. I want to tell him that he’s going to fit in well here. I want to tell him
that he’s a top-four defenseman, and that’s where he’ll be put here in Dallas.
He was on the third pairing in Carolina, always held back by the bigger names
on the Tornadoes’ roster. He wouldn’t have been able to show off his skills
like he can here in Dallas. He’ll get more minutes, he’ll get more chances, and
he’ll make a bigger splash.

But I feel like even if I
tell him all that, he won’t believe me. So I don’t bother to say those things.
Instead, I reach out and touch his arm. I make sure he has my card so he can
call if he has any questions about the team’s routine or about Dallas in
general, but he doesn’t even glance at it before he shoves it in his pocket and
just nods at me. So I then tell him that I’ll see him around the rink and leave
him there for the afternoon to get acclimated to his new, albeit temporary,
home in Texas.

Lord knows I’ve got my
hands full of stuff to do back at the arena, so I leave Bryan and head back
home so I can shower and change into appropriate work attire before going back
into the office. It’s a lot of work, taking care of my Comets, but I can’t
imagine doing anything else.

* * * *

It’s a scary thing,
walking into a brand new place and trying to be a part of something where you
don’t belong. I’m not the biggest guy, so I try to take up more space so I look
important, like I should be here. Like I’m worth the upheaval, I guess.

There are so many
introductions that I can’t keep them all straight; it’s not just players and
coaches and managers, but equipment managers and trainers and media personnel
and...so many people I can’t even remember. I do my best to go with the flow,
but I feel like I’m drowning, just a little bit. The whole thing is awkward
because I’m not sure what to say to all these people who I’m meeting. I just
hope that they don’t think I’m being rude, because I don’t want to come off
like that.

By the end of the
introductions and getting my new equipment, I’m more mentally exhausted than
anything else. I’ve had to learn names, lines, and pairings, directions,
instructions, and more. I have to become a part of the team’s routines and
different players’ superstitions. Sometimes I forget that they also lost a
player, a friend, and I think that I’ve somehow got to replace him. I hope I
don’t let them down.

I walk out of a meeting
with my new head coach when Mark Klingensmith, a UND alum and automatic
comrade, asks me how I’m doing.

“Good,” I tell him with a
nod. I don’t tell him how excited I am to just get on the ice. Once I’m in the
rink, I know I’ll feel a little better. The one thing that I know I can do is
skate. It’s like the one thing that hasn’t changed and never will. It doesn’t
matter what colors I’m wearing or what arena I’m in as long as I’ve got blades
tied to my feet and a stick in my hand.

“We’re glad to have you
here,” he adds. “Have you met everyone? Did you get a complete tour of the
arena?”

I snort a laugh, not
meanly but just because that’s an impossible question to answer. “It’s kinda
hard to keep track, but I think I’ve met everyone. And yeah, I got a tour.”

“All right, well, I guess
we can just focus on the game tonight then. But if you do need anything, don’t
hesitate to ask. I’ll help ya out however I can, and of course there’s always
George.”

“George?” I ask,
completely unaware to whom he’s referring.

Klingensmith nods at me.
“Yeah, George. I know if you’ve met anyone here at all, then you’ve met
George.” I give him a blank look, and he laughs at me, claps me on the back,
and then points down the hallway. “That’s her there.”

I look down the hall and
see Georgiana standing there; she’s the only person I
do
remember meeting
today. She’s talking to Adam Harris, a winger currently on the IR. She looks
different because she’s obviously dressed for work—I’m not exactly sure what
she does here, but I know that she works for the Comets somehow. She’s in a
skirt, a blouse, and heels, but I recognize her because of her distinct hair
and big smile, but that’s all that’s familiar. Maybe I didn’t really see her
earlier today because I wasn’t fully paying attention, or maybe it’s because
it’s been a hectic day and I kind of hated her for having to usher me into this
new life. Now she looks professional, not like the cowgirl I saw at the
airport, and also more feminine in the way that I’m used to seeing girls be
around Raleigh.