Wicked Games (Denver Rebels) (34 page)

“Anyway, you shouldn’t feel bad because you’re not rich,” she said with bitter irony. “Dating a baller isn’t everything. Look where it got me.”

Nelson gave her a sympathetic look.

Swallowing the unforgiveable urge to cry, she said gruffly, “The point is, your love for Bianca is far more important than the size of the rock you put on her finger.”

“I know.” Nelson sighed. “But I still need to get myself in a better financial position before I’d feel comfortable asking her to marry me.”

Nadia nodded. “I understand where you’re coming from. Dad raised you to be strong and responsible, to handle your business like a man and take care of your woman. He instilled that macho pride in you, and that’s a good thing.” Her voice softened. “But Bianca doesn’t care how much money you make. She loves you for who you are and how well you treat her. Everything else will work itself out in time.”

Nelson’s expression softened with gratitude. “Thank you for saying that, Nadia. I really needed to hear it.”

She smiled. “What are twins for?”

He winked, then returned his attention to his laptop. The glow from the screen reflected off his black-framed eyeglasses.

Nadia watched him for a few moments, debating whether to say what was on her mind.

“I can hear you thinking,” he murmured without looking up from the laptop. “Just spit it out.”

She hesitated. “In the spirit of looking out for my wombmate, I think there’s something you should know.”

“What’s that?” he said distractedly, clicking through more selections of rings.

“I think…well, I think Jess might have a thing for you.”

Nelson snorted. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Um, actually, I think she does. I see the way she looks at you and flirts with you. It…concerns me.”

“It shouldn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not checking for her.”

Nadia frowned. “That’s not the point.”

“Sure it is.” Nelson shot her a wry look. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I know Jess is your friend, and I think she’s really cool and all. But she’s a little too high maintenance for my taste. Plus she kinda reminds me of some black chicks we knew in college.”

Nadia raised an eyebrow. “Which chicks?”

“You know the ones. The pretty girls who had all the guys sweating them, but they only gave athletes the time of day. Those girls never showed any interest in me until I was booed up with someone else.”   

“Like one of your white girls?” Nadia teased.

“Uhh…” Nelson scratched his ear, grinning sheepishly. “That was just a phase.”

“It’s all good,” Nadia said with a grin. “No shade from me.”

“I know.” Nelson smiled at her. “You never gave me any grief about who I dated.”

“Why would I? Love is love.” She smiled. “Anyway, I just wanted to warn you about Jess. I already spoke to her, so I don’t think she’ll try anything. But…well, you just never know with Jess. I love her, but she’s unpredictable. I didn’t want you to be caught off guard, so I thought I’d make you aware of my suspicions.”

“I appreciate the heads-up,” Nelson said humorously. “But you don’t have to worry about me getting seduced by Jess. I mean, don’t get me wrong. Shorty’s fine as hell. But I’m not interested in her like that. And I honestly don’t think she’s checking for me the way you think. If you put us in the same room with some ballers, Jess wouldn’t look twice at me.”

Nadia cocked an eyebrow. “What’re you trying to say?”

Nelson grinned. “I ain’t saying she a gold digger…”

Nadia playfully mushed him on the head, making him laugh.

“Seriously though, Nadia,” he said after a few moments. “You’ve got enough on your mind these days. I don’t want you stressing about what your friend may or may not do. Like I said, the only reason she flirts with me is because I have a girlfriend, and she’s the type who sees unavailable guys as a fun challenge.”

Nadia sighed. “I don’t know, Nels. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re a good catch, especially now that you’re getting all nice and buff,” she teased, reaching over to squeeze his bicep.

He flashed a cocky grin and flexed his muscles, making her laugh.

His expression softened. “It’s good to hear that sound again. It’s been too long.”

Her smile faded. Biting her lower lip, she shifted her gaze to the television screen. It was tuned to the NFL Network. Not the hockey channel, thank God.

She could feel Nelson studying her. She waited for him to speak, though she dreaded hearing what he might have to say.

“For what it’s worth,” he said quietly, “I don’t think your boy’s doing any better than you are.”

She shook her head. “Nelson—”

“I watch him at games and practices. When he’s on the ice, he’s in the zone, laying everything on the line, playing balls-to-the-wall hockey. He’s averaging twenty-nine minutes per game and his stats are insane. Seriously. He’s a fucking beast.” Nelson’s voice softened. “But it’s those unguarded moments afterward when I see him sitting alone at his locker, not talking to reporters, not laughing and joking around with his teammates. It’s those moments when I see just how lost and lonely he is.”

Nadia swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I’m sure he’s not hurting for female companionship,” she said bitterly.

“He doesn’t have to be,” Nelson conceded. “But something tells me he is.”

She snorted. “I doubt it.”

Nelson sighed. “I don’t think you realize just how relentless those puck bunnies are. They stalk the players and make it their business to learn everything they can about them: where they live, where they hang out, what they like to eat, where they buy condoms, what kind of fetishes they’re into. They hang out on blogs swapping stories about the players they’ve fucked and the players that are next on their wish list. They study these dudes like prey, then hunt them down and do whatever it takes to get the D.”

Nadia glared at Nelson. “Is there a point you’re trying to make?”

He scowled. “The point I’m making is that, given how aggressive those puck bunnies are, that chick probably sat on Reid’s lap before he could even—”

“Stop.” Nadia held up a hand. “Don’t make excuses for him.”

“I’m not making excuses,” Nelson insisted. “I’m just trying to explain—”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Her voice was sharp with anger. And hurt. “If Reid can’t keep his dick in his pants, he’s not the right man for me. Period.”

Nelson gave her a hard, probing look. “In your heart of hearts, do you truly believe he cheated on you?”

Pain stabbed through her chest, constricting her heart.

She held her brother’s incisive gaze for a long moment.

Then, without a word, she got up slowly and made her way back to her bedroom. After closing the door, she crossed to the nightstand, picked up her phone and selected the playlist simply titled “Broken.”

As tears crept into her eyes, she crawled into bed, turned on Janet Jackson’s “Come Back To Me” and quietly cried herself to sleep.

*              *              *

When her parents
found out that she broke up with Reid and why, neither of them were surprised. Her father even seemed relieved when they stopped by her loft to check up on her.

“I hate to say I told you so, but…well, I did.”

“Lincoln,” his wife gently chastised.

“No. He’s right, Ma. He did try to warn me, but I didn’t listen.” Heat gathered behind Nadia’s eyelids, and her vision started to blur.

“Oh, darling.” Her mother sat next to her on the sofa and caressed her cheek. “I hate to see you hurting like this. It breaks my heart.”

“I know.” Nadia swiped a hand under her nose and forced a brave smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll survive.”

After trading a glance with her mother, her father clenched his jaw. “I oughtta kill that boy for treating you like this.”

Nadia huffed a small laugh. “You can’t kill him, Dad. The Rebels need him in order to make the playoffs.”

Her father grunted, clearly not amused. “He wasn’t good enough for you anyway.”

“How do you know?” she countered glumly. “You never even met him.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he asserted. “I know he wasn’t right for you.”

Nadia sighed. “But that’s the thing, Dad. When we were together, he
did
feel right for me. Better than right. Perfect.”

Her parents shared another long look.

Then her mother reached over and gently cupped Nadia’s cheek, turning her head to meet her solemn gaze. “A man you don’t trust can never be perfect for you, sweetheart. You have to trust the person you love…or love someone else you can trust.”

21

R
eid was about
to lose his shit.

Big time.

The target of his brewing fury was his teammate Gill Krugman, one of the Rebels’ six defensemen. He’d had a bad game last night, losing one too many puck battles and getting crushed in the corners by Philadelphia’s hard-charging forwards. During his postgame interview, when asked about his shoddy performance, he’d deflected any personal responsibility by making some bitch ass comment about not receiving enough playing time to get into a rhythm. When pressed to elaborate, he’d complained about Reid’s ice time, then went a step further and criticized the media and fans for behaving as though Reid was the only defenseman on the roster.

After the sour-grapes interview, Coach Bohler had reprimanded Krugman for his divisive remarks, which only made him more surly and resentful. To add insult to injury, Coach had instructed him to run drills with Reid instead of his regular defense partner so he could “learn a thing or two.”

Krugman hadn’t taken the coach’s suggestion very well. During practice that morning, he’d been muttering and grumbling under his breath while glaring daggers at Reid.

Reid was ignoring the prick and trying to stay on task. But it wasn’t easy. Since losing Nadia, he’d been in a fucked-up state of mind. His emotions were raw and in turmoil. Guilt, grief and anger seethed through him until he felt as though he were balancing on a knife-edge, an edge upon which the slightest provocation would have him exploding in fury.

Krugman apparently didn’t recognize the danger signs, because he kept goading Reid as they ran through puck-passing drills with Hunter and Logan. At one point Krugman skated past Reid and gave him a hard shoulder check.

“Watch it,” Hunter warned sharply as Krugman smirked and skated away.

Reid narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw, holding on to control by a thread.

The whistle blew, signaling the end of practice. As the players began filing off the ice, they were intercepted by reporters. Nadia’s brother was one of them.

As he was approaching Viggo for a quote, he suddenly glanced across the practice rink and met Reid’s eyes. They stared each other down for a long, tense moment.

Then Nelson tightened his jaw and turned away.

Reid gritted his teeth against the fresh surge of anger that stormed through him. Pulling off his helmet, he skated up to Krugman and snarled, “You wanna take my spot? Work harder.”

Krugman’s face reddened. “What’s that supposed to mean? I’ve been busting my ass out here just like everyone else.”

“Not today you weren’t. Today you were so busy trying to rattle my cage that you couldn’t even focus on what you were supposed to be doing. And after the way you played last night, you clearly need all the practice you can get.”

Krugman scowled. “Fuck you, Holden. I’m sick of you acting like the whole damn world revolves around you.”

Reid threw down his helmet. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Hey,” a stern voice called nearby. “What the hell’s going on over there?”

Reid spat onto the ice near Krugman’s feet, then got up in his face and shoved him in the chest. “You got something to say to me, asshole? Say it to my face, not a bunch of fucking reporters.”

Krugman sneered maliciously. “You think I don’t work hard? You think I’m not pulling my weight? Tell you what. Just to show you what a team player I am, how about I go over there and have a little chat with your ex-girlfriend’s brother? How about I explain to him that you weren’t being a poon hound just for the hell of it when you cheated on his sister. You were just following the number one rule of the road: ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, fuck the one you’re with.’”

A red haze of fury settled over Reid’s vision.

Krugman had no time to react before Reid drew back his fist and slugged him in the jaw. The big defenseman grunted in pain as his head snapped to the side.

Reid hit him hard in the stomach, then threw another uppercut into his face. Krugman cried out and staggered backward on his skates, flailing his arms before he lost his balance and fell flat on his ass.

He was down, but Reid wanted him out for the count. So he lunged again, landing another brutal punch that leveled the motherfucker on the ice.

“Hey, hey!” Coach yelled. “Knock it off!”

As Reid went for Krugman’s jugular, Hunter grabbed him and yanked him backward. “Chill out, man. Chill the fuck out.”

Chest heaving, fists balled at his sides, Reid glared furiously as an assistant coach skated over to check on Krugman, then helped him carefully to his feet. His nose was bleeding and he was grimacing in pain while holding his jaw. Reid hoped it was broken.

“Holden,” Coach barked sharply. “My office.
Now
.”

Scowling, Reid shook off Hunter’s hands and shoved past Krugman, knocking him aside with a hard shoulder.

He headed off the ice and stomped his way down the tunnel, ignoring the questions shouted at him by reporters. His teammates stared at him, giving him a wide berth as he stormed through the locker room. He felt violent, out of control. He wanted to kick the shit out of everyone and everything.

Coach Bohler sat behind the desk in his small office. “Shut the door.”

As soon as Reid did, the head coach lit into him.

“What the hell has gotten into you? Huh? What the hell was that all about?”

Reid didn’t want to sound like a whiny little bitch by insisting that Krugman had started the beef. So he just clenched his jaw, crossed his arms over his chest and said absolutely nothing.

Coach frowned. “Look, I know Krugman’s got it in for you. And I’m dealing with him, believe me. But you’re not some goddamn journeyman or rookie, Holden. You’re a leader on this team, so I expect better from you. When you’re out there going up against other teams, you can be a one-man wrecking crew all day long. But when you start turning on your own teammates like a rabid dog, it’s time to put you down.”

Reid stood in sullen silence, sweat cooling on his skin beneath the heavy padding he wore.

Coach wasn’t finished. “Have you been listening to the news lately? They’re all saying we’re the team to beat because we’ve got what it takes to go all the way. And they’re right. We
are
the team to beat this year. But you know what? We’re only a good team when we
play
like a team. I’ll be damned if I let you or anyone else fuck up our shot at hoisting the Cup in June.” Coach jabbed a finger at Reid. “I don’t know what the hell crawled up your ass and set up shop these past few weeks, but you’d better deal with it. You hear me, Holden? Get your shit together before I ship your ornery ass off to Anaheim or something.”

It was an empty threat. They both knew a trade was out of the question. But Reid got the message loud and clear.

Coach dismissed him with an impatient wave of his hand. “Go hit the showers and get out of my sight.”

Seething with frustration, Reid pivoted on his heel and slammed out of the office. Instead of heading to the showers, he changed into sweats and marched down to the team weight room. He was angry and disgusted with himself for losing his temper with Krugman, even though the asshole got what was coming to him. Reid had always gotten along well with his teammates, so it bothered him that he’d allowed Krugman’s cheap shot to get under his skin. He was mad as hell about Nadia breaking up with him, but that was no excuse for using his teammates as his own personal punching bag. He needed to find another way to work the anger and aggression out of his system.

Stalking into the state-of-the-art weight room, he pulled out his phone, shoved in some earbuds and put on some grungy rock music. He then proceeded to push himself through the most grueling workout his body could withstand. As the Foo Fighters blasted into his eardrums, he warmed up with a pounding session on the treadmill and then the rowing machine. When he’d finished, he grabbed a pair of dumbbells and did three sets of curls, triceps extensions and military presses.

When an image of Nadia flashed through his mind, he swore under his breath and put down the dumbbells, then stalked over to the weight bench.

One of the team’s trainers followed him, watching as he slammed more weights onto each end of the barbell. He lay back on the bench, gripped the barbell above him and lifted it off the rack without waiting for the trainer to spot him.

He began bench-pressing like a maniac, bouncing the weight off his chest while exhaling in short, angry bursts.

“Take it easy, Holden,” the trainer warned, raising his voice to be heard over Reid’s blasting music. “You don’t wanna mess around and separate your cartilage.”

Reid ignored him, adrenaline pumping hard and fast through his bloodstream. He pushed himself through a punishing set of reps until sweat poured off his body and he could feel the vicious burn in his biceps.

Suddenly “The Pretender” came on, taunting him with the memory of Nadia laughing and whipping her hair around as she rocked out to the song.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed out two more reps before placing the barbell back on the rack. Then he yanked out his earbuds and closed his eyes, heart pounding, chest heaving, muscles quivering with exertion.

“Blowing off steam or trying to kill yourself?” a deep voice drawled.

Reid opened his eyes to see Viggo and Hunter standing over him with grimly amused expressions.

He scowled. “Fuck off.”

Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Is that any way to talk to your captain?”

“Or your best bro?” Viggo added.

Ignoring them, Reid sat up on the bench and swiped the back of his arm across his forehead. The trainer tossed him a towel before walking off with a shake of his head.

As Reid mopped up the sweat on his face and arms, Hunter prodded, “Seriously though. What’s your game plan here? To get yourself injured?”

“Sure as hell looks that way.” Viggo scowled at Reid. “If you get hurt pumping iron like a maniac, there goes our fucking season. Is that what you want?”

“Of course not,” Reid grumbled.

“Then act like it,” Hunter growled. “Abort the suicide mission you’ve been on for the past three weeks and get your damn head on straight.”

Reid shot him a dark smirk. “Last I checked, we’re still winning games.”

“For now. But how long before you implode out there?” Hunter challenged.

“Exactly. We’ve had a stretch of easier games,” Viggo pointed out. “But if our chemistry’s off, what’s gonna happen when we play the Hawks? Or the Predators? We’re gonna get our asses handed to us, that’s what.”

Before Reid could respond—not that he planned to—Logan sauntered into the weight room. He had a lollipop in his mouth, the stick hanging out the corner.

“Am I late for the intervention?” he called out.

Reid scowled. “I don’t need a fucking intervention.”

“The hell you don’t,” Viggo and Hunter retorted.

“I don’t,” Reid snapped. “Coach already chewed my ass out for fighting Krug—”

“
Fighting?
” Logan snorted. “Dude, that wasn’t no fight. You cold-cocked him and laid his ass out on the ice. When I left the locker room, the trainer was still examining him. I think you broke his damn jaw.”

“Great,” Hunter muttered in exasperation. “Just what we need.”

Viggo snickered. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy though.”

Logan laughed. “Agreed.”

Hunter wasn’t amused. “We all know Krugman’s an asshole. But we need everyone on this team healthy, including him.”

Logan chuckled. “Guess he shoulda thought about that before he mouthed off to Holden, who’s barely sane on a good day—let alone when he’s heartbroken.”

“Fuck off, Brassard,” Reid grumbled, leaning forward on the bench with his hands dangling between his legs and sweat dripping off his jaw.

“For the sake of the team,” Hunter said wryly, “you need to find a less violent outlet for all that pent-up frustration and rage. Something that doesn’t involve breaking people’s jaws and bench-pressing yourself into a coma.”

Logan’s dark eyes glinted. “Getting laid would be a good start.”

Reid frowned. The thought of hooking up with some puck bunny left a seriously bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t want any other woman. Only Nadia would do.

He must have looked pathetic because Viggo, Hunter and Logan exchanged pitying glances.

“Why don’t you try contacting her again?” Hunter suggested.

“I have.” Reid clenched his jaw hard. “She blocked my number, and she won’t see me or talk to me.”

And he couldn’t really blame her. He’d hurt her badly, betrayed her trust and publicly humiliated her. And for what? Some broad in a bar, a hot but forgettable chick he’d had no interest in banging.

One careless mistake, that’s all it had taken. One stupid lapse in judgment. And it had cost him everything.

His sisters were majorly disappointed in him. When they found out that he’d been photographed with another woman sitting on his lap, they gave him a blistering earful on Skype, complete with finger wagging and head shaking.