Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (4 page)

Garrick raced back to the locker room like the rink was on
fire and the showers were the only safe place to hide. Their win that night had
been a long and hard-fought. But as much as he wanted to sit and bask in the
glory of a good night on the ice, he had other things to worry about.

Specifically, Savannah.

For the past few weeks she’d been a changed woman on game
nights. Now she moved around the bench, worked more proactively with the team,
and shouted encouragement like a seasoned, slightly foul-mouthed professional. The
good news was the team was starting to think of her as something other than an
uptight bitch. The bad news was her growing credibility had provoked Bobby into
finding new ways to harass her.

She ignored Bobby at all times, Garrick had noticed. He’d
made it his habit to keep an eye on them both as much as possible. Bobby,
though, always found a way to bump into her, crowd her, or just generally make
a nuisance of himself. Like how after four years on the team, Bobby now used
the door right in front of where Savannah stood for the games instead of
jumping the boards.

To his knowledge, she hadn’t complained to Mark about any of
it. Garrick wanted to be mad about that, but even he couldn’t point to any
particular incident where Bobby had done something
wrong,
per se. He was
just being an asshole in a more general sense.

Garrick suspected the cat-and-mouse routine, in addition to
Savannah’s game duties, was exhausting for her. Tonight, apparently, she had
hit her limit.

Bobby had come sailing through the door, caught his skate, and
careened directly into Savannah. He’d slammed her into the tunnel wall with sufficient
force to bounce her head off the concrete while pinning the rest of her with
his full weight and equipment—hockey and otherwise.

Garrick had leapt to his feet, heart pounding, not knowing
how badly she was hurt. He’d wanted to leap the length of the bench and pound Bobby,
the stupid fucker, into the floor mats.

But Savannah had yanked herself free at the same moment
Mark’s hand landed on Garrick’s arm. She’d stared Bobby right in the face, bright
color in her cheeks, and shoved him, repeatedly and with all her weight,
forcing him to stumble toward the bench while she tore into him.

“You’re a fucking baby who needs to learn some manners. Go
home to your momma if you want to cuddle. I’m here to work.”

Her last shove had nearly dumped Bobby on his ass. Heads had
spun and Mike Erdo’s loud guffaw was audible above the noise of the crowd.

Before Bobby could react, Mark was in his face. “Sit there
and shut the fuck up, or you’re out of the game.”

Bobby’s innocent exclamation of “what the fuck?” didn’t fool
anyone, but everyone went back to what they’d been doing, preparing for the
next line change.

Mark had checked on Savannah, but she waved him off. She
hadn’t spared Bobby another glance, so she hadn’t seen the glare he’d drilled
into her back. The death-ray was going nuclear and so, Garrick suspected, was
Bobby.

Garrick dashed out of the showers, a towel barely clinging
to his hips, and jogged back to his locker. He ignored Rhian’s raised eyebrow,
only cocking his head toward Bobby’s locker before throwing on his clothes. He’d
told Rhian about what he’d walked in on in Savannah’s office, as well as the
ridiculous staring contests and bench antics, so Rhian merely nodded and got
out of his way.

Garrick’s hip twinged, a bolt of pain shooting down his leg
as he thrust it into his pants, and he smiled grimly. He even had an excuse to
go visit the trainer.

Five minutes later he was dressed and outside her door,
waiting while she cut tape and unwound bandages from the last of her customers.
He entered her office as she scribbled some notes on what Alexei told her,
while Mike listened in with interest. Garrick smiled. Savannah was growing a
respectable fan club.

Fortunately, there was still no sign of Bobby.

Once she sent his teammates out, he dropped his wraps in the
bin and went to her medicine chest.

“Mind?” He indicated the ibuprofen bottle. He was eating the
damn things like candy these days.

Savannah smiled. “Sure, help yourself. No more than four
though. And only two tomorrow until
after
you work out.”

He sighed. “You’re mean.”

She laughed. “I’m careful. And you’re trouble. The last
thing you need is to dull your body’s myriad messages telling you to stop.”

And isn’t that the sad fucking truth?

Savannah saw his no doubt pathetic expression and cocked her
head. “What?”

He shook his head, feeling stupid. And old.

“What?” she asked again, coming closer. “Did I say something
to upset you?”

She didn’t usually care if she did or did not say something
to upset anyone, but she probably didn’t often see grown men hanging their
heads like sad puppies in her office.

“It is telling me to stop, isn’t it?” He hadn’t intended to
ask the question. At least, not out loud—to Savannah or anyone else. Silently,
he asked himself every day.

She drew up short, her eyebrows pinched together. “Your
body?”

He sighed. “Yes. My stupid, beat-up, crappy old body.”

One side of her lips quirked up. “It’s not a crappy body.” A
hint of a blush crept into her cheeks. “It’s a strong body, Garrick. It’s a
body that’s in better shape than ninety percent of the men on earth, and
probably ninety-nine percent of the men your age.”

Garrick winced. “Holy crap, you just said
men
your
age
.”

Savannah laughed. “Stop it. You’re what? Thirty-four? I’m
sorry if it’s hard to accept, Garrick, but the truth is you can’t play hockey
forever. Not professional hockey.”

“Ouch.”

Savannah fell silent He was being ridiculous. But how could
he
not
play hockey? It was all he knew.

Rhian’s arrival spared Garrick attempting to explain any of
that. Rhian looked back and forth between them in the growing silence until
Savannah jumped in to ask him some questions. Rhian gave her all favorable
reviews, even claiming had never felt better.

Of course.
To be young and at the top of his game
again. Garrick remembered how easy it had been.

A few nights later, Savannah buttoned her coat and tried to
ignore the itch between her shoulder blades as the players walked past her door
on their way out of the arena. When she was suitably bundled up to face the New
Brunswick winter night, she turned to find Bobby standing in the hallway,
talking to a friend, his eyes fastened on her.

Shit.

Even as her heart sped up, she held firm to her resolve not
to be intimidated. Bobby was a serious problem that could not be ignored, but
that didn’t mean he was allowed to run her life. She was determined to be
cautious. Not cowed.

Steeling herself, she stepped into the hall and closed her
door, keeping her movements slow and precise to not betray her nerves. As the
deadbolt locked into place, she promised herself she’d find Mark tomorrow and
tell him about the stares, the hovering. She hadn’t yet because she didn’t want
to sound like a baby, and it was hardly against the rules to stare at someone.
But Mark had seen Bobby’s childish stunt a few nights ago—she had a nice bruise
on her shoulder blade because of it, too—and Bobby wasn’t letting up. Not being
a baby was one thing. Being stupid was another.

Bobby’s friend said goodnight and moved away. The next sound
was a footstep drawing closer to her.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“Savannah!”

Garrick’s voice made her jump. She spun toward it, not
bothering to hide her relief.

Bobby stopped just a few feet away. He glared at Garrick
then moved quickly in the opposite direction. The smile Garrick sent in his
wake was more a baring of teeth.

Garrick stopped at her side. “Are you okay?”

She shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, good,” Garrick said quickly, not making her explain. She
was grateful. Again.

She sighed as they walked toward the doors to the arena
parking lot. “I’m going to talk to Mark tomorrow.”

“Good idea. If there’s anything I can do to help…”

She smiled ruefully. “You’ve already done more than I can
possibly thank you for.” He didn’t look at her, his eyes constantly scanning
the passageway, then the parking lot.

He’d been hanging around her office and had walked her to
her car a couple nights before, after the incident with Bobby. And,
mysteriously, Rhian had shown up and walked out with her last night while Garrick
had done photos with the scout troop who had won tickets to last night’s game.

She wanted to be irritated. Wanted to be tough. Independent.
Unafraid
. Unfortunately, her previously stated policy against being
stupid prevented her from objecting to Garrick’s rather unsubtle orchestration
of her nightly escorts.

“So—” She broke the silence. “Do you think there will be a
buyer for the Cats quickly?”

Garrick glanced down at her before returning to his diligent
surveillance of their surroundings. They left the bright halo around the arena
and moved into the darker rows of cars. “I hope, but I’m doubtful. They’d be
buying a bit of a mess.”

“They would?”

They stopped in the orange glow of the parking lot vapor lamp
nearest her car. The night was cold, but not unbearable—the wind that had been
whipping in off the Atlantic for the past few days had died down at last.

“Lamont has been mostly ignoring the team and this arena for
years,” Garrick explained. “I think before the economic downturn, it was easy
enough to make his profit and he didn’t care about the margin or the size of
the return until they went into the red.”

She nodded. “Ticket sales are down, but you all still pull
in a good crowd.”

“We do, fortunately, but we could sell more. And even with
sales down, Lamont’s missed a lot of opportunity. To start with, the arena
should be retro-fitted to allow parquet to go down quickly, leaving the ice
below. Good management could arrange the basketball team’s game around ours and
move the poor basketball team out of the convention center. It would also
facilitate more concerts. More events. The University could use it too, I’m
sure. And then there are the concessions.” Garrick’s waving hands jerked with
frustration. “He’s had the same fried dough, cheap pizza, and watery beer
stands going for decades. Microbrews like Picaroons and even bigger local companies
like Moosehead would easily outsell at least half the Bud and Molson taps. And
don’t get me started on the lack of corporate sponsors and season ticket
holders. I could—” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head. “Listen to me ramble
on about shit I know nothing about.”

“I am listening. It’s interesting.”

“I’m easy-chair quarterbacking. I don’t know what I’m
talking about.” He stared down at his boots, his hands stuffed in his coat
pockets.

“It
sounds
like you know what you’re talking about.”

He shrugged. “Not really. I just have lots of ideas.”

“Have you told Lamont your ideas?”

He looked at her. “Lamont?”

“Yeah, you know, the guy who could actually make money by
listening to you?”

Garrick’s eyes widened. “I couldn’t. I mean, I’m just a
hockey player. I don’t know anything about running a team or an arena.”

 Garrick had struck her as a lot of things, but never
insecure. His lack of confidence surprised her.

 “Seems to me you know plenty. Everything you just said makes
sense and jives with what I’ve seen other arenas do. And don’t give me the
just
a hockey player
crap. The smartest men I know are hockey players, so that
doesn’t mean shit to me.”

She couldn’t be sure in the strange light, but it was
possible Garrick LeBlanc was blushing.

“Yeah, well anyway, to answer your actual question,” he
said, obviously avoiding a response to her outburst, “I think the Cats and the
arena need to find a buyer with good ideas and a willingness to invest. And
given the current state of the economy, no, I don’t think that’s going to
happen quickly.”

She nodded. He was right. He was also a hell of a lot
smarter than she’d given him credit for.

She stood, head tilted to the side, and stared up at this
new Garrick, aware of the bemused smile on her face. He blinked, slowly, and
his eyes darkened, going black in the dim light.

She licked her suddenly dry lips. His gaze darted down.
Otherwise, he didn’t move. Not a muscle.

I could kiss him.

The thought—which she never should have had to begin with—held
way more appeal than it ought to. Not because she felt sorry for him, or
because she was grateful for his help these past weeks. But because he was
gorgeous and kind and smart and funny and
holy crap.
When had she
stopped pretending he wasn’t smoking hot?

Of course, none of that mattered. He was a player on the Ice
Cats.

“Goodnight,” she said abruptly.

“Goodnight.” His deep voice drifted over her skin and made
the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up beneath her scarf.

She yanked her keys from her pocket, unlocked the car, and practically
dove into the driver’s seat. Screw waiting for the engine or the frigid air around
her to warm up. She slammed the car into gear and hightailed it out of there.

She looked back in the mirror, once, just before she turned
out onto the highway. Garrick stood exactly where she’d left him, watching her
drive away.

Savannah was all business the next morning when she saw
Garrick, which, for some reason, he seemed to find amusing. She doggedly ignored
his failed attempts to hide his smile while she resolutely spoke of training,
conditioning, his hip, and his groin pull.

That she wanted to smile back was another issue, one she
refused to acknowledge. She hadn’t meant to befriend one of the players, but
she had, and it didn’t mean she’d lost her ever-loving mind and would do
something colossally stupid.

Once she’d sent Garrick and the rest of the players off to
run through their training programs, she stopped by the gym to check in on
everyone. Then she went to see Mark.

It sucked to bring him more shit to deal with the day before
they left on a road trip to Nova Scotia, but she’d promised herself, and more
or less promised Garrick, that she would address it.

Standing outside Mark’s door, she watched how his hands
tugged at his hair while he reviewed whatever numbers were on the spreadsheet
before him. She considered leaving it until the bus ride tomorrow.

Tempting, but she’d need that time to get organized for the
days and games to come. Now was her best chance.

She left Mark’s office a half hour later, sealing off his
stream of muttered curses as she closed the door behind her. Mark was a nice
man, but his hands were tied. Bobby hadn’t laid a finger on her since that day
in her office, and the “accidental” body slam the other night, about which he
had professed absolute innocence.

She sighed as she made her way back to her office. It was
going to be a long season if she couldn’t figure out a way to get Bobby off her
ass. She didn’t know where to begin and had no one she could ask. If she called
her parents for advice, they’d have a seizure. And any one of her six brothers
could be counted on to drive to Moncton and attempt to remove Bobby’s black
heart. Through his nostrils.

Settling in at her desk, she took a chance her best friend,
Grace, would answer her phone in the middle of the day. She hung up a while
later feeling immeasurably better. Grace didn’t have any answers either, but it
had been good to tell someone what was going on. She’d even managed to deftly
deflect all suggestions and innuendos regarding Garrick.

Now, sitting alone in her office, a few of those suggestions
wandered through her mind. She cursed Grace for giving her imagination so much
fodder. She hadn’t slept well last night as it was, and now her tired body felt
twitchy and hot.

She just about jumped out of her skin when Garrick said
“hello” from no more than two feet behind her.

“Hi!” Leaping from her chair, she yanked her fleece down
over her butt and thighs.

He lifted one brow. “You doing okay?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

His warm brown eyes met hers and she struggled not to do
something ridiculous like squirm or try to push her fleece down to her knees. Her
face was warm, no doubt flushed, and the rest of her body felt sensitive. Swollen.

“No reason,” he said, watching her closely. “I just came in
to see if I was allowed to have two more ibuprofen now that I’ve been a good
doobie and done all my work.”

She laughed as she moved to the cabinet, grateful for the
distraction. “You make me sound like a grade school teacher.”

Garrick cleared his throat. “You definitely don’t remind me
of any grade school teacher I ever had.”

She was about to ask what he meant by that but bit off the
question when Bobby stepped through her door. She shot Garrick a look to warn him.

“What do you want, Bobby?” Garrick’s cold stare and arctic
tone couldn’t possibly have been less welcoming. Savannah smiled into her
medicine chest.

“My elbow hurts, and
she
said I should have it
wrapped before practice.”

Savannah turned, speaking before Garrick could. “Yes, of
course, Bobby. Please have a seat.”

Bobby eyed Garrick, who stared back. Tension hovered in the
air around them, climbing until she worried they would come to blows. She couldn’t
relax, even when Bobby relented and flopped into the chair he hadn’t deigned to
sit in for months.

She went to Garrick and dropped the two pills in his palm. “Here
you go.” She smiled up at him, her back to Bobby, and mouthed
thank you
.
“Let me know how you’re feeling later and we can talk about what’s next.”

He dutifully moved toward the door. In truth, she wanted to
beg him to stay, but she couldn’t hand that kind of power over to Bobby. Confirming
she was afraid of him would only make him worse. Hell, just the hint that she
and Garrick were friends gave Bobby too much.

Garrick shot Bobby another hard stare on his way out.

She gave him a little push. “Come use the tub whenever
you’re ready.”

His eyebrow went up, silently giving her one last chance to
change her mind. When she said nothing, he left her office and disappeared
around the corner.

Savannah stared at the empty door longer than necessary, but
by the time she turned to gather what she needed to wrap Bobby’s elbow, she was
composed.

She moved quickly, keeping as much distance as possible
without being obvious. She didn’t ask him any questions, which was unlike her,
but she didn’t want any more contact than was absolutely required.

Bobby was uncharacteristically cooperative, holding his arm
as she needed and keeping his hands to himself. Too bad he spent the entire
session staring into her face from mere inches away. His breath brushed her
cheek when she bent to cut away a loose string and she forced herself not to
jerk back. She did, though, hold her breath.

Garlic for breakfast?

By the time Bobby stood to leave, a continuous trickle of
cold sweat slid down her back. She left her supplies where they were, not
cleaning up as she would usually, choosing instead to stand back and let him
go. He smiled at her from the door and her fingers tightened around the
scissors still clutched in her hand.

His laughter echoed in the hallway as she slumped into her
desk chair, tossed her scissors onto the pile of paperwork, and wiped her
clammy hands on her pants.

Holy shit.
How the hell was she going to fix this?

Garrick bolted out of the coach’s office, barely calling a
goodnight to Rick and the rest of the forward lines with whom he’d been forced
to sit and review strategy for the upcoming away games.

As he jogged around the arena toward Savannah’s office, his
hip protested the unforgiving concrete beneath his feet. It hurt like hell.

There won’t be many more than twelve years of hockey for me.

It was scary shit to think about. Almost as scary as coming
around the bend to find Savannah’s door closed and locked, her lights off. She’d
already left.

Hoping he might still catch her, he took off at a run, ignoring
the increasingly sharp pains from his hip. Bobby had left the locker room right
after practice, and from there, Garrick had no idea where he’d gone. Maybe out
with the sycophants he called friends. Or home with an unfortunate puck bunny
who didn’t know which players should be avoided.

Or maybe he was waiting in the parking lot, knowing Garrick
was tied up in a meeting. Knowing Savannah would be alone.

Shit.
He ran faster.

He should have asked Rhian to walk her to her car, but he
hadn’t thought his meeting would take long. Christ, Rick would have dissected
the best shot strategy for another hour if they’d let him.

Running on concrete sucked for his hip, but when he pivoted
to go down the hall to the doors, his groin pull protested too, a line of fire
dropping into his nuts. He frowned and moved through the pain. He wasn’t an
idiot. It was time to move on from hockey. The question was,
to what?

To whatever you were going to do when you went off to
McGill and got that shiny degree in finance and economics.

Trying out for the McGill team, joining up and playing all
four years had all been a lark. Something to keep him busy between classes and
studying and partying. A way to keep fit. When the Eastern Hockey League scout
had first approached him, he’d been astounded. And, of course, flattered. But some
sane part of him had been tempted to send him packing.

Hindsight was a bitch.

Not that he’d do it any differently if he could go back. He
was glad for the opportunity to play for his home team. He just couldn’t figure
out how he’d launched a career that could only last a dozen years and not given
any thought to what would be next. Now
next
was bearing down on him like
a freight train.

He swung around the last corner and stumbled to a halt.
Savannah stood a few feet away in the little lobby, bundled up against the
weather, her phone in her hand. The squeak of his sneakers on the smooth floor
brought her head up.

She’s waiting for me.

His heart beat harder and it wasn’t from the run. “Hi,” he
said, trying not to grin.

 “Hi.” She smiled almost shyly.

He resisted the urge to clutch at his chest. Christ, she was
adorable when she was prickly. But a shy smile? If she flirted with him, he just
might collapse on the spot.

“I hope it’s okay.” She gestured to the door.

“Of course.” He shook himself out of his momentary stupor, opened
the door and walked through first. She’d broken him of the habit of trying to
hold the door for her, but it still felt wrong.

She moved to his side in the glare of the fluorescent lights
ringing the arena. They didn’t say anything as they made their way toward her
car in the far corner of the nearly deserted parking lot. Garrick burrowed his
face under the collar of his parka, feeling like a love-struck fourteen-year-old
when their arms brushed and he got a little zing. She didn’t normally walk this
close to him, did she?

They were passing under the last row of lights, almost to
her car, when a pickup truck roared to life at the end of the aisle. Wheels
squealing, the huge truck peeled out of its parking space and gunned toward
them. Garrick leaped forward and yanked Savannah between two cars. The truck accelerated
past them, gravel spitting from beneath its tires, before careening through the
main exit and disappearing around the corner.

Savannah stood frozen, her mouth hanging open. “Holy shit. Please
tell me that wasn’t Bobby’s truck.”

Garrick tried to bring his blood pressure back down from the
stratosphere. He’d been so preoccupied with Savannah’s arm brushing his, he
hadn’t seen a fucking thing until the truck had practically been on top of them.

Savannah turned to him, her eyes wide.

He blew out a breath, trying to think. “To be honest, I’m
not sure. I don’t think so. He has that awful canary yellow one, and that truck
was a darker color.”

Savannah paced a few yards away from him, back into the
bright orange glare of the sodium vapor lamp, before coming back to the patch
of shadows where he stood.

“Regardless, that was Bobby’s work, wasn’t it?”

Garrick grimaced. “Yeah, I think so.”

Savannah paced another circle. He watched her, helpless.

“What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t complain that
someone peeled out of the parking lot. Just like I can’t make a stink about him
standing so close to me, the stupid creep, especially since my job requires it
half the time!”

Garrick was torn between his need to comfort her and the
desire to rant and rave right along with her.

“Shit!” She strode faster, her hands jammed in her coat
pockets. “Never in my wildest dreams would I have guessed Bobby Kramer would be
so good at stalking. He’s such a dumb fuck. He must have read a manual or
something.”

Garrick was surprised he could laugh. “They have a manual
for that?”

She threw her hands in the air. “They must!”

He put out a hand with the intention of stopping her maniacal
pacing so they could talk, so they could make a plan. He was completely
unprepared when she threw her arms around him and buried her face in his parka.
Whatever he’d been about to say left him in a quiet “ooof.”

He stood, stunned, until instincts and months of repressed
desire kicked in. He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled against his chest.
“You’re the only friend I have here. I just need…”

“No worries,” he whispered, ridiculously pleased that she
thought of him as a friend. It felt like a huge victory.

She started to pull away, but he held fast, rubbing a hand
down her back, trying to offer what comfort he could. Her arms tightened around
him again, her hands fisting in the material at the back of his parka as she
clung to him.

Lots of victories tonight.

She sighed, her breath warm on his neck as she relaxed against
him. He cradled her closer, her soft hair teasing his cheek, her legs bumping
into his.

He was disappointed when she finally released him, but he
let go too, ducking his head to peer into her face in the dim light. He blinked,
slowly, mesmerized by her warm gaze and slightly parted lips. Uncertain.
Wondering if perhaps the vapor lamps were playing tricks on him.

Her soft hand touched his cheek and he closed his eyes, his
heart leaping in his chest. He wanted to press his cheek to her palm, but held
himself in check. He thought about Savannah. Discreet. Driven. Fully capable of
opening the door herself.

She had to be the one to make the first move. Even if it fucking
killed him.

She traced her fingers over his skin, her light touch
igniting his every nerve ending. His hands trembled where they gripped her coat
as the soft pads of her fingers bumped over the corner of his lips.

He wanted to pounce. To leap. To
beg
.
He didn’t.