Any Man Of Mine

She rol ed her eyes. “I want you to stop pushing me. You’re spoiled and used to everyone’s doing things your way. I don’t work for you, and I’m not one of your women. My life does not revolve around your wants, needs, and desires.”

“Autumn,” he said through a sigh, “of al the women on the planet, I certainly know that your life does not revolve around my desires.”

“Welcome to the Jungle” pounded the air inside the Key Arena in downtown Seattle. Two minutes into the second period, the score was even with two goals apiece. Walker and Vancouver player, Henrik Sedin, faced off behind the Chinooks’ blue line. The puck dropped, the music stopped, and the sound of Axl Rose was replaced by the slap of sticks on ice.

Sam sat on the bench and squirted water into his mouth. He spit between his feet and wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand.

“Henrik’s creating space and crowding the crease,” Mark Bressler said from behind Sam. “Tie him up and get him off Marty’s long side.”

Sam nodded, his eyes fol owing the action on ice. The Canucks had speed in their front line, but their blue line wasn’t as fast. If the Chinooks kept the pressure on the defense and Luongo, they should give them a pretty good shel acking.

Beside him, Andre chirped at Burrows as he skated past the bench, “You’re next, nutless.”

Sam laughed and slid his gaze to the left corner behind the goal and landed on Autumn’s pink bal cap. It was like Autumn was incognito. Hat on, col ar of her coat up, like she was a double agent and didn’t want anyone to recognize her. He guessed he was a little surprised that she wasn’t wearing that Pittsburgh jersey just to piss him off.

Sam felt a hand on his back, and he rose and shoved his mouth guard against his teeth. He and Vlad scissored over the wal , and he skated to the far side.

Vancouver’s Kesler brought the puck down ice, dangling the vulcanized rubber within the blade of his stick. Sam kept his gaze on Kesler’s face, reading him, and the second he looked down, Sam hip checked him against the boards. The Plexiglas rattled as he dug at the puck with the curved blade of his own stick. “You must love getting your ass handed to you,” he said as he slashed and hacked.

“Blow me, LeClaire.”

“You first, chicken shit.” He shot the puck along the al ey to Daniel and took off toward the red line. The whistle blew, and the ref cal ed offside. He glanced at Conner and Autumn. His son waved a foam finger at him, and his heart swel ed. The shadow of Autumn’s cap hid her eyes and touched the bow of her lips. He was grateful that, despite her obvious dislike of him and hockey, she’d brought Conner. He circled back to the goal line and checked the tape on his stick. He real y couldn’t ask for a better mother for his son, and as he passed Kesler, he bumped him with his shoulder. “My bal s dangle better than you,” he said.

“Your bal s dangle ’cause you’re an old man.”

Sam smiled. He remembered when he’d been twenty-five and cocky. Hel , he was stil a little cocky sometimes. “Watch yourself, dipshit. The season is young, and the ice is slick.”

He stood near the goal line, shutting down firing lanes and waited. The puck dropped, Hendrik fed it back to Kesler, and from his right, Sam took a hard hit from Shane O’Brien that knocked him on his ass. He slid across the ice. His right shoulder slammed into the boards, and he heard the snap a split second before pain shot across his shoulder and down his arm. “Fuck.”

He tried to sit up and rol ed onto his right side. Stars flashed in front of his eyes, and the whistles blew. He shook off his glove and gritted his teeth.

“Son of a bitch!” The pain took his breath away, and he lay on his back and looked up at steel girders. This isn’t good, he thought. The arena was fil ed with the yel ing of thousands of Chinook fans, and through it al , the pain and shock and the noise, he heard Conner. He heard his son’s fearful wail, but that was impossible. The roar of the crowd was too loud. Then Daniel’s and Vlad’s faces crowded his vision, fol owed shortly by Bressler and head trainer, Scott Silverman.

“Where are you hurt?” Scott asked.

“Shoulder. My clavicle. I heard the snap.”

“Can you move your hands and feet?”

“Yeah.” He’d broken enough bones that he recognized the signs, and he wondered how long this break would keep him on the injured list. How long before he would meet with O’Brien on the ice and kick his ass. “Help me up.”

Mark knelt beside him on one knee. “Just keep stil and let Scott do his job.”

Sam shook his head and gritted his teeth against the pain of that simple act. “My kid’s here. I don’t want him to see me laid out on the ice.” And there was no way he’d let the bastards see how bad he was hurt. “Scott can do his job in the trainer’s room.” With his right hand, he pushed himself into sitting position. It hurt more than he let on. The last thing he wanted was to be taken out on the stretcher. Scott wedged his shoulder beneath Sam’s right arm, and he was able to rise to his knees.

Fuck! Shit! Goddamn!

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Son of a bitch! He rose to his feet, and the arena went crazy with applause. Slowly, he skated toward the bench, his left arm tight against his chest. He was in so much pain, it crowded the corners of his vision. But more than the pain, he was pissed. Pissed that a piss-headed pissant had blindsided him. Pissed that he was going to miss a month—if he was lucky. Pissed that it had happened in front of his son.

Chapter Ten

Any Man of Mine:

Doesn’t Have Other Girlfriends

(especially skinny girlfriends)

Conner dropped Autumn’s fingers and pushed the elevator button. In his free hand, he held a little box with a cupcake inside. A brown cupcake with gummy worms and chocolate sprinkles that they’d made that morning and Conner had decorated himself. The door slid shut, and the two rode the elevator to the loft on the tenth floor. It was a little after ten in the morning. Normal y, Conner would be in school, but after last night, he needed to see his father.

It had been wel after one in the morning before he’d final y cried himself to sleep. He’d been so sure that Sam was dying. “They took him away in the amb-amb-lance,” he’d sobbed.

“That’s just because it’s more comfortable,” she’d lied in an effort to soothe him. Shortly after Sam had skated from the ice, someone from the Chinooks’ organization had found Autumn and Conner and told them that Sam was being transported to Harborview for tests and X-rays.

“I don’t thi-ink so, Mom.”

Conner was getting older and harder to trick, and those moments as they’d watched Sam laid out on the ice had been horrific for Conner. He’d burst into panicky tears, and Autumn had to admit that, even though she’d wished Sam harm on many occasions, the reality had given her a knot in her stomach.

“I want to go see my da-ad.”

“I’l take you to see him in the morning,” she’d promised, even though hanging out at Sam’s was about the last thing she wanted to do. The elevator opened, and they walked down a short hal . “Remember that we’re not staying long. Just long enough for you to see that your dad’s okay.” Conner rang the doorbel , and within a few short moments, Faith Savage answered, looking tal and gorgeous and pregnant. Autumn didn’t know who was more surprised. Her or the owner of the Chinooks.