Kevin stared at her. “Nat, you don’t understand becauseyou’ve never played.”
His reprimand knocked her down a few rungs, making her feelstupid and small. “I guess I don’t,” she groused. “I just don’t like peoplehurting my friends.”
“Hockey can be a brutal. Shit happens on the ice. Tempersflare, and guys just lose it sometimes. It’s part of the game.”
“I get that it’s part of the game, but this was different,intentional,” she protested.
Grace Guilt rushed to the fore. Don’tstress him out, she nagged. “Readyfor that menu now?”
“Yeah, sure.” His voice was pure exhaustion, so differentfrom the barky one he’d used minutes ago.
She passed it to him, and he held it in his right hand,staring. He blinked once, twice, closed it, lowered it, and dropped his headback on the pillow. “Fuck. I can’t read it.”
Alarm swelled inside her. Months ago, he’d bragged about histwenty-twenty vision. “I can read it to you, and then we’ll order,” sheoffered.
He covered his face with his hands, thenlet out a long-suffering sigh. “God, I’m so tired.”
“Should I go?”
His hand shot out and locked on her arm. “No. Please stay.”He blinked rapidly. Were those tears? Her heart about broke. “Maybe read from TheHockey News so I can kid myself that I’m still part of it all?” His eyesreminded her of a sad puppy as he peered at her. No way could she refuse.
She covered his hand with hers. “Of course I’ll stay. I’mhere for you.”
.~* * * ~.
Sunglasses shielding his eyes fromColorado’s blazing-bright winter sun, T.J. sat beside Gage in a silver EscaladeESV. The front passenger seat was occupied by a Blizzardemployee, though T.J. didn’t recall her name. She’d greeted them atDenver International Airport, and now they were speeding toward the arena tomeet with Coach Marty LeBrun. Tough-nosed, a ballbuster when he thought it was warranted, LeBrun also had a reputation for being fair-minded. Hisplayers might not have always gotten along with him, but they respected him,and that’s what mattered to T.J. And really, anyone would be better than CoachRogers.
The girl in the front twisted her body so she faced them,rousing T.J. from his thoughts.
“So, T.J., this is your second tour with the Blizzard?”
“Yep.”
“And I understand you already own a condo at Spire? That’s areally nice building.”
“Uh-huh.”
Still stinging after yesterday’s searing smackdowns,T.J. wasn’t in the mood for polite chitchat, no matter how attractive she was.He wanted to wallow in the canal water that was his life, but from out ofnowhere chirped Miller’s annoying voice: Grow a pair.
T.J. let the words spin in his head, then side-eyed Nelsonwhen the girl turned her attention on him. The poor bastard lookeduncomfortable. Whether it was the girl rattling him or the shock hadn’t wornoff yet, T.J. couldn’t tell. Nelson mumbled a few words, and they rode in silencethe rest of the way.
The driver pulled into the arena’s underground parkinggarage, and attendants took their bags when they exited the Escalade. The youngwoman escorted them through a series of doors and hallways. T.J. swiveled hishead, reacquainting himself with the surroundings. Familiar,yet foreign. Concrete mustiness, glaring light, acreeping chill. The last time he’d been here, he’d been on the visitingteam.
But now he was entering his home rink. And no asshats were hassling him. Yet.
They stopped at an open door with a placard beside itdeclaring the space to be the coach’s domain. As they stepped inside, Marty LeBrun rose from behind a desk and extended his hand. Not ahuge man at six feet-ish, hewas nonetheless broad and hard. He had a crushing grip and wore the battlescars of his former playing days on his face. His dark hair was flecked withsilver, and intelligent brown eyes took in T.J. and Nelson.
“Come in and sit.” He waved at two chairs. The girl hoveredin the doorway until Coach gave her a curt nod. “Thanks, Serena. Would youplease close the door on your way out?”
For the next twenty minutes, Coach focused mostly on Nelson.The office door opened, and a head poked inside. “These our new players,Coach?”
Coach jerked his chin at the newcomer. “Gentlemen, say helloto your captain, Dave Grimson, affectionately knownas the ‘Grim Reaper.’”
The Grim Reaper grinned, revealing a gap where three topfront teeth should’ve been. He wagged his head at Nelson, thenled him away to meet the boys—he’d be playing with them in tonight’s game—andthe door closed once more.
“T.J.” Coach’s sharp voice had T.J. sitting up a littlestraighter. “You’ve been here before, though this’ll be the first chance we’vehad to work together.”
Yep. You’re the boss. Got it. T.J. gave him a headbob, and Coach continued.
“No games, obviously, but you’ll practice with the team,attend meetings, all the regular stuff you’d be doing if you were on the activeroster. Except travel. When we’re on the road, you’llbe here training—and polishing your image.” He paused to take a pull on a waterbottle. “Your dance card’s gonna be full becauseyou’re getting extra shares of Blizzard community work. New team, new town,fresh start.”
T.J. groaned inwardly. “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t that he didn’tlike community work; it was more about what it took out of him to keep up hisdefense shields. Lots of smiling. Lots of posing forpictures at hospitals with sick kids, pretending it was a big party. It was allabout appearances. But it was no party—not for the children, and certainly notfor their parents. Real parents. Parents who would doanything for their kids. Who could never imagine leaving them behindwith a drunk who’d beat the shit out of them over … and over … and over …
Steepling his hands, Coach jarredT.J. from his self-indulgent visit to Misery City. “You’ve got your samenumber, eighty-four, if you want it.”
T.J. gave him another nod. “I’d like that. Thank you.”
“So tell me what you plan to contribute to this team.”
Marshaling his thoughts, he brushed his palms along histhighs and cleared his throat.
“Well, there’s my usual game. Going to the dirty places onthe ice and clearing guys out to make room for our top players. Beyond that,I’ll be working on my shooting—on my own time. I’d like to sharpen my goal-scoring. I understand I’m no sniper, but I’d reallylike a
