BREAKAWAY (The Dartmouth Cobras) (30 page)

"Maybe you should go for a walk, pal." Bower slapped his back and strolled across the room, saying something in French that drew a snort from Mischlue before he bent down again, gagging and spitting.

A walk. Sure, that'll help.
Luke scratched his jaw where the hair was longest and stood, stretching out his legs in long strides to the door. He managed to hold in a groan, followed by a loud belch as his stomach heaved, until he reached the hall.

"Oh that was attractive."

The unfamiliar woman's voice came from a few feet away. Luke rested his back against the wall and his hands on his bent knees, not bothering to look up as he spoke. "Sorry, it was either that or toss my beef stew all over your shoes."

"I supposed I should be grateful." The woman's tone turned sharp. "You're that rookie, aren't you? The one that pissed off Nelson?”

“Yeah, that’s me.” Luke brought his hand up to the scar on his mouth, the souvenir Nelson had given him in return for chirping about his wife. Maybe he’d gone too far, but he hadn’t expected the guy to go psycho on him. “You might say he was a little pissed.”

The woman snorted. “Yeah, well he was suspended for fifteen games because of you. And you fucking deserved—"

"Hey, it's your lucky night, babe. You can have me and Carter all to your sweet self." Demyan laughed and
thunked
Luke's back. "Got a mint? I think he just threw up in his mouth a bit. Guess he
ain’t
interested in sharing."

Wow. Way to
cockblock
yourself, man.

"You're an asshole." The brisk
snick
of the woman's heels echoed down the hall and Luke managed to haul himself straight just in time to get an eyeful of her round ass wiggling in a tight, pink skirt.

He stopped feeling
pukey
and tipped his head back to stare at Demyan. "You seriously
gonna
let her walk away? I know you play better when you empty your sack before a game—hell, I'm pretty sure the whole team knows by now."

"Very true." Demyan shrugged and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his dark blue pants. "But bros before and all. I'll just—" He straightened and his lips slanted into his sleazy, playboy smile as he caught sight of someone down the hall. "Hey, sexy. Miss me?"

A woman in a crisp, light grey skirt suit with a press badge clipped to her jacket lapel, approached them. Curvy, fine, and right near the top of the 'Off limits' list. Bower's older sister, Becky.

"Of course I did, Scott. The article I did on promiscuous sports stars and venereal diseases got me a promotion and I have you to thank for it." Becky smiled sweetly. "You inspired me."

Demyan smirked, unfazed as usual. "So you think about sex with me a lot? Because it just so happens I've got some spare time before the game, and like my buddy here was pointing out, I always play better—"

"I heard him. And I think I can help you with that."

What the fuck?
Luke glanced over at Demyan who was already sporting an obvious
stiffy
.

Becky opened her huge leather purse, pulled out a small bottle of
Jergens
lotion, and dropped it into Demyan's hand. "You can go ahead and keep that. I'm sure you'll need it again."

Luke laughed so hard he choked and almost fell over. He laughed even harder when Demyan cuffed him upside the head.

"Not funny." Demyan grumble, turning towards the locker room. Then he stopped and groaned as a big body blocked the wide open door. "Bower, I was just . . . ."

Aww
shit.
Luke quickly stepped between Bower and Demyan. The two had come to blows at the beginning of the season, but that hadn't been too big a deal. Right before the playoffs though? Could be a problem.

“I’m going to put you on fucking IR, Demyan! They can call me ripping off your balls a groin injury!” Bower tried to move around Luke and snarled when Luke cut in front of him again. "Get out of my way, Carter!"

Before Luke could refuse, Becky was beside him, shoving Bower back mid-lunge. "Stop it!”

“Damn it, what are you doing here, Becky?”

“I'm doing my job. Which is exactly what you should be doing."

"I told you to stay away from him."

"You
told
me? As in you thought I would obey?" Becky's eyes snapped with rage. "I'll have you know, little brother, that I'll do what I want, with who I want."

Spinning on her heels, she grabbed Demyan by the collar of his dress shirt. With a tug she brought him down to her level and slammed her lips into his.

Luke wasn't sure whether to laugh some more or go for reinforcements. Bower looked ready to go postal.

"Damn, woman." Demyan curved his hand under Becky's chin and tipped her head back, moving in for another kiss. "I thought you were submissive."

"I am." Becky put a finger to Demyan's lips before they could touch hers, then slipped away from him. "Enjoy your lotion. Sir."

After shoving her brother out of the way, Becky disappeared into the locker room. The door shut behind her and drowned out the brisk tattoo of her heels. Demyan's gaze locked on the closed door. The muscles in his jaw hardened. He moved to follow Becky.

And almost got cracked by the door as it swung open. Coach stuck his head out. "Bring it in, boys. I want everyone suited up in fifteen minutes."

They all nodded. When Coach ducked out of sight, Bower grabbed Demyan's arm.

"I won't tell you again. Stay away from her."

Demyan wrenched free and stepped right up to Bower. "If the playoffs weren't about to start, I'd tell you to go fuck yourself. But we need you focused on what happens between the pipes. So yeah, I'll stay away from her."

Bower paused by the door, frowning at Demyan as though he didn't believe him. Then he nodded. "Good. Guess we're good then."

For a beat or two, Demyan didn't say a word. He watched the door ease shut behind Bower. Mumbled to himself. And let out a harsh laugh. "Yeah. Sure. We're good."

Damn.
Luke followed Demyan into the locker room, shaking his head. Talk about dedication. He knew Demyan well enough to take him at his word. He'd stay away from Becky. He even ignored her furtive glances, completely focused on waxing up the tape he'd wrapped around his stick blade.

Becky moved around the locker room, questioning players and taking notes on her
iPad
. She spent the most time with Seb, but he didn't seem to be telling her much. Luke watched them as he taped his wrists. Seb hadn't said a word to him since yesterday. And no matter what Luke did, he couldn't get Seb's attention. He scowled as he worked the tape around his fingers, then stuffed his hands in his gloves. Fuck, not like he cared if Seb wanted to ignore him, but it was
kinda
weird.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe Jami didn’t blame him for messing up her life, but Seb probably did.
Luke cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. If she’d have just talked to him, let him apologize—not that an apology would fix anything. It wouldn’t change the fact that Luke hadn’t been able to protect her. Seb had trusted him, and Luke had let him down.

Shit, I wouldn’t want to talk to me either.

All the coaches and the trainers gathered in the locker room and the men quieted down. Luke grabbed his cell from his stall and flipped it in his hand as the pep talk started, hardly hearing a word. He'd leave his cell with one of the trainers as usual, just in case his mother or aunt called. They wouldn't unless there was an emergency. Every time he handed his phone over, he prayed it wouldn't ring.

It buzzed in his hand as the men were shouting in response to whatever Coach had said. Luke moved away from the horde of players heading out to the ice and leaned against the wall, inhaling slowly before he checked the number on the display.

He exhaled and laughed before answering. "Hey, Jami. What's up?"

"Not much. You about to get out there?"

"Yeah. Don't have much time to talk." Or any time really, but it was nice hearing her voice. "Something you needed to say? Or you need me to say? About the pictures—”

“I don’t want to talk about the pictures.”

Of course you don’t.
Luke sighed. Then did his best to keep things light. “I'm telling you right now, if you're calling to tease me with you and Akira's plans for the night, I'm
gonna
beat you when I get home."

"Oh, so tempting." She giggled in that cute, fresh way she had. Not a girly giggle really—more like a light, bubbly spring laugh. "Can't stand hockey, but I wanted to let you know I'll be watching my first game in years tonight so I can see you play. You don't suck do you? I'd hate to waste my time."

"I don't suck." He grinned as an odd warmth filled him. Then waved Demyan away when he called out and lowered his voice. "And just to prove it, I'll score one for you. Then I'll do that move you liked—remember when we were dancing?"

"I remember," she said, softly. She paused and it sounded like she was holding her breath. Then she let it out noisily. "Hey, Luke, can you do me a favor? I couldn't get a hold of Sebastian. You want to let him know I'm rooting for him too?"

"Assuming I talk to him."

"You'll do more than talk to him, stud."

The room had all but emptied out. Still, he kept his voice down. "Boo, he won't even look at me."

"That's because . . . damn it, I shouldn't be telling you this, but he thinks what's going on between you is messing with your game. Prove it's not."

"It's not, but I don't know what you
think's
gonna
happen."

"That's entirely up to you."

“Right.” Luke shook his head, not wanting to end the call talking about Seb. He needed to know he and Jami still had something too. But anything he said would sound lame.
Suck it up, Carter.
“Hey, Jami?”

 
“Yeah?”

“We’re
gonna
dance again. Soon. I had a lot of fun that night.”

She didn’t answer for what seemed like a very long time. He expected to hear the sound of the game starting without him any second. But he waited anyway.

“So did I, Luke. Just . . . just fix this.”

After saying goodbye, Luke hung up and let out a heavy sigh. Fix this. Sure. Because what happened with Seb was entirely up to him. He just had to decide what he wanted from the man.

 
If anything.

But . . . he didn't have to worry about that now. If Jami was right the first thing he had to do was prove he wasn't
weirded
out by what had already happened. Easy enough.

Seb thought he was off his game? As if some kinky sex would change the way he played?

No way, pal. Need proof? Just watch me.

* * * *

Mussorgsky's Night on Bald Mountain
boomed out as a compilation of the best plays from the
Sabres'
season played on the huge screens of the Jumbotron. Laser lights painted the ice in flashes of gold, slashing across the faces of the players which covered the ice in large, glowing stills. Luke rocked on his skates as he watched, nostrils flaring as a dirty hit on him from Nelson was shown above and the crowd burst out in wild cheers. Luke’s blood all over the ice and they acted like Nelson was a fucking hero.

Someone squeezed his shoulder and he glanced back and grinned at Pearce to let him know he was good. Hockey fans in Buffalo hated Luke ‘The Mouth’ Carter with a passion. And they would hate him even more by the end of the first round. Let them. It was quite an achievement to be loathed this much after only two seasons in the league.

The Sabres were all introduced over the speakers to the delight of the packed stadium. Boos met the Cobras when they hit the ice. Everyone stood for the anthems and from the benches Luke sang as loud as he could for the Canadian one. His face was shown on the Jumbotron and the crowd booed again.

He grinned.
Damn that's good for my ego!

Callahan won the faceoff. Luke leaned on the boards and shouted Perron on as he accepted a pass and skipped it to Demyan who'd been promoted to the first line. Demyan caught the
Sabres'
goalie off guard and the puck skidded towards the goal. A
Sabres'
defenseman dived behind his goalie and kept it out of the net. The goalie froze the puck.

Another faceoff. The Cobras line spread out and cleanly cleared the puck for a shift change. Luke's skates hit the ice and he rushed forward as Pearce scooped up the puck and riffled a hard pass in his direction. Energy exploded through his muscles as he cupped the puck and surged forward. Nelson hopped over the boards ahead of him, but Luke jetted sideways, twisting around the defense. He let the puck fly.

The
Sabres'
goalie gloved it at the last second. Nice save. Luke panted as he took his place off to the right for the puck drop. He caught a swift pass and tucked the puck back to Seb. Seb circled wide and whipped the puck to Luke. Pearce was open and positioned perfectly. Luke
saucered
the puck to him and roared out a cheer as a swift shot hit the back of the net. He raced up to Pearce and plowed him into the boards in a hug. Sweat spilled into his eyes as he screamed praises to the man. They were on the scoreboard. First goal meant everything in the playoffs. Stats almost guaranteed a win. As long as they didn't get stupid.

Score remained 1-0 until the second period. Refreshed from the break, dry gloves on his hands, Luke strode onto the ice, excitement burning in his veins. He didn't even think when the puck ended up on his stick blade. He just fired.

And the red light made him think of Jami. Watching him. He spun around and rotated his hips as he danced towards the roaring horde of Cobras rushing towards him. The music he'd dance to with Jami, something by
Pitbull
,
played in his head as he held his gloved hand up and counted down. 1, 2, 3, 4. He pointed towards the camera, hoping Jami would know this was for her.

You can't stand hockey, boo? Say that again after watching me out here and I might buy it.