Pipe Dreams(59)

           



       

"Inside this building, you can only call us the Bruisers." O'Doul  winked. "See? I can say it easily now. Took me a year to break the  habit. I mean-Kattenberger is a bit of a whack job on this particular  point. It's like a Voldemort thing. The Team That Shall Not Be Named.  But since the boss man paid his left nut for the franchise and changed  the name, he can do it his way. If you want to avoid his wrath, you  never say that old name."

"Um, thanks?"

The captain had an evil grin. "I know it's weird. I still have all the  old pennants in a box somewhere. If Kattenberger knew, he'd probably  send one of his ninja minions to my apartment to have 'em incinerated.  Where else you play hockey?"

"Drafted by Detroit. Sent down to Muskegon's AHL team for two seasons. Harkness College before that."

O'Doul's expression chilled. "Aw, an Ivy League boy. That's cute."

Somebody has a chip on his shoulder. Looking for a change of topic, Leo  nodded at O'Doul's purple rep stripes. "Did the owner choose the new  color, too?"

O'Doul tugged on his tie. "You betcha. Him and a bunch of million dollar  marketing gurus. We call it indigo, 'cause that sounds better than  purple."

Leo laughed. "Thanks for the tip."

"Stick with me, kid. Might want to grab yourself a bottle of water. If  you're the new guy, they might make you say a few words at the press  conference. Publicist will let you know. Though maybe they won't get  around to it, because the whole coach thing is a pretty big story."

Ugh. "No kidding."

"The last guy got fired-what-a year and a half ago, now? Kattenberger  had to do it. The guy was a good coach, but you don't trash-talk the new  owner like that. Then an interim coach got cancer. So now it's on to  Worthington. He's another Long Island guy. Could be worse, right?"

No, actually. It could not be worse, even if the coach was his dead aunt Maria Theresa. "Where did you say that water was?"

He pointed to the corner. "Espresso machine is over there, too, if that's your thing."

"Thanks." Leo made his way over to the corner, stopping every few feet as the guys reached out to shake his hand.

"Thanks," he said a half dozen times. "Great to be here." But he  probably wasn't all that convincing. Wait until they watched a snarling  Coach Karl ship his ass back to Michigan. That would be a fun moment.  They'd all be wondering what the hell he did to piss off Coach.

Leo would be wondering, too.

Once upon a time, he and Coach Worthington were tight. Karl had been a  college coach then, but he'd done some development work with Leo's high  school team. The man had taught him a lot, and had always had time for  Leo.

At the same time, Leo was dating his daughter, Georgia. There are some  dads who hate their little girl's boyfriend on principle. But Coach Karl  hadn't seemed like that sort of dad. And anyway, Leo had treated  Georgia like a queen until the day she'd broken his heart. When Leo  looked back on high school, loving Georgia was actually the one thing in  his life he knew he'd done right. Maybe he wasn't as good a big brother  to his siblings as he should have been. And maybe he was a pain in the  ass to his teachers. But Leo had been really good to Georgia  Worthington, from the moment he asked her to the homecoming dance their  sophomore year until the day of high school graduation, when she cut him  loose.

It wasn't quite as simple as puppy love running its course, though. A  few months before graduation, something terrible had happened to  Georgia, and Leo wasn't around to stop it. The last part of their senior  year, they'd both suffered. And sometime during those dark days, Coach  Worthington stopped approving of Leo. At the time, Leo had been too  worried about Georgia to wonder much about her father's change of heart.  His disapproval meant nothing to Leo-there'd been only Georgia and her  pain. He'd stuck by her side, loyal to the very end.

Goddamn it, he was good to her. Then she'd pushed him away.

And now Leo was standing in front of a glass refrigerator full to the  top with water and Gatorade, his fists clenched, upset all over again by  the anguish he'd tried to put aside for the last six years.

"Just open 'er up and take one," a voice said beside him. "Anytime you need."

"Thanks," he said gruffly. He realized he'd been staring at the row of  bottles as if they'd provide the secrets of the universe. He yanked open  the door and snagged a bottle of water.                       
       
           



       

"I'm Silas Kelly," the guy beside him said, thrusting out a meaty hand. "Backup goalie."

Leo shook. "Good to meet you. How long you been a Bruiser?" God, that sounded ridiculous.

Silas grinned. "This is my rookie year. Spent some time in Ontario on an ECHL team. Got traded in September."

"Cool."

"I've played four games. Hoping the new coach is a fan so I can get off the bench a little more often."

The backup goalie job wasn't an easy one. "I hear you," Leo said. "Gotta say, if Coach Karl likes you, that'll make one of us."

He laughed, and it was big and loud. "Really? You two have history?"

"We have a little." Even if I'm not quite sure what it is.

"How'd you get called up, then?"

Leo shook his head. "No clue."

The door to the room banged open. "Gentlemen," said a female voice.

He turned toward the doorway, his fingers freezing midtwist on the cap  of the water bottle as he stared at the girl in the doorway. No-scratch  that. At the woman in the doorway. His chest seized, because Jesus  Christ. Georgia was even more beautiful than she had been six years ago.

She addressed the team. He thought so, anyway. But he didn't hear a word  she said, because he was too busy cataloging everything that was  familiar about her. Adulthood had thinned her face a little, revealing  cheekbones so shapely that they might have starred on the cover of a  magazine. His ex had always been a pretty girl, but now she was  stunning. Her blond hair had darkened somewhat, but it was still shot  through with golden streaks. He knew exactly how silky it would feel  under his hand if he brushed it away from her face.

There were unfamiliar parts to this picture, too-her stern expression,  for one. He'd always hoped that Georgia had gone on to find her smile  again, even if he wasn't the lucky recipient. But he didn't see any  evidence of smiling now. And she was all dressed up in a suit and filmy  blouse. And heels. His Georgia never wore stilts like that. They made  her legs look a mile long. They were killer. But they weren't her.

". . . We'll begin in fifteen minutes. Coach Worthington will thank Mr.  Kattenberger for the opportunity to lead the team, and he'll say a few  words about how excited he is to work with all of you. All most of you  have to do is sit up straight and clap. Any questions?"

His brain was still playing catch-up. If Georgia was talking about the  press conference, she must work for the team. An assistant? A publicist?

O'Doul raised his hand, a goofy smile on his face.

"What is it, captain?" Georgia asked with an edge of impatience in her voice.

"Is it a coincidence that our new coach has the same last name as you?"

"Yes and no," she said, eyes on her clipboard. "It is a coincidence that  we both work for the same team. But we have the same name because Coach  Worthington is my father."

O'Doul grinned. "Thanks for clearing that up, babe. Is he pretty, too?"

Her expression darkened. "You can decide for yourself, Mr. O'Doul," she  said coolly. "And you'll have a good view, because I need you sitting on  the dais up front. After Coach Worthington gives his remarks, you'll  say a few words of welcome. I've drafted something for you here." She  flipped to another page on her clipboard and extracted a sheet of paper,  handing it to him. She actually had to lean down a bit, because her  shoes made her so much taller than usual.

Leo was openly staring now, but he couldn't help it. She looked both the  same and different. Her legs, always shapely from playing tennis all  her life, looked ten miles long in those heels. But there was something  about her that was . . . harder. She seemed more brittle than he  remembered.

She hadn't looked at him yet, either. Did she even know he was here?

"Do I have to say this exactly as it's written?" O'Doul asked, skimming the page.

"No, as long as you sound warm and articulate."

"Just like I am every day." He chuckled. "Fine. What else?"

"One more thing." She cleared her throat and shifted her weight. "I need  you to welcome a new player after you welcome your coach." Georgia  dropped her eyes to the page in front of her again. As if she needed  notes to get Leo's name right. "Mr. Leonardo Trevi, rookie forward,  formerly of the Muskegon Muskrats. Traded from Detroit to Brooklyn for a  second round draft pick this spring."