Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel(31)

“I’m not screwing with your precious team.” She yelled the words even though they weren’t completely true. Several of the guys and a few people at the bar looked their way. “And don’t give me that fragile bullshit. You love to talk about how professional you are, so act like it. Professionals work together even when they don’t agree, even when they don’t like each other. Professionals put their personal feelings about each other aside to get the job done. Did you not notice how well you all played tonight? Like you were on motherfucking fire? Don’t tell me I’m screwing with your team.”

“Tate,” Rafe muttered beside him without meeting her eyes. “Drop it, for God’s sake. I told you you’re making something out of nothing.”

Nothing.

Fake.

The words cut at her. Worse, they opened the door to uncertainty. And Mia wondered for the first time if everything he’d done last night had been an act. The same act he used with all women. If what she’d thought was so special had actually just been Rafe’s MO. And that—for him—it had all been fake. The fact that he didn’t step in to straighten Tate out certainly said everything Rafe wouldn’t. It just wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Mia was closer than she’d ever been to completely losing her shit. In public. While they were both with their teammates surrounded by fans. But she pulled on the composure she’d developed under pressure in her industry and drew herself up.

“I guess it’s good to know exactly where I stand with both of you.” She couldn’t do anything about how Rafe felt, but she could change how Tate treated her. “Let me be perfectly clear, Tate. I am a grown woman, and I make my own decisions. They don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to like them. But you do have to respect me. And that means showing it, not just saying it.”

She picked up her purse and met both Rafe’s and Tate’s gaze in turn. “I’m glad you’ll be in Boston next week. I could use some time away from you. Both of you.”





8





Mia knelt on the family room floor in Tina and Jake Croft’s home, holding pins between her lips and scissors in her hand. But her gaze wasn’t on the fabric in front of her. She was watching television, where the Rough Riders’ fourth playoff game against the Bruins filled a massive screen above the fireplace hearth.

The room was stuffed with Beckett Croft’s family—his parents, his sister, Sarah, Sarah’s two daughters, Amy and Rachel, Beckett’s own daughter, Lily, and Eden. Since they were all watching the game from home tonight, Faith had also come over to hang out and add inspiration to Mia’s work.

So as Rafe sprinted toward the opposition’s goal with solid command of the puck, Mia didn’t have to yell in hopes of seeing him make it. The entire room was screaming for her.

A Bruin cut in front of Rafe. Rafe turned to protect the puck, skating backward, still pushing toward the goal. But the Bruin reached in, knocked the puck from Rafe’s control and right into the stick of a fellow Bruin. Then the puck was spirited back down the ice in the opposite direction.

Everyone in the room deflated.

“Man, poor Rafe.” Eden sat on the sofa again and pulled Lily into her lap. “He’s had a really rough couple of games. He’s going to be beating himself up.”

“They’re still winning.” Mia refocused on the work in front of her, tuning in to the announcer’s account of the game while also trying to ignore the empathy that naturally surfaced for Rafe. She had enough problems. But here, ensconced in this little haven among people who had become her temporary family, Eden’s disappointment over her fallout with Rafe didn’t hurt quite so bad. And she wasn’t quite so lonely. Plus, they offered a distraction to keep her mind off her stupidity.

But that wouldn’t last long. The team had played in Boston for the last two games and were at their home rink tonight. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Rafe in a full week. Very possibly, the worst week of her life, while she’d had all the time in the world to berate herself. Endless silence in Tate’s apartment during the day to remember every glorious, sweet, loving moment of their time in bed together. Then every awkward, hurtful moment at Top Shelf. And get confused and angry all over again. Hurt all over again.

There was no way around it, the last week had been hell.

She finished cutting the piece of fabric, then pulled the pattern off. “Okay, Faith, let’s test the fit before I put it on the machine again.”

Faith jumped up from the sofa and shed the little cardigan she was wearing, bearing her tank top. “Ooooooh, I can’t wait.”