Playing to Win(10)

And then she'd turned to him, a little bit breathless, slightly  flushed, and his hormones had surged like they had back in that bathroom  stall. His objectivity had been effectively drowned in a tidal wave of  good old-fashioned lust.

"What's up, Mags?"

Luke looked over at goaltender Jean-Claude LaCroix. Despite a long  history together in the minor leagues, it wasn't until Luke had been  traded to the Portland Storm after Ethan's accident that the two of them  had really cultivated a friendship.

"Hey, J.C. Nothing. Just trying to get the inside scoop on what stupid  interview questions we'll be enduring tomorrow. Because distraction is  just what a team in play-offs needs," he added. The bitterness that  laced his voice was genuine.

"Ha. Yeah, she's pretty hot, huh? If you're gonna be distracted, she's the way to do it."

Luke's head whipped toward his friend. He didn't like the way that  comment bothered him. It felt almost like...jealousy? "Do you trust  her?"

J.C. seemed genuinely surprised by the question. "What's to trust, man?"

"You don't think she's up to something? As if she's putting on an act so she can snoop around?"

"Luke, be serious. Her latest question was, ‘name the last show you  binge watched.' I really doubt there's much to worry about here," J.C.  told him. "Management hired her to be comic relief. Ask us softball  questions to make us look charming and funny so we can sell more  jerseys. It's not as if she's a real reporter."

"I guess. But doesn't it seem odd to you that someone with no apparent  hockey knowledge would even bother to apply for this position?"

His friend chuckled. "Dude, she's a YouTube phenomenon looking to cash  in on her fifteen minutes. And management is taking advantage of it.  Don't overthink it."

"You're probably right." Luke frowned. "I just can't shake this feeling  that she's more of a reporter than anyone gives her credit for."

"We all have enough trouble without searching for more. So keep your  focus on the game and forget about this inconsequential stuff. We tanked  the first game. Tonight we were out for redemption. There's a lot of  series left. Keep your eye on the prize."

Luke nodded. J.C. was right. But for some reason, he couldn't get Holly out of his mind.

He wanted to see her again. He wasn't quite sure when it had happened,  but he realized in that moment that sparring with her had become the  best part of his day.





6

"CAN I TALK to you for a sec?"

Holly looked up from her notes about her latest piece-she was headed to  the parking lot so the Storm players could answer silly questions and  show off their sweet rides-to find J.C., hands shoved in his pockets,  looking sheepish.

"Is this car tour optional? Because I'd rather not do it."

"Oh. You mean, ever? Or did you just want me to reschedule?"                       
       
           


       

"I mean ever. I just...there's some family stuff going on right now. I  know you usually don't get through the whole roster when you're doing  interviews, so I was hoping you could skip me for the car tour today.  I'm happy to do the other part-the teammate question stuff."

"Okay, that's fine. I can pick someone else."

The relief on his face was almost comical, except that it was a little  too extreme for someone who'd just dodged the fluffiest interview of all  time.

"LaCroix! Quit flirting and go do your tour so the rest of us can get on with ours."

The rest of her interviewees were milling about the dressing room, waiting to head outside with her.

"Bite me, Kowalchuk. I'm not doing the car stuff."

"Ha! Of course you're wussing out!" Sillinger laughed. "Have you seen  the piece of crap he's driving lately? Some low-end, old-man SUV. It's  almost as bad as Luke's truck!"

"You got rid of the Porsche?" Luke sounded genuinely surprised to hear.  Weird, considering he and J.C. seemed quite close. Holly made a mental  note to add J.C.'s vehicle downgrade to his suspect file.

"Back off, guys. You do your interviews and let me do mine."

There was a bite to the usually affable goaltender's voice, and judging  by the looks on his teammates' faces, Holly knew she wasn't the only  one who found it odd.

Sillinger wasn't cowed. "Hey, don't take it out on us just because you're cruising around town in an old guy's ride."

"Yeah, well, sometimes you gotta make sacrifices. Dads have to think about safety, not flash."

There was a long moment of silence as the not-quite-an-announcement sank in. Luke was the first to wade into the breach.

"Tania's pregnant? Congratulations, man! That's great!" Luke and J.C.  shook before Luke pulled him in for a laudatory slap on the back.

"Yeah. Not quite the plan, but what are you gonna do?"

Holly watched as the Storm gathered around their goalie, congratulating  him on the big news. A new baby on the way. That was a pretty good  reason to sell your sports car, she supposed. Guess she didn't need to  update the suspect file after all. Maybe she could score an exclusive on  potential baby names, though...

"See?" crowed the rookie. "Dad vehicle. Just like I said. Come on, Holly. I'll show you what a real man drives."

"Says the guy who rolled up to his first practice in a Ford Fiesta," J.C. shot back.

"That was my old life. Now my ride lives up to my standards. Wait until  you see it," he promised, bouncing like a toddler on a sugar high.  "Cherry-red Lamborghini with black leather interior. It's so sweet, you  might get diabetes just looking at it."

"Jesus, rookie," Luke warned. "You remember the first three years of  your contract are flat-rate, right? Pace yourself or you're going to  outspend your bank account before you start raking in the big bucks."

Holly hadn't even considered that. Sillinger was only making about  three hundred thousand a year. Not chump change by any means, but it  made it tight to rock two-hundred-thousand-dollar cars and a place to  live, on top of day-to-day expenses. And the kid was not rolling in  endorsement deals. Not yet, anyway.

"Don't you worry about me. If you got the fame, there's always a way to bring in the money."

Holly tried not to react outwardly to the sentiment, but she filed it  away for parsing later. Under the guise of sending a text, she typed it  into the Sillinger file on her phone, but when she glanced up, it was to  find Luke watching her with narrowed eyes. She shot him a bright,  innocent smile and followed the rookie out to his car.

* * *

LUKE INHALED DEEPLY and let the cool scent of arena ice soothe him. The  lights were off, except for a few spotlights shining down from the  press catwalk high above and all the seats in the building were bathed  in shadows. No one clapped, no one jeered, there was just the rhythmic  sound of the cut of his blades echoing through the empty rink as he  skated a slow, easy lap. To Luke, it was heaven, a balm to his battered  nerves.
                       
       
           


       
There was nothing better than a moment alone on the ice. It reminded  him of his early childhood, before his family had moved to Oregon when  he was nine. He'd spent many a Michigan winter outside, whiling away the  hours pretending he was Gretzky or Hull or Lemieux on the patch of ice  his dad had made for him in the backyard.

He'd needed this, a minute to himself, so he'd bailed on Holly's car  tours, suited up and come out here under the guise of breaking in his  new gloves. Truth was, he wanted to clear his head. Thanks to a neatly  folded piece of yellow legal pad and a certain blonde in sky-high heels,  everything was too complicated right now. One of his guys was putting  himself ahead of the team by playing the inside man on a point-shaving  operation.

And if Holly was aware of it and just waiting until she had enough  evidence to expose one of his guys, he needed to beat her to it. It was  imperative that he deal with this quickly and quietly. The Storm  couldn't weather another scandal.

He snagged the puck he'd brought out with him as he skated past and  bounced it off the boards to himself. He'd dreamed of winning hockey's  ultimate prize for as long as he could remember. But now that he was  finally back in the play-offs, his play was lackluster, at best. He  needed to do better, play better.

He owed that to his team, who were counting on their captain and  looking to him to set an example. He owed it to his parents, who had  sacrificed so much to support him on his hockey quest. And he owed it to  Ethan. His little brother had always been the better hockey player,  much as Luke had hated to admit it. But it had become obvious by the  time the little punk turned ten that he was destined for big things.  Even through his jealousy, Luke had always been proud of Ethan, cheering  him on, pushing him harder.