"Whad'ya mean?"
"The dumb blonde routine is all an act. She's actually as smart as she is beautiful." He sent his buddy a sidelong glance. "And she knows more about hockey than you ever will."
"So then what's with all the secrecy?"
Luke shrugged. "I guess the top brass doesn't think we're good enough actors to answer the questions if we thought she was only joking."
"Ha. They believe us well enough when we line up to kiss their asses at all their hoity-toity events."
Luke smiled at the dig. Everyone was aware of how much J.C. hated putting on a tux and schmoozing with the bigwigs.
"So what's Holly's deal then?" his friend asked. "She's like, a reporter or something?"
"She wants to be."
J.C. nodded. "Cool. Good for her. And good for the two of you. I'm happy for you guys. Truth is, Mags, the fact that you're asking me how you know? That probably means you already know." J.C pushed the button that made his seat recline. "I'm gonna catch twenty minutes before we land."
"'Night." The word came out distracted, though, as Luke let the words settle in.
That probably means you already know.
13
THE GAME WAS going well until the hit. The sight of Eric Jacobs lying on the ice and clutching his knee was too much.
With a feral growl, Luke dropped his stick and his gloves and launched himself at six feet, two hundred pounds worth of smug left-winger. He grabbed a fistful of Wolfpack jersey with his left hand and landed a solid hook with his right. He only had a second to relish the roar of the crowd and the sting in his knuckles before his punching bag recovered and launched a counterattack.
But Luke wasn't about to back down. He might not have gotten the chance to punish the man who put Ethan in a wheelchair, but he wasn't going to let the one who'd just sidelined Eric Jacobs get away with it unscathed.
Despite Chris Powell's attempts to wrestle him into submission, Luke managed to land a few more good blows to the jerk's face before the two of them overbalanced and fell to the ice. Luke swore when his nose made contact with Powell's helmet, his eyes welling up at the sharp sting.
He didn't have time to worry about it, as he struggled to gain the upper hand even as someone grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him back.
"That's enough, you two. Break it up." The ref's voice managed to penetrate the angry haze that had overtaken Luke's brain, but he was too worked up to obey.
With a final jab to Powell's left cheek, he let himself be hauled off the asshole who'd just lambasted Eric Jacobs with a dirty, knee-on-knee hit.
He watched his nemesis scramble to his feet, only to be detained by the referee.
"Nice fight, Powell," he taunted, ignoring the linesman's attempts to wrestle him over to the penalty box. "I think you might have even broken a nail trying to hug me into submission."
"You should thank me for not messin' up your face there, pretty boy. Might lose your ‘hottie of the month' status and then you'd have to play hockey for a living. How many games has it been since you last scored?"
The idea that he and Powell had been linemates a mere four months ago, before the other man's giant ego and philandering ways had sent the bastard to Montana, seemed ludicrous in that moment. Obviously things changed. Loyalties faded. You couldn't trust just anybody.
"Tell your boys I said good luck in the play-offs, Maguire. It's gonna be a battle without your top scorer."
Luke followed Powell's gaze toward the net, where Cubs was being helped off the ice by the trainer. Luke didn't like the way his centerman was hunched over, his left leg bearing no weight.
The ref skated up. "Shut your mouth and get moving, Powell." Then he turned to Luke and gave him a shove. "That goes for you, too."
The other linesman skated up, handing Luke his stick and gloves. The memories that came flooding back were not happy ones, and even though Eric's injury wasn't as serious as the one that was haunting him, it was cold comfort.
With a sigh, Luke headed for the penalty box. He'd gotten two minutes for instigating and five for fighting. Powell got two minors and a game misconduct.
The Storm ended up winning the game and the series with it, but Luke barely made it through the post-game press junket. By the time he and Holly got to his place, his palms were clammy and he couldn't stop shaking.
Everything with Ethan had been so close to the surface lately. To see another talented player-another centerman, for God's sake-get taken down on Luke's shift...it made his heart feel too big for his rib cage, like it might puncture any second.
"I can't do this again."
"He's going to be okay, Luke. Here, just crawl into bed, okay?"
"But what if he's not? His grandma had a heart attack a few months ago. He needs to be able to take care of her."
"He can. He got off the ice himself. He's not as badly hurt as Ethan was. And even if he had been, there's nothing you could have done to stop it. It's not your fault." Her voice was soft. Reassuring. He liked hearing it. It made him feel better.
"I'm the captain. I'm responsible for my team."
"I know you are. But you couldn't have stopped this." She crawled in beside him, and for the first time since the fight with Powell, he began to breathe normally.
"Maybe I could have. I should have tried. I should have done something."
"Luke. Stop. You did everything you could."
Holly wrapped her arms around him. His heart slowed to its standard pace.
"Will you stay tonight?" he asked.
"Sure, of course."
Her warm fingers stroked his hair. It wasn't too long after that, that Luke surrendered to sleep.
* * *
IT WAS SIX THIRTY in the morning when the sun streaming through Luke's window woke Holly. He was slung out on the mattress beside her, and she was glad to see him resting after his post-game panic attack. He'd been through so much lately. Too much. And there was more to come.
He shifted on the mattress, sliding his hand over her hip and tugging her closer. She turned to face him. His blue eyes blinked a few times before they opened for good. "Hi."
She smiled and ran a finger down his stubbly cheek. "Hi back."
"Sorry about last night."
"There's nothing to be sorry about."
Luke sighed. "Holly, I can recognize a panic attack when one hits. I had them really bad right after, well, right after Ethan got hurt. Last night wasn't anything compared to those ones, but I really appreciate you staying here and talking me down."
"It's not a problem, because..." she trailed off.
"Because?"
I love you. She did, but she couldn't say it yet, though, so she kissed him instead.
He kissed her back and shifted closer. Before she knew it, they were naked and entwined, his body driving into hers with such an elemental force that for the first time in their relationship, there was no need for sexy words, or woolen shackles, or flavored oils. They were beyond all that. And when her climax rolled in like soft tides instead of roaring waves, it was the most exquisite thing she'd ever experienced.
They were holding hands and trading kisses and indulging in a dreamy discussion about breakfast-he was firmly in camp bacon and eggs, while she was leaning more toward French toast-when the "Charge" anthem intruded on their blissful post-coital haze.
Luke rolled away from her so he could locate his phone, and the loss of his body heat sent a chill down her spine. It took him a few moments of searching-he'd been in such rough shape last night that most of his before-bed routines, like putting his phone on its charger, had been annexed by the panic attack.
She watched as he followed the familiar music toward the chair where she'd slung his suit jacket after she'd helped him take it off. He flipped the expensive fabric around so he could access the interior breast pocket. Finally he got hold of his ringing prey.
"H'lo? Yeah, it's me."
His whole body tensed, and Holly felt the distance he put between them even before Luke pulled on a pair of jeans. He didn't miss a beat on the phone that was expertly cradled between his ear and his shoulder.
"No way. I told you, that's not an option," he said, stalking out of the bedroom. "I don't care how you do it, just get him the money. I can't have this traced back to me."
The words stopped her heart. She jumped up with some half-formed plan to follow him, but she only made it three steps from the bed before the unthinkable caught her eye.