Daring the Defender (Wittmore U Hockey #3)

Chapter 20

20

S helby

I wake up alone, tucked under a thick blanket that does little to replace the weight and warmth of Reid’s body. I spot the note before I sit up. Folded in a tight square, a drawing of a sun on the side facing me.

Had to go before the house woke up.

See you at the arena.

–R

It’s too early for me to decipher what it means, if anything, and I gather my clothes and head to the bathroom upstairs. The girls are up and in the kitchen by the time I shower and get dressed. “Is this okay?” I ask, coming out in a sweater and jeans.

“They’ll hand out jerseys when we get there,” Twyler says. “Different ones for the players, kids, and family.”

“Oh, the shirts Reid designed?” I ask, grabbing the Wittmore beanie she let me borrow. Since she worked with the team she has extra gear.

“I think so,” Nadia says, slipping on her boots. “I’ve never been to one of these before. This is the first time I’ve had WAG status.”

“WAG?” I ask.

“Wives and girlfriends,” Nadia says, and I catch the pride on her face. “I was firmly in jersey chaser status before I started dating your brother.”

“And that means you don’t get to come to things like this?”

“It means you stay home with your legs spread, waiting for an athlete to decide you’re worth a hook-up.”

As usual, Nadia’s frankness surprises me, but even more, since she’s speaking so bluntly about herself.

Twyler frowns and faces her friend. “Remember: We listen and we don’t judge,” although I catch the line between her eyes, “and we’ve all come a long way since then, babe. Especially you.”

She says that with conviction, but I can’t help but wonder where Reid and I fall between a WAG and jersey chaser. I’m not chasing athletes so that doesn’t sound right, but I sure don’t have girlfriend status either. Am I just a hook-up? We defined this as a learning experience. Having an adventure. Where does that fall in the realm of relationship status?

I realize that I have no freaking clue. My one and only relationship was orchestrated by our parents.

I’m still thinking about it when we walk into the arena, until Nadia says, “So are you sad to be leaving next week?”

I miss a step, coming to a stop. “Next week?”

“That’s when Axel said you’re heading back home, right?” Nadia looks at Twyler who just shrugs.

“Right. Yes.” I laugh nervously. “I just totally spaced on it.”

I didn’t just space on it. I completely blocked it out. I’d just gotten used to being here, used to my job and living on my own.

Used to having a man treat me the way Reid does.

“I wish I could stay longer,” I confess, “but my mother would lose her mind if I didn’t come home as expected.” And predictably fall back into the role of Shelby the Preacher’s Daughter. The Good Girl.

I shiver at the thought, knowing now that those words can carry a very different weight.

“We’ll make the best of it while you’re still here,” Nadia says as we approach the arena. Twyler peels off and heads back to the locker room with the guys, while Nadia and I check in at the table out front.

“We’re here as guests of Axel Rakestraw,” Nadia says, giving our name to the volunteer. “Nadia Beckwith and Shelby Rakestraw.”

“Your names are on the list,” the guy says, checking us off his list. “You’ll each get a jersey with the number on the back of the player you’re representing along with vouchers for food at the snack bar. You can grab your skates from the equipment manager down by the ice. Have fun.”

“Skates?” I ask as we walk away.

“Oh yeah, part of the day is skating with the kids and players.” She glances over at me. “You don’t want to?”

“I’ve never ice skated before.” We walk down the stairs toward the ice. The rink is already crowded with swarming kids, some more proficient than the others. The ones not hanging onto the wall, or wobbling across the ice, zip around wildly, making me even less inclined to get in the middle of it. I’d probably not only break my neck but one of theirs too. “Ice rinks were few and far between in Texas.”

“You never went with Axel?”

I laugh. “Gosh, no. Mother wouldn’t have me anywhere near something like that. I was probably at cotillion or choir rehearsal.”

“Well, now’s your chance.” She drops her bag on one of the benches and pulls her shirt out. I do the same, finally getting a good look at the jerseys Reid designed.

“Damn,” Nadia says, looking it over and giving an approving nod. “Reid killed it with the design.”

I know nothing about hockey designs or logos, but I can tell there’s a vintage vibe. The current Wittmore Badger logo is just an illustration of the animal’s face, but the design Reid worked up is a full body, mid-strut. A fluid retro ‘W’ for Wittmore is stitched across the chest. It’s simple, but fun. I can see why the PR department approved of it.

I tug mine over my head, lifting my braid out from under the V-neck to rest on my shoulder. “How does it look?”

“Like you’re ready for your first skating lesson.”

I give the ice another wary look and she sighs, “Come on, Shel, Axel will be so excited for you to be out there.”

Just as we get to the equipment manager, Axel skates up, grinning at the both of us. His jersey is similar but different, the primary color black, where ours are purple. “You made it,” he says, leaning over the wall and planting a quick kiss on Nadia’s mouth. “And representing 01.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m representing myself,” I tell him, jabbing a thumb at the name on my back.

“Fair.” He reaches out and yanks my braid hard.

“Hey!” I spin away. “Don’t be a jerk.”

“Maybe you should stop acting like a baby!” He lunges, planning on messing with me again, but a body moves between us.

A large, male body that smells amazing.

“Do I need to separate you two?”

“No,” we both say at the same time, Axel’s mouth in a matching frown to mine. Reid’s gaze drops down to me and something flickers between us–an acknowledgment of the secret that we have together and my stomach flips in betrayal.

“I picked up our skates.” Nadia walks up, a set of skates in each hand. She shoves a bulky pair at me.

“Bro,” Axel says, moving past us to help Nadia. “Help Shel get her skates on. We’re starting soon.”

I start to tell Reid he doesn’t have to help me with anything, but he’s already grabbed a skate and is loosening the laces.

“Let’s get those boots off,” he says, dropping down to one knee. He lifts my foot and eases off my shoe.

“The shirts look great,” I tell him. “They’re fun. Where’d you get the idea?”

“Glad you like them.” He keeps his eyes down, but adds, “I was looking through some of the old jerseys for inspiration and found some from early in the program's history. I thought it would be cool to go with a vintage look.” His gaze lingers on me a moment longer than I’m comfortable. He jerks his chin. “Other foot.”

I stick it out and he catches it in his hand. Once my boot is off, those long fingers graze the underside, trailing over the arch. I am sent back to the way he touched me secretly under the blanket during the movie. The same two fingers he used to–

My eyes dart over to my brother who is fully invested in his girlfriend, clueless to my runaway body and brain.

Carefully, Reid tugs up my sock, smoothing it out, then works my foot into the heavy skate boot. I watch as he methodically tightens the laces, he dips his fingers under the tongue and asks, “That feel okay? Too tight?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“You need a little give at the ankles, but not too much.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ll be like those kids out there,” I nod at the rink, “hanging onto the edge, trying not to make a fool of myself.”

“You really think I’d let you fall?” He stands and stretches out his hand. I take another quick look at my brother. He and Nadia are moving toward the rink. I take his hand and let him help me up, then lead us toward the ice. Just before we get to the opening that leads to the ice he leans in and whispers in my ear, “As much as I like seeing you in the jersey I designed, it would be a lot better if it had my name on it.”

My cheeks burn, recalling how he looked at me when I wore his jersey. How aroused it made him. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Wilder,” I say, keeping one eye on my brother. He’s back in the goal, showing off some of his moves to the kids.

With one hand on the wall and another holding onto his forearm, I take an awkward step onto the frozen floor. My movements are tentative, shaky, like a newborn deer.

“No.” He grabs me, spinning me around and pressing my back against the wall. His muscular arms cage me in. “A dangerous game would be me kissing you right now, out in the open, for everyone to see. Which holy fuck, GG, I want to do that so bad.”

My knees turn to jelly, and my ankles wobble. It’s a good thing he’s nearby to keep me from falling over, but it’s a bad thing that he’s so close, taunting me like this. “I’m starting to think you’re trying to get caught.”

He shrugs, a smirky grin tugging at his mouth. “Maybe I’m thinking it would be worth the risk.”

“You’d risk my brother finding out about what we’ve been doing?”

His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and his eyes dart to my mouth. He could kiss me right now and tear the bandage off this secret, blowing up both of our lives. But to what end? What would be the point? Causing an irreparable rift with my brother over an experiment?

“Reid!”

A small body zips across the ice, coming at him full force. He reacts quickly, catching her in his arms. “Hey, Ron,” he says, wrapping his arms around the younger girl. She’s in the jersey designated for family, the name Wilder across the back. Another person follows, skating slower but still with noticeable skill. “Dad. Mom here?”

Mr. Wilder points to the stands. There’s a cluster of women, all in family jerseys. Reid lifts his hand in a wave and a woman with short, stylishly cut, gray hair grins and waves back.

“She’s not skating?” he asks.

“Not this year. Her back has been bothering her a little, but she didn’t want to miss the chance to connect with other parents.” Mr. Wilder’s attention shifts to me. “Hi, I’m Roger. Reid’s father, and this is Veronica, his younger sister.”

“Shelby.” I straighten up. “Rakestraw. Axel is my brother. Nice to meet you both.”

“Ah, the little sister that’s been crashing at the house.” He grins. “Hope you haven’t been traumatized by living with a group of college boys.”

Before I can answer, Ronnie jumps in. “You’ve been living at the Manor.” Her eyes dart across the ice, landing squarely on her target. “With Jefferson?”

Ah, the infamous crush. “Just for the past few weeks. And everyone is very busy, I don’t see him very much.” I catch Reid’s disgruntled expression and add, “Just so you know, they’re all pretty smelly and none of them do the dishes.”

“That’s not true,” Reid crosses his arms over his chest. “I totally do the dishes.”

“ Once, ” I remind him. “ One time you did the dishes after I cooked dinner.”

We stare at one another, both of us on the verge of cracking a smile, until the sound of the buzzer cuts across the ice, breaking our eye contact. Coach Bryant is encouraging everyone to move to the middle.

“You coming?” Reid asks.

I look down at my feet, the skates pointed inward as I barely hold myself upright, and shake my head. “Not a chance. But you guys have fun. I’ll happily watch from the stands and get some hot chocolate.”

They skate off as I wobble my way back off the ice, but Ronnie darts out on her own, making a swooping loop past me. It’s on her way back to her family that I hear her say, just a bit loud, “I like her. Better than Darla.”

I glance up just in time to catch Reid reply back, “Yeah, I do too.”

The event is incredible. Seeing the excitement on the kids’ faces as they both learn a new skill and just have fun is worth sitting on the hard bench all afternoon. I’m not really familiar with kids that come from troubled backgrounds. In that respect, I’ve lived a pretty charmed life. My parents may be overprotective and demanding, but there was always a sense of security. These kids don’t have that, and there’s a shadow of guardedness lurking in their eyes. The guys do everything they can to make them feel at ease. That, I understand. Just like Axel and his roommates have done their best to make me feel comfortable.

It’s not long before some of the younger kids tire out and make their way off the ice. Twyler and the other trainers tend to a few scrapes and bumps down by the players bench. A couple of older teens remain on the ice, their skill level higher, and I realize that they’ve started a game of shootout with my brother.

Axel is positioned in the middle of the goal, body covered in pads, egging on the kids as they each attempt to make a shot. He’s not easy on them. Easily knocking most of the shots out of the way, and slowly there’s a crowd of players and kids circling the area, cheering on Axel’s competitor. After each attempt, Axel calls the kid over and talks to them.

“What is he saying?” I ask Nadia, who tired out quickly and joined me on the bleachers.

“No idea.”

“He’s giving them pointers.” We both turn and come face to face with Reid’s mother.

“You’re Reid’s mom, right?” Nadia asks.

“I am.” She not only has on the purple jersey, she has a button on the front with a picture of Reid in uniform.

“I’m Nadia, Axel’s girlfriend and this is Shelby, his sister.”

“Oh Axel,” Mrs. Wilder beams. “That boy may look rough on the outside, with all the tattoos and piercings, but he’s really a teddy bear underneath.”

Nadia laughs happily. “Right? He tries to act so tough, but he’s the most kind and generous guy I know.”

I know these things about my brother, but it’s hard to reconcile it over the past few years while we’ve been separated. I’ve felt so isolated at home. Lonely. And when I saw him, there was no mistaking his disappointment in the direction my life was headed. He always wanted me to do more, but when it comes down to it, I’m not sure that’s true.

“The time they give to this, even though it seems minimal, has the potential to be life altering.” She gestures to the ice and it’s obvious now that the guys aren’t just standing around watching, they’re all engaged with the younger boys and girls. “Coming to this event was how Reid got his introduction to hockey. He picked it up quickly.”

“Was he also always a gifted artist?” I ask, unable to help myself from finding out more about her son.

“He was. That skill was innate, but holing up in his room with a sketchpad wasn’t enough for him. He needed to move around and work out some of that energy. He also needed to be part of a team.”

“It sounds like you gave him a lot of opportunities.”

She shrugs, eyes focused on her son down on the ice. “Other than providing a safe home, it’s one of the most important things a parent can give a child.” She looks back at me. “I’m sure your parents sacrificed for Axel to get to this level.”

“Uh, not really,” I admit. “We’re from Texas and my father is a minister. He primarily wanted us involved in church activities. Football or baseball would have been acceptable, I guess, but hockey? Ax figured that out on his own.”

She studies me for a long moment. “I guess that explains his determination.”

My parents provided the home part, but not the opportunity. If it wasn’t in alignment with their priorities, then they weren’t interested.

The buzzer blares from the speakers and there’s an announcement that the concession stand is open. That gets the rest of the kids and the team off the ice to remove their gear.

The next hour is a blur of pizza, hotdogs, and nachos. The kids’ laughter is infectious and I can’t keep my eyes off of Reid, following his movements as he immerses himself in these children. Antsy, I do what I do best, moving between the tables, grabbing discarded plates and cups. I always feel most steady when I’m doing something with my hands. I’m juggling a pile when a sharp, earsplitting whistle cuts through the chatter and all eyes move to where Reese stands at the front of the group.

“Now that we’re fed and warmed up, Coach Bryant said we could go on a tour of the locker and screening room,” he says, “but you need to finish cleaning up whatever trash you have left, and then go thank Shelby for doing the majority of it already.”

He grins at me, and my cheeks burn red at the attention, but one by one the kids drop their trash into the bin, and stop to tell me thank you.

“You’re welcome,” I tell each and every one, until the kids are gone and suddenly a line of hulking hockey players is standing in front of me.

“Thanks, Shel,” Emerson says, giving me a cheeky grin.

One by one they file through, until Axel appears in front of me. “I keep telling you, cleaning up after everyone isn’t your job.”

I cross my arms and glare at him. “I could say the same to you.”

He smirks and lunges for me, grabbing me in a ridiculous bear hug. I fight against him, but he’s obnoxious and refuses to let go until Nadia drags him away.

“Thanks,” I tell her, straightening my shirt.

After the last player comes through, I’m disappointed that Reid never came up. I look around for him, but don’t see him anywhere. It’s probably for the best. The less we interact in public the better.

The parents sit down for a meeting about local teams the kids can join. Nadia excuses herself to go to the restroom and I spot Twyler waving across the room.

“I’m finished,” Twyler says, lingering by a door that leads to the locker rooms, “and the rest of the time is pretty much for the foster families and kids. If you’re ready to head out, I just need to grab my stuff and then we can go out the back door. Nadia said she’d meet us out there.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“You going into work today?”

“No.” I follow her down the stairs. “Since it’s a bye week Mike doesn’t think they’ll have too big of a crowd.”

At the bottom of the stairs is a set of double doors with an image of the badger mascot and the word Wittmore painted across the top. Using a keycard, Twyler unlocks the door and we enter the player’s area. Noisy voices come from down the hall and she says, “That’s the screening room where they’re meeting with the kids. You can wait out here for me. I need to put away a few things and grab my stuff.”

She dips into the doorway of a room that has the word “Training Room” overhead. Down the hall I hear Reese encourage everyone to quiet down. Curious, I walk down the hall and peek into the room. I’d heard my brother and the guys talk about watching film, but I didn’t really process that they basically have a movie theater of their own. Today the kids have claimed all of the comfy looking seats, and the players stand against the edge of the room. To my surprise, it’s not Reese at the front of the room, or even Coach Bryant.

It’s Reid.

“I know it may be hard to believe, but I was once a scrawny kid sitting in the same seat as you are right now. Well,” he grins, looking out at the group, “not the same exact seat, they upgraded those a few years ago, but I came to the Wittmore Family Day with my foster parents.”

There’s a small murmur of surprise and not just from the kids. From some of Reid’s teammates, too.

“I’d been through a lot of homes. Eight, actually. And I’d finally landed in one where the parents decided that instead of finding me too energetic or tough to deal with, they’d find an outlet for me. It was tough. I was way behind everyone else who had been playing since they were four-years-old and attending training camps every year. But something about it just clicked, and my teammates and coaches, they all became a second and third family.”

Reid turns around showing the back of his jersey. His name, Wilder, stitched above the number 08. “It took eight homes.” Turning back he adds, “When I got to Wittmore I was able to request a number. I asked for eight. I didn’t want to forget those days, but I also wanted it as a reminder of how much I went through to get somewhere safe and stable. To find the right team.” His eyes flit up, meeting mine, and I realize that he knows that I’m here and watching. “Hockey may not be the right sport for you, but somewhere out there is the right family, the right team, and you’ll make it your own.”

Again he looks past everyone else, gaze holding mine. I feel a warmth, something unfamiliar but also right. So, incredibly right.

It’s in that moment, when Reid is revealing himself for the kids, his teammates and me that I realize what that feeling is.

Love.

I’m in love with Reid Wilder.

“You ready?” I didn’t hear Twyler walk up. Not with the pounding of my heart in my ears. “Shelby?” I blink, dragging my eyes away from Reid as he continues to speak to the kids, over to Twyler. There’s a line across her forehead. “Are you okay?”

I nod, but I’m unable to say the words, because I’m not sure that I am.