Reclaim (Stingrays Hockey #5)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

“Fuck me.”

Victor Reed grumbled his curse louder than he meant to. However, it probably spoke to just how much he overused the F word that none of his teammates even lifted their heads, all of them changing their clothes after a rather vicious postseason workout.

They’d lost in the second round of the playoffs a few nights ago, due to some sloppy-as-shit playing. Coach Fields had not yet gotten over the disheartening loss. To be honest, none of them had.

Hence the hardcore workout.

Despite being one of the oldest players on the Baltimore Stingrays, Victor didn’t consider himself in bad shape…

at all. Regardless, today’s drills had kicked his ass.

There wasn’t a muscle in his body that wasn’t currently screaming at him.

Luckily, he made a fuck-ton of money, which meant his house not only had a swimming pool and a sauna but also a hot tub.

One he fully intended to use once he got home.

Then he recalled the reason for his initial curse.

The hot tub wasn’t on the books for this afternoon. If he tried to use it, his little niece, Pip, would want to hop in, and she was too young for long soaks in hundred-degree water.

“Shit,” he muttered, glowering down at his gym bag.

This time, his teammate Lucas—who they all called Rook—glanced in his direction. “Doing okay, Vic?”

He nodded, his scowl still firmly in place. “Yeah. I just need to get home.”

“Oh hey, that’s right!” Tank, another teammate—and good friend—walked over.

“Viv is dropping Pip off this afternoon. You’re going to be in full-time uncle mode all summer.

” Tank was a good-natured bastard on a bad day, but now that he’d fallen in love with McKenna Bailey, the team’s social media manager, they were forced to deal with an even louder, happier, more cheerful motherfucker.

“You better get all those cuss words out now, Reed, because your charming vocabulary isn’t gonna fly with a five-year-old… or her nanny.”

Victor shot his friend a dirty look. “Fuck you.”

Tank slapped him on the shoulder, his words bouncing right off. “That’s the way.” He crooked his fingers in a “gimme more” gesture. “Keep ’em coming. I know you’ve got more in there. Hit me with a few ‘motherfuckers’ and ‘son-of-a-bitches’ and ‘bite me’s.’ I love when you talk dirty to me.”

Coach Dean Fields joined them, shaking his head.

“Give the man a break. He’s about to become a temporary full-time parent.

The last thing he needs is to deal with another five-year-old at work.

Thought you were working on that ‘growing up’ thing,” Dean said to Tank, using air-quotes around the words “growing up.”

A bunch of the guys laughed at the coach’s diss, not that it impacted Tank at all.

The guy’s nickname originated from his skating on the ice, because once Tank was in motion, he was nearly impossible to knock off course.

However, the nickname fit in another way.

Tank’s skin was so thick, it was impenetrable.

Any and all jokes, trash talking, and insults just bounced off the man.

Tank held his hand up. “I’m just joking around, Coach. Honest. And look at me, I’m already a changed man.”

“Oh really?” Dean retorted.

“Yep. I’m definitely all mature and grown up and shit.”

Dean rolled his eyes and crossed his arms. “It’s going to take more than a few months of good behavior to convince me,” he warned him. “Don’t think I’m not watching you…very closely.”

Everyone else in the room could hear the menace in Dean’s voice, Tank included.

His smile remained in place…though when he replied, his tone was much more serious. “I’m rock solid, Dean. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Coach studied Tank’s face for thirty seconds before sighing and relaxing. “You and Kenny still coming over for dinner tonight?”

Tank nodded. “Yep. Need us to bring anything?”

Victor watched as Tank and Dean walked away, heading toward the coach’s office.

“That’s going to take some getting used to,” Rook murmured, looking in the same direction as Victor.

“Tell me about it,” he agreed.

Tank, prior to the holidays, had been the team’s biggest playboy, the cocky ass occasionally showing up for team functions with not one but two dates hanging on his arms. Management put the kibosh on that following some negative press, assigning McKenna to clean up their right winger’s reputation.

Tank falling in love with quiet, sweet McKenna wasn’t on anyone’s bingo card, and would have been shocking enough on its own.

However, when that revelation was paired with the news that McKenna was actually the coach’s daughter—something only a handful of people in the organization knew—the team had been rocked and entertained for the past few weeks.

Now that the shock was starting to wear off, Victor could see just how good McKenna—whom her father affectionately called Kenny—was for Tank.

Nevertheless, it was still funny as shit, watching his irreverent, always-in-trouble buddy suddenly trying to stay in the coach’s good graces.

“So Pip’s spending the whole summer with you?” Rook asked.

Victor nodded, his amusement fading. Not because he wasn’t looking forward to spending time with Pip.

That kid was his favorite person on the whole planet and pretty much the love of his life.

He was there in the delivery room when she was born, and Victor had been the second person to hold her. Right after his sister, Vivian.

He could still recall her red, wrinkled little face. The poor thing looked like she’d been through a war immediately following delivery. But she didn’t cry a bit. Instead, she looked up at him with those wide, bright, inquisitive eyes, and he was a goner.

Pip, whose full name was Phillipa Briana Kelly, had owned his soul since that day, much in the same way his sister, Vivian, had claimed it when she was born.

He’d been six years old when his kid sister had come into the world, and Victor could still recall the day his parents brought her home from the hospital, sat him down on the couch, and placed her in his arms. Dad had told him he was a big brother now, which meant Vivian was his to protect and care for.

Victor had taken those words to heart, never wavering in his duty because, like Pip, Vivian was so damn easy to love. She wasn’t just his sister, she was his best friend, and there wasn’t a single fucking thing he wouldn’t do for her.

Which was why he was taking care of Pip for the entire summer during the postseason.

Three long months.

Which would be great if not for one thing…

Rook ran a comb through his hair, still wet from the shower. “I thought Pip had a nanny. Belle, right?”

And there was the one thing.

Belle.

It made sense this teammate knew about her.

Vivian, Belle, and Pip were regular faces in the team box during home games—at least through the first period, after which they usually took Pip home to put her to bed.

Occasionally, Vivian would send Pip home with Belle so that she could join him and his friends for post-game celebrations.

For the last five or six years, Victor and Vivian had also played host at the holidays to his teammates who couldn’t get home to celebrate with their own families, so all the Stingrays who celebrated Christmas Day with him knew his sister and niece well.

Rook had been one of the takers this past holiday, and he’d secured his place in Pip’s heart when he’d suggested they hold a Nerf Gun battle after dinner.

Despite the fact it had been six months since the holidays, Pip still asked Tank—every fucking time she came over—if they could have another Nerf Gun war.

And nearly every other day, he found yet another stray Nerf bullet in his house…

behind the couch, in a potted plant, behind the books on his shelves, under the furniture.

He figured at this rate, he’d be picking the fucking things up until next Christmas.

“Yeah, Belle is Pip’s nanny, and she’s coming to stay too,” Victor grumbled.

“Won’t she do the lion’s share of the work, then, when it comes to Pip?” Rook asked.

“She will. It’s just…” Victor ran a hand through his hair, brushing it off his face.

He’d worn his hair long since high school.

It had started as a bit of teen rebellion, a way to annoy his former-military dad, but after a while, he realized he liked it long.

Between that, his beard, and his killer attitude on the ice, he’d earned his own nickname with the Stingrays.

The Beast.

It fit him well, because in addition to his looks and playing, he was perfectly aware of the fact he didn’t have the most genial, jovial disposition. While his teammates Tank, Blake, and Rook were all smiles and jokes, Victor’s resting bitch face was a permanent feature.

“Do you not like Belle?” Rook frowned.

Belle had also been at the holiday party this year, and Victor had suspected that if Rook hadn’t already been smitten with another woman, he probably would have asked her out.

Once he realized that, he’d made it clear amongst his teammates that his sister—and the nanny—were off-limits.

The last thing he needed was one of his friends hitting on them and mucking up the water.

“She’s fine,” Victor snapped, in a way that made the word fine sound distinctly un-fine.

“She seemed nice at Christmas. Friendly, easygoing,” Rook observed. “Not hard to look at,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

“Told you not to look,” Victor growled.

Rook laughed. “You’re too easy to mess with, man. But seriously, what’s the issue? Belle’s great.”