Chapter 14
After waking up late and promising Jeff a rundown on the date at her brothers’ practice, Marlie managed a short jog around the neighborhood to work off her pizza from the night before. Satisfied she’d done something, she followed up with a shower and a terrible cup of stale coffee.
She hated K-cups but never drank enough to justify having a larger pot. And because she’d put off shopping, she had to drink old ground coffee.
At two, she met Jeff at the larger of the two ice rinks in town. The other one on the south side offered free skating for families, an especially popular pastime during the winter months.
But Ice House was normally booked for events. From birthday parties to corporate fun—because the weirdos living in Hope’s Turn viewed outdoor activities as leisure activities—to amateur hockey, the rink had a never-ending stream of customers.
Six teams made up her brothers’ league, an intermediate group. Not beginners, but not experts either. The high school was rumored to be starting up a program, and the community college already had an intramural team who met to compete against other smaller college teams in the area.
As she made her way into the stands, where Jeff waved at her, as if she couldn’t see him past the other dozen pathetic souls enduring the cold atmosphere, she noticed her brothers and their friends on the ice. But no Damon.
She joined Jeff in the stands.
“Hey, cheap date. I notice your car was missing this morning. I stayed up to wait for you to get back and finally had to turn in by midnight.” Jeff slyly winked. “Your place or his? And was it any good?”
“Shh.” She blushed when a few people looked their way. “We had a great dinner followed by ax throwing. We closed down the bar and got back to your place late. Then I drove home. Alone.”
“Ax throwing? Oh, at that bar on the north side. Nice.” Jeff’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if you didn’t break him, why is our coach not here yet?”
“Practice just started, right?”
“Yes, but he should be early.”
“When did you get here?”
He shrugged. “Ten minutes ago.”
“Man, you really wanted to hear about my date.” She studied him, aware of that sense of secrecy he projected.
She’d always known when he was hiding something.
“Or you’re here for another reason.” She looked back at the ice.
From what she knew, six guys played at a time.
A goalie, two defensemen, and three on the forward line.
The Mavericks consisted of her three brothers and nine other players. All men, though the league was supposed to be coed. Hmm. She knew all but two of them, recognizing a few teachers, two nurses, a lawyer, and a doctor.
They stood on the ice, talking, sticks in hand, holding helmets.
Wasting time.
She frowned. “Where is he? He said he’d be here.”
Noise came from the far entrance.
“That sounds like him,” Jeff said. They stood to look over at Damon arguing with someone.
“Uh-oh. I sense a brawl.” She couldn’t help worrying a little for Damon. Though huge and obviously familiar with fighting, he was still healing that knee. Fortunately, the arguing abruptly ceased, and the door slammed.
He came forward, not limping at all. Spotting her, he gave a wave and a half smile before glaring at the players on the ice. “What the hell are you waiting for? An invitation to skate? Get to some laps.”
Steve grinned and gave Damon a thumbs up, then yanked his helmet on and joined the others for warmup laps around the ice.
“Go find out what happened.” Jeff shoved her in Damon’s direction.
“Stop pushing.” She moved down the stadium stairs and knocked on the Plexiglass of the player’s bench.
The benches in the rink actually had admittance to the stadium, though most hockey benches often didn’t, accessed only by the ice.
But the hall leading to the locker rooms sat nearby, and instead of players having to use the ice to reach a gate leading out to the locker rooms, they could easily access it via the bench.
“Hi, Marlie.” Damon grinned. He wore an Ice Raptors sweatshirt and jeans. Boots again, no skates, she saw, not sure why she’d expected he’d be wearing them.
“Why were you late?”
“I was on time but got distracted by a dickhead out in the parking lot.”
“What happened?”
“Apparently, the coach of the Sharks, the team your guys are playing tomorrow, thought this was an open practice.”
Nearby, Will, who’d slowed on his pass by the bench, said, “They normally are.”
“Well, not today.”
He grinned and continued.
Damon turned back to Marlie. “The guy’s lucky I don’t pound his face in.”
Marlie’s heart raced, enamored with that mean streak of Damon’s.
“Do you know who their coach is?”
“Yeah. He’s a dickbag.” Damon grunted. “Morgan Asby.”
“I know him,” Jeff said from right behind her. So much for forcing her to find out what was happening while keeping discreetly away. “He’s a nice guy.”
“Unless he’s forcing you to tears of pain with stupid exercises,” Damon grumbled.
“What?” Marlie was confused.
“He’s my physical therapist. I had no idea he coached hockey. He never mentioned it.” Damon winced. “Although, after a few of my choice words, I have a feeling he might not be so pleasant Monday when I go in to see him again.”
“Not smart, doofus.” Marlie huffed. “Next time you need help talking to someone, ask me. I’ll set the person straight while you sit back looking pretty.”
He smirked. “I knew you thought I was hot.”
Jeff laughed.
“You, go back to our seats.” To Damon, she said, “And you, shut up and coach. And don’t be too long. I’m hungry.”
“Me too.” He gave her a thorough onceover that had Jeff hooting. Then he turned to the players. “Hey, Mavericks. On me.”
To Marlie’s discomfort, Damon walked out onto the ice. With his bum knee.
But who was she to tell him what not to do? Certainly not his girlfriend.
Marlie forced herself to ignore Damon’s lack of sense and dragged Jeff with her back to their seats. Then she noticed the crowding stands. “There aren’t normally this many people when they practice, are there?”
“No. Huh. Someone must have let slip that Demon Sinclair was in the house.”
She studied him. “Someone, hmm?”
“Hey, it wasn’t me. I’m just here to be with you.” He leaned closer once they sat. “Now I want details. And they’d better be good.”
She gave them while they watched Damon cajole the players on the ice.
Though he’d started out by barking orders, he introduced himself and generously encouraged questions.
He had a great temperament for helping others, it seemed.
Despite the ferocious appearance and tendency to yell, he had patience.
Watching the team play, observing without commenting for a bit, Damon followed with sound advice on correcting form and stickwork. She didn’t play hockey, but Marlie understood him well enough. He was patient and didn’t cringe too much at the team’s attempts at playing.
Her brothers weren’t bad, but Toby, one of the nurses, looked like a dying bear on the ice.
“He’s not so good, is he?”
They watched Toby nearly trip himself coming off the defense line.
Then Will tried to check one of the guys wearing a yellow pinny, playing defense to his offense.
“No, no, no.” Damon yelled, “Will, come here.”
Will, who normally acted as coach and player, seemed more than happy to have Damon taking over. He skated to Damon, who stood on the red line watching. “If you’re going to check the guy, you need to do it right. Steve, come here.”
He showed them how to move under an opponent, not pushing down on the guy’s lower back to move him, but lifting him off his skates to send him into the boards.
Will nodded. “Oh, I see. Makes sense.”
“Get off the ice, you big idiot,” someone yelled from the stands.
Marlie, about to rain hell on whoever thought to insult her date, paused to see Morgan Asby, Damon’s physical therapist, sitting with a few familiar faces. What looked like the entire team of the Sharks, dressed in their Sharks jerseys.
Damon glanced over, his expression going from fierce to neutral. He walked slowly, carefully, out of the rink. Over his shoulder, he said, “Will, run it again.” He crossed toward Morgan, pausing below at the bottom of the stands. “What did I tell you? This is a closed practice.”
Whispers of Demon Sinclair and the Ice Raptors circled the growing crowd, mostly filled with hockey fans, though more than a few “fans” seemed dressed to impress, as if hoping to get more than Damon’s attention.
She wished that didn’t bother her, yet it kind of did. But he hadn’t done anything to encourage anyone. In fact, he didn’t seem aware of the attention directed at him. That or he ignored it.
“Don’t make me come down there and take you away,” Morgan argued as he stood. Smaller than Damon but no less aggressive, the blond guy looked beyond angry. “What did I tell you about taking it easy? About going slow?”
“Hey, I’m not playing or anything.” Damon smiled, but as usual, he looked more like a serial killer than a Good Samaritan. “Oh, hey, Deacon.”
One of the large men with Morgan waved. Ah yes, the infamous Flashman brothers. Grant Weston sat with them as well.
Damon snarled, “Who said it was okay to bring these dicks with you?”
“Hey,” Mitch Flashman snarled back. “It’s an open rink.”
“I’m telling Piper you called me a dick,” Grant said. “And she thinks you’re nice. Right.”
“I like your wife. And your brother.” Damon shook his head.
“I admit, I’m dying to see you on the ice.
And Morgan, before you have a coronary, I’m not skating.
Just helping out.” He glared at the rest of the Sharks players.
“Well? Get your gear and get on the ice. We might as well have a session for everyone.”
They moved, everyone scrambling to get their gear.
Damon turned back to the Mavs and yelled, “Early scrimmage. Get ready.”
The guys whooped in excitement.
Damon frowned up at Marlie before returning to the players’ bench.
Her phone beeped. She glanced down at the text that read:
Sorry. Gotta help these morons. Lunch might be a little later than I’d planned. Okay?
She smiled.
Sure. But this just means extra dessert and appetizers. Sucker.
He sent her back a Dick pick, this one of a cartoon Dick Tracy and a caption:
I’m detecting masked aggression looking like hunger. Just hoping one day soon I can get the dessert I’m craving as well.
Followed by a heart emoji.
“Idiot.” She snickered.
Jeff whisked her phone out of her hands, stared from it to Damon, and whistled. “Guy’s got it bad for Mad Marlie. I wonder if he’ll make it out alive when it’s all over.”
Marlie grinned. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”