16. Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Sixteen
Landon’s world-famous charm strikes again! Missed practice? No worries, the rules don’t apply when you’re the local hero. ~Penni’s Puckleberry Tea
Shep
Her little blue-haired Pop sat on the top shelf in my locker. Plain as day, if anyone looked. Snatched from her office before I raced over to the arena.
And she was in the building. In her perch up in the rafters above the ice. Watching the game unfold. Probably entrenched beside Wilson and suffering through his smelly wings.
Or maybe thinking about me.
She’d been in the locker room while Coach Trasier rallied the team to another victory. Wearing another of those fluffy flowery dresses, looking like pure temptation, her copper penny hair swinging from a pretty ponytail.
She was by far the girliest girl I’d ever known. I can’t say I’d ever committed a woman’s look to memory, but Merri? I adored every inch of her, from her mile-high heels to her swishy skirts to the flippy ponytail just asking to be wrapped around my hand.
But that was for before. Pre-dad Shep.
Now? I was a responsible adult and had zero business thinking about the feather-light kiss of her breath on my cheek. Of the way her bright emerald eyes dilated under my kiss.
No. Not for the Now Shep. Now Shep had obligations. Had people—an important person—expecting things from him.
Hard enough being the badass hockey player I was. No way I could be anything other than a badass dad, too.
Hannah deserved my best.
I wanted to give that to her. I wanted to be there for my daughter. Prove that while I may not have known about her until recently, I was completely up to the task of being her badass dad.
Which meant kisses with Merri were off the table. No matter how good they were, no matter how much temptation she offered.
Temptation like the Thunder video room.
Hottest experience of my life, bar none. Even without a happy ending.
Something about being so close to the rest of the players, being up in the perch, where anyone could walk in, had put an extra edge to the experience. I don’t know what I’d been thinking, but once I’d started touching her, no way could I stop.
Coach tapped my shoulder and I blinked. Fuck. Fuckin’ daydreaming like a tool in the middle of a game! My gaze snapped to the ice. We played the Florida Hurricanes, always a tough battle. I vaulted over the wall, landing with a satisfying thud on the ice, and charged up toward the Hurricane net.
Our fourth line, known for their unrelenting grit and the ability to shut down plays, had carved out excellent position and delivered a golden scoring opportunity. Coach sending Zacha, Novak and me onto the ice? He expected us to capitalize on that position.
Hammer battled in the corner, wrestling for the puck.
He kicked it loose and shot the sucker across the ice smack onto my stick, smooth as silk and laser accurate.
I spun free of the Hurricane player trying to cage me in and unleashed a perfect shot, arrowing that little bastard straight toward the back of the net.
The Hurricanes’ goalie blocked it; Zacha missed the rebound.
One of the Florida players collected the puck and sailed across the ice toward our goal.
We all scrambled after him, but he was fast, a half-second ahead. He dragged his skate near the blueline. Offside? I shot a quick look to the officials, hoping for a whistle. But nope. It was close, damn close, but I couldn’t be sure his skate crossed the line before the puck.
Whatever. I powered after him as he snaked in around the net, burst out the other side and slammed a hard shot glove side. The goal buzzer blared and I ground my teeth. But not a second later, Trasier waved his arms, signaling the refs over. He wanted a review of the play.
Everything came to a standstill. The officials glided over to the box, their faces grim.
Zacha skated up beside me. “Your girl doesn’t hesitate, does she?” His gaze swept over the Hurricanes players where they leaned on the wall, full of confident grins and backslaps for the breakaway goal.
I followed his gaze, shoving down the possessive satisfaction of Zacha labeling Merri “my girl”. Not the time, not the place. Maybe never the time or place. How was I supposed to meld a championship hockey career, fatherhood and the fun and games Merri represented? “Looks that way.”
When the officials skated to center ice to announce the results of the review, I held my breath like the rest of the team. Florida’s goal put us one behind. Third period, seven minutes left on the clock. Plenty of time to score, sure, but two points? Two points would be more of a challenge.
The crack of the ref’s microphone broke through the at-capacity arena. “After video review, it has been determined that the attacking team was offside prior to the goal. Therefore, the goal is disallowed. No goal.”
My grin exploded, my gaze flying to the smoky window of the video coaches’ perch high above the ice.
Monitors filled one wall, a confusing kaleidoscope of replays and camera angles—a nonstop flood of information Merri and Wilson funneled to the bench.
Way up there, Merri sat laser-focused on the game.
She’d be locked in, eyes glued to the screens, posture rigid with focus.
No way she’d be looking out the window. No way she’d be looking for me.
Still, I sent a grin her way.
Wilson had never called for a Coach’s Challenge. Not once in all the years I’d known him. This? This was all Merri.
Zacha slammed his glove against mine. “I already like your girl.”
“Not my girl.” The words came fast, too fast, scraping the back of my throat.
Not my girl yet. Maybe never my girl.
Something twisted tight inside me, squeezing just enough to make my next breath shallow.
Letting go of the idea of Merri should have been easy.
But the thought of her—teasing her, playing more of our ridiculous games—sent a jolt through me, quick and sharp, like the snap of a skate biting into fresh ice.
But Hannah had to come first. No question.
Zacha’s smirk said he caught what I hadn’t said. My grin pushed its way out anyway, even if it sat a little heavier, the edges weighed down by the responsibilities waiting for me off the ice.
Zacha scored on our next possession. Hammer drilled one in with two minutes left. Added to my two goals, we shut down the Hurricanes with a 4-2 victory.
Back in the locker room, the little Pop stared me down from behind his yellow glasses.
A smidge of guilt chewed at my conscience, but a win was a win was a win and my team needed to win this year.
After the crash and burn disaster of last season, we needed every player pulling their weight.
Showing their commitment. Proving their value to the team.
What if the only thing holding off another slump was that blue-haired little dude?
With the added factor that Fournier could be retiring this year? We owed our long-standing captain a spectacular finish. We owed him the ultimate win. Nothing less than Lord Stanley’s Cup.
The raucous post-game chatter in the locker room quieted as the captain stood just to the side of the entrance.
He held up the game puck. “We almost lost momentum tonight, but one call got us back on track. This is a team sport, we all know that, but our team is made up of players, coaches, equipment managers and trainers and all the people who work together to give us the best shot at winning. Tonight, that was Merri Wylie.”
The captain motioned toward the doorway. Merri stood framed in the threshold, her yellow and white dress a bright burst of sunshine amidst all the Renegade blue and gray.
She stepped in and the cheers escalated. The captain flipped her the puck and she caught it mid-air with a flourish.
“Speech! Speech!” The team cheered.
Merri grinned, unfazed at being the only woman in a locker room filled with half-naked hockey players. She held the game puck high, two-fisted, like a heavyweight lifting the prize belt over her head. “I have just the place for this sucker. Right next to my Goorin Stallion cap!”
My teammates roared with laughter, the sound deafening in the tight confines of the locker room.
Fingers pointed at me, high fives were exchanged, her jab a solid hit.
Their enjoyment fueled by our budding rivalry.
Everyone loved a good show. Word of my air hockey defeat had made the rounds.
Added to my Ping-Pong loss, Merri was well on her way to being a locker room legend.
“Hey, Merri,” Charlie hollered over the din. “You notice anything missing from your office again? You might want to inspect a certain sniper’s locker.”
I shot to my feet, blocking her line of sight to the shelf. I’d removed my jersey and shoulder pads already. When Merri turned my way, her gaze flicked south before focusing on my face. I rolled my bare shoulders, a grin biting at my lips, barely contained.
She crossed the room, skirting the Renegades crest emblazoned on the floor, to stop a couple feet in front of me. “Why’re you standing all of a sudden, Landon? Hiding something, are you?”
Zacha snorted from his seat, but I didn’t break eye contact with Merri. I did let the grin loose, though, and spread my hands wide, innocence personified. “Nothing to hide here, ma’am.”
As I intended, her eyes dipped to my chest again, before flashing back to mine. “Then you’ll have no problem stepping aside.” She flicked her fingers over my shoulder. “Letting me see what’s what, as they say.”
The guys hooted at her challenge. There was no way I was escaping the locker room with possession of the Pop.
Every fiber of my being wanted to delay the inevitable, to draw out this interaction, to bask in her attention.
But all eyes were on us. With an exaggerated sigh that probably echoed three counties over, I stepped aside.