Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
STEPHANIE
I t’s an odd feeling, walking into Pickwick’s with Tank, knowing I’m about to join a behind the scenes pro-hockey strategy session. It’s like I’ve been granted access to some exclusive, testosterone-filled clubhouse where the secret handshake involves grunting and talk about ice time.
Though to be fair, Tank doesn’t grunt nearly as much as he used to.
And when he does, I kind of love it.
Just like I love him.
And he loves me!
I’m still buzzing from our talk back at the studio—the rush of knowing we’re on the same page and crazy about each other hanging between us like a golden thread I’m determined never to break. It’s ridiculous how quickly this big, grumpy man has woven himself into the fabric of my life, but here we are.
And even with everything he’s worked so hard for suddenly on the line, he still made sure I knew where I stood with him.
That I matter. That we matter.
And that he loves me…
The thought has me grinning like nobody’s business as we head into the pub. Inside, its warm, cozy, and smells pleasantly of yummy fried food and beer—a welcome contrast to the chill in the evening air outside. It’s still technically summer, but tonight you can feel a hint of autumn creeping in, a subtle crispness that makes me glad I grabbed my light cardigan before we left.
Tank’s hand rests protectively at the small of my back as we navigate through the crowd, making our way through the crush of people toward the back, where Stone and Cruise, the ridiculously cute Badger team prankster, who’s grown into a real leader in the past few years, are already seated in a booth.
Stone spots us first and lifts an arm. “Hey, over here. We ordered a pitcher and a shit ton of food is on the way. Strategy meetings make me hungry.”
“Same.” Cruise stands, leaning across the table to offer me a one-armed hug. “Hey, Steph. Glad you’re here. Libby wanted to come, but we couldn’t find a sitter for our menace to society at the last minute.”
“Bummer, but tell her hi for me,” I say as we settle into our seats. “And give The Menace a squeeze. He’s the cutest agent of chaos I know.”
“I will,” Justin says, grinning. He adores his nearly one-year-old with a devotion that’s absolutely precious. “He is chaotic, but my genes are totally to blame for that, so can’t really complain. My wife is a saint to put up with the two of us.”
A server appears, delivering at least half a dozen appetizers, as well as the promised pitcher of golden lager. Once she’s gone, the mood shifts as Stone pours pints for the table.
Tank leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “So,” he says, his voice low. “Fill me in. What happened that’s so fucked up it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”
Stone and Cruise exchange a look that makes my stomach tighten.
Whatever this is, it’s not good.
“I overheard Garcia talking to Hartley at the pita place while I was waiting for my takeout after practice,” Stone begins, his voice barely audible over the pub noise. “They didn’t notice me, I guess. Or maybe they just don’t give a shit who knows they’re colluding behind the scenes.”
“Colluding is the perfect word,” Justin pipes up.
Stone inclines his head. “Thank you. Anyway, Garcia’s talking out his fucking ass about you, Tank. Not just bringing up the old stuff, but claiming he heard you’ve been scoring shit from some dealer who caters to the rich and famous in town.”
“What the fuck?” Tank’s voice is soft, but deadly, and a muscle instantly starts twitching in his jaw.
I reach for his thigh under the table, squeezing gently. “That’s insane,” I say. Indignant on his behalf. “Between training, teaching camps and private clients, and being with me, when would he even have time?”
“And I’m not rich and famous,” Tank agrees. “Thanks to my fuck ups, I’m one of the lowest paid members on the team.”
“And like you need to be rich and famous to buy drugs?” Justin rolls his eyes. “It’s all bullshit. But here’s the thing—I made some gossip-hunting calls this afternoon.” He leans closer. “This isn’t Garcia’s first sabotage rodeo. He pulled the same kind of crap with another goalie prospect when he was in the Penguins’ feeder system. Spread rumors the other guy was betting on the games.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, feeling the heat of anger building in my chest.
Who does this to another person’s career? Their livelihood?
“What happened to the other goalie?” Tank asks, tightly.
Cruise’s expression darkens. “By the time they were done investigating everything, they decided the evidence was inconclusive, and he was cleared. But the damage was already done. Guy never made it to the show.”
Tank exhales slowly, and I swear I can feel the tension radiating off his skin. “So, what am I supposed to do? Just sit here and wait for this fucker to destroy everything I’ve worked for?”
“No,” Stone says firmly. “We’re going to nip this in the bud. We just need a plan to expose him as a lying sack of shit before he can do any more damage.”
“What kind of plan?” I ask. “I mean, it’s his word against Tank’s at this point, right?” I sit up straighter, turning to Tank as an idea hits. “What about a drug test? You could just offer to take one, right? That would take the wind out of his sails.”
“I already took one yesterday at the start of camp,” Tank says. “It was clear, but Hartley made a point of telling me he knew oxy only stays in the blood twenty-four hours, and he wouldn’t be impressed until I cleared random screenings so…”
“Shoot,” I say, deflating again.
“That’s why we have to catch Garcia making shit up,” Cruise says, a hint of mischief entering his expression. “We’ll set him up to expose himself and be weasel-free before the season starts.”
Tank’s brow furrows. “Sounds good, but how?”
“I was thinking we could connect him with a ‘dealer,’ who has dirt on you,” Stone says, gesturing with his pint glass as he outlines the plan. “But when they meet up, the guy says that isn’t true and he doesn’t have jack shit. But …if Garcia will slip him a couple G’s, he can arrange to swing by the Badgers team office and tell the staff that he’s been selling Tank pills for months.”
“And we record the whole thing,” Justin cuts in, clearly excited by the potential sting operation. “That way we have hard evidence that Garcia doesn’t have shit on Tank. And that he’s a sack of lying, STD-infected dicks.” I wrinkle my nose and he hurries to add, “Sorry, Steph. Not to be crass, but he is.”
I nod. “It’s fine. I agree.”
“Right,” Stone says. “So, we set it up, wait for Garcia to fall into our trap, and when we reveal it was a trap to management— bada-bing-bada-boom , no more Garcia annoying the fuck out of everyone all season.”
Tank grunts, then glances my way. “What do you think?”
I take a sip of my beer, rolling the idea over in my mind. “Are we positive he’ll go for it?”
“He’s desperate to eliminate the competition for the starter position,” Justin says, reaching for a loaded nacho. “He’ll bite.”
“But—” I break off, resting my elbows on the table and leaning in as I whisper, “Isn’t this kind of risky? I mean, where would we even find a fake dealer who’s willing to help us out with something like this?”
Stone grins with the confidence of a man who’s already thought this through. “My cousin’s roommate is in film school, but secretly thinks he’s the next Tom Cruise or something. Dude’s always looking for ‘authentic experiences’ to test his acting chops. He’ll totally do it.”
“And like I said, we’ll set up cameras before they get to wherever they’re meeting,” Cruise adds. “And we’ll have the ‘dealer’ wear a mic to record the conversation, too, just in case. They have tons of recording devices now that are so small Garcia won’t even notice it. I mean, knock on wood, but I actually think it’ll be easy.”
He knocks on the scarred oak table as I glance back to Tank, trying to gauge his reaction. His jaw is working, the way it does when he’s deep in thought.
“It’s not a terrible plan,” he finally says. “But there are a lot of moving parts. A lot of ways it could go sideways.”
“True,” Stone acknowledges, taking a pull from his beer. “But if it works, Garcia’s credibility will be in the toilet and management will have to put their backing where it belongs. Behind you.”
“And if it doesn’t work?” I can’t help asking. “If something goes wrong, or he doesn’t take the bait?”
“Then we’re back where we started,” Cruise says with a shrug. “No worse off, anyway.”
I’m not so sure about that, but I keep the thought to myself, chewing on a fry instead. The thing is, I’m all for exposing Garcia as the lying snake he clearly is, but this feels like we’re jumping straight into the deep end.
And what if Garcia catches on? Then Tank will really be screwed.
Tank’s thoughts seem to be tracking along the same lines. “But if it looks like I had anything to do with this, guys, I’m fucked. I mean, I’ll help, but if he catches on and realizes I’m behind the set-up, it’ll only make everything worse. I know that sounds like a cop out, or like I’m passing the buck, but?—”
“No, totally, man,” Stone cuts in. “We already agreed that was the best call. You’ll keep your hands clean, and let Justin and me handle everything. We just need you to give us the green light. We didn’t want to pull the trigger without letting you know about the plan, is all.”
“And I’m taking point,” Justin says, serious for once. “If things do go south, I have a long and successful history with the franchise. The worst that’s going to happen to me is a slap on the wrist. If someone needs to take the fall, I’ll take it. Both you and Stone will pretend you had no clue any of this was in the works.”
“Thanks, man,” Stone says, clapping him on the shoulder. “I appreciate that.”
“Just trying to be half the team captain my brother-in-law Brendan was to me when I was coming up,” Justin says, before adding with a grin, “And hell, I’m down to one or two years with the Badgers anyway. Tops. Libby won’t let me get her knocked-up again until I retire, and I really like knocking up my wife and making chaos babies, so…”
We all laugh.
Everyone except Tank.
He’s quiet, and I can see the gears turning behind his eyes.
I rest a hand on his thigh beneath the table. “It’s okay to accept help when it’s offered. You don’t have to be a lone wolf all the time.”
Justin hums in agreement around another nacho. “Yeah, dude. You’re not a lone wolf. You’re a badger, an adorable hockey-playing critter surrounded by other adorable critters known for fiercely defending each other and their territory. That’s how we roll here. And that’s the biggest reason I want Garcia out. He’s going against everything being a badger and a team mate stands for. Even if I didn’t like you and know you busted your ass to help my buddy Shane land his new contract, I would be taking action here.”
“I appreciate that, man. I really do,” Tank says, his fingers curling around mine as he pulls in a bracing breath. “Then, yeah, you have the green light from me. And my appreciation. I owe you one. Hell, I probably owe you five or six.”
“Fuck that. I don’t keep score anywhere but on the ice.” Cruise lifts a hand for him to high-five. “And I’m happy to help. I’m just sorry you’ve had to deal with this kind of shit when you should be getting to know your cool new team mates and concentrating on your game. Most of us are cool, I promise.”
Tank grins. “I believe you.”
“To Operation Catch a Weasel,” Stone says, lifting his mug.
We toast the official launch of the plan and spend the next hour hammering out details—how to tip Garcia off about this dealer, where the meeting should take place, what our Tom Cruise wannabe playing the drug lord should say, and how fast we can make this happen. Stone gets on the phone with his cousin’s friend, Tank reaches out to Yoda for advice on meeting locations in the “not so good, but not too bad” sections of Portland, and I jump online where I find a shockingly affordable hidden recording device bracelet that can be delivered to Stone’s place by noon tomorrow.
“Good work, people. I’ll touch base as soon as I have next steps, Stone,” Justin says as we’re getting ready to leave. “In the meantime, we all just play it cool. Tank, keep your head down, work hard, and play dumb. Steph, teach a kick ass yoga class tomorrow, resist the urge to kick Garcia in the nuts while he’s in downward facing dog, and we’ll get this handled ASAP.”
I place my free hand over my heart. “I promise. I have no urge to get anywhere near that lying jerk’s nuts. Not even in the name of being an agent of karma.”
“Speaking of karma,” Stone says, rising from the booth with a groan. “I’m feeling every weightlifting session I skipped this summer. I need to get home and ice half a dozen muscles.”
“And I need to get home to rub my wife’s feet as an apology for leaving her on solo parent duty all day,” Justin says.
We say our goodbyes before Tank and I head out the front door, while Stone and Justin move toward the parking lot in back of the still busy pub.
Outside, the breeze has calmed down, leaving the air feeling warmer than it did before. Tank and I wander back to my apartment, our fingers intertwined.
“You okay with all this?” he asks after we’ve gone a block or so.
I squeeze his hand. “I’m okay with anything that helps you keep what you’ve worked so hard for. I just hope it works. And I hope they don’t get caught. I don’t know Garcia well enough to know if he’s a gullible guy, but if he’s not, this could still end badly. At least for Justin.”
Tank nods thoughtfully. “Yeah, but Garcia wouldn’t be able to fuck with the team captain. He’d have to suck it up and make nice.” He shrugs. “And knowing that someone is on to him might be all it takes to get him to back off the quest to ruin me.”
I growl softly beneath my breath. “That still makes me so mad! How dare he lie about something this serious? Your sobriety should be sacred.”
He sighs. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s an ambitious, scheming little asshole, no doubt. But maybe he doesn’t realize what overcoming addiction is really like. How fucking hard it is. He might just be ignorant, not an evil turd crapped out of Satan’s asshole.”
I snort, then sigh, loving that he’s funny, as well as brave and driven and sexy as ever-loving heck.
And mine .
I really love that he’s mine…
“I’m so glad you’re coming home with me,” I say as we near my front steps.
He pauses on the sidewalk, his hands coming to frame my face, as gentle, but intense, as always. “I’m glad you invited me, beautiful. And I’m glad I get to say I love you tonight before we go to bed without worrying it’s too soon.”
“Nope, not too soon,” I whisper back. “Not even close.”
Back at my apartment, Mr. Sniffles greets us with his usual enthusiasm, circling our feet and snorting happily. Tank scoops him up, giving him the kind of deep, thorough ear-scratching he loves, until my snuffly old man is practically melting in his arms.
And I’m a little jealous…
“I would also like to be petted, you know,” I say breezily as I amble toward the bedroom. “I mean, if you have any pets left to give.”
Tank’s eyes darken as he sets Mr. Sniffles down. “I have anything you want, Teach.”
I bite my lip. “Good. Then, you’d better get in here and close the door before Mr. Sniffles tries to come in and watch. You know I don’t believe in exposing his sweet eyes to the filthy things you do to me.”
“And you do to me,” he echoes prowling across the room with a predatory grace that instantly has my blood pumping faster.
He shuts the bedroom door behind him before backing me slowly against the wall. “What do you want, baby?”
My breath catches as he presses against me, solid and warm, his cock already hard against my stomach. “I think just some basic missionary, actually,” I whisper, tilting my head back to meet his gaze. “Sweet and slow, with lots of you kissing me like you mean it. Is that too boring?”
“Nothing’s boring about you naked and under me,” he rumbles, just his voice enough to make me throb. “And that sounds perfect. I’ve been wanting to make love to you like that for a while, actually.”
There’s something so vulnerable in his admission, a touching honesty that makes my heart ache in the best possible way. I rise onto my tiptoes, pulling him down to me, claiming his mouth in a kiss that’s as sweet and real as it is steamy.
His hands span my waist, lifting me until we’re eye to eye, my back pressed against the wall for support. I wrap my legs around his hips, gasping as he grinds slowly against me, the friction delicious even through our clothes.
“Naked?” I breathe, my nipples tingling for his mouth, his hands. “Now?”
He doesn’t need to be asked twice. A beat later, we’re on the bed, his body covering mine, his mouth finding all the places that make me gasp and arch and beg. We move together in a dance that’s becoming beautifully familiar, but still so magical it isn’t long until we’re both trembling, on the verge of spiraling out together.
“Yes, baby,” he whispers against my neck, his voice strained as his thrusts come faster, deeper. “Fuck, Steph, I can feel you about to go for me. Can’t wait to feel your pussy squeezing my dick, angel. I love making you come, love you so much.”
“Yes, oh yes,” I cry as my inner walls begin to spasm. “Love you, God, I love you.”
Later, as we lie tangled together in the quiet darkness, I find myself thinking about the future. Not just the sting operation or camp or the beginning of the season, but the bigger future.
Our future…
“Maybe we should think about moving in together?” I whisper. “I mean, in a month or two or three? Whenever it feels right to you?”
“I’ll pack my shit tomorrow,” he says, making my stomach do a happy flip. “But I’ll keep my apartment for a while, in case you want to tell me to get lost. Unless you’d rather move into my place? It’s a little bigger, but not as nice as yours and farther from the studio.”
I shake my head before pressing a kiss to his chest. “No, you should move in here. And I don’t want to tell you to get lost. I want to keep you.”
“I want to keep you, too.” His arms tighten around me. “And I want you to know… Even if this plan doesn’t work, even if Garcia manages to wreck my rep and another shot at the NHL doesn’t happen for me, I still have hope. I still feel like good things are in my future, and…that’s all on you, Teach. I’ll never be able to thank you enough for that.”
I hug him tight. “You don’t have to thank me, baby. Just love me the way you love me, and I’ll be the happiest woman I know.”
He kisses the top of my head, and I silently send out a prayer to the universe that I never have to spend another night without this missing piece of my heart.
Except when he has away games, of course.
Eventually, we rouse ourselves to get ready for bed, let Mr. Sniffles out onto the balcony to use the puppy pad, then carry him in to bed with us.
As sleep claims all three of us, I’m filled with a quiet certainty that’s been building since the moment I met this complicated, wounded, but oh-so-wonderful man. Whatever obstacles lie ahead—jerk rookies, cranky coaches, the pressure of the coming season—we’ll face them together.
Just as much as he’s one of the Badgers, Tank and I are a team now.
And somehow, I know we’re going to win.