Chapter 38 #2
Deep in his own zone, Gage was in a scrum with two Arizona players, trying to fish out the puck trapped against the boards while T.J.
banged away at one of the Arizona guys. The puck squirted free, and another Arizona player corralled it.
As he was teeing it up to fire on the Blizzard net, Quinn made a beautiful poke check and stole it.
An Arizona defenseman stood him up at his own blue line, but Quinn executed a fleet sidestep and blew past him.
As he raced through the neutral zone toward Arizona’s net, two opposing players hot on his heels, the remaining Arizona defenseman skated out to confront him.
Sarah interlaced her fingers with Lily’s and squeezed.
In a thrilling move, Quinn deked, skating a half-circle around the D-man before lifting a perfect shot over the goalie’s right shoulder that found the back of the net.
Lily, Sarah, and Daisy leapt into the air, screaming for joy, while on the ice Quinn’s teammates mobbed him against the glass.
“Oh, what a win for the Blizzard!” the announcer enthused. “That’s Quinn Hadley’s fourth game winner of the playoffs, folks! Number eighteen has found an extra gear and has become the team’s clutch player. What a post-season for the left-winger!”
Lily shook her hands in the air. “Oh my God! I haven’t seen Gage in two months, and now I only have to wait a few more days! I have to book my flight! Our flights! You in?”
Caught up in the moment and breathless from watching Quinn, Sarah didn’t hesitate. “I’m in.”
Quinn nursed his fourth beer in the sports bar—the only bar in the hotel where they were allowed to hang out tonight—where he shared a table with a few straggling teammates after their big win.
Most of them had already turned in, but with a few days off, he figured he could kick back and enjoy the glow of victory—and avoid facing the same four walls of his room alone.
Nelson had just left, leaving him with Grims, Wyatt, and Hunter.
“So what do you boys think of the crowd noise they’re piping into the empty arena?” Wyatt asked.
“I think they’re getting more creative as we go. I hear cheering when T.J. hands out a bone-crushing check or the rare time Wyatt flashes the glove,” Hunter laughed.
“Better than the crickets the rare time you take a shot, asshole,” Wyatt groused.
These two jokers were the odd couple. Just as Quinn was debating which was Oscar and which was Felix, they got up to flirt with a bartender, leaving Quinn alone with Grimson.
Quinn began to ramble. “On the IR at playoffs again, Grims. That’s some bad luck. This year, a broken hand in the quarter finals. Last year … Oh shit.” Now Quinn had stepped in it. What was he thinking? He wasn’t. What an idiot!
Grims shot him a dagger-filled look. “What are you getting at, Hads?”
“Sorry,” Quinn mumbled. “We weren’t supposed to know about the doping last year—”
“But you found out. How?”
Quinn cleared his throat. “Nicole passed it on to the other SOs.”
Grims’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck? First off, she’s not an SO. Not anymore. Second, when did she supposedly do this?”
“Right before the season started last October. At least, that’s when I heard about it.
” Guilt and a modicum of sadness pulsed inside Quinn.
Despite Grims’s epic mistake that could’ve tainted the entire team, he liked the guy.
He was a fearless, no-nonsense D-man you wanted at your back when you went into battle.
A fierce, quiet warrior—no flash, more show than tell—and damn effective.
He might be out of the lineup with his broken hand, but his presence in the locker room brought a rock-solid steadiness the team fed off of.
Grims leaned back hard and blew out a breath. “She dumps me because she was ‘so embarrassed’”—this he said in a falsetto—“I got caught. Like it tarnished her reputation somehow. But instead of keeping it to herself, she comes back and tells everyone? That’s bullshit!”
“Sorry, man. I thought you knew.”
“No, and had I known—”
“Hi!” A cute blond in pigtails, short shorts, a tight T-shirt, and knee socks—the establishment’s uniform—bounced on the balls of her feet at their table.
“Your waitress just clocked out, and I’m taking over her shift.
Can I get you anything?” She looked from Grims to Quinn and stopped.
“Quinn? Oh my God! I was hoping I’d run into you! ”
Quinn glanced up, took in her big blue eyes and the rack filling her T-shirt, and recognition dawned. One of his Canadian hookups from last year. “Oh hey, Whitney. Haven’t seen you in a while,” he drawled. “How’ve you been?”
She did the hip jut thing with the parked fist, looked him up and down, and smiled wolfishly. His neck heated, and he felt like a bug on display. A piece of meat in a butcher’s case being evaluated for consumption. He squirmed inside.
Back in the day, he’d have pulled out the big guns and flashed her a dimpled smile, and he’d have had at least one hand on her by now.
One singular purpose, spurred by one body part.
Everything had been one-dimensional. Now the thought made him recoil.
His old life? No, thanks. The memory simply deepened the pang for Sarah.
They exchanged a few words, ending with her letting him know she’d be happy to stop by his room when her shift was over so they could “catch up.” She was, she pointed out helpfully, in the bubble too.
He deflected, introducing her to Grimson.
Maybe she’d turn her attention on him. Dude looked like he could use a good time, especially after finding out his ex had dumped on him—twice.
But Whitney wasn’t going for it, so Quinn asked her to close out his tab.
Hanging in his room alone was gaining appeal.
Grims watched her swaying ass as she strutted away from the table, the shorts not fully covering her cheeks. He grinned. “That has to be a first, Hads. Can’t say as I’ve ever seen you turn away a choice opportunity.”
“Not interested tonight.” Or ever. “Feel free, though.”
Grimson shook his head. “No, thanks. I’m done with the ‘fairer’ sex for now.
Not worth the aggravation. I’m going to focus on upping my game.
On getting this hand healed, on getting better, on getting stronger.
There’s a chance I could be back in the lineup if we go much deeper in the playoffs, and I want to be ready. ”
“That’d be sweet. We could use you.” Quinn tipped his bottle back and finished his brew just as Nelson came rushing back into the restaurant, an idiotic look plastered on his face.
Grims gave him a barely there chin jerk.
“What’s with the jackass grin, Nelson?” The rapport between the two had landed in the shitter after Nelson busted Grimson doping.
Though they put on a show of having kissed and made up in front of the team, their differences were palpable, and their relationship skidded across thin ice.
“Just heard from Lily, and she’ll be here tomorrow before lunch.”
“Who flies from Denver to Edmonton in the morning?” asked Quinn.
“The Gulfstream I just hired. Otherwise, it would have taken her four cities and over a day to get here.”
“Jeez, dude. Desperate much? You still can’t see her for four days,” Quinn quipped. “That must have set you back a fair piece.”
“Not that bad. And the sooner she gets here, the sooner she’ll be out of quarantine. Besides, she thinks I’m a hero.” Nelson’s grin broadened—so did his chest. Quinn couldn’t blame him. After months of celibacy, he was glad to see someone getting lucky soon.
Grims looked poised to make a snide comment, so Quinn jumped in. “Daisy coming too?”
“No, she’s staying with family. But Sarah’s tagging along.”
Quinn’s back went ramrod straight so fast that Grimson shot him a questioning look. Forgetting he’d already drained it, Quinn put the beer bottle to his lips to coat his suddenly dry throat. Now Grims arched a covert eyebrow.
“Where, ah, where’s she staying?” Quinn managed.
“Not with Lily and me, that’s for damn sure.” Nelson’s tone was emphatic. “She and Lily will quarantine together, and Sarah will stay in that room after Lily moves in with me.”
Whitney reappeared with Quinn’s bill and a pen.
“You can charge it to your room.” While Nelson and Grimson watched, she leaned in so close he could smell her perfume and feel her tits pressed against his shoulder.
She pointed to a line on the tab. “Just write your room number right there, and I’ll see you later. ” With a sly wink, she sashayed away.
Ignoring his teammates’ guffaws, he waited until she was gone, pulled out his wallet, and left cash.
No way was he letting Whitney know his room number.
The only woman he wanted showing up at his door would be here tomorrow.
All he had to do was convince her they belonged together—an undertaking far more daunting than getting the winning score past a goalie who was playing out of his mind. He had four days to figure out how.
Hours later, Quinn lay in bed, staring up at a dark ceiling.
Exhausted as he was, he should have been sawing logs, but he couldn’t settle down while Sarah traipsed through his brain.
What would he say when he saw her? Was she coming to see him?
He could only hope. Wouldn’t she have texted to let him know, though?
Should he tell Nelson and risk upsetting the applecart when the team was playing so well?
Was there anything to tell anymore? The thoughts tossed and turned and got wadded in his head.
He’d been relieved to get on the road after spending weeks in the behemoth mansion alone.
Unlike here, where everywhere he looked it was all about hockey and his buddies and bubble living, the house had been filled with echoes of Sarah.
He’d found himself in the solarium, looking at the 3-D puzzles with longing, picturing himself alongside her as they built them.
Or stepping into her bedroom and surrounding himself with her fragrance that still lingered on the linens and pillows.
She’d left her engineering magazines behind, and he’d riffled through those without seeing a damn thing.
He’d pulled his stuff out of the mirrored closet and put it elsewhere so he didn’t have to set foot in there again and imagine their bodies reflected in bright silver.
In the kitchen or family room, he pictured her there, and the space was suddenly imbued with a warmth he’d never known he wanted before meeting her.
Not only did he want it, but he craved it.
And tomorrow she would be here.