Taking The Shot (Sticks and Vows #3)

Chapter 1

1

BOUCHER

“Dooooooude… are you serious?”

Keith looked up grimly at his teammates' concerned faces – and sighed heavily. Coeur was standing there, eyes huge in his face and his mouth hanging open as he said openly what everyone was thinking. This wasn’t the first time it had happened either. Every time someone dug into his past, Keith was trampled through the mud without a chance to defend himself. It had happened three times already and this was the longest time he’d been assigned to a hockey team.

“It was supposed to be expunged,” Keith whispered shamefully, not bothering to look up again as they stood around where he sat on a bench in the locker room. “My attorney at the time swore it would be expunged, and nothing happened, but then he got disbarred for misconduct, it hit the papers… and it was downhill from there.”

“Can you sue him?” Lafreniére asked bluntly, crossing his arms over his chest in consternation as he frowned. “I mean, this isn’t funny, and with the rumor circulating again, you remember how badly it went five years ago, right?”

“That’s the reason we all cleaned up our acts,” Giroux sighed heavily. “That was one of the worst weekends in my life – I nearly died… and you wished you had.”

“Nahhh,” Keith muttered, chucking softly. “I wish things had been a lot different. I wished I had been smarter. I wished my attorney wasn’t a scum-bucket liar who took my money and a one-way ‘dope-nose-slide’ to El Salvador… but dead? Never. I’ve got too much to live for, and if I have to start over again somewhere – I will.”

“It won’t be that bad,” Gerry Thierry said simply. “We’ve changed our reputation over the years. We just need to figure out how to fix this.”

“I don’t think you can.”

“Sure we can – we’re a team and can do anything.”

“I got called into the coach’s office this morning,” Keith said quietly and looked at each of their faces. “And I have a meeting with the coach, a lawyer, and the owner of the Coyotes next Friday.”

“The owner?”

“Yup.”

All five men circled around him and cussed under their breaths – all saying the same word – and if it hadn’t been such a sad sign of how badly things were, Keith might have laughed. He was gonna get fired and knew it deep within his gut. There was an accusation floating out there that was completely unfounded, but it was enough for the media to go digging around once more, and he had skeletons in his closet.

Oh boy, did he have one big nasty skeleton…

“Was it true? Any of it? Can you argue it in court or counter-sue for libel or slander…”

“I stopped by the Tavern to get potato skins for dinner on the way home,” Keith said grimly and saw Lafreniere slap himself on the forehead. Coeur rubbed both hands over his face, muttering something unintelligible. Giroux, Batiste, and Thierry looked at each other, giving a single shake to their heads, their lips pressed together grimly. The Tavern was a seedy hole in the wall near the arena that made chicken wings and potato skins so good that it would make the angels in heaven weep for joy.

“Brother,” Lafreniere began, obviously losing his temper. “We make bank ! Why didn’t you have it Doordashed or something? That was so stupid…”

“Whoa, Dustin, hold up…” Coeur interrupted and cut him off. “That’s not going to help Boucher right now, and we need to think.”

“No, he’s right. It was stupid. I can’t go out in public like other people because I’m an easy target, and I slipped,” Keith said hoarsely, feeling tears sting the back of his nose. He wouldn’t cry in front of them, but it wouldn’t be the last time that regret was so overwhelming that he’d bawled like a baby. “I’d love to shout ‘It’s not fair!’ or ‘I’m innocent!’ or anything at all to defend myself, but when the deck is stacked against you – and it has been for a while, you start to get numb and give up. This is me, and I think I’m giving up.”

“No, brother…” Thierry said, taking a seat beside him. “We changed our reputation once when Giroux wrapped his Porsche around a light pole drunk, forcing us all to clean up our acts, and the media loves us now… we can do it again.”

“The media loves you – not me.”

“They do, and if there is one thing they love, it’s an abused puppy…”

“Thanks a lot.”

“You need to do more charity work, be seen with one of us at all times in public, and you need to put a stop to the gossip. You’re single and have something on your rap sheet, you have a bad boy image. Unfortunately, that brings out the people who are willing to lie to trap someone for money…”

“Don’t say it.”

“The trash,” Thierry continued, and Keith sighed. “That brings out the money-hungry, the loose-morals, the extortionists, all of it… and you need to remove it from your life. You need to get married…”

“SAY WHAT?!” Keith yelped, standing up from the bench and staring at the man in disbelief before yelling and pointing at himself. “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR BLASTED MIND? WHO IN THE HECK IS GONNA WANT TO MARRY ME? WHY WOULD YOU THINK THAT…”

“Quit yelling.”

“I ought to punch you.”

“Try it, Boucher. I’ve got fifty pounds of muscle on your skinny hide – and I’m afraid you’d break a hip, old man,” Thierry smirked, and Batiste laughed, slapping Keith on the back. Keith just held up his middle finger in the blond man’s face – who leaned forward and kissed it mockingly.

“I’m thirty-six, and that’s not old.”

“It’s getting there, mon frêre ,” Batiste chuckled.

“I’m not getting married,” Keith began again, getting back to the matter at hand. “First off, who would want to marry some confirmed bachelor with a stained reputation… and secondly? NO.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Lafreniere said quietly, looking at him. “Think about it. You find some good girl, talk her into it, and…”

“What do you mean ‘good girl’?”

“A charity worker, an Amish chick, a schoolteacher, someone with a stellar reputation and…”

“I know someone,” Thierry announced, smiling.

“I’m not getting married,” Keith growled as the conversation around him started to rise to a crescendo as everyone started chiming in.

“Oh man, that’s a great idea…”

“Right? I mean, it would give him a boost in the media…”

“This woman is perfect…”

“How’s that?”

“She does volunteer work at my church – and she’s a widow with two young children. Everyone loves her…”

“Uh, no,” Keith interrupted, horrified. “Obviously, you don’t because why would she want to marry someone like me?”

“She’s an angel…”

“Uh, hello? So was Lucifer – so yeah, I’m not dragging some poor woman down with me.”

“Okay, first off, Boucher,” Lafreniere interrupted grimly. “It’s a great idea and you could really be helping someone get back on their feet.”

“No.”

“C’monnn… Project Boy Scout, for the win!” Coeur grinned. “Maybe she can make you your precious potato skins at the house.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t like any of this.”

“Do you like being a Coyote?”

Keith stopped as silence fell around him, and no one moved. They all just waited and hung there, the clock in the background ticking quietly as his mind worked, the thoughts surging and pinging around in his head like a bunch of electrons around the nucleus of an atom. What they were saying made sense, but there was no way he was marrying some goody-two-shoes and taking on two brats to raise. He wasn’t husband material, and he sure wasn’t stepdad material either.

“This is my third team,” Keith said hoarsely, defeat and rejection burning through him, knowing how hopeless this was already. “I like being a Coyote, but I guess I’ll like a different job, a different location, if push comes to shove because what you are suggesting… what you are asking me to do – you’re asking me to ruin three lives – not just mine.”

“Boucher…”

“No,” he interrupted staunchly. “And we’re needed on the ice.”

“Think about it!” Thierry called out behind him, but Keith was already marching forward like a man condemned toward the rink, pushing away any thoughts of their crazy ideas. Yeah, meeting with the coach had been a slap in the face, but meeting with the owners next week? Yeah, he knew exactly what was coming. They were going to protect their assets, and unfortunately, someone younger and less experienced could take his place for a whole lot less money.

***

Hours later, Keith was sitting on the couch of his studio apartment staring at the television blankly as it played reruns of The Clone Wars cartoon on television – and sighed. His sandwich was half-eaten, and his Fritos untouched. He had an emergency ice cream stash in the back of his freezer and contemplated inhaling a pint – along with half a box of Lactaid, debating if it was worth it or not.

His phone pinged beside him, and he lifted it, glanced at the screen, and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

Boucher, at least think about it – please?

No.

It’s not just her and the kids, you know?

It’s the team.

There’s a lot riding on this.

He saw the flurry of messages and realized this was a group text thread – and sighed once again. They meant well, and they were trying to encourage him in the right direction, but the problem was that was not a road he ever intended to travel down. Was he lonely? Sure. It would be great to have someone to talk to in the evenings, but like his last girlfriend told him before he dumped her – ‘You are the equivalent to a child, and you have to grow up.’

Yeah, dating wasn’t for him if that was what women were like.

Y’all mean well – and I understand – but I don’t want to get married. I don’t want to marry some woman who is hung up on her dead husband, nor do I want to raise a pair of stepkids who hate my guts. Think about it… what happens when she finds out? Hmm? How do you think she is going to handle it? The media will eat her alive for marrying me! And the kids? I don’t need to have more crap ladled onto my proverbial plate.

Oh.

Lemme think.

She might not even like you.

True.

She might hate him…

I know I’d hate seeing that ugly mug next to me if I woke up…

Truth!

What?

It’s true. Would you scream if Boucher was lying next to you in bed?

Uh, I wouldn’t.

EVER.

I’d scream.

Heck, I’d scream.

Commence sobbing.

Crying Games sobbing… it would be pathetic.

Ha ha, funny guys. Were you trying to cheer me up?

Oh, go drink your Metamucil - and just meet the woman!

She’ll be volunteering at the church, handing out food pantry donations on Wednesday night – come with me.

I’ll think about it.

He texted, slapped his phone onto his chest and then paused as his phone rang.

“Hello?” His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I need to talk to you—and you need to listen.”

Keith didn’t say a word. He just sat there, gripping the phone so tightly his knuckles ached, while his agent’s voice poured through the speaker. Each word was a hammer, shattering the last fragile pieces of hope he hadn’t realized he was still clinging to. The worst part? He wasn’t even surprised. It was happening exactly the way he had feared, in the same cold, indifferent way it always did.

He didn’t fight. Didn’t argue.

He just listened.

Every muscle in his body locked up, his pulse a slow, dull thud against his temples as the truth unfolded in painstaking detail. It didn’t matter what he had given. Didn’t matter how many hours he’d spent training, pushing himself past the brink, or how much of himself he’d sacrificed. None of it mattered. The decision had already been made.

And there was nothing—nothing—he could do to stop it.

By the time the call ended, he was already numb. He lowered the phone from his ear with a slow, mechanical movement, staring at the screen for a long moment before it dimmed and went dark. His fingers curled around it, his breath hitching in his throat as he closed his eyes.

That was it.

He was going to be fired from the Coyotes, and word had already reached his agent – who presented another gig to him. There was a new team in Quebec they were assembling, and they wanted experience and skill, and requested Keith as the captain of the new hockey team. On top of it all, they already knew about his past, and they still wanted him, but under one massive condition.

Marriage.

He swallowed painfully and texted Thierry back.

I’ll meet you Wednesday at the church.