GAME MISCONDUCT (The Dartmouth Cobras) (6 page)

“I do not.” She sucked air through her teeth, her whole body shaking as she tried to take in the utter betrayal of this man who called himself her father. He’d known about Paul and Chantelle, and, rather than tell her, he’d tried to cover for Paul. “How long has this been going on?”

“It doesn’t matter. If you’d been keeping him satisfied, he wouldn’t have looked elsewhere.” Her father’s cold, flint-colored eyes snapped. “You just got a hard dose of reality. It’s about time. I’ve seen you mooning after the players. Is Paul just supposed to accept that?”

“I never cheated on him!”

“But you made it clear he wasn’t enough.” He straightened the lapels of his designer suit. “If I had the slightest inclination you were playing games, I would have discouraged Paul from pursuing you. It’s too late. He’s a savvy businessman, and he’s used to getting what he wants. And, for
some
reason, he wants you.”

“Tough.” Something inside ached to scream at him, to demand to know when she’d stopped being his daughter and started being a commodity. But she didn’t have the heart for it. “He can’t have me anymore. We’re through.”

“Oh, really?” She jumped at her father’s laugh. “Paul won’t just let you go. You’ll inherit a fortune if you don’t screw this up.” He leaned over her. “If you break up with him, I’ll cut you off. Let’s see you get your bachelor’s without a dime to your name.”

Her bottom lip quivered. She covered her mouth with her hand. “You wouldn’t . . .”

His glare crushed the last of her pathetic delusions. They both knew he’d follow through with his threat. Losing the backing of Paul’s business partners would cost her father more than she was worth. Reality lodged in her throat, hard enough to choke on. Her shoulders slumped and she gave a quick nod.

“Good, you
do
understand.” He lips curled as he looked her over one last time. “Now go home and take off those ridiculous boots. I won’t have my daughter walking around looking like a whore.”

When her father disappeared into his office, Oriana stared down the empty hall, eyes burning with unshed tears. A rustle of fabric at her side reminded her she was not alone.

Muttering something under his breath, Rowe handed her the silver kerchief from his suit pocket.

Oriana took it and dabbed blindly at a stain on the hem of her jacket. Her skin stung where the wool grazed her thigh so she lifted the material to check the reddened flesh. Only a first-degree burn, nothing serious. Cold water, a bit of ointment, and she’d be fine.

Why did those words always sound so reassuring while volunteering at the clinic? Give the toddler a lollipop and the boo-boo’s all better.

A sweet treat wouldn’t do her any good. Pain was the least of her problems.

“I’m trapped.” She felt for a wall to lean against, needing something solid behind her while her world crumbled. “I have to stay with him. Never mind my bachelor’s. How the hell am I gonna pay for medical school?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Rowe bent down and gathered her books, not looking up as he stuffed them in her ruined bag. “You’re not the type to just lie down and accept defeat.”

With a shaky, slightly incredulous smile on her lips, she shook her head. What a sweet guy. A little naive, but sweet. “What gives you that idea?”

Setting her bag on the floor between them, Rowe straightened. The bright pink cover of
Lady in Charge
glistened under the hall light as he held it up. He gave her a hard look. “This doesn’t seem like the type of book a girl who lets her daddy run her life would read.”

You’re giving me
way
too much credit.
Cheeks blazing, Oriana held out her hand. “Give me my book . . . please.”

The stiff spine of the book cracked as Rowe opened it and turned away from her. “Hmm, nice graphics. Have you tried this one?” He held the book out to show her the image of a woman “pegging” a man. “If it got out that Paul let someone—”

Oriana grabbed the book, then her bag, and crammed it inside. “No, I’ve never tried any of it. I planned a special night with Paul, and I thought—anyway, it doesn’t matter. If I try blackmailing either Paul or my father, they’ll laugh in my face. I’m not Silver. Pissing
her
off means bad press.”

“I’m sure you could stir up some bad press too.”

He
really
didn’t know her. The very idea of bringing that kind of attention to herself made her nauseous. But damn, having someone give a shit was nice.

You have someone—he’s a phone call away.

True, yet, she didn’t deserve help from
him.
Or Rowe for that matter, but she hadn’t done anything to hurt Rowe. And she wasn’t too proud to accept a bit of pity.

“Maybe I could, but they know I won’t.” Hugging her bag to her chest, she glanced up at him—man, why did everyone in this sport have to be so freakin’ tall?—and ducked her head when he frowned at her. “Besides, if I do, my father will lose the team, and you’ll be out of a job.”

Rowe rubbed his shoulder and leaned forward, speaking low. “Your father will lose this team within the next couple of years whether Paul backs him or not, Oriana. I’ve been approached by several other teams for a head coach position. I’ll be fine.” He flicked a strand of hair off her shoulder and shook his head. “The question is, will you?”

Would she? No, not if she had to stay with Paul. And not if she had to give up the future she’d worked so hard for. She chewed on the inside of her cheek and shook her head.

“All right, then we need to focus on making sure your father doesn’t cut you off before you can pay for school yourself.”

Makes sense
. She followed him toward the elevator, hands stuffed in her jacket pockets, and she weighed her few options. “I guess . . . I won’t break up with Paul, at least until—”

He glanced over his shoulder and shook his head. “Forget Paul. He’s not important.”

“But—”

“Quiet.” He grinned at Oriana’s huff. “Let me think for a minute.”

They passed her father’s office. He hadn’t closed the door, so she took a moment to watch him, standing in the middle of the room, staring at a portrait on the wall. Antoine’s portrait, taken days after he’d been drafted for the minors. Weeks before he died. She did math in her head. Fifteen years, in two days. No wonder he seemed so cold. He always got that way while he mourned his only son.

Oriana gave up reminding him
she
was still alive when her father acquired the team and the forum. An abstract way to keep the dreams of his firstborn alive meant more to him than his living flesh and blood. Besides, Silver acted out enough for both of them.

But she couldn’t let her father ruin her life in her dead brother’s name. So how did she fix this?

Rowe waved her over, and she approached him, stepping carefully so her heels wouldn’t click on the tiles.

“You know, with the right . . . evidence, you might not need to do anything public,” he said. “The threat might be enough.”

Oriana glanced at the open office door and kept her tone low. “What do you suggest?”

“Get creative, do something neither Paul nor your father would expect from you. Stop trying to be the perfect daughter.” He pressed the call button for the elevator. “Your father was right about one thing. Paul clearly wasn’t enough for you—‘course, that’s not your fault.”

What’s that supposed to mean?
“I . . .”

“Have you seen Max lately?”

Little creases formed around his eyes when she bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

“You should. He talks about you a lot. To T.J. and Vanek.” His brow lifted when her lips curved. “Dominik.”

She swallowed.

He cocked his head slightly. “Sloan.”

Ugh. She scraped her lip with her teeth and wrinkled her nose. She did not like the idea of Sloan and Max discussing her. What could they possibly have to say?

“Remember the time she caught us . . .”

Feeling Rowe’s gaze on her face, she ripped her attention from the imagined conversation and focused on the present one.

“Have you ever experimented . . . sexually? With anyone?”

“
Rowe!
” She covered her mouth with her hand and glanced down the hall. Talking sex with Silver was weird enough, but with Rowe? She didn’t want to go there. This all reminded her of Sex Ed in high school.
No, I’m not . . . doing it. Yes, I know about being safe.

“Call me Tim.” Suddenly he was very close, looming over her, and she couldn’t look away. “Answer me, Oriana.”

“No. Sex has always been . . .” She frowned. Why was she telling him? Why didn’t she want to stop? “Boring.”

“I’ve always liked your honesty.” His broad smile of approval reminded her of her uncle Wayne. Her chest tightened as his face, weather-worn and full of laugh lines, filled her mind’s eye. He’d become her surrogate father after her brother died, attended all her school functions, never missed a performance of her high school orchestra. He’d go on and on about her talent, told anyone who’d listen how well she played violin.

After he died, she stopped playing. She just didn’t see the point anymore; she didn’t impress anyone else. Not that anyone noticed
anything
she did.

“Hey, don’t let them get to you, kid.” Rowe—
no, Tim—
held out his hand. “Come on.”

Oriana reached out but pulled back when her fingertips brushed his palm. “Where are we going?”

The elevator chimed and the door slid open.

“Down to the rink. I thought you wanted my help.” Tim placed his hands behind his back, and his lips curved into a Cheshire cat smile.

That couldn’t mean anything good. Oriana watched Tim turn away from her and step onto the elevator like he couldn’t care less whether she followed or not. Which reminded her of Silver. She’d completely forgotten Tim and Silver had been close before he met his wife.

Kindred spirits.
She took a deep breath and joined him on the elevator just in time to avoid the doors closing on her.

“What kind of help are we talking about?”

* * * *

The scrape of blades on ice echoed off the rink along with the odd shout from the trainers. Oriana followed Tim to the suicide box—the space between the benches for cameramen to take shots from ice level—and for a moment simply absorbed the sensation of actually being this close to the action. The air smelled like freshly fallen snow, moist with a nip of cold.

“You’ve never been here before, have you?” Tim put his hand on her shoulder, and she jumped. He laughed. “Hey, why so wound up? You’re acting like I just snuck you into the teacher’s lounge.”

She gave him a sheepish grin and shrugged. That was exactly how she felt. Like she was out-of-bounds.

“Why are we here?”

“I thought you’d enjoy seeing the guys up close and personal.” Tim jerked his chin in the direction of the rink.

One look and everything around her faded away. Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed spastically.

Max.

Completely oblivious to her presence, Max cut across the ice in a burst of speed, his blades a silver blur. Stopping short, he hip-checked one of his teammates, laughing his rich, skin-tingling laugh when the man shouted at him. Gliding backward, he made a come-get-me motion with his gloved hand.

Oriana rested her hands on the top of the boards, grip tight on the cold edge so she wouldn’t hop over and run to him. Her heart beat hard against the cage of her ribs. She licked her lips as she imagined how he’d react if she gave in to the crazy urge. Would he be embarrassed?

No, not Max. He’d probably laugh and race over to save her from killing herself on her stupid boots. He would act like no time had passed because that was the kind of man he was. Everything would be forgiven. Forgotten. She envisioned him swooping her up into his arms. Then reason crept in. She didn’t want to get him in trouble.

But she could see him after. And when she did, she would tell him how wrong she’d been. She smiled.
Maybe he’ll let me make it up to him.

“That’s better.” Tim gave her a little nudge, then leaned his forearms on top of the boards beside her. “Now, I have a very important question for you.”

Tearing her eyes away from Max, Oriana looked up at Tim. “Yes?”

“How far are you willing to go to get the evidence you need?”

Good question. Oriana considered the lengths Silver had gone to when their father told her, in no uncertain terms, that she wouldn’t be going to Hollywood to pursue an acting career. For months afterward, pictures of Silver filled the tabloids, pictures of her with different men, going into fetish clubs, coming out wearing half of what she’d gone in with. When big investors threatened to withdraw their support, her father not only agreed to let Silver go, he’d also paid all her expenses and gotten in touch with one of his contacts in the film industry to get Silver an audition.

A little too much for Oriana. She couldn’t imagine doing something so extroverted.

She opened her mouth to tell Tim as much. Then the sound of a puck pinging off a goalpost, followed by a loud “Fuck!”, brought her attention back to the rink.

“Try again, Callahan,” one of the trainers called out.

Standing on the blue line, Callahan nodded and accepted a pass from the trainer. He glared at the empty net. Oriana held her breath as swung his stick, then slapped the puck with the stick blade. The puck zipped through the air in a black blur, too fast to follow. Another
ping.
The rink went quiet.

Callahan threw his stick toward the net and headed for the open Zamboni entrance. Oriana winced when he kicked the wall on his way out.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. “What are you doing here? You were told to go home.”

Oriana’s spine stiffened. She glanced over her shoulder at Paul. And Chantelle.

“I—”

“Came to see Max? I’m not surprised.” Paul exchanged a look with Chantelle, and then they both looked at Oriana like she was a pathetic little girl with a crush. “Go ahead, throw yourself at him. He’ll use you like he does all the other girls. Maybe then you’ll appreciate what you have with me.”