Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (11 page)

"Will you?"

"Yes I will."

He hugged her against his side and whispered
in her ear. "Then I suggest you find yourself a gentleman. Because
otherwise I will kick your ass without thinking twice."

* * * *

Landon put the dart in Silver's hand and
pointed at the board. She seemed to have forgotten everything he'd
taught her after hitting the wall a few times. "It's really not
that hard. Aim for the center. If you hit anywhere on the board,
you'll get points."

Silver swayed into him, her three beers
already testing her endurance. "Show off. You bought me that last
beer because I got close."

"Shh!" He steadied her with a hand under her
elbow. "Don't share my nefarious secrets! I just bought that guy in
the corner a pitcher. I plan to go all dart shark on him."

"Dart shark?" She took a firm hold on his
shirt and pressed her eyes shut. "Are you for real?"

"Are you okay?" He hadn't taken Silver for a
light drinker, and after a good meal, he'd thought a few beers
would be okay. But she was acting like she'd had more. "I like
winning and all, but I've got some standards. If you can't see the
bull's eye, you win by default."

"Yay!" She folded into him and tipped almost
off her heels. "Then I win!"

"You win." His teasing took a hike and his
protective nature rose to the forefront. "But I demand a rematch
after you sleep this off."

"Sleep this off?" Her brow wrinkled. "Do you
think I'm drunk? Seriously? A bit of rum and beer ain't enough to
make me tipsy. I'm not a cheap date."

"Damn."
Rum? When had she had rum?
He
led her to their table and leaned her against the table as he
grabbed her suit jacket. That she was prancing around in a bra and
dress pants should have given him a clue, but some of the
waitresses were wearing just as little and he didn't take Silver as
the shy type. After she'd shed the jacket, she'd relaxed. It had
taken him a little longer to unwind—how the hell could he
not
be aware of all that creamy, exposed flesh? But this was
how she was used to people seeing her. He refused to judge. He'd
just wanted her to be comfortable.

But maybe he
should
have said
something.

"Damn?" She glared at him—well more like
glared at his shoulder, but apparently she wasn't seeing straight.
"Are you surprised that I'm not a cheap date?"

Cheap dates don't start drinking before
lunch.
He considered saying as much, but decided against it. He
knew players who drank before games because they couldn't take the
pressure. Could be a problem—especially if it got to the point that
they couldn't deal with getting up in the morning without a drink
in their hand.

Was Silver like that? A lot of people might
see her charmed life as nothing to get stressed about, but after
seeing her with her boyfriends, and after hearing a bit about her
dad . . .

"I don't think you're a cheap date. But I
feel like an ass for not asking what had you ready to fall apart
when I called." He did up her jacket buttons. "You want to talk
about it?"

She shook her head, then made a choked sound.
"I fucked up. I wanted to prove I could handle the job, but the
more I think about it—Dean was right. I never shoulda hired that
guy."

"Hired?" He frowned. "Did you hire a new
president?"

"Oh, well that too." She swallowed and
teetered a little. "Do you think that'll be an issue? I didn't know
Dean already had the position! He's the general manager! And I
figured Asher would make a good president. He can read contracts.
I'm too stupid."

"You know, I really hate people insulting my
friends, so . . . ." He tipped her chin up with a finger and looked
into her over bright emerald green eyes.
Contacts.
Nothing
about the woman was what it appeared to be. Including her
confidence. "Don't call yourself stupid."

"Okay." Resting her head against his chest,
she spoke so quietly he had to bend down to hear her. "Do you know
Scott Demyan?"

Oh no.
"Not personally, but I've heard
of him. Why?"

"I got him for the team."

All righty then.
He could see how Dean
would have been pissed. No way would he approve of that
showboating, chirping, antagonizer on the roster. They had
at
least
one rookie that fit the bill already. Not that it
mattered now. "Why did you do it?"

"Seemed like a good idea at the time." Her
brow furrowed as she sniffed into his shirt. "You smell nice."

"Okay, now I know you're wasted."

"Am not."

"Are too." Redirecting her to the door, he
did his best to hide her wavering walk so the bar patrons wouldn't
stare. Her legs gave out when they hit the sidewalk and he carried
her to his jeep. "Would it be too forward of me to ask you for a
favor?"

"Nope." She laughed. "I've been waiting for
it."

Every muscle in his body tensed, but he
refused to let her drunken rambling get to him. "Good. So no more
rum for breakfast?"

"Huh?"

"You heard me."

She sighed and slumped into her seat. "Fine.
But only if you tell me something."

"Ask away." He did up her seatbelt and swiped
away a tear that had spilled down her cheek. "I'm an open
book."

"Why do you care? You're hot. You could get a
girl with fewer issues." She pursed her lips. "And what's with the
'friends' thing?"

"Maybe I've got issues too. And maybe I need
a friend." Flattening his hands by her shoulders, he leaned in
close. "You're a lot less messed up than some people I've known.
I've made my share of mistakes and they had way more impact than
anything you've done."

Her hand found his and she blinked as though
trying to see him better. "Tell me about it."

"I will." After patting her cheek, he stepped
back and closed the door. He didn't speak again until he'd pulled
into the midday traffic. "If you promise to let me get you home and
fix you up a pot of coffee before I leave, I promise to go into
overshare mode the next time we go out. Deal?"

"Deal. But . . . ." Her head in her hands,
she whispered. "You've got to give me something. Why did you sound
so worried on the phone?"

A lump the size of a boulder lodged in his
throat. "Because the last time a woman called me to tell me she was
about to lose her mind, I laughed it off and said I didn't want to
hear it. And I've been paying for it ever since."

The heart monitor at Delgado's bedside beeped
a steady rhythm. Dean's presence hadn't caused him any stress so
far. Hopefully he could keep it that way. At least the man was well
enough for home care.

"So, how is my baby girl doing so far?"
Delgado pushed himself up on his stiff gold silk covered pillows
and smiled at Dean. "I trust you're leading her in the right
direction and not letting those fags speak for her."

Dean kept his eyes on the rise and fall of
the red line on the monitor, choking down the urge to remark on the
man's bigotry. "I do believe Silver is quite capable of making
decisions on her own."

"I'm not sure if you're implying that this is
a good thing."

Might as well get straight to the point.
"It's not. She made an acquisition without consulting me. And she
is determined to make a trade that I object to."

Delgado dropped his head onto his pillows.
"Is she?"

"She is."

"She can't . . . ." Delgado pressed his eyes
shut and the bleeping sped up. "I want my lawyers. Get me my
lawyers, Richter. I want a clause in there than prevents her from
running the team on her silly little girlish whims. And get her
here too." He groaned and pressed his hand over his heart. "I
should have seen this coming. She's just like her mother."

Dean took a deep breath. He knew enough of
their family history to object to Silver being compared to her
mother no matter what she'd done. "Surely not like her mother, sir.
I can't believe—"

"Believe it. Both women were coddled and
spoiled all their lives." Delgado took a shallow breath and the
monitor let off an ear piercing sound which made Dean frown. The
stupid thing must be hyper sensitive. His father's heart rate had
become much more erratic before the alarm went off. And he hadn't
been able to speak as Delgado still was. "Silver is the spitting
image of her mother. I hate that she got her license. Do everything
in your power to keep her from driving anywhere. You never
know—"

"You must be clear with me, Mr. Delgado."
Dean held his hand up to the nurse that rushed into the room. "What
exactly is it you are asking me to do?"

"Keep my daughter alive, Richter." Delgado's
eyes rolled back into his head and the nurse quickly injected
something into his IV. "I can't lose her. Not again."

The nurse shoed him out and Dean took a seat
on the bench that had been set up in the hall outside Delgado's
bedroom, jaw clenched so hard his muscles ached. He should feel
some sort of pity for the man, but it was difficult after seeing
his father go through the same thing just a few years back. Both
men had been given the same advice to improve their quality of
life. Regular exercise, a special rehabilitation program, a healthy
diet—Delgado refused to do any of it. Dean's father had lasted two
years, two wonderful years, before his heart gave out for the last
time. The way Delgado was going, he wouldn't last another month.
But he lashed out at anyone who suggested he fight to live. He'd
fired two nurses and replaced the consulting doctor when they tried
to reason with him.

"I'll finally be with my wife. And . . . my
son," he'd said.

With no thought to the children he'd leave
behind.

Dean had to call the lawyers, no doubt about
it. But part of him hurt for Silver. She probably thought what she
was doing would give her father time to get better. But her father
didn't see her as his daughter. He saw her as the woman he'd lost.
A mere reflection of the woman he hoped to join in death very
soon.

And where did that leave Oriana? If anyone
should be running the team in her father's place, it should be her.
But the man didn't see it. He behaved as though he'd only ever had
two children. And the favorite was dead.

Any mention of Oriana was forbidden by the
doctor as well as a long list of 'stressors', which left Dean with
no way to improve the situation. All he could do was stop it from
getting any worse.

Silver's temporarily replacing her mother
and the team is temporarily replacing his son. Someone has to be
thinking long term, Richter.

Heaving out a heavy sigh, Dean took out his
phone and called Delgado's lawyers. After a short, cordial chat, he
hung up and prepared for an unpleasant conversation that couldn't
be put off any longer.

No answer. When the voicemail came on, he
kept his tone crisp and professional. "Silver, when you get this
message, come to your father's house. He'd like to speak to
you."

Ending the call, he shoved his phone in his
pocket and let out a sound of disgust that startled the butler,
causing the man to appear a bit less like one of the many antiques
stationed around the house. The butler's grayish skin dropped a
shade as he stared at Delgado's door like his employer would come
out any moment and tear into him for breathing too loud. This whole
ordeal stank of the kind of drama he'd closed himself off from
after his wife left him. Of course, he still had to deal with a
certain amount from his teenage daughter, but . . .

Silver isn't that much older than
Jami.
The thought made him groan and he massaged his temples as
a dull ache settled between them. He should have considered that
before sleeping with the woman, but something about her seemed
worldly beyond her years. It was hard to believe Silver was in the
same generation as his defiant, yet still so innocent,
daughter.

Laughing dryly, he considered another
big
difference between the two. There was no guarantee Jami
would respond to a request from her father to see her.

He didn't doubt for a second that Silver
would be here within the hour.

* * * *

A mallet swung rhythmically inside Silver's
head, each strike pacing her pulse. She squinted at the digital
clock on the night table by her bed—the red blur strengthened the
blows against her skull. Looked like four something. The scent of
coffee beckoned and she stumbled to the kitchen, blindly pouring
herself a cup and hissing when some spilled on her hand.

Shit!
She brought her hand to her
mouth and laved away the burn with her tongue.
Landon must have
left hours ago! Why is this so hot?

Quick sips of coffee and some stretching got
her feeling more bruised than beaten. As she splashed some cold
water from the kitchen sink on her face, the coffee machine caught
the corner of her eye. The time had been fixed and the brew was set
on automatic. Apparently for two hours after she'd crashed.

I so owe Landon a great big hug!
She
smiled and polished off her coffee, her spirits rising as she
thought back on their lunch together. Maybe this being friends
thing was a good idea after all. The men she fucked were never this
considerate!

Two vitamins and some orange juice had her
feeling steady enough to hop into the shower. Almost back to normal
after she dressed and fixed her hair, she decided to brave her
phone. The first message was from Landon.

She didn't bother listening to the rest
before calling him back. She got his voicemail.

"Hey, you!" She fiddled with her hair and
tried to find the right words to express her gratitude. "Damn, I
don't know what to say—and if you knew me better, you'd know that's
rare. Thank you. For everything. I'm feeling a lot better and I'm
looking forward to hanging out again—I'm mean—well, when you're not
busy. Okay, I should erase this message. I sound pathetic, don't
I?" She giggled and rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Don't
insult your friend."