Defensive Zone (The Dartmouth Cobras #2) (37 page)

"Shit, Landon I'm sorry!"

"Don't be." He thrust off the bed and tripped
towards the mini-bar. He needed to burn the images out of his head,
and liquor usually did the job. Not all the time, but tonight . . .
"Just do me a favor?"

"Anything." Becky sounded on the verge of
tears. "I'm so sorry, sweetie. I shouldn't have reminded you—"

"I shouldn't have needed reminding." He
tossed back a mouthful of tequila. Then rum. "Just . . . just bring
some flowers to the grave, okay? I'll pay you back."

"Don't worry about it." She paused. "Landon,
I love you. And you know it wasn't your fau—"

He couldn't let her finish. But he wouldn't
upset her by arguing with her. "I love you too, Becky.
Goodnight."

Hanging up, he slumped against the wall.
Love you as much as I can love anyone.

* * * *

The sun was way too bright, blazing over
Landon's closed lids like the fireball that had flared up from his
stove. A vise squeezed his brain and his stomach—

He lurched from the bed and practically
knocked Carter over on the way to the bathroom. His strength spewed
out from his guts as he knelt in front of the toilet. "Idiot." He
mumbled between dry heaves. "You deserve to suffer you fucking
idiot."

"You and me both, pal." Carter shuffled into
the bathroom, giving Landon a weak smile as he slapped his back.
"You're probably in worse shape than I am though. Had to help you
in here a few times last night, but I got some water in you, which
should help."

Landon didn't remember leaving the bed, or
drinking anything other than beer, whiskey, and half a dozen tiny
bottles of everything else. But his mouth didn't taste as acidic as
it would have if he'd been puking up alcohol. The kid had taken
care of him. Destined for sainthood, that one.

"Thanks, man." Landon let Carter help him up
and inhaled deep. It had been a long, long time since he'd let
himself get this wasted—a year to be exact. Never happened on a
game day, but he had a few tricks that would help him cope. "I'm
gonna take a shower, then go for a jog. Usually gets me feeling
almost human. You wanna come?"

Carter backed away, holding his hands out in
front of him, his expression serious. "I like you. But not
that
much."

What the—
Landon groaned and shoved
Carter out of the bathroom. "For the jog, you asshole."

The kid's laughter sliced through the door
Landon slammed in his face and stabbed into his skull. Despite his
pain, Landon managed to chuckle. Under an ice cold shower spray, he
scrubbed quickly without letting his thoughts drift to anything
depressing. He tipped his head back, filling his mouth with water
and spitting it out until his mouth stopped tasting like rancid
meat. Swallowed to rehydrate himself. Then went to the room to
dress for his jog.

Without a word, Carter followed him outside
the hotel and kept pace with him as he pushed his body beyond the
dragged-behind-a-fourwheeler-through-the-woods sensation. Sweat
soaked his tank top, his muscles burned, and his stomach took
another lurch. This time, he managed to hold down the bit of water
he'd drank. But he needed to eat something.

"Hungry?" He asked Carter as they slowed in
front of a grocery store.

Carter's skin took on a green tinge. "I'm
starting to hate you. You go ahead. I'm going to keel over right
here and die."

"We've got three hours to pull it together,
kid. I'll pick us up some crackers and bananas. Some eggs would be
good too if we can stomach them."

"Where the hell are we going to cook the
eggs?"

"Who said anything about cooking them?"

Covering his mouth with his hand, Carter
retreated to a bench and folded onto it. "You are a fucking sadist.
Ever hear of salmonella? I'll pass on the side of food poisoning
with my hangover, thanks."

"Organic eggs aren't likely to make you sick,
you wuss." Landon shrugged when Carter made a gagging noise and
headed into the store to get what he needed. At the checkout he
chatted with the cute goth girl at the cash register, feeling
almost normal. Just another game day after a few too many. No
reason to dwell on things he couldn't change. He controlled what
happened on the blue paint, between the pipes.

Narrowing life to those 60 minutes suited him
just fine.

Grabbing his bag, he glanced over to the
glass storefront and cursed. Apparently 60 minutes wasn't going to
cut it. The game wasn't going to wait until they got to the
rink.

"Hey, aren't you the guy who's with that hot
singer? Mel-something? The one I loosened up for you?"

Landon groaned as he approached Carter and
the three Sabres that surrounded him. The rookie didn't get the
concept of keeping the trash-talk on the ice. 'The guy' was Dirk
Nelson, the Sabres's captain. And 'Mel-something' was his wife.

Anyone you haven't slept with, kid?

To his credit, Nelson just laughed. "Nice
try, rookie. See you on the ice. Hopefully you can prove yourself
there, because you didn't make much of an impact on my wife. Then
again, she doesn't remember most of her past boy toys."

"Oh, she remembers me. I took her virginity."
Carter said with a smirk.

"You were still eating cat shit out of the
sandbox when she lost her virginity, kid."

"I'm talking about the back door, Einstein."
Carter's mouth opened wide as Nelson's eyes narrowed. "Oh fuck! You
didn't know your ol' lady was an anal slut? You have no idea what
you're missing!"

Landon yanked Carter out of reach just as
Nelson went for his throat. The captain's teammates dragged him
away, struggling and cursing all the way to a black SUV. Carter
bent over, laughing so hard that Landon had to punch him in the arm
to get him to stop.

Red faced and gasping, Carter finally
straightened. "Did you see—Oh my god, that was fucking
classic!"

"What the fuck is wrong with you? He's going
to be on you all night, you know that right?"

"Let him fucking bring it." Carter squared
his jaw and rolled his shoulders back. "I wouldn't have started on
him if he didn't bring up my little sister."

"Ah . . . ." Landon made a face, glancing
over at Carter as they headed towards the hotel. "How old is your
sister?"

"Sixteen."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Carter shrugged. "I don't think he'd
touch her, he's just taking digs, but if he wants to throw down the
gloves, I'm game."

Landon didn't know what to say. Nelson had at
least fifty pounds and five inches on Carter. The kid had spunk,
but he wouldn't win if it came to fists on the ice. Thankfully,
with Mason out there, it wouldn't come to that.

An hour later, in the locker room, Landon
pressed his fist to the wall beside the white board displaying the
lineup and groaned.

Mason wasn't playing.

* * * *

The press box in the HSBC Arena wasn't as
nice as the one in the Delgado Forum, but Silver noticed a few
things she wanted to add during renovations. Earlier that day,
she'd gotten a tour of everything from the offices to the wives
room—she hadn't even known there
was
a wives room! Or that
the Forum had one too—and the Sabres' president had answered all
her questions about the changes scheduled at the Arena over the
next two years. Silver absolutely
loved
the Hi-definition
video displays they planned to add outside the building, and
brought up installing them outside the Forum to Dean when they met
again just before the game. As usual, he seemed unsure of the idea,
but he agreed to look into it when they got home and get her in
touch with the right people if that's what she wanted to do.

She peeked at him from under her lashes as he
paced the other side of the room, speaking to some agent about a
defenseman he really wanted to sign. The way his tone sharpened,
just a little as he went over numbers and contract details, made
goosebumps rise all over her flesh. And down lower, her body
recalled that tone when he'd woken her up early and she'd been
grumpy with him. After saying 'Do. Not. Move' he used his mouth and
tongue to make her come twice and then taken her hard and fast.

A morning person, she was not. But if that's
how mornings with him would be, she might just turn into one of
those perky the-sun-is-out-and-the-birds-are-singing people!

Screaming orgasms at dawn beats coffee any
day.

Dean paused and looked at her, his lips
curving into a knowing smile. Her nipples hardened and she snapped
her gaze to the ice, willing it to cool her down.

There, a black and gold jersey with the
number 20 and Bower on the back. A chill prickled down her spine.
She inched closer to the glass, watching him as he did a few laps
around the far end of the rink. Seeing him out there, bigger than
the other men in all his equipment, more important in his position,
made him seem . . . untouchable somehow. Like the actors people had
actually heard of in some of the movies she'd done. They might all
be working together for a common goal, but her small part was
nothing compared to his.

He's never made you feel like nothing,
said a voice in her head that she didn't recognize. Too many
voices. The freakin' pushover one could join the diva in the mental
trash compactor.

"He made me feel like
less
than
nothing," she said under her breath as she took a step back. "So
shut up."

Dean held a hand over his phone and lifted
his head. "Did you say something, Silver?"

"No." She smiled at him and took a seat in
one of the swivel chairs. "I think the game is about to start."

He nodded, quickly ended his conversation,
and came over to take the seat beside her. As the game got
underway, Silver tried to follow the play, but through the corner
of her eye noticed Dean fixated on the far end of ice.

"He looks stiff. Uncomfortable." Dean's lips
drew into a hard line. "Tim said it looked like he'd been drinking
last night. My idiot brother should have put in the backup."

If only I didn't know who you were talking
about.
"He looks fine to me. I wish you'd trust your brother.
You said I might come off as an intrusive owner. Are there such
things as intrusive GMs?"

His jaw clenched. Then he sighed. "You're
right. I may be overanalyzing my brother's worth as a coach. I'll
try to tone it down a notch."

"Good."

"But I still don't think Bower should be in
nets."

Uck. Do I have to spell it out?
He was
a man, so probably. "I don't want to talk about him."

Dean angled his chair towards hers, spreading
his feet apart as he leaned forward. His slight frown, the
stillness about him, unnerved her. "I understand that you're upset.
And that you're not speaking to him. But I asked you to come on
this trip for a reason. Look at him." He nodded towards the ice
below. "Tell me what you see."

Rising again, she folded her arms over her
chest and glared down at Landon. He took his place in front of the
net and slapped his stick against the pipes. His stance was stiff
as he bent his knees and several of the forwards took shots at him.
He stopped most, but the easy flow from the last time she'd seen
him out there was gone.

His head just wasn't in it. She couldn't say
how she knew, exactly, but he appeared to be somewhere else,
leaving his body to go through the motions.

She dropped her head and sighed. "You're
right. I don't think it's the drinking that got to him."
It's
probably you, you coldhearted bitch.
She grounded her teeth.
"But whatever it is, he shouldn't be out there."

Dean nodded and stepped up to put his hand on
her shoulder. His eyes said what he wouldn't.

Whatever it was, whatever would come of
Landon stepping up to guard the fort, there was nothing they could
do about it. It was too late.

A big fist flew and Landon winced as Carter
took a solid punch to the jaw. The fight lasted for seconds after
Nelson and Carter dropped their gloves, midway through the first
period—the refs had stayed close, ready to break the men apart as
quickly as they could. Carter tried to hold on, but that hit threw
him off his skates. Nelson lifted his fist, growling something
Landon couldn't make out.

And Carter laughed, baring his blood coated
teeth.

Stupid little shit.
Landon thought,
grinning and shaking his head. At least he'd made it through the
fight without needing a stretcher to cart him off the ice. Nelson
had gotten his licks in. The game could continue without any more
bullshit.

The puck remained in the offensive zone for
most of the five minute fighting penalties, giving Landon plenty of
time to take a drink and let his mind wonder. He shifted from side
to side to keep his muscles loose and kept his head down so he
wouldn't be tempted to look for Silver. Not that he could see her
from down here while she stood high above him in the press box, but
somehow, he could feel her. Watching him. Damn it, he would give
anything to have spent a moment with her before the game—to tell
her . . .

Fuck, man. Get over it. Talk to Becky if you
need to get it off your chest. Silver doesn't need to hear it. She
hates you enough without knowing—

White, blue, and gold sweaters rushed him and
he dove as the puck came at him. He landed and lifted his head just
in time to see the Sabres celebrating their goal. 1-0. He better
snap the fuck out of it.

His defensemen glanced at him, then skated
away. He pushed up to his knees and gave his head a hard shake. A
stick bumped his arm.

Carter crouched down to eye level. "You good,
buddy? They really left you hanging."

"I'm good. Just fell asleep." He let out a
shallow laugh. "That woke me up."