Fair Play (Hat Trick, Book 1) (11 page)

The first hints of light peeked around the edges of
Savannah’s hotel room curtains and Garrick’s arms tightened around her even
while he accepted the truth. It was time for him to go.

Not that he had any desire to leave. He’d have gladly stayed
right where he was until they had to run to catch the bus to the arena.

But he wasn’t foolish enough to ask for that. He wasn’t even
hopeful enough to try to make love to her again this morning. The sun was
coming over the horizon and their team mates, and Rick right next door, would soon
stir.

He looked down at Savannah and smiled. Her face was pressed
to his chest, her hand curling over his right pectoral muscle like she was
feeling him up. His chuckle shook her, but she remained asleep. Giving a man a
mind-altering blow job in the middle of the night was no doubt exhausting work.

He’d never stop thinking about—
dreaming
about—last night.
Nor would he stop feeling guilty for allowing her to tuck them both back under
the covers and promptly falling back to sleep.

He could have spent the rest of the night giving her a taste
of her own wicked medicine. He
should
have spent the rest of the night
memorizing everything he could about her.

Her eyes eased open. Her sleepy smile made heat curl low in
his belly. Then she glanced at her bedside clock.

“Shit!” She bolted upright.

He rose more slowly, sliding from the bed as he did. She put
out a hand to stop him.

“You have to go.”

“I know.” Even though it sucked.

It wouldn’t be easy to convince Savannah to let this happen
again—no way was he going to give her any fodder for her arguments against it. It
was critically important he get the hell out of this room and back to his without
being seen by anyone on the team.

He got up and tugged on his clothes, trying to pull himself
together and not look like he was doing the walk of shame.

Grey flannel slacks and a sports coat at 6:15 AM.
Yeah,
who am I kidding?

He turned back to Savannah sitting in the middle of the bed,
the covers pooled on her lap, her hair in wild disarray around her face. Leaving
just might kill him. He congratulated himself on his supreme control as he backed
away from the bed.

“I’ll see you later? On the bus or at the arena?”

Her brows knitted. “Yes. Come early, so I can stretch your
hip and groin, okay?”

He thought about arguing, but he wanted to see her and his
hip
was
sore. Though probably not as much as it would have hurt if she
hadn’t given him that massage. And maybe the blow job. Everything in the world
hurt less after that.

“Okay, I’ll see you there.” There was so much more he wanted
to say.

The sound of a slamming door down the hall was like a gun
shot in the room.

Without another word he turned and left, checking the
hallway before speed walking to the nearest exit and running up the two flights
of stairs. He checked his hallway, too, before sprinting the length of the
corridor, not releasing his breath until he shut his door behind him and locked
himself into his virtually untouched hotel room. He’d changed in here last
night without so much as sitting on the bed.

He should probably get more sleep, but was too twitchy to go
to bed. Instead he changed into his most comfortable workout clothes and set up
his laptop at the small desk in the corner.

He had a brilliant plan. He would see Savannah at the arena
later today and act as though
absolutely nothing
had happened.

It was the only way to prove it was possible to have
earth-shattering sex with him and not have a single person treat her one iota
differently. No one had to know except the two of them. And if it worked once,
maybe he could convince her it was safe to do it again.

It was a long shot, but he was starting to understand
Savannah and her position with the team—as trainer and as the only woman. He
might have preferred to woo her, to court her openly, but it was out of the
question.

So he had his plan, and come hell or high water, he was
going to be patient and let it unfold.

He adjusted his cock in his shorts, trying to stem the
erection that bloomed at the mere thought of Savannah sitting in her bed,
rumpled from sleep and sex. Patience was going to be pure agony.

Shaking his head, he put thoughts of his lovely friend away
and set his mind to their meeting with Reese and Rupert. They’d heard some of
what Garrick had said, and they’d listened carefully to what Savannah had told
them. But it had been late, with wine and beer and betting on pool games. He
couldn’t be sure how much of it had stuck—let alone resonated.

It had been years since he’d been in school, since he’d
drafted anything like the document he was considering crafting, but he thought
he could find some good examples on the internet and make a go at it.

Maybe Savannah would be willing to read it, give him some
feedback and edits. If she had time. His goal was to get something messengered
over to Lamont’s estate before they left Cape Breton Island in two days time.

Savannah didn’t know what to expect after spending the night
with Garrick, but she was mighty put out that he seemed to be avoiding her.

Maybe he got what he wanted and was done with her?

She let that idea rattle around in her head for all of ten
minutes, trying to build up a good head of pissed-off steam. All she ended up
with was a headache and guilt for thinking so shabbily of him. Maybe she would
prove to be a poor judge of character, but she really didn’t think he would do
that to her. To any woman. But particularly to her.

They were friends.
Right
?

They had to be, because why else would he have slid his
Business
and Marketing Plan for the Moncton Ice Cats
under her hotel door last night?

Not exactly a love note—not that she wanted one—but a pretty
cool surprise.

She had no idea when he’d found time to pull it all together.
It was everything he’d talked about for saving the team, turning the arena
profitable, and her ideas for how to improve the team management, coaching, and
fitness. They’d met with Lamont the day before yesterday and in the meantime,
he’d spent a night in her room, done his training and fitness work, played
hockey, stayed late for a fan event and, presumably, slept. Though she would
bet, based on the business plan, that the sleep had been mostly sacrificed.

Now it was time for a midday Sunday game and the long bus
ride back to Moncton. She was about to leave her temporary office and head out
to the rink, her kit packed up and ready for the game, when a shadow at the door
caught her attention.

“Hello, Bobby,” she said, irritated at how her pulse sped up.
She slid her hand into her kit and gripped her scissors. “Did your wrap come
loose?”

Bobby’s smirk was mostly sneer. “Elbow’s fine. How was
dinner Friday night?”

Why the fuck would he want to know about her dinner Friday
night? Then she remembered where she’d been. Lamont’s house. Shit. He couldn’t
know about that.

Could he?

“It’s none of your business what I do with my free time,
Bobby,” she said flatly.

Bobby laughed, his chuckle grating on her nerves. “It will
be my business soon enough.”

What did that mean? The loser couldn’t possibly believe he
would win her over. She studied his face, his mean little smirk. Actually, he
probably was that fucking crazy. And stupid.

Bobby jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. He moved
out of the door so Mark could step through.

“Ready?”

She smiled gratefully. “Sure am.” She hefted her equipment
and followed Mark from the room without another word or glance for Bobby.

An hour later, Savannah stood by the bench, eyes on the
game, still trying to shake off her creepy encounter with Bobby. She was
starting to worry that he wasn’t just mean and dim-witted, but actually insane.
Had he followed them? The idea gave her the chills.

More so, even, than the thought of him telling the rest of
the team she’d gone out to dinner with Garrick. So much for her sterling
reputation. All that hard work, and Bobby would no doubt gleefully destroy her
standing in the eyes of the rest of the team, even if all he had was conjecture
and bullshit.

Then again, if he’d seen them get out of the limo in the
garage that night, it might not be entirely conjecture.

She was so screwed.

And as if that weren’t enough to think about, she also needed
to find a way to tell Garrick. He’d been doing a really bang-up job of avoiding
her these past few days.

Hell, maybe he could make sense of it.

Her free time would be Bobby’s business? She shuddered at
the thought.

Over my dead body.

She was so engrossed in trying to decipher Bobby’s cryptic
bullshit, she failed to keep an eye on the game. Her head snapped up when the
piercing shriek of the referee’s whistle rent the air and stopped play.

Shit!

Savannah shot to the boards, her heart nearly stopping when
she saw a red and blue jersey down on the ice. One of hers.

She was over the wall and out on the ice without a thought.

Shit, shit, shit. Was it a head injury?

She almost lost her footing when she realized it was Garrick.
She picked up speed, sliding the last foot on her knees, heart pounding.

“I’m fine!” he said from flat on his back.

She might have believed him if he wasn’t bleeding all over
the damn place. She looked at the ref. “What happened?”

“High stick. He stopped it with his face mask and…” The ref
paused, peering down at Garrick. “Maybe his right cheekbone.”

She studied Garrick’s face, assessing the damage, and smiled
at his thoroughly disgruntled look. “That’s using your head, LeBlanc.”

“Har har.” He tried to sit up.

“Stay.” Her hand on his shoulder kept him still. “You didn’t
get right up. Did you hit your head on the way down?”

“Nah, I caught myself. I was just stunned for a second. He
clipped my nose before he hit the cheek.”

With quick economical movements, she released his chin strap
and tilted his head back. Not that she didn’t believe him…actually, wait. She
didn’t
believe him until she saw how his eyes reacted normally to the bright lights
above. She took her first real breath since leaving the bench.

“Looks like you’ll live.” She stood. “But first you’ll come
with me and get that cleaned.”

He easily got to his feet. Spending time down on the ice was
considered a sign of weakness. She’d seen men with broken limbs get up and
skate off. A simple face rearrangement wasn’t going to keep him down.

“No stitches,” he muttered as they passed his replacement
and stepped up into the bench.

“What, you don’t trust my sewing?”

He gave her a bland look, sat on the bench, and yanked off
his helmet. The puck and several players moved past them, but she focused on
her patient.

Garrick’s eyes followed the game. His line came back and she
was afraid she was going to have to tackle him to get him to stay put when they
went out again.

Working quickly, she cleaned up his face and neck, confirmed
no other injuries hid beneath the mess, then leaned in to examine the wound.

“Did you read it?” Garrick asked quietly.

She grabbed a couple butterfly bandages to help keep the cut
closed and clean. “I did. I’m impressed. I had no idea you knew how to do
something like that.”

Garrick’s head swung as the puck moved to their goal, his
gaze narrow. “I didn’t.”

Now she was confused. “You didn’t write that plan?”

“No, I did. But I didn’t know how. I looked it up the other
night. Figured out what to do. At least I think I did.”

She leaned in close, her face inches from his as she applied
the first bandage. “I’m even more impressed.”

He grunted. “Is there anything I should change? Anything I
got wrong?”

“Not that I saw.” She applied the last bandage. “I thought
it was perfect.”

At last he looked away from the game and pinned her with his
soft brown eyes. “Thanks.”

She smiled a little. “You’re going to save this team.”

His crooked smile and pink cheeks made him look younger. He
slammed his beat-up helmet back on his head and at last gave his blood-stained
jersey a cursory glance.

“I’m sure as hell going to try.”

She didn’t think before she tugged on his chin strap. He cooperated
without so much as a blink, tilting his head back and not making make fun of
her for acting like his mom. She considered stopping mid-process, but it would
only exacerbate her stupidity.

“Bobby caught me alone in the training room before the
game,” she said softly, filling the awkward silence.

His sharp look made her rush on. “He didn’t touch me. Didn’t
even come in the room.”

Garrick only relaxed marginally. “And?”

She let her hands fall to her sides, his helmet secure. “He
asked me how dinner was Friday night.”

Garrick digested that for a second before muttering a
heartfelt “
fuck
” under his breath.

“That’s just what I was thinking,” Savannah said as Garrick
cleared the boards with the rest of his line.

Garrick sat on the bus, watching the moonlit winter fields
of New Brunswick fly by, and tried to rein in his chaotic thoughts.

How could Bobby possibly know about Friday night?And
more importantly, who was he going to tell? Had he had seen them return? Had he
seen Garrick go into Savannah’s room? Scrubbing a hand over his face, he
slumped back in his seat. He’d never meant to bring this shit down on Savannah.
Her reputation was critical to her success. Hell, she relied on it almost as much
as her skills as a trainer. She had to. She was a woman.

For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he hadn’t understood
that from the moment he’d met her.
Fucking dense, LeBlanc.

Garrick checked his cell phone again, but still no response
from Reese. He’d included his email address in the letter he’d sent along with
the business plan, indicating it was the best way to reach him.

Now he was obsessively checking his phone like a teenage
girl.

There were too many loose strings and it drove him crazy not
to get at least a couple of them tied off. Confirmation from Reese. Determining
what the fuck game Bobby was playing. Figuring out how the hell he was
ever
going to get Savannah in bed again when Bobby had sent her into a completely
justified paranoid freak-out.

Garrick wrestled with the burning desire to stand up, walk
three rows forward, and punch Bobby Kramer in the face.
God, that would feel
so damn good.

Just when he was descending into that happy fantasy, thoroughly
enjoying the image it invoked, they crossed the Moncton city limits and Mark
stood up at the front of the bus.

“Team meeting,” he announced over the din of conversation
and the hum of the bus tires on the highway. “Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock.”

A general groan went up from the crowd. Garrick dug his
fingers into his tired eyes.

Fuck, what now?

Savannah smiled at Mike Erdo as she got out of her car and
saw him lingering in the doorway to the arena. She really was going to have to
talk to Mark about this escort thing. Poor Mike was standing out in the bitter
cold, hanging around like it was his preference to freeze his nuts off for a
while rather than moving the five feet it would take to get into the warm
lobby.

“Good morning, Mike.”

“Morning, Savannah.”

She opened the door and held it for him. He hardly even gave
her a funny look. She was finally getting these men properly trained. She
buried her mouth in her scarf to hide her smile.

It was almost nine o’clock so they went directly to the
meeting room. She stepped through the door and had the worst kind of déjà vu. Maybe
she was turning into a pessimist, but she’d bet this meeting wasn’t going to be
any more fun than the last.

Bobby’s glare sure was reminiscent of the last time around. What
was new was the little smile, the crinkle in the corners of his beady little
eyes.

Just when she’d thought he couldn’t get any creepier.

Working her way to the front of the room, she murmured a
quiet thank you to Mike when he stepped into a row to sit with Alexei. She
continued on, putting her hand on Rhian’s shoulder to get his attention. He
started to stand but she pressed down and nodded at his long legs. Sighing, he
swung them to the side and let her slide past him.

Garrick did the same without being asked.

Yes, the training was definitely starting to take.

She sat next to Garrick, not bothering to check if Bobby was
still smirking at her. She could feel his stare on the back of her neck.

“Any idea?” she asked.

“Not a blessed one,” Garrick replied.

Mark looked over his shoulder from the front row, purposefully
catching Savannah’s eye. Her stomach clenched.

Rhian and Garrick muttered various colorful curses. “Did you
see that look?” Rhian whispered.

She nodded. Garrick sighed.

Mark stood.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, stepping to the front of
the room. “Yesterday the EHL and Edwin Lamont received what is considered to be
a reasonable bid for the team.”

Murmurs rippled around the room but Mark continued, slicing
through the noise.

“It will take a while to sort out the paperwork, and the
league will have to approve the purchase. Nothing is final until that happens.”

Savannah looked at Garrick and he shrugged, his narrow gaze and
full attention focused on the team’s manager. A new owner could mean their jobs
were all saved, at least for a while longer. But instead of pleased, Mark appeared
to be somewhere between uneasy and nauseous.

Garrick sat forward. “Who’s the buyer?”

“My dad,” said a familiar voice from the back of the room.

With dawning horror, Savannah and everyone else in the room
turned to see a triumphant Bobby being congratulated by his friends.

Savannah barely heard a word of the rest of the meeting. Rhian
looked like he’d swallowed something sour and Garrick appeared ready to commit
murder.

She wished she had some comfort to offer them. To offer any
of her colleagues as everyone quietly fled the room.

She stood on wooden legs, only vaguely aware of Garrick and
Rhian trailing her into the hallway. Neither said a word when she walked right
past her door and continued on to the lobby.

The game wasn’t until seven that night. Normally she would
have stuck close, spent the day working on fitness plans, checking in with her
players. Today she strode back out into the cold air of the parking lot.

As the door swung closed, Garrick called, “Savannah—”

“Leave her be, man,” Rhian said.

She wanted to turn back. To fling herself into Garrick’s
arms and cry all over him. But it was too late.

At least she hadn’t gotten attached. Much.

Garrick cursed under his breath as Savannah drove out of the
lot. Thanks to Bobby Fuckhead Kramer, she hadn’t felt safe for a month, and now
this.

His hands curled into fists. For his professional
reputation—not to mention his criminal record—he needed to avoid Bobby for a
while.

“I’ll be back,” he said, though he didn’t move.

Rhian stared out at the parking lot like he might drive away
too. “Yeah. I’ll see you in the gym later?”

Garrick nodded, not really sure what the hell he was going
to do, but vaguely aware that he did have to come back to do his conditioning,
his stretches. Ice. Heat. Go through the routine of a game day and get out on
the ice. He had to play, and play well. He owed Moncton and his teammates that
much.

And he might as well enjoy it while it lasted.

He was the only person who might actually lose his job
faster than Savannah, if only because Bobby would want to keep her around so he
could assault her again at his leisure.

That thought got Garrick moving. Jamming the door open, he
jogged to his car.

Fuck, he had to do
something
.

He fished his cell phone out of his pocket and checked his
email automatically, belatedly realizing why he had not received a message from
Reese Lamont about his business plan.

He allowed himself to feel humiliated by his own stupidity
and wide-eyed optimism for thirty seconds while he started the car and drove
out of the lot. Then he pulled up the contact he’d programmed in only a few
days before and hit SEND.

It only rang once. “Yes?”

The first time Reese Lamont’s personal assistant had
answered the phone like this, Garrick had thought it was strange. Mysterious
and aloof. Now it just irritated the shit out of him.

“Garrick LeBlanc for Mr. Lamont.”

“Yes, Mr. LeBlanc. He is expecting your call.”

Garrick blinked. He used the few seconds he was on hold to
pull into a Tim Horton’s and throw his truck into park.

“Garrick?”

“Mr
.
Lamont
.”

A pause. “That mad, are you?”

Garrick considered his response carefully. “Not mad.
Disappointed.”

Reese sighed audibly over the phone line. “If it’s any
consolation, I didn’t get your business plan until after the offer was in to me
and the league. In truth, I didn’t expect anyone to offer this much—neither did
the league. Turning it down would make me appear insane.”

Seemed like a trivial concern from somebody who was rumored
not to have left his house in a decade. Garrick fought his anger and held his
tongue, focusing on what Reese had implied. “Do you want to turn down the
offer?”

“Honestly? Yes. Robert Kramer is a bastard. A dirty, crooked
bastard.”

Garrick blinked. “He is?”

“Aren’t you from Moncton?” Reese asked. “I would have
thought you’d at least heard the rumors.”

“Well, yeah, I’ve heard talk,” Garrick said, “but mostly
just that he’s an asshole. I’ve never heard of him actually being in trouble
with the law. What do you mean by
dirty
?”

“Letting drugs run through his bars, letting all manner of
transaction take place in his OTB shops. Money laundering. Underground clubs. Did
you know his second cousin owns most of the strip clubs in New Brunswick and a
bunch more in Quebec?”

“Yeah, so?”

“He’s sixteen. He opened his first club when he was four. Quite
an accomplishment. A cousin on the other side of his family is the CEO of that
child’s corporation.”

“Jesus. Why bother with the ruse?”

“He likes to keep his nose clean. It helps not to have your
name on anything when the shit hits the fan. And it’s not just bad business.
Two years ago, a dancer at the Foxy Lady in Fredericton told the RCMP that
there was a vast business operating in the basement of the club. When the Mounties
raided the next morning, all they found was empty desks and scraps of shredded
paper. The girl disappeared that night and was never seen again.”

The hair on the back of Garrick’s neck bristled. “Oh shit.”

“Yes, precisely. Total shit. So, no, I don’t want to sell
him the damn Ice Cats, but it’s not going to be easy to prevent given my public
announcement to solicit buyers and his more-than-reasonable offer.”

Garrick put his head back against the headrest and rubbed
his eyes hard. “This is bad.”

“I’m sorry, Garrick. I truly am.”

He didn’t know the half of it.

“Look,” Reese continued, “I’ll do what I can to stall the
process. Drag my feet on the paperwork, be unavailable for meetings. I can’t
stretch it out forever, but maybe long enough for a better bid to come in.”

“And then what?”

“I’ll accept it. Quickly. And do whatever is in my power to
avoid a bidding war. It may not help. Something tells me Robert Kramer wants
the Ice Cats and is willing to pay a premium.”

“How much was his bid?” The question was rude but Garrick
needed to know what it was going to take to save his team.

The number Reese quoted made him queasy.

Savannah sat at her computer staring at her updated résumé. Closing
that window, she read again the job description glowing on her screen.

It was a long shot. A one in a million. She could only
imagine the pile of eligible candidates who had already put their names in for
consideration. The countless more who would follow.

What the hell? It couldn’t hurt to try.

With false confidence, she worked up a new version of her
cover letter and attached her résumé in the wizard provided. Her bravado waivered
as she stared at the SUBMIT button and fingered the button on her mouse,
hesitating to take the last step.

She wanted the job. But she was also shocked to discover she
didn’t want to leave Moncton. She’d just started to settle in and make friends.
She’d miss Rhian. And Alexei and Mike.

Garrick.

She stood, walked to her window, and looked out onto the
street. A dark SUV idled in front of her stoop, its tinted windows too dark for
her to see in. She peered closer, cupping her hands to the glass for a better
view. The SUV drove off quickly.

Jesus.
Sometimes the universe sent messages. She
listened.

But first she checked the locks on her doors and windows and
snapped the curtains closed.

Resolved, she sat at her computer and rechecked everything
she’d entered. Seeing no mistakes, she clicked SUBMIT.

She stared at the confirmation screen for a long time.

The Boston Bruins thank you for submitting your information
for the position of
Athletic Trainer
. A member of our candidate
selection team will follow up with you in the next two weeks.

Garrick sat with his mouth hanging open, staring at his old
friend Jack Chevalier. Jack stared back, his bright blue eyes amused.

The team meeting, the phone call with Reese, Bobby’s fucking
attitude in the locker room, all followed by tonight’s game on autopilot in
spite of his intention to play his best. Now midnight had come and gone and he
was sitting in Quigley’s Bar, around the corner from where he and Jack had grown
up.

“Dude, are you the only person in this town who doesn’t
know?” Jack laughed, running his fingers through his thick black hair and
shaking his head.

“I guess I am.”

Jack looked around them again, for the tenth time at least.

“Garrick, the guy runs all the books in town. Sports,
horses, fights, elections, celebrity deaths. If you can bet on it, he’s running
a game.” Jack paused to search the faces of their fellow patrons again. They’d
chosen a bar Robert Kramer didn’t own, there was no one sitting in the tables
around them, and it was late—almost last call—but still Jack wouldn’t stop checking.

“He can’t own a fucking hockey team if he’s betting on
sports or profiting from people who are,” Garrick said in disbelief.

Jack gave him the pitying look his naïveté warranted. “Yeah,
dude, which is why it’s all under the table. He can’t exactly advertise that
he’s making big coin every time his son throws a game.”