Offside (10 page)

“Set up?” Keane arched a brow, his expression showing mild interest. “How so?”

“A reporter paid her to come on to me, then made a big deal about it. Believe me, she didn’t look like a kid. You know so much?” Scott jerked his thumb at the papers. “You’ve gotta know Hayley Turner is gunning for the team because she thinks Silver fucked her husband.
Everyone
knows that.”

“More than one media outlet covered the incident.”

Yeah, Becky had picked it up from some “source” for a behind the scenes sports special. News was slow. He guessed she had to give them
something
. But it pissed him off that she had to make him look like a goddamn cradle robber to get ahead.

“What can I say, I’m fucking fascinating.” Scott ran his tongue over his teeth, lowering back into his seat as he caught the way Keane’s eyes narrowed. He wasn’t making himself look any better to the man. He rolled his shoulders. “Look. Don’t think I don’t understand where you’re coming from. I need to smarten up. But some of this stuff isn’t as fucked up as it looks. They—”

“Ah, the infamous ‘they.’” Keane let out a tight laugh. “I have teenage daughters, twins—which you seem to enjoy.” He picked up another newspaper which showed Scott in a limo with a pair of hot redheads. After crumpling the papers in his hand, he tossed it aside. “But I won’t let my personal bias affect my decision. Especially since you feel targeted by the press. Let me see . . .” He tapped a colored photo of Scott and cocked his head slightly. “Please explain to me how the media managed to get you drunk and onstage at a strip club. Did someone forcibly remove your clothing?”

Scott winced. He’d forgotten about that night. He’d been pretty wasted. “No. That was just me being an idiot.”

“I see. And the brawl you were involved in at a . . . karaoke bar? Let me guess. You planned to sing professionally once you’d destroyed your career as a professional hockey player, and some asshole told you not to quit your day job.”

“No. I just got drunk and—”

“Stupid. Yes, that seems to happen a lot with you. And the street racing—which there
were
charges for.” Keane flipped open a folder. “According to your file, you spent several days in jail.”

“I was sober.” Scott’s jaw tensed. “I don’t drive drunk.”

“Commendable, but that doesn’t change the fact that you seem to have an alcohol problem. I trust you weren’t sober when you went streaking in downtown Montreal?”

“Actually . . .” Okay, it was really hard not to laugh at that one. Middle of winter, he and a few of the guys had been hanging out with the Habs. The Cobras had a friendly rivalry with the Canadiens. Some French guy had dared Scott to a race down Saint Catherine. Naked.

He never turned down a dare.

Keane shook his head, flattening his hands on the desk. “Scott, I could tolerate these antics from a rookie, do my best to take him in hand. But you’ve been in the league for ten years. You’ve proved to be immature and, frankly, unstable. If it was limited to your actions in public, I would consider giving you a chance to improve your image. Unfortunately, your behavior on the ice is no better. You instigate fights with your own teammates. The amount of penalty minutes you racked up last year is unacceptable. And I’ve never heard of a professional athlete calling in ‘sick’ as often as you have. The only reason I haven’t already traded you is because Silver Delgado made the choice to sign you, and she’s done so much for the team, I can’t believe she would have done that without a good reason.”

The situation looked pretty damn hopeless. There was no point in lying to the guy. Scott slumped in his chair. “She didn’t know much about the game when she signed me. She was told I was good on the ice and figured I’d help change the team’s image. Bring in the younger crowd.”

“You have. But so have other men on the team, and they’ve done so without it reflecting negatively on the whole organization.”

Right. Time to go home and pack.
Scott rubbed his hands over his face. “What can I say? I’m willing to change, but the way you’re talking, it’s too late.”

Keane stood, pushed his chair back, and gathered all the newspapers into a neat pile. He reached down, picked up the trash can from under his desk, and set it in front of Scott with a sharp
clink.
Then he stuffed all the papers into the stainless steel bin.

“Give me one good reason to let you stay.”

Lips parted, mouth dry, Scott gaped up at the man. Why even give him a shot? Why risk millions on someone who could potentially bring the whole team down?

Why question it, man? Give him a reason!

Scott swallowed and lunged to his feet, speaking in a rush. “I already told my image consultant I’d do anything he asked me to. Change my attitude, my clothes, my whole life if it means I can be a Cobra. I want to be with this team when they make the Cup. I want to retire with this team. I’ll take a pay cut if it means I can stay. Just tell me what I have to do and I’ll do it!”

“Why? Why does it matter so much? There are other teams that would have you.”

“Because . . .” He frowned, searching for the truth. And then he found it. “Silver believed in me. She took a lot of flack for it, but she stood by her decision. I need to prove to her that it wasn’t a mistake. That everyone was wrong about me.”

Slapping his hands on the desk, Keane smiled. “That is exactly what I needed to hear. I need to know you have solid motivations to make all these changes. Following your IC’s advice will go a long way in convincing me to offer you a contract. The season doesn’t start for months. I want to see your face in more papers, but I want every article to express what a positive addition you’ve become to the team. I don’t care if you’re kissing babies or setting fashion trends. You will be a man young boys can look up to. Let the other teams hate you. I don’t give a shit how much you chirp on the ice. But your fans, your teammates . . .” He took a deep breath. “They will love you. I won’t accept any less.”

That’s it?
Scott’s head reeled at the abrupt shift. It had all seemed utterly hopeless, but in the end, he’d gotten the chance he’d so desperately wanted. His lips moved soundlessly, then he nodded quickly. “I can do that.”

“I’ve faxed your IC a list of appearances I’ve set up for you and several of the other players. Can I trust you to be at each and every one?”

“Absolutely.”

Keane inclined his head. “Very well. You may go.”

Just like that, Scott was dismissed. He thanked Keane again and headed out, practically knocking Sloan Callahan, the team’s captain, on his ass in the hall.

“Watch where you’re fucking going, Demyan.” Callahan snarled before striding into the office and slamming the door behind him.

Scott righted himself, glanced over to the other man who stood by the door, Dominik Mason, the team’s most vicious defenseman, and muttered a vague greeting. Mason spared him a brief glance before pulling out his phone. He sighed and dialed, then spoke softly.

“I’m here, love. Sloan’s with Keane.” He pressed his eyes shut and nodded slowly. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise anything. If he’s determined to . . . I know. But he won’t listen to me—I love you too.”

Leaving Mason, Scott hunched his shoulders and headed to the elevator. The shit going on between Mason and Callahan was pretty serious. Unlike him, they deserved to be here. They’d worked their asses off for this team. Oriana Delgado, Silver’s sister, was a sweet chick. And the trouble with her men made Scott’s seem even more pathetic. He’d brought this on himself. The captain and Mason’s problems stemmed from loving the same woman and barely tolerating one another. Keane was probably trying to convince Callahan to stay.

Scott kinda hoped the owner succeeded. Because the captain was one of the few people Scott respected. One of the people he hoped would be around if he actually managed to pull this off.

* * * *

Dominik rested his head against the pristine white wall of the hall, pressing his eyes shut as Sloan stormed out of the office, slamming the door for a second time. Part of him wanted to go to Sloan, to force him to see they didn’t have to come to this. They loved the same woman. The same team. They could make it work.

But Sloan wouldn’t listen. Things had become tense in the house they shared. Max Perron’s house. Oriana was Max’s wife, and that meant more than the fact that Dominik had collared her, or that Sloan had marked her. No matter how much Oriana cared for them both, she would follow her husband. And Max had done the unthinkable by making leaving the team an option.

It’s not an option for me.

Dominik hauled in as much air as his lungs would hold and pictured Oriana, kneeling before him, pouring her heart out.

“I don’t want to go, but Sloan . . .” Her face crumpled and tears spilled down her cheeks. “Sloan may never play again. I can’t let this be the end for him. He needs me.”

“I need you.” Even on her knees, she had all the power. He’d accepted that when he’d let her into his life. His heart. As long as he shared her with two other men, she would never be his alone. Which felt so wrong as he watched her suffering between the three of them, desperate to please them all. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

“Come with us.”

He’d looked away from her then. That wasn’t what she really wanted. She was telling him what she thought he needed to hear. Nothing would change if he followed her to Calgary with Sloan and Max. He would still be an obstacle. The man who challenged Sloan, who made sure the fucking sadist never pushed too hard, went too far.

But what was too much for Dominik wasn’t too much for Oriana. Her husband might cringe at the marks Sloan left on her, but he simply tended to the wounds and accepted that the extremes satisfied Oriana, so there was nothing wrong with them. Dominik had tried, so very hard, to do the same. But there were times when Sloan sank so deep into his needs as a sadist that he couldn’t handle the aftermath. Which left Dominik holding Oriana, blinking back tears as he carefully bandaged the marks on her body, trying not to hate Sloan for making her bleed. He’d taught Sloan as much as he could, but the pupil had outgrown the teacher. Become a master in his own right. Begun to question everything he’d learned because Oriana needed more.

“Be honest with me, Oriana. Do you really want me to come with you?”

She refused to look at him as she answered. “They need you here.”

“Do you want me to stay behind?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

Eyes, tearing, she blinked, then rested her head against his chest. “This is one of those times where I want you to take control. Where I don’t want to have a choice.”

“Sweetheart, I wish I could tell you what to do.” He kissed her forehead. “But I can’t. Not with this.”

“Mr. Mason?” Keane held the door open for him, then quietly followed him into the office. The door clicked shut, and Dominik took a seat, waiting for Keane to take his place behind the desk.

Instead, Keane stepped in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, hip resting on the edge of the desk. Despite the silver streaking the man’s dark brown hair, something about his bearing made him look younger than forty. He was tall, fit, but not especially muscular. Clean-cut, always well put together, the man had a presence that made it hard not to sit up and take note when he spoke. He’d only had one meeting with the team so far, but already, he’d made quite the impression. Men who’d whispered about “getting out” before the team folded were singing a different tune now.

Except Sloan. But Dominik knew Sloan wasn’t leaving because he’d lost faith in the team. He was leaving because he needed to regain the control he’d lost. Over his career and his personal life. The man wasn’t known for his patience, though it had improved over the years. He wouldn’t let an injury hold him back.

Or another man.

“Do you know why I worked so hard to acquire this team, Mason?”

Dominik frowned.
What kind of question is that?
“Honestly? You’re a rich man. There aren’t many other teams for sale. I assumed you wanted to own one badly enough you took what you could get. Even if the team fails here, there are other places you could move it to where it would thrive.”

Keane nodded. Chuckled. “Mr. Richter told me you don’t pull any punches, so I appreciate your tact. But there are plenty of teams for sale. I wanted the Cobras, and I’ve been making offers to the Delgado family for years just to get a piece. Ford Delgado—”

“Kingsley.” Dominik ground his teeth. “The little bastard only took on the name to make his new daddy happy.”

“Legally, he
is
a Delgado. Which is beside the point.” Keane’s tone lightened with amusement. “He’s not too crazy about ‘you kinky fuckers’ either. But he acted in the best interest of the team. Do you know he asked me if I could handle the alternative lifestyle most of the players are involved in? He seemed quite relieved when I told him not only could I handle it, but I could relate to a majority of the players.”

Rubbing his jaw, Dominik laughed. “Really? So you and your wife like to play?”

“No. I’m not married.” Keane gave Dominik a level look. “But I uncollared my slave of five years months ago. My point is that I understand where you’re coming from.”

Rising slowly, Dominik faced the man. “No disrespect, sir, but if you brought me here to discuss my relationship with Oriana, I’m not interested. As openly ‘kinky’ as the team may be, I value my privacy.”

Keane held up his hands in a calming gesture. “I don’t expect you to. But the team needs stability. I asked Mr. Callahan to come here because he is the team’s captain. The uncertainty in his future creates unrest with the men. That is no longer an issue. He is leaving—all that remains are a few contracts to be signed.” His eyes darkened. “I need to know if you are staying. If you are, I’d appreciate your help. The team needs a leader.”

Fuck!
Dominik paced away from Keane, then back, shaking his head. “Why me? Ask Richter, or our coach, Tim. I’m the most volatile player on the team. The men expect me to protect them on the ice, to throw my weight around. Not to lead them.” He let out a harsh laugh. “Besides,
you
have no fucking say in who leads the team.”