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Benjamin’s mother often spouted the old wives tale that what happened on January 1 was a harbinger for the year to come.
If he believed in such things, he might as well crawl into bed for the next twelve months, because it was going to be a doozy. Not only had he broken his favourite coffee mug that morning, but his car wouldn’t start. He’d had to call a taxi to get to the arena, where Levi had immediately ripped into him for being late. He’d bit his tongue as he usually did, but his temper was on high simmer by the time he stepped into the dressing room—to discover Valeri Nechayev regaling his teammates with tales of his drunken escapades at a New Year’s Eve Party.
All of this, on top of not having a moment alone with Lynn for more than a week, set him to full boil.
Unnoticed by the players, he stood in the doorway, breathing fiercely through his nose, searching for calm. Nechayev was of legal drinking age but it defied team policy and violated Benjamin’s expressed expectations. That he’d overindulged the night before a game flaunted the fact he didn’t care what his teammates and coaches thought. Nechayev had been skating on thin ice for weeks, always pulling back his antics just before Benjamin snapped.
He’d taken one stride too far today.
They were now in the second half of the season and Benjamin was running out of time. It was still mathematically possible for the Canyon Cats to qualify for the playoffs, but not if things continued as they had. If he wanted to atone for past failure by achieving future success, he had to make changes and make them fast.
“You’re benched.” His words were too quiet to be heard over the players’ jokes and jeers, though they reverberated inside his chest like a gong.
The dressing room was a large space lined with benches in front of open lockers. Nechayev’s assigned place was on the opposite side of the room. Benjamin stalked toward him, crossing the rubber mat flooring emblazoned with the Canyon Cats logo, bulling past half-dressed players. As the team became aware of his presence, the hubbub faded to a watchful silence.
“Take off your gear.” Despite the rage coursing through him, he kept his tone mild. “You’re not playing tonight.”
Nechayev raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “Say what?” His accent gave the colloquialism an unfamiliar rhythm.
“You’re benched. You broke my orders.” Without waiting for a response, he traced a slow circle, turning his back on Nechayev and making eye contact with every player as he did so. “Anyone else out drinking last night?”
He waited.
Chisholm and Piiroinen raised their hands, shooting uncertain glances at Nechayev. They obviously didn’t know whether he wanted them to bluff it out or join him in his rebellion.
One more hand lifted. Alternate Captain Gerald Dudas. Benjamin’s heart sank. He would have bet good money that Dudas would never jeopardize his ice time by flouting team rules. While he wished he could only punish his problem players, he dare not show favouritism.
“The four of you will be watching from the stands tonight. We’ll discuss further penalties tomorrow. Get undressed. Avril will set your assignments before you go up.” Players who were injured or healthy scratches were often asked to track statistics such as ice time, hits, and completed passes for the coaches’ use. It was drudge work and most of them hated it, so was another level of punishment he could inflict.
He strode back to the door, aware every set of eyes tracked him. He turned to face the room. “The rest of you better be prepared to work your asses off. If you aren’t, don’t bother stepping on the ice.”
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THE LIGHTS IN THE ARENA dimmed. On ice projections turned the glittering surface into a flowing fury of white water as the Canyon Cats’ pre-game pump-up song boomed out of the enormous speakers hanging from the rafters. Lynn watched from a stairwell leading from the concourse into the arena proper. Fans trickled past, heading for their seats, as the players skated out onto the rink.
This was the third game the Canyon Cats would play since Christmas, but the first at home. They’d started the last half of the season with a two-game road trip, and Lynn had always planned to take those days off work. That meant she’d had plenty of time to spend with Rupert and her mother, and despite the bumpy start it had turned out to be a reasonably pleasant week.
That being said, she had waved them through airport security this morning with relief. As much as she loved her parents, a little bit of Rupert went a long way and her mother’s well-meaning interference threw off Oscar’s carefully orchestrated schedule. She couldn’t wait to call her home her own once more.
And welcome Benjamin back into it without her parents’ restrictive presence.
The house lights brightened as the rink announcer finished proclaiming the starting line-ups. Players fidgeted on the blue lines as the scattered crowd rose and a children’s choir led everyone in the American and Canadian national anthems. Lynn let her thoughts drift to the days ahead.
The new Canyon Cats marketing coordinator would start on Monday, and while Cynthie had convinced Brewster to allow Lynn to work with his new hire for a short transition period, her days of being required to attend games were numbered. She couldn’t help a pang of sadness at the thought.
The last week had been difficult for their fledgling relationship, what with her parents underfoot and Benjamin’s road trip. They had barely had a chance to talk, and other than a few perfunctory kisses, no opportunity to be intimate. Even though they didn’t always speak with each other on game nights, she enjoyed watching him behind the bench, and was subconsciously aware of him while she did her duties. Once the new marketing coordinator was on their own, she’d have one less excuse to spend time with him. The whole situation made her itchy.
Which in turn made her worried. Had she fallen too far, too fast? And if so, what was she going to do about it?
The choir finished and filed off the rink. Attendants rolled up the carpet as the rink announcer did his best to get the meager crowd chanting. It was time to get in position for the first fan event, which would take place about halfway through the period, but she lingered a little longer, watching Benjamin as he stood straight, tall, and stone-faced behind the players on the bench.
At the click of dress shoes approaching, she pressed up against the wall to allow the person to pass. Instead, the sounds paused, and Peterson Brewster came to stop beside her. The owner had a special suite next to those reserved for media and officials, which were in the top tier of stands above her head, opposite the luxury boxes rented out by local companies and corporations.
“Evening.” He nodded an acknowledgment but remained where he was, not moving to ascend the next, longer flight of stairs that led to his exclusive aerie.
“Hello.” She nodded back.
His eyes narrowed. Not at her, but at the five Canyon Cats preparing for the opening faceoff. “Where’s Nechayev?”
He muttered the question under his breath, so she assumed it wasn’t directed at her and didn’t bother to answer. Now that he mentioned it, though, she didn’t see the bane of Benjamin’s existence in his usual place on the first line. And did the players’ bench seem a little less crowded than usual?
Play began as Lynn did a quick head count. Only eighteen players were present, four less than usual.
Brewster had apparently reached the same total. He transferred his glare to her. “Have you got a copy of tonight’s roster? Mine’s up in my box.”
Lynn flipped through the sheaf of papers clipped to the board she carried and found the printout updated before every game. “Here.”
He scanned it, his expression thoughtful. “Nechayev, Chisholm, Piiroinen, and Dudas were last minute scratches.”
Lynn had spent enough time around the team to realize these four players were a healthy chunk of the regular lineup. “Do you know why?”
“Not a clue.”
A flash of emotion flickered behind his eyes. Lynn couldn’t decide if it was irritation or satisfaction. Sometimes she forgot that Brewster wanted the team to fail. He did an excellent job of masking it in media interviews, and there were still no rumours of the team’s possible defection floating about the community.
“It’s going to be tough to win with such a depleted roster.” She offered the comment and watched for any hint Brewster might have somehow orchestrated this himself.
“Yes, it will.” Again, he remained impassive. No one seeing him would suspect a thing.
Suddenly the arena erupted in a roar. A horn blared and pulsing drumbeats rattled the rafters, making her sternum vibrate. On the ice, the Canyon Cats celebrated the early goal.
Brewster frowned. Catching Lynn’s interested gaze he smoothed out his expression and without further conversation swung around the corner and disappeared up and out of sight.
Lynn crossed her fingers as she, too, left her post. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be as bad as she feared.
––––––––
IT WAS BY NO MEANS a perfect game, but it was a win, and he’d take it.
Benjamin wasn’t sure what to expect when he entered the dressing room after the final buzzer. During the game the team and staff had pushed aside personal issues, consumed by the pace of play and execution of strategy. The players deserved to celebrate the result, but would they be welcoming or wary at his presence?
He walked into an atmosphere redolent with the sweaty stink of physical exertion and the sweet tang of energy drinks. He’d asked them to work their asses off and they had. Now they drooped on the benches, heads hanging but eyes bright in a combination of elation and exhaustion.
Dudas was circling the room, congratulating his teammates while apologizing for letting them down. Nechayev, Chisholm, and Piiroinen stood off to the side, listening to the players giving blow-by-blow descriptions of each goal, each save. Nechayev glared, arms crossed, foot tapping, jealousy a green aura surrounding him. He was fiercely proud of his talent and skill—probably too proud—and watching others celebrate a win to which he hadn’t contributed was subtle punishment.
It wouldn’t do to let the team see him soften too much too soon, so Benjamin kept his post-game speech short and gruff. He gave credit where it was due, recognizing everyone’s hard work and pointing out how the systems he’d beaten into them had produced results. But he also warned that one game did not a successful season make. Then he left them to their post-game cool downs and showers and headed for his office.
Lynn was waiting for him. She’d never done that before. She swivelled lazily in his chair, her hands clasped in her lap as if to prove she hadn’t touched any of his belongings. His heart thudded once, strong and solid, as their eyes met across his desk. She sprang to her feet and hurried toward him.
“Great game.” She gave him a quick, hard hug and his arms encircled her automatically. When she tried to step back he pulled her in again so they connected from thighs to shoulders. She snuggled in with no protest.
“Thanks. They deserved the win.” His hands, chilled from being at ice level for the last hour or so, gripped the slick nylon of the lightweight jacket that was her uniform on game nights.
“It must have been tough, without a full roster.” Her inflection rose slightly at the end, but it wasn’t a direct question. He briefly considered taking the out she’d left him, but instead found himself explaining the drama that had gone on before the puck dropped.
She stood quietly in his arms, studying his face. Her palms made soothing circles on his back and he wondered if she was aware she was doing so. He kept his embrace light and easy, when what he wanted to do was crush her to his chest and claim the warmth and comfort of her kiss.
“You did what you had to do.” Her lips curved up in a smile. “And, hey, you got the win. Maybe this will be a turning point.”
“God, I hope so.”
Her hands left his back and burrowed under his suit jacket, tugging his shirt loose from the waistband of his pants. He growled low in his throat as her fingers traced the sensitive skin of his abdomen. He adjusted his grip lower, cupping her ass and lifting her on her toes, to make sure she didn’t miss the evidence of exactly how her touch affected him.
“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here.” Her eyelids fluttered and her nails bit into his hips. “I’ve missed you.”
The embers of lust that he’d kept banked for more than a week flared fiercely and his reply clogged in his throat. His kiss would have to do the talking for him.
Her mouth opened immediately and she hitched herself even higher, locking their lips together. The worries and frustrations of his day vanished in her heat.
He felt a quiet click deep inside, as of two puzzle pieces joining.
Nowhere near ready to study what that meant, he dragged his mouth away. She followed with a soft whimper that made his knees shake but he held himself out of reach. “I forgot to ask. Your parents got away okay?”
“Yes.” Her husky voice was even rougher, more sensual than usual.
His skin rippled in response. “Invite me over, Lynn.”
Her eyes were fever bright, her lips swollen. “Want to come over, Benjamin?”
“More than you could possibly know.”