Standing in the driveway I glance over at Walker. “You sure this is where he’s staying?”
“Yep,” he says with a nod, but the frown has me worried.
“Hmm…”
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” I doubt it but we’ll see.
“Yes. He hasn’t played in over a year and the last time he hit the ice, his blood alcohol level could have felled a buffalo.”
I smile. “I’m not thinking about any of that.”
Walker looks at me with one brow arched high.
“I’m wondering if we’ll have to break down the door and if we do, will I get a splinter.”
He shoves a hand into his jacket pocket and comes out with a key. And the cocky grin I love. “Nope.”
“Where did you get that?” We start up the drive toward the door.
“Gannon gave it to me before we left New York last time we were there.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot this was his house. Does he know what state it’s in?”
“The outside looks a little shabby, but I promise, it’s not as bad as it looks.” Walker lets me and Blake up the stairs to the door first.
“We’ll see.”
When our knock goes unanswered, Walker uses the key to open the door.
Stepping inside, I’m surprised by how clean the place is, and light. The back part of the house has lots of windows and you can see the woods behind the house from the foyer.
Moving deeper into the house I’m beginning to think no one is home when a prone figure on the floor on the other side of the couch grabs my attention.
Thinking the worst, I race around only to come up short when I see the bottle on the floor.
“That doesn’t bode well,” I mutter. Picking up the bottle I see it’s three quarters empty and set it on the coffee table.
I look to Walker and Blake but neither says a word. They’re both looking at the man at my feet.
Moving my gaze back down, I stare at our supposed hot shot sprawled on the floor. I want to turn around and walk right out of here but I have to defer to my coaches.
“Are we sure?”
“Yes.” Walker doesn’t hesitate. “Positive.”
“I’ll second that.”
I glance back at Blake. She’s been suspiciously quiet since we pulled up in front of the ramshackle house Branton Lattimer calls home. “Really? It’s going to be you fixing this mess.”
“Yep.” Blake pops the p.
“Okay.” Looking around, I can’t see what I’m looking for. “Give me a minute.”
I leave them there, both studying the man we’ve come to talk to.
The one who I’m sure is currently in an alcoholic coma. We’re about to find out if it’s a deadly one.
Finding the utility room, I open all the cupboards before I find what I’m after.
A bucket.
Bucket in hand, I head to the kitchen and hope I find the second ingredient to my wake the drunk ass up remedy.
Yanking the fridge door open I find a surprisingly clean space with fresh food. “Hmm…someone is looking after the guy.”
“What are you doing?”
I glance up. I didn’t hear Walker come in. “Looking for cold water.”
“You’re thirsty?” He shakes his head.
“No.” Going back to the fridge I search the bottles in the door before moving onto the shelves. Dammit. Looks like it will be tap water. I was hoping for something colder but it will do.
When I make it back to the living room and the man on the floor, Walker and Blake are huddled together on the far side of the room whispering.
Why is anyone’s guess and something I’m not concerned about. It isn’t like the man can hear anything right now. He’s still out cold.
Not for long.
Gripping the handle tight with one hand, I place the other on the bottom of the bucket and tip it.
Right on Branton Lattimer’s head.
He comes up swinging and cursing and I jump back to get out of the way.
“Jesus fucking Christ!” He wipes a large hand down his face. “Who the hell are you?”
“Your savior or your worst nightmare.”
“Huh?” He shakes like a dog, spraying water droplets all around him. “What?”
“Your savior or your worst nightmare. You choose.” If I were being honest, I’d tell him I’m probably going to be both.
“Bran.” Walker moves next to me.
“Cap? What the hell?”
“When did you eat last?” Walker asks, while offering a hand.
“Dunno. What time is it?”
“Almost midday.”
Branton eyes me. “What day?”
I suck in a breath and hope to hell my coaches aren’t steering me wrong here. “Thursday.”
“Huh.” Branton looks around the room before his gaze settles on the coffee table. “Not even one bottle.”
I’m not sure why he’s pointing that out. It’s more than enough for me to worry about taking this guy on.
“How are you doing, Bran?” Walker pointedly stares at the bottle.
Branton laughs. “You think I’m drunk all the time?” Shaking his head, he tugs his shirt over it and slaps his abs. “Do these look like I live on alcohol?”
I have to admit he’s in good shape. At least it looks that way.
Walker smiles. “Wanna put those to good use?”
“Doing?” Branton asks with a raised brow.
“Playing.”
“Ha! Like any team is going to want me after what I did.”
“The Rogues want you.” My words snap out. “We need someone with your skills and experience to guide us to the finals.”
“Who the hell are the Rogues?”
“The new NHL franchise.” Walker claps him on the shoulder. “I want you on my team.”
“You’re playing for them? When did you leave New York?”
“When Blanchett slammed me into the boards and left me unable to play at a professional level.”
“Wait. You’re not playing? Then how the hell would I be on your team?”
“I’m head coach.”
Branton and Walker stare at each other for long seconds before Branton breaks the stare and turns to me. “And who the hell are you? The general manager?”
“No. That’s Natalie Redding. I’m the team owner and this”—I wave my hand toward Blake who’s been hiding in the back corner—“is our assistant coach, Blake Watts.”
Branton spins on his heel so fast he stumbles but the commotion isn’t enough to mask the gasped, “Blake,” that leaves his mouth.
I watch as my best friend and Branton have a conversation with their eyes only and I make a mental note to ask her about it later.
There’s history here I’m unaware of.
“I…” Branton takes a step toward her. “Blake.”
Her name holds so much anguish, it tightens my chest.
“Bran.”
The next thing I know Branton launches across the room and wraps his arms around her. He burrows his face in her neck and the tightening in my chest goes to lung crushing as his sobs fill the room.
A quick look at Walker and we make a mutual decision to leave them and head for the front door.
Once outside, the door closed behind us, I ask, “You know about that?”
“They used to be close. Before…”
“Ah.”
“And Bran is—was—really close to her brothers, the twins.”
“Right. Of course. I saw that in his report. Just never made the connection to Blake.”
“There were rumors before he got married. About him and her. But they never admitted to being in a relationship other than friends.”
“Will their history be a problem?”
“No. She’s solid and he’s not about to let their past affect him.”
“Just his own past.”
“I don’t know the whole story, but I know he only got married because of the baby.”
“Well fuck.”
Branton’s story is tragic on so many levels and I’m not aware of all of them, I’m sure.
I still don’t know if he’s what we need. Losing a child has to be devastating.
Now I have Micky, and it’s only been a few days, I don’t think I’d be able to come back from that kind of loss.
I have no idea how Branton Lattimer is still breathing.
“Oakley.”
I turn to see Blake in the doorway. “Yeah.”
“I’m staying. Give me a few days and I’ll let you know if we need to keep looking or if Bran is joining us.”
“You’re staying here?”
“For now.”
“Should I worry about you? What that was about?”
Shaking her head, she gives me a small smile. “No. We’re good. I’m good.”
“I don’t want to leave if—”
“I’ll be fine. Bran isn’t who the media has made him out to be.”
“No one ever is.” I take a deep breath. “Okay, keep me posted. If I don’t hear from you in…three days I’m coming back.”
“You won’t have to. Promise.”
Going up the steps, I pull her in to hug and say, “Call for anything, doesn’t have to be about the Rogues.”
“Thanks. Safe trip home.” When she pulls away, she waves to Walker and says, “See you later, Cap.”
“Cap?”
“It’s what Bran called him. I forgot he was the captain of the Knights. See you both later.”
I watch her slip back inside and close the door.
Turning to Walker, I say, “Well, Hot Stuff, I guess we wait to see if we’ve got ourselves a hot shot…”
* * *
Hockey hot shot Branton Lattimer is fighting to reclaim his life on and off the ice. Falling for his best friend’s older sister—his coach—makes that battle seem impossible.
Read Hot Shot, book two in the HOT AS PUCK series.
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