“The bad news is that Solace is out of the rest of the season. We’ll see how that injury tracks next year.”
Shit. That doesn't sound good.
Coach led up his hands against the muted groans that were bitten off as Hux straightened and banged his stick against theice. Just once, and silence reigned for the man who knew his best friend wasn’t returning to the team this season, or maybe not at all.
“The good news is that we have a goalie who works his ass off for you on the ice and off it. Valentine’s not going anywhere, no matter what the media says.” He nodded, and that was it. End of talk. He skated sideways. “Watch the video.”
Coach moved away, grabbing Shannon and Hux and snapping out strategy in his typical rapid fire succession manner as he usually did. Both players quietened to listen as I dipped my attention to the phone in my hand and restated the video.
Cora’s sassy face and powerhouse body language filled the screen as she presented to a media crew outside the building. Not so long ago, looking at the light and shadows behind her. But the backdrop wasn’t what caught my attention. It was her energy that seemed to seep through the screen at me, and suddenly I understood why Coach handed me his phone.
Gliding across the ice toward the bench, away from the rest of the team, I inched the sound up just enough to make out her words without being overheard by everyone else. Something told me to keep the moment private, at least for now.
Cora’s eyes hardened as she talked, her energy literally glowing around her, or maybe that was the sun setting in her face, or the media’s constant flashes going off as she spoke. Nothing seemed to deter her as I tuned in halfway through her talk.
“...the Chimeras have worked to maintain their reputation of clean, hard and passionate players. All year, the team has trained hard. I know that, because I’ve been there with them. Watched when they turned up each morning—every single player, including the neophyte, who has certainly earned his nickname.” She paused for effect and the well trained media crew tittered on cue.
Fuck, she had them, and me, eating out of her hand. Damn, just the image of kneeling for her and licking her fingers—and other body parts—left me hard enough in my kit that I groaned. Biting my lip to hear her, I palmed myself but my cup got in the road and I ached all the same. Christ, it was like being trapped in a chastity device, a torture designed by her. I inhaled deeply and tried to focus on her words.
Cora waited for the media—and apparently, me—to settle before she spoke again. “This week’s media mess has been just that, a sensationalism brought about by the people in front of me.” She leaned forward with her hand cupped around her mouth as though imparting a secret. “That’s you lot, if you have no idea what I’m saying and you can record me, lynch me, or fuck right off. I don’t care.” She straightened, and her smile was nothing shy of viscous. “This is my team. These are my colors. Chimeras are made of many differing parts to create a larger, magnificent beast. Today you get to see a different side than usual. But from now on when you report aboutmyteam, you report the correct news on whatmyplayers do. Thank you. No questions.”
Cora waited one second longer in the hell of flashes and instantaneous chatter that erupted despite her declaration that must have been beyond shitty to experience, and turned, walking sedately off screen.
My stomach swooped as I took in her attire, her casual walk, her sneakers with her knee length skirt that showed her curved legs, hips and her team colors displayed beneath her suit jacket.
As she walked, she rolled her shoulders back and let that jacket fall to the ground, never stopping to pick it up. And all the media saw was her back, and the reverse side of the Chimeras jersey she wore.
The jersey bearing the number eighty-three. I didn’t have to look at the name above it before my skates were moving withoutmy permission. I jammed the phone back into Coach’s hand, remembering the pretty speech he gave her and wondered if he realized what the hell sort of outcome he’d forced when he told her that not all heroes wore capes.
No, they just donned their team’s colors.
Because in making that little speech of her own, talking like she did to the media, Cora Brooks took the Chimeras out of the firing line. She did everything she was paid to do—but in return, she became the sacrifice. And she knew full well what she was doing when she talked outherteam andhercolors, making a stand in their faces, defying what they had done to us.
Now instead of my job on the line, it was her job and her reputation instead.
“Fucking hell,” I groused, kicking the door the to the player’s bench open.
I grabbed my kit, already pulling my protective layers off before I hit the changing room. I needed to have a word with my girl. Because she was my girl, no matter the fact that we’d never publicly claimed each other yet, other than me buying her a few coffees and feeding her up because she flat out refused to look after herself and worked too damn hard for a team who refused to love her for the sacrifice she just made on our behalf.
Well, maybe she had claimed me, seeing as that was my number emblazoned on her back that the media captured that would be spread all over tonight’s tabloids, and my name across her shoulders.
Damnit, I needed to get her coffee before she ran herself dry. Needed to warn her of what the hell she’d just done if she didn’t already realize. But first, there was someone else I needed to speak to, and she needed to understand what Cora just did on her behalf, too.
I waited outside Cora's borrowed office, holding her coffee and snack, her jacket draped over my arm. She’d left it in the parking lot and never gone back to get it at all. Another form of silent protest, perhaps. I admired that about her, though I wasn't sure if she had a pure stubborn streak or a run of defiance that rippled through her soul. Either way was sexy as hell, but only one spelledB-R-A-T.
But the office was empty when I returned from my quick pot practice chance and handful of errands bearing gifts for my Chimeras goddess, and so I waited, praying that her coffee wouldn’t get too cold in my hands and that I'd be up for another run before she returned.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I knew it would be Coach, but he also knew I had business to straighten out before I could deal with anything else for today. Because for today, everything else would just have to wait. He could bust my balls on the ice with as many pucks as he and the rest of the team could throw at me tomorrow.
This afternoon and the rest of my evening would be for worship at the feet of the woman I had craved for far too long.
Cora barreled at her typical speed along the corridor, talking into her phone cramped against her ear as she clutched two text books—-fuck knew what for—to her chest, along with a stack of manilla folders. Coach loved those fuckers. No wonder they got along so well.
I grabbed her phone, placed her coffee in her hand and nudged the office door open with my foot.
She stared up at me with wide eyes, but never stopped talking. “Yes, I can do this evening. No, I won’t be drinking.Why? Because it’s midweek, and I have practi— yes, I was fuck– ah. Yes. I was serious on the talk. Yes, I do practice with them. No, you li— No, I am not a Chimera. Yes, I work seated in the stands. I don’t think that's appropriate, do you?” She sighed and sank into the chair I pulled out of her, letting me rest my hands onto her shoulders as she finally off loaded everything onto the desk.
My fingers sank into taut muscles. A soft groan left her as she leaned back into my touch, then stiffened. I massaged her shoulders gently, then a little deeper. Minute by minute she relaxed.
