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The kid walks me through a back hall, shooting anxious glances my way that make me feel like shit as we go. I like kids, and this one looks like he’s going to piss himself.
“Erik, right?”
Now he really looks freaked, but he turns to face me. “Yes, sir?”
“Call me Vaughn. You play or just a fan?”
I know he’s a player before he says it. “Player, sir.”
It’s the common ground we need and pretty soon he’s running through his last game for me, telling me about the guys on the team, and the goalie he wished had moved up with them but went to play for the girls team instead… all in one breath. It’s almost enough to distract me from the coming cameras and press, but as I get closer to the voices spilling out of the room ahead, I stop a second and rub the back of my neck. The kid stops too, looking between me and the end of the hall.
“You okay, Vaughn?”
“Yeah, man, fine. Just taking a minute before I go in.” This is ridiculous. “Hey, you got a stick or something I can sign for you?”
He’s like a blur darting off to wherever he’s got his stuff, giving me a minute or two reprieve. If he moves that fast on the ice, this kid’s got a future ahead of him. Laughter rises up from the end of the hall as Martin Wozniewicz makes a joke. But it’s not my teammate’s voice that has me pushing off the wall and edging closer. It’s the softer, more melodic sound behind it. The one that slides down my spine and signals my limbs to move.
I stop at the doorway and watch Wozzy ruffle the dark curls falling around Natalie’s smiling face. Swatting at his hand with another laugh, she turns around and stops dead when our eyes lock.
Wozzy follows her stare, brows digging deep as they land on me. “Vassar. Didn’t know you’d be here today.”
Yeah, and based on that half-stunned look, neither did Natalie.
He slings an arm over her shoulder, like he’s going to protect her from me or something. “Hey, don’t worry about this guy. He wouldn’t be dumb enough to mess with you, but if you don’t feel comfortable, I can take you home.”
Christ.Does this dickweed seriously think I’d give her a hard time? Even without the history between us, I’m not a total ass. Just a guy who’d had enough of Baxter’s bullshit and was dumb enough to let him bait me into a punch.
Natalie laughs, stepping out from under his arm. “Give me a break, Martin. Vaughn’s here for the book drive—doing something nice—same as you and me.” She’s talking to him, but her eyes are still locked with mine and damned if I can look away. “Thanks for coming today. We’re happy to have you.”
I want to ask her what she’s doing here. How many places she volunteers her time. Whether she knows that for all the big-brothering treatment Wozniewicz is giving her, the guy’s into her.
But Erik barrels back into the room, skidding to a stop between us with his stick held up in front of him, all eager and anxious. “Vaughn, I got it!” Then glancing around at Natalie and Wozzy, he adds, “I mean, if you still have time.”
“Absolutely, man.” I bend to one knee and sign it for him. He’s beaming, and I clap him on the shoulder just as the camera crew and organizers come in.
“Oh, perfect timing. Let’s get a shot of Mr. Vassar signing this young man’s stick. Or maybe his shirt!” I’m not sure who the guy waving his people toward me is, but apparently he’s in charge.
Erik’s eyes shoot to mine and I shake my head. “No worries, kid, I won’t sign your Baxter shirt. It’d probably burst into flames, right?” He laughs and stands a little closer to me. “But how about this, I’ll sign one of mine and send it to you for your collection.”
A blonde with no expression and lips pursed so tight I wonder if she needs a coffee stirrer to sip her drinks, moves in to start futzing with my hair and collar. It’s torture, but as much as I don’t like having this stranger’s hands all over me, the fact that Natalie is here makes me feel like I just scored the winning goal.
Grinning wide, she holds out a hand for the kid. “Come on, Erik, you can give me your address and I’ll make sure Vaughn gets it before he leaves.”
The volume in the room goes up as directions are issued in rapid fire.
Natalie cuts me a glance over her shoulder that has me wanting to follow and lift heavy objects for her. Pull out chairs and open doors. Tease her into laughing just for me.
But she’s fucking Baxter’s little sister.
And while I gotta outweigh this little PA picking at me by more than a hundred pounds, I’m pretty sure she’d have my balls if I didn’t let her finish. So I stay where I am while Natalie chats with Erik, asking about his team and what he thought of that play in the third against the Sharks two nights ago, becauseit gave her chills.
This girl is killing me.
And I’m pretty sure Erik’s as much of a goner as I am by the time she’s done with him. Poor kid.
I may be player-non-grata for the Slayers and city of Chicago in general, but I do my part for the drive, taking pictures and signing everything from hats, to phone cases, to jerseys made for a dog. Normally, I’d be one giant knot of strained muscles, but this time it’s different.
She’s here.
