Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“You don’t want her,” I said, wholly shaking now. “You’ve never wanted her. Never wanted anything to do with us. Just…leave us alone.” I tried to gather strength into the words, but I was in full panic mode.

“You ought to think about easy streets and hard ones.”

Nightmare.

This was the stuff of my nightmares.

Where memories and the present meshed together to create one hellish outcome.

“Easy street or hard street?” he’d ask, his form towering over my trembling body curled on the floor.

“Easy,” I’d cry.

A kick to the stomach, hard and sharp.

Another for good measure.

“That’s easy,” he said. “Don’t ever take the hard street.”

Ten years of fear and anger twisted and tangled and I drew myself up to be as tall as my short frame would allow.

“You need to ask yourself if bothering me is worth it,” I said, a growl in my tone. “Because I swear to God if you come near me again, or even try to come near my daughter, I’ll make you suffer in ways that will make prison look like a fucking resort vacation.”

He had the good sense to flinch, to stand there blinking at me like he had no idea who I was.

And he didn’t.

I was no longer that cowering, terrified and broken girl.

I would not bow to his will, would not bend to his raised hand.

And there was nothing I wouldn’t do for Elliott.

He glanced behind my shoulder, then glared at me before turning around and hurrying out the double exit doors.

My fingers trembled as I uncurled them from the fists I’d had them in.

“Hey,” Hudson’s voice reached out and soothed the jagged edges of my heart, and I took steadying breaths before I turned around to face him.

Freshly showered, in athletic gear, he looked good enough to eat. But all I really wanted him to do was hold me. He motioned his head toward the doors.

“What was that about?” he asked.

I stepped toward him, slipping my arms around his middle, laying my head on his chest.

He dropped his gear bag, instantly enveloping me.

“Shea,” he said. “Shea you’re shaking.” He held me tighter.

“I’m fine,” I promised.

“Who was that?” he growled.

I tipped my head up, locking with his blue eyes, letting the goodness and the strength in them chase away the panic in mine. “No one,” I said honestly. “And nothing I can’t handle.”

Chapter 15

Hudson

“Here you go,” I said as I signed a hat for a little kid who had recognized me during Elliott’s game. I gave it back to him with a smile. Little fans, I loved. Press? Not so much. There was a difference.

“You played great today,” the little guy managed between his two missing front teeth, clutching the hat to his chest.

“Thank you. Do you play, too?”

He shook his head. “Just my big brother. But I start next year!”

“Well, good luck! Maybe I’ll see you out there.”

His eyes grew huge, and he grinned. “Thank you for signing my hat!” Then he ran back across the lobby to his waiting parents.

It hit me then...I was a waiting parent, too. Kind of.

Elliott’s team had won, and while none of the goals were Elliott’s, she had three of the assists, which made me prouder than if she’d scored them all. My girl was a team player.

I was settling into the whole “hockey...not-quite-dad” thing. It was usually the opposing team who asked for autographs once they recognized me. The parents on our team were used to me by now, thank God.

I spotted the first kid on Elliott’s team to leave the locker room but knew I had a few minutes before she would appear. She was a social butterfly, and the locker room was no exception.

Rushing Elliott was pointless. That girl did things on her own time, just like her mom. I glanced toward the locker room when another kid appeared, but still no Elliott.

Hudson: I wish you were here. She did great.

Shea: Me, too. I hate having to work on Saturdays. Plus, I missed your game.

Hudson: No worries, we’ll both have plenty more.

Shea: You’re kind of hot on the ice, though...

Hudson: Oh really? Want to have a sleepover? I’ll even make you a late dinner.

We could have her fake-sleep in the guest room if it made her more comfortable when it came to Elliott. I’d make sure my alarm was set with foghorns if it meant I could sleep all night with Shea in my arms.

Shea: That’s an offer I can’t refuse.

My stomach tensed with anticipation, and I looked up to see Elliott’s red hair emerging from the locker room.

Hudson: I can’t wait. Our girl is done, I’ll see you at home.

Slipping the phone into my back pocket, I made my way through the throng of small people toting large bags of gear.

Elliott paused in the hallway, talking to a guy I didn’t recognize.

She shook her head and looked toward me before glancing back up at the guy and shaking her head again. I started hauling ass, careful not to crush any small humans on the way.

I couldn’t tell from the distance, but he looked a lot like…

Yep. As I came within feet of them, I saw that he was the same guy who had upset Shea last week at the game.

“Hudson!” Elliott exclaimed, throwing her arms up in the air.

“Great game!” I grabbed her up in a hug, keeping my eye on the guy, who had turned away to look down the hall.

“I missed a couple of shots,” she said with a shrug that was more than just a shrug.

“Man, and I was going to get you hot chocolate,” I teased.

“And now?” she asked, blinking those pale green eyes at me with a mix of apprehension and indigence.

“Now, I’m going to get you hot chocolate.” I grinned.

“You were teasing me!”

“Yep.” I hugged her close. “I don’t care how you play as long as you have fun and give it your all. You know that.”

“I know that,” she said. “Can we go to your place?”

“Absolutely,” I said, putting her down. The guy was still looking the other direction but hovering. “You and I have a dinner date to meet there.”

She nodded, her grin identical to Shea’s. “Okay!”

“Did you maybe want to bring your stick?” I asked, surveying her bag.

“Oh!” she face-palmed. “I left it in the locker room.”

“I’ll wait here,” I told her, and she nodded before running back down the hallway to the locker room.

When he moved, I moved faster, putting myself in between him and Elliott.

“Can I help you?” I asked, leaving my arms loose and ready at my side.

“I don’t know,” he strung his words along like a song. “Can you?”

He finally looked up me, flashing pale green eyes I knew all too well.

He was Elliott’s father.

Shea’s abuser.

My core tensed, and I took immediate stock of my surroundings. The hallway was about ten feet wide, so I had enough room to maneuver. There were still kids and adults coming in and out of the locker rooms, so we weren’t completely alone, but I didn’t see any kid-less stragglers, which meant he was probably alone.

“What do you want?” I asked, taking a step backward to block the locker room door.

He snorted, a look of triumph crossing his face.

“Scared?”

“Of you? Never.”

His eyes narrowed. “But you know who I am to her.” He motioned toward the locker room.

“I know who you were,” I corrected. “Now you’re nothing but a genetic match. You need to leave.” I heard Elliott laughing in the locker room, obviously having fallen into another conversation with friends.

“And if I don’t want to?” He stepped forward, glaring up at me.

The guy was big to Shea, no doubt, but everyone was big to Shea. He was absolutely inconsequential to me. Maybe five ten, one-seventy. Maybe.