Ryker (Cold Fury Hockey 4)

"--but I know our best chance of success is because we have the hottest goalie in the league right now, who also happens to be a legend already by way of his past record. We're going to hurt without you next year, man, but I have to say...I think you have a hell of a woman to compensate."

"Hear! Hear!" Zack says. We all raise our bottles, tapping the long necks against each other.

I take a sip, feel it's a little hard to swallow past the lump in my throat. This decision made, I can now start to mourn the loss of my career and then be able to put all of my attention on feeling euphoric because I'm getting the girl.

Chapter 26

Gray

As I drive into my neighborhood, I start to decompress slightly, but today has been so stressful I hope Ryker brings two bottles of wine and multiple orgasms with him. My shoulders are stiff with tension and my brain is overwhelmed with everything that happened today, so I'm not sure I'll be able to do much more than just lie there and let him do nasty things to me.

To say the meeting with Claude Amedee did not go well is an understatement. From the moment he walked into my office, I could feel the animosity vibrating off of him. Frank felt it too, because he shot me a wary look as we all sat down at the round table that sat four comfortably. I found it was more conducive to honesty if we sat around an intimate table rather than having a general manager desk sitting between us.

Frank sat to my left and Claude sat opposite me, which gave him direct access to level a condescending glare my way. And deep within his eyes, I think I saw something close to hatred of me flicker. It made my stomach recoil as if it was filled with slimy grease.

I decided not to pull any punches or attempt to sugarcoat things with this man. I didn't bother trying to offer affirmation when I could, because I could tell it would bounce right off him. So I went in for the kill, sharp and fast.

"Claude...I know you abhor my statistical models and everything I represent, but I also know one thing you can't argue with is your plus-minus rating."

He narrows his eyes at me because he knows all about plus-minus ratings. The league has used this particular sports statistic since the 1960s to measure player impact. It's pretty simple. Your score is increased by one for every time you're on the ice when a goal is scored, and decreased by one if you're on the ice when your team gives up a goal.

Claude's is at a minus twenty-one, which is among the lowest in the entire league. It's the absolute lowest on our team.

"We attempted to shop you for a trade but had no bites. As such, we're releasing you from the team and you'll be an unrestricted free agent next season. Frank will go over the terms of your contract buyout with you and your agent at your convenience."

I kept it short and simple.

His reaction was volatile.

Exploding out of his chair, he slammed his palms down on the table as he leaned across it and screamed at me, "You fucking cunt. You're going to regret crossing paths with me."

Frank and I may not get along very well, but I have to give him credit. He was on Claude like stink on shit. He had him in a headlock, wrenched him away from the table, and shoved him hard toward the door. With his fists curled tight, Claude looked like he might charge Frank, but then the door opened and in stepped two of the arena's security guards.

Bless Frank Lessier and his foresight.

Frank nodded at Claude and said, "You can go quietly with these gentlemen or they'll drag you out kicking and screaming. I frankly don't care which you choose."

Claude looked at Frank, then turned his gaze on me. I had to stiffen my spine hard not to shrink back from the hatred in his gaze, and I knew exactly what Ryker meant when he said that Claude was unbalanced.

The security guards took a step forward, but Claude held up a hand, silently requesting they hold still. I thought that meant he was going to leave in a calm and professional manner. Instead, he hacked up a mouthful of spit from the back of his throat--hell maybe the bottom of his lung the way it sounded--and proceeded to expel the huge glob right on the floor.

"Fuck you, bitch," he said before turning around and shouldering his way past the guards.

Frank jerked his head toward the door. "Follow him all the way off the arena's property. I don't want him loitering."

When they left and my door closed, my body practically sagged in my chair from relief that was over. When I looked down at my hands as they rested on the table, they were shaking hard.

Frank walked back to the table, sat down heavily beside me, and said, "That scared the shit out of me when he jumped up like that."

I looked at my assistant general manager. The man who I have butted heads with all season. His face red, a light sweat on his brow.

And I busted out laughing.

Frank followed suit and we laughed like two nervous idiots hopped up on meth or something. It was manic laughter, and I even admitted to him that it scared the shit out of me too. We finally both calmed down, and before he left Frank said something that would at least go in the positive column for my day.

He said, "You handled that very well, Gray. Better than any man could have ever done. Makes me proud to be on your team."

I almost pulled a totally girly move and hugged him. Instead I held my hand out and we shook while smiling. I think some peace had been made between us.

Yes, my afternoon was so shitty I'm seriously considering bypassing orgasms from Ryker and just getting drunk on the wine.

And that's not even considering my run-in with Hensley this morning.

Ugh. When I think about how close I came to just giving up the man I love, I want to kick my own ass. Then I want to hunt Hensley down and kick her ass for preying upon my heart as a weakness. It's so messed up that I'm actually thankful she threatened me, because without that little maneuver on her part, I may have found myself going home alone tonight to get drunk on wine.

As my house comes in to view, I start to relax a little more. Ryker will be here soon, and just the thought of him has me reconsidering. What the hell was I thinking of bypassing the orgasms and just drinking wine to make me forget about the day? There's nothing that can consume me as much as Ryker Evans can, so I'm thinking we put the wine up in the cabinet and just hit my bed for the remainder of the evening. We can order Chinese if we get hungry.

Just as I pull into my driveway, my phone rings.

Speak of the handsome devil.

"Forget the wine," I tell him as I answer, bringing my car to a stop and putting it in park. "I've decided your amazing body will make me forget all about my crappy day."

He laughs into the phone. At ease, rich, happy laughter. I smile because I can't fucking help it. I turn the car off and exit, slinging my purse over one shoulder while I hold the phone to my ear.

"Too late. I'm already at the grocery store," he tells me as I walk up my sidewalk to the porch steps. "Any particular brand you want?"

I open my screen door and fish my keys out of my purse, holding the phone in between my shoulder and my ear. "I'm not picky. Whatever looks good. Oh, and why don't you just pick up some cheese and fruit while you're there?"

The scuff of boots on my sidewalk has me turning to look behind me as Ryker is talking on the other end. But I can't hear a word he says as a shot of adrenaline pulses through me when I see Claude Amedee walking toward me.

He's wearing a dark hoodie pulled up over his head, but I recognize him.

Walking fast.

Now breaking out into a jog.

Barreling up my steps and toward me.

I'm frozen in place by fear as he crashes into me, slamming me up against the door and causing my keys and phone to go flying. My head snaps backward and hits the corner of the quarter-inch molding around the glass panes in my door. I can feel my skin split open upon contact but otherwise, that didn't hurt too bad.

Claude takes me by the shoulders, pulls me from the door, and then slams me back into it again. This time my head catches the tempered frosted glass, which shatter

s but harmlessly crumbles without cutting me. The impact, though, was hard enough that I immediately go dizzy and start to sag.

"Oh, no you don't, bitch," he snarls in my face as he holds me up. "Can't have you passing out on me yet."

I smell the tangy, sour alcohol on his breath and notice that Claude is slightly weaving. His eyes are bloodshot and his skin sallow. He grabs me by my hair at the back of my head, his fingernails digging into my wound, and shoves me down to the porch.

"Get your keys," he commands me with a slight slur to his words.

"Help!" I scream as I look around, hoping for anyone to be outside. But my neighborhood is very private, each lot a few acres in size, and neighbors don't sit on top of one another.

"Shut the fuck up," he screams at me, and I hope someone heard that. He pulls up on my hair so my face tilts toward him and he backhands me across the cheek. It's a glancing blow but it hurts.

A lot.

He pushes me back down. "Keys."

I reach for my keys and see my phone lying a foot away, facedown. I have no clue what Ryker heard, or if he's still on the line, but I have to believe he's on the way right now. At an ordinary pace, he's ten minutes away, and I honestly don't know if I have that long. I pray for him to speed.

My father told me once that cowards don't know how to react when someone fights them back. I put Claude straight in the coward category. I grab the keys, making sure my long car key sticks out in between my index and middle fingers. I close my fist hard around the rest of them, take a deep breath, and let him start to haul me up.

When he pulls me off my knees, I surge upward and bring my hand around in a roundhouse punch, intent on jamming my key straight into that motherfucker's eye if there's a God above. My aim is true and almost in slow motion, I see I'm on course for a perfect strike.

Except despite his inebriation, Claude catches me by the wrist, slams my hand downward as he brings his own leg up, crushing it on his knee. The pain reverberates up my arm, causing me to drop the keys again, and I'm pretty sure he just fractured my wrist. I'm still so scared that my instinct is to keep fighting. I bring my other hand up, determined to claw his eyes out with my fingers, when I hear a very distinctive sound.

Snick.