“I…” The pain in her chest made her grimace. “I don’t—”
Their pagers went off.
Tori ripped hers off her belt. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”
Eden released a breath and turned from the room. “Let’s go.” She pushed the gurney toward the exit. “I’m going to have to stay busy tonight.”
21
Beckett had this. He had it. If he could get this fucking Bruin’s right wing off his back.
With two minutes remaining in the tied game, Beckett swung behind the Bruins’ net. Leaning toward the pipe, he cut off the wing. The other man slid behind Beckett and came up on his right. Another Bruin came up on Beckett’s left.
He’d been slamming his heart out all goddamned game. He didn’t want to go into fucking overtime.
He passed to Kristoff, who did what the kid always did, the freaking magician, and faked two other Bruins, enabling him to pass to Hendrix. Who slapped the puck back to Beckett as he swung behind the net in the opposite direction.
Beckett saw a hole. Took a sharp turn. Flipped the puck over the goalie’s shoulder.
And scored.
Triumph surged through Beckett. The stadium roared to life. And he pumped his fist before his other four teammates closed around him for a group hug. They patted his helmet and congratulated each other on great work.
But when he returned to the bench, Tremblay didn’t look happy, and he didn’t offer his typical praise for a win either. And when the guys fell into line on their way to the locker room, Tremblay barked, “Beckett. My office. Now.”
Savage and Donovan frowned at Beckett. “What the fuck did you do?”
Beckett had no idea. He lifted his arms out to the side. “Nothin’.”
“Something happened off-ice during the second period,” Hendrix said. “Paul relayed a message, and Tremblay hasn’t been happy since.”
Fuck. Beckett handed off his stick, helmet, and gloves to Savage and made his way to Tremblay’s office
, scouring his brain for something he could have done over the last twenty-four hours that would piss off his coach to this degree. But there had been nothing. Not even in the last week. Hell, not in the last month. He’d been a model hockey player, and this had been the best goddamned season of his career.
So when he stepped into Tremblay’s office where his coach paced and ordered Beckett to close the door, then into a seat, a sick knot formed in Beckett’s gut. He did as told, but his mind jumped to Lily. To his family. To Eden. To how his awesome life would fall apart if his coach had pulled him in to tell him he’d been traded…
Tremblay faced Beckett. “Tell me about Kim Dixon.”
Beckett’s mind skidded to a stop. Scrambled to make sense—
No fucking way.
“She’s a one-nighter from years ago,” Beckett said. “What about her?”
“She’s making much stronger accusations than being a one-night stand.”
Dread swamped Beckett like a flood. “Holy fuck.” He ran his hand over his mouth. “What is she saying?”
“That she is Lily’s mother. That she left the relationship because you were abusive. That you recently tried to pay her five million for full custody of Lily.”
“Whoa. Nothing after her being Lily’s mother is true. I never touched her after that night, I sure as shit never hurt her, and she met me at a café last week to tell me that she’d sign over custody of Lily if I paid her five million, not the other way around.”
“What about the abuse allegation? Ted’s going to go ballistic when he hears about this.”
The team’s owner was an extremely conservative man who monitored all the players’ behavior on and off the ice. One who wouldn’t put up with anyone tarnishing the team or the club’s name.
“It’s bullshit,” Beckett said, growing angry. “I’ve never hit or hurt a woman. I’ve got a mother, a sister, two nieces, and a daughter. You know me. You know I would never—”