Bruiser (Seattle Sharks 7)

“Because no one in their right mind spends a quarter million dollars on a car.” She quirked an eyebrow up.

“Hey, that thing is a tank,” I told her as I motioned toward my G-Wagon. “Seriously, I would have thought you’d be over the moon about the safety ratings.”

She shook her head at me. “I’ll never understand rich people.”

“Yeah,” I agreed with her. “I won’t either.” I threw her a grin and walked backward toward the car. “I’ll have her back in an hour and a half. That should give you time to finish up your day, right?”

“That sounds right.” She bit her lower lip, which then led me to thinking about biting her it for her. “Just… Just be careful with her, Porter.”

“I’ll defend her with my life,” I promised, putting a hand over my heart.

“Don’t put her life where you have to defend it!”

I didn’t bother answering her, just gave her a wave and climbed into the driver’s seat, quickly closing the door.

“You buckled in, kid?” I asked, checking my rearview mirror.

“Yep!” Elliott answered. “So where are we going?”

“My favorite place in the world,” I told her as we pulled into traffic.

Fifteen minutes later, she sat on the players’ bench as the Zamboni finished its run over the arena ice.

“How does that feel?” I asked her as I tied on the third pair of skates I’d brought for her. The first had been too small, the second too wide, but these were Goldilocks style—just right by my estimation.

“Great!” She wiggled her toes in the boot, and I nodded.

“I figured. Okay, let’s get your second skate on and get you out on the ice.” I quickly tied her second skate, remembering to keep it a shade looser than I liked mine. Not everyone liked their skates tied so tightly that they bordered on cutting off circulation.

“What’s this for?” she asked as I handed her a helmet.

“So your mother doesn’t kill me,” I told her in all seriousness, sitting next to her to put my skates on. I laced them up with the quick efficiency of someone who had practically been born in skates.

“How did you have all these extra pairs?” she asked, pointing to the small lineup of black hockey skates.

“Because I had the sales rep bring me all those pairs around the size your mom told me so we wouldn’t need to have skates fitted to your feet.”

“What will you do with them? The extra ones?” she asked, tilting her head just like her mother.

“Donate them to the Dorsal Club so other kids can use them,” I answered with a shrug. “Unless you had a better idea?”

“Nope,” she said with a grin. “I think that’s perfect.”

I snapped her chin strap, and then her cage.

“Why don’t you need your helmet?”

“Because I’m not going to fall.”

She gave me a look that said she was unimpressed with my answer, which made me laugh.

“Okay, if we get to puck work, I’ll put mine on. You need yours because you’ve never skated before, right?”

“Not that I can remember,” she answered.

“Right. So I need to protect you from you. Once we get to sticks and pucks, then I’ll get my helmet, because then I’ll need protection from you, too.”

“Ha, ha,” she teased as the Zamboni finished.

“Okay, kiddo. The ice is ours for fifty-five minutes. Any longer than that and I’ll be late returning you, and you might turn into a pumpkin or something.”

She nodded and stood, her knees wobbling for a moment before she steadied. A perplexed look crossed her face.

“You okay?”

She nodded, pulling a slim, black device from the front pocket of her jeans. “Just in case I fall,” she told me as she placed the device in the back pocket of her ever-present backpack.

“What is that?”

“My tracker,” she answered with a shrug.

“Your what?” There was no way she’d said what I thought I’d heard.

“My GPS tracker. It tells my mom where I’m at and lets her listen in if she’s worried.” She looked up at me with unflinching eyes.

Holy shit. Shea was so worried about Elliott that she’d put a tracker on her? For fuck’s sake, I wasn’t that bad of a guy. Had I gotten into fights? Yes. Had they all been justified? Maybe. Kind of. But did I scare her so much that she’d gone and bought a damn tracker?

“So she’s been able to hear every word we say?”

“If she wants to.”

Oh, this was rich. I put my finger to my lips and motioned for her to hand me the tracker.

She grinned, showing even, white teeth that were missing a couple a few rows back, and handed me the device.

It had a few buttons and a small speaker. I turned it over in my hands and then lifted it to my mouth. “Okay, Elliott, where should we start? Teaching you how to drive the Zamboni? Maybe bottle rockets at center ice? Oh yeah, explosives sound like the way to go.”

She smothered her laugh with her hand.

“And after we’re done with that, I thought we’d head to the bar. Maybe get you some bartending lessons? Then we’d cross the street without looking both ways—really live dangerously. What do you say?”

She snorted through the gaps in her fingers, scrunching her nose. “Sounds good to me!” she managed.

“Me, too!” I tossed the device into the small pocket of her backpack and headed onto the ice. “Step out carefully,” I told her in all seriousness.

She bit her lip and came out onto the slick surface.

“No biting your lip. You fall, and your teeth will go straight through it,” I warned her.

She nodded and then concentrated as I taught her the motions which were second nature to me.

The ice was my home. Out here, nothing could touch me. I was invincible in my element. Hell, I was more comfortable in skates than I was shoes.

“There you go,” I told her as she stopped trying to walk in the skates and began to glide, trusting her balance.

As odd as it was, I’d never taught anyone to skate before. I figured one day I’d teach my own kids, but since

that train wasn’t leaving the station any time soon, I was glad I had someone as athletic as Elliott to teach.

It would be harder to fuck her up.

“What are you doing, Hudson? Not like that. Why can’t you get it right? You’d better skate faster boy, or I’ll catch you once you’re off that ice.”

I shut his voice out of my head with a quickness. He’d poisoned so many years, and he wasn’t getting any of them now.

“How do you feel?” I asked Elliott.

“Good! I think…” She pushed off the boards, gliding with sure, strong strokes. “I think I can let go!” she called back before quickly looking forward again.

I caught up to her with a few quick motions and smiled. “I think you can!”

My phone buzzed in my back pocket, and I slipped the device free from my warm-up pants. A text message from Shea flashed across the screen, and I thumbed the screen to open it.

Shea: No driving the Zamboni. No bars. Use the crosswalk.

A smile tugged at my lips, and I shook my head as Elliott skated ahead.

Hudson: You gotta learn to trust me. Also, your daughter is a natural.

I skated to center ice and then took a quick video as Elliott made her way around the rink. “There you go. Slow down for the turn. I’ll teach you to stop next,” I promised as the video rolled. “You should be proud of her,” I said quietly enough so only the video would catch it. “Seriously, a natural.”

I quit filming and texted it to Shea.

Then I started teaching Elliott the art of stopping.

Shea: She’s amazing.

Hudson: You should see her in person.

Shea: You mean it?

My stomach clenched. Hell yes, I meant it. I’d take whatever time Shea wanted to give me, but I wasn’t using Elliott to get it. I glanced over where Elliott was practicing shifting her weight so she could stop.

I also didn’t want Shea coming just because she didn’t trust me.

But maybe if she saw how well Elliott and I got along, she’d loosen the reins a little.

“Hey,” I called out to Elliott. “You care if your mom comes down and sees you skate?”

“Yeah!” she answered, throwing her arms up. “Then she’ll see how awesome I am and maybe let me go out for hockey!” She lost her balance and fell smack on her butt.