Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

Her stomach fluttered, and emotion rushed in. No other man had ever done that. Not the father who’d abandoned her, not any college professor who’d supposedly mentored her, not any of her boyfriends, some who’d professed to love her.

Tate took care of her, but it wasn’t the same. From the time Joe had discovered Tate’s existence and taken on his role of father with 200 percent enthusiasm, her brother had constantly been compensating Mia for getting stuck with pond scum as a sperm donor. But he’d never given anything up for her. He’d never fought for her—unless that black eye was his doing.

Beckett came toward them, paused at the bar, and wrapped an arm around Eden’s waist. She congratulated him on his win, and they talked a little about the game.

“Mia and I can’t figure out how Rafe got the black eye,” Eden said. “Is he okay? Did the team doc look at it?”

Beckett’s expression shifted into concern and annoyance. “I don’t know what got into those two today.”

“What two?” Mia asked.

“Your brother and Rafe. Rafe came in late this morning—no big deal. One minute I’m telling him his ass is going to get fined, the next Tate’s whaling at him over my shoulder. Dumb shits.”

Eden was both amused and puzzled. “Why?”

“Fuckin’ Kilbourne.”

Mia’s stomach chilled.

“Oh God,” Eden said. “It will be a miracle if that guy makes it through the end of the season without a major injury. What did he do now?”

Beckett shot Mia an apologetic glance. “Started a stupid rumor about Mia and Rafe. I don’t think it would have bothered Tate coming from anyone else. He would have just told them to shut their mouths. But Kilbourne gets under everyone’s skin. I think Tate just took out his frustration on Rafe.”

Mia’s heart sank to the pit of her stomach. It had been Cole who’d told Tate, not Rafe.

“That man’s stupidity is why I have job security,” Eden said, shooting a that’s-unbelievable look at Eden, then asked Beckett. “What did Rafe say?”

“Say about what?”

Rafe’s voice startled Mia’s heart. He came up behind Beckett and glanced at Mia, then Eden.

“Your eye,” Eden said. “About Tate hitting you.”

Rafe’s gaze returned to Mia. “I think the stress is getting to him.”

Eden took a minute to look at the cut and probe the area. When Rafe winced, Beckett pulled Eden away. “Enough, Miss Nightingale. It’s just a black eye. He’ll live. I promise.”

He stole Eden away to a quiet corner, and Mia was left facing Rafe. But he remained a good five feet away and didn’t make any move to close the distance.

Mia didn’t know what to say or where to start. And now she wasn’t sure where her footing lay either. “Congratulations on your trick and your win. You killed it tonight.”

“Thanks.” But he was uncharacteristically subdued, his gaze guarded, and his eyes immediately dropped away in a look Mia could only identify as guilt. The idea that he regretted their night together hammered her heart.

He drifted to the bar, leaning his elbow there, and ordered a beer from the bartender. A couple of puck bunnies tried to start conversations, but he brushed them off after he gave them an autograph.

Once she and Rafe were in another tiny bubble of privacy, she worked up the courage to ask him what was wrong—beyond the obvious black eye—but Tate pushed through the crowd and stepped up to the bar. He looked at Rafe, then Mia, and she felt the whole atmosphere shift. A new tension weighted the air.

“Can we talk?” Tate asked in a way that made her stomach fold. She suddenly wished she hadn’t come after all. Slipping off the stool, she said, “Let’s talk tonight when you get home. I’m tired, I’m going to—”

“It’s important.” His tone alone told her it wasn’t something good either. When she chanced a glance at Rafe, he was facing the bar, leaning on the shiny wood with his forearms, both hands clasped around his beer like it was a life preserver. His expression was tight, and his jaw jumped.

“I’m sure it’s something that can wait—” she started.

“I know you’re a grown woman,” he spoke over her, and Mia braced for combat. “And I know you’ve lived on your own in a big city. But when you’re staying with me and you’re not going to come home, could you at least call so I don’t worry?”

An absurd laugh stuttered out of her mouth. “I’m not sure if that’s sweet or insulting. Do you want to apply the same rules to your schedule?”

“I heard you were with Kilbourne, of all people,” he went on, growing more forceful. “Then I heard you went home with Rafe, and look how that turned out.”