Dirty Score (Rough Riders Hockey 3)

His head felt like a watermelon. Rafe forced his eyes open to look at his watch, but when he lifted his arm to put his wrist in front of his face so he didn’t have to move his head, pain stabbed at his ribs.

“God, I hate the ER,” he groaned, gritting his teeth until he could read the time. One a.m. “Everything takes so damn long.”

Rafe closed his eyes and rested the back of his hand on his forehead. He’d only returned because he’d discovered the team doctor had missed another cut on the back of his head. And he’d only discovered the doc had missed another cut because he’d been yelling at Tate and the blood had come gushing out all over the back of his shirt. And he’d only been yelling at Tate because the asshole had been walking away—again—as he’d been trying to talk to him after Mia had left.

Rafe winced. That sensation of being kicked in the gut returned. His eyes stung.

He had no idea what he was going to do now. And it wasn’t the hockey Rafe was worried about. He’d played with plenty of guys he’d hated and who’d hated him. Tate could go on hating Rafe until the end of time if he wanted. If it interfered with the game, Tremblay would just change lines or keep them off the ice at the same time or trade one of them. Rafe didn’t give a shit anymore. It was too late to care anyway.

But he didn’t know how he was going to live with Mia hating him. And he didn’t have to see her or talk to her or interact with her. Ever. Yet every time he thought about the hurt on her face when she’d all but begged him to claim her, and he’d kept his mouth shut.

The sting developed into tears, and Rafe turned his hand over, pressing his fingers to his closed lids. “Fuck.”

The slide of the curtain sounded on the metal rings, and Rafe gave a mental eye roll. If he had to turn down painkillers one more time…

“So.” Joe’s voice surprised Rafe, and he lifted his hand from his eyes, blinking to focus. He’d brought Rafe to the hospital, then gone in search of Tate once Rafe was settled in the ER. Now, Joe strolled to the side of the gurney, leaned folded arms to metal railing, and quirked a humorless, lopsided grin at Rafe. “You and Mia.”

Dread, shame, and self-disgust for all the pain he’d caused coalesced in Rafe’s gut. His eyes slid closed again, and he let his hand fall back over his eyes. “Should have known. That fucker.”

“That fucker says you love her,” Joe said. “That true? Love her as in you’re in love with her, not as in you love her the way we love her.”

Rafe exhaled, his overwhelming emotions making the effort shaky. “Yes.”

“Look at me, son.”

He licked at his swollen, burning, throbbing lips, moved his hand to his forehead, and met Joe’s eyes. “Yes, I love her. I’ve been in love with her for…God, I don’t even know how long. I just couldn’t…”

“Because of Tate.”

Rafe nodded and lowered his gaze. “And…you.”

Joe was quiet. “Yeah,” he said finally. “I can see why that little girl is so pissed with all of us.”

“She’s not pissed at you.”

“She should be. She’s right. She’s so sweet and amiable. Always just wanted to be part of the group. Just wanted to be included. To be loved. And we’ve all been so concerned with our relationships with each other, she’s been popped around between us like a ping-pong ball.”

Rafe wiped his eyes. “I don’t want to drive a wedge into your family, Joe—”

“Our family, Rafe. Our family. You are as much a part of this family as Mia and Tate.” He sighed and smiled a little. “I knew you were special the first time I met you. And it had nothing to do with hockey and everything to do with the way you and Tate clicked. I always thought you two acted a lot like twins. I’ve never felt obligated or pressured to do anything for you, Rafe. And I’ve never regretted one minute or one penny invested in any of you kids. Everything that you and Tate and Mia have done over the years is a source of great pride to me. Pride I thrive on. Pride I brag about at every opportunity. So, don’t think for one minute that your part in this family is even a sliver smaller than Tate’s or Mia’s.”

More emotions spilled in and overloaded his circuits. His system couldn’t process them all, and he shut down, numbing them down to a point where he could function without imploding.

“Thank you, Joe.”

Joe reached over the side and covered Rafe’s hand with his own. “The only way I could be disappointed in you is if you didn’t go after what really makes you happy. And I think Mia makes you happy.”

Rafe frowned, confused. “But Tate, the team…shit, the playoffs.” Their loss that night filled Rafe’s mind, swamping him with guilt. “God, what a mess.”

Joe smiled and patted Rafe’s hand with his own. “I like to see it as a challenge. And if there is one thing I know about Rafe Savage, it’s that he excels at facing challenges.”

18

Rafe didn’t feel up to any challenge as he walked the hall toward Mia’s hotel room several hours later.

Joe had brought him back to the hotel from the ER, and Rafe had passed out in his room sometime around three a.m.

Only seven a.m. now, he knew it was too early to be pounding on Mia’s door, but he couldn’t sleep. And he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Couldn’t stop spinning all his mistakes around in his mind. Couldn’t stop trying to find a w