Dirty Score, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel (9 page)

Mia had gotten exactly what she’d come for. She had no right to be upset, yet she’d never felt so hurt. She had no right to be angry, yet fury roiled in her gut. So while her brain was telling her “congratulations, your plan worked,” her heart was telling her “congratulations, you’ve not only damaged two of the best relationships you’ve ever had, you’ve screwed yourself over in the process”.

Tate threw his arms out to the side. “What did you expect me to think?”

Mia snapped. She leaned toward Tate, looking him directly in the eye. Because even if she’d made a mistake with Rafe, she didn’t deserve to have Tate treating her like an ass.

“I expect you to think Kilbourne’s an
idiot
,” she shot back. “I expect you to
ask
before you
attack
. I expect you to treat both Rafe and me with more
respect
. You don’t get to play that double standard, Tate, and I’m sick of it.”

“Guys.” Rafe cut in, his gaze darting between them, then around the bar. “Let’s not do this here.”

The look on his face told Mia he didn’t want to do it at all. He wanted Mia to drop it. And she realized she was standing here, fighting for
them
. She was laying the groundwork for Tate to realize he doesn’t get to dictate her life or Rafe’s life or whether or not they choose to sleep together. But Rafe didn’t want to have anything to do with it. He wanted what he always wanted, to make Tate happy. To hell with Mia’s feelings.

“It pisses me off that I have to do this at all,” she told Rafe. “But I’ve let it go on too long already. Did you even stand up for yourself or did you just let him walk all over you?”

“He told me it was all fake.” Tate’s words snapped Mia’s head back toward her brother. “But that’s not the point. You
know
you can’t mess with team members. We’ve talked about this. You’re my
sister
. You
know
if you mess around with team members, it screws with the dynamic. You
know
how fragile that is and how important it is. Especially now. We’re almost to the Cup, Mia. The fucking Cup. Of all the times to start screwing with my team—”

“I’m not
screwing
with your precious team.” She yelled the words even though they weren’t completely true. Several of the guys and a few people at the bar looked their way. “And don’t give me that fragile bullshit. You love to talk about how professional you are, so act like it. Professionals work together even when they don’t agree, even when they don’t like each other. Professionals put their personal feelings about each other aside to get the job done. Did you not notice how well you all played tonight? Like you were on
motherfucking fire
?
Don’t tell me I’m screwing with your team.”

“Tate,” Rafe muttered beside him without meeting her eyes. “Drop it, for God’s sake. I told you you’re making something out of nothing.”

Nothing.

Fake.

The words cut at her. Worse, they opened the door to uncertainty. And Mia wondered for the first time if everything he’d done last night had been an act. The same act he used with all women. If what she’d thought was so special had actually just been Rafe’s MO. And that—for him—it
had
all been fake. The fact that he didn’t step in to straighten Tate out certainly said everything Rafe wouldn’t. It just wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Mia was closer than she’d ever been to completely losing her shit. In public. While they were both with their teammates surrounded by fans. But she pulled on the composure she’d developed under pressure in her industry and drew herself up.

“I guess it’s good to know exactly where I stand with both of you.” She couldn’t do anything about how Rafe felt, but she could change how Tate treated her. “Let me be perfectly clear, Tate. I am a grown woman, and I make my own decisions. They don’t have to be perfect, and you don’t have to like them. But you do have to respect me. And that means showing it, not just saying it.”

She picked up her purse and met both Rafe’s and Tate’s gaze in turn. “I’m glad you’ll be in Boston next week. I could use some time away from you. Both of you.”

M
ia knelt
on the family room floor in Tina and Jake Croft’s home, holding pins between her lips and scissors in her hand. But her gaze wasn’t on the fabric in front of her. She was watching television, where the Rough Riders’ fourth playoff game against the Bruins filled a massive screen above the fireplace hearth.

The room was stuffed with Beckett Croft’s family—his parents, his sister, Sarah, Sarah’s two daughters, Amy and Rachel, Beckett’s own daughter, Lily, and Eden. Since they were all watching the game from home tonight, Faith had also come over to hang out and add inspiration to Mia’s work.

So as Rafe sprinted toward the opposition’s goal with solid command of the puck, Mia didn’t have to yell in hopes of seeing him make it. The entire room was screaming for her.

A Bruin cut in front of Rafe. Rafe turned to protect the puck, skating backward, still pushing toward the goal. But the Bruin reached in, knocked the puck from Rafe’s control and right into the stick of a fellow Bruin. Then the puck was spirited back down the ice in the opposite direction.

Everyone in the room deflated.

“Man, poor Rafe.” Eden sat on the sofa again and pulled Lily into her lap. “He’s had a really rough couple of games. He’s going to be beating himself up.”

“They’re still winning.” Mia refocused on the work in front of her, tuning in to the announcer’s account of the game while also trying to ignore the empathy that naturally surfaced for Rafe. She had enough problems. But here, ensconced in this little haven among people who had become her temporary family, Eden’s disappointment over her fallout with Rafe didn’t hurt quite so bad. And she wasn’t quite so lonely. Plus, they offered a distraction to keep her mind off her stupidity.

But that wouldn’t last long. The team had played in Boston for the last two games and were at their home rink tonight. She hadn’t seen or spoken to Rafe in a full week. Very possibly, the worst week of her life, while she’d had all the time in the world to berate herself. Endless silence in Tate’s apartment during the day to remember every glorious, sweet, loving moment of their time in bed together. Then every awkward, hurtful moment at Top Shelf. And get confused and angry all over again. Hurt all over again.

There was no way around it, the last week had been hell.

She finished cutting the piece of fabric, then pulled the pattern off. “Okay, Faith, let’s test the fit before I put it on the machine again.”

Faith jumped up from the sofa and shed the little cardigan she was wearing, bearing her tank top. “Ooooooh, I can’t wait.”

Eden, Sarah, and Tina all lost interest in the game, their gazes glued to Mia as she draped the new Rough Riders jersey over Faith’s body, really just a bunch of other jerseys cut and re-sewn into a new design, one that didn’t just fit a woman’s figure, but showcased it..

She used her hands to tug and pull the fabric where she wanted it.

“I’ll give it a tuck here and here,” Mia said, “finish off all the edges in a contrasting thread color.” She shrugged and smiled. “Cute, no? Nothing fancy, but quick and easy.” She added in a whisper, “And if you wear a little pushup bra, you’ll have some seriously lickable cleavage going.” In a normal tone she added, “I can have one for all of you by the time I leave.”

“I love it!” Eden said.

“It’s perfect,” Sarah added.

“So cute.” Tina crossed her arms and tilted her head. “You know, we should all wear them to the family skate next week.”

“Us too?” Lily wanted to know, crawling into the circle at Eden’s feet. “With my daddy’s name on it?”

“We could all match,” Rachel added with her infectious smile.

“Well, let’s see how much time Mia has,” Tina said, laughing. “I spoke before I thought.”

Jake’s groan pulled everyone’s gaze to the screen, where they replayed another one of Rafe’s poor moves. “Man,” Jake said, his hand to his jaw, “what’s wrong with him tonight? He’s playing for—”

“Dad,” Sarah cut in, grinning. “Little ears.”

Jake glanced at Sarah, then at his granddaughters, and grinned. “Right.”

The commentators on television continued their conjecture over what could have turned Rafe’s game sour, and Mia winced. “Since I’d rather not spend any more time around them than I have to while they’re playing like this, I have a feeling I’ll find plenty of time to sew.” She pulled the fabric off Faith and smiled hopefully, then darted the same look toward Eden. “Maybe we could make a trade—dresses and jerseys for one of you taking my place at the family dinner tonight?”

Faith winced. “I totally would, but it’s my anniversary with Grant. Dating a year and a half today. We’ve got dinner reservations.”

Mia frowned. “Who celebrates their year
and a half
anniversary?”

“Um…we do,” she answered, hardly convincing.

“Aaaaand, um, I’ve got Lily,” Eden worked up quickly, pointing at the little girl she’d all but adopted as her own since she and Beckett had gotten engaged. “I have to get her home and tucked in.”

“Oh, honey,” Tina told Eden with a mischievous smile, “I’d be happy to—”

“No, no, Tina,” Eden said, waving her off over-politely. “You know it’s my favorite time of the day.”

Mia laughed a moan. “Why am I sure this is going to be the longest dinner of my life?”

Faith, the only person in the room who knew about Mia’s future move and her plans to break the news to Rafe and Tate at this family dinner, patted her back and murmured, “Because it is, honey. It is.”

* * *

T
he Bruins’ goalie
was acting like a fucking brick wall tonight.

The Bruins’ goalie was acting like a fucking brick wall tonight. And he goalie wasn’t the only thing working against Rafe. Nothing had been right since he’d pushed Mia away. His blades weren’t responding the way they should. His stick felt like lead in his hand. And, man, his timing
sucked
.

Beckett slammed the Bruins’ right wing into the boards, freeing up the puck. Rafe swooped and sprinted down the ice. Two Bruins flanked him down the ice. The one on his right shoved his stick against Rafe’s. Rafe shouldered the guy off and swung behind the net. He took a tight turn at the pipe, hoping to sneak in at the corner in the goalie’s blind spot.

He shot. The goalie dropped his knee. The puck hit. Bounced off. And a Bruin grabbed the rebound.

Fucking A.
He couldn’t make a goal to save his ever-loving life.

Somewhere on the ice, a penalty stopped play, and Rafe straightened, letting his muscles relax and breathe. He glanced toward the stands and the empty seat next to Joe where Mia should be. Where Mia always sat during home games when she came to town. Whether Joe came into town or not. Whether Rafe was talking to her or not. She’d never missed a game. In fact, she’d never missed texting him after a game.

Over the last year, because Rafe didn’t text her back, her comments had become shorter and less enthusiastic, but she’d always texted him.
Great moves
or
tough game, you’ll get ’em next time. That ref was a hard-ass
, or
congrats, you killed it
. Something. Last night was the first time in his entire hockey career that she hadn’t texted him. And Rafe had fallen asleep alone in his hotel room with his phone clutched in his hand, just
waiting
for some sliver of connection with her.

She wasn’t even returning
his
texts. He’d texted her the night after their argument at the bar with Tate, apologizing. He’d texted her twice yesterday, checking in to see how she was, and once earlier today asking why she was ignoring him—even though he already knew why. He didn’t deserve the effort of a text. He didn’t deserve
her
. Which was exactly why he needed to leave her the hell alone.

The ref called them into the face-off, and Rafe glanced at the stands as he slid into position. The fact that she’d missed a home game was bad enough. But missing one when she should have been sitting beside a man she considered a father was even worse.

Rafe bent at the waist and positioned his stick, but the ache cutting a path from his chest to his gut distracted him. For the first time in his life, he wasn’t 200 percent invested in the game.

The puck dropped, and Isaac smacked it toward Rafe, but a Bruin intercepted. Muscle memory had Rafe stealing it back. He skated backward, protecting the puck while he searched for an opening to pass. One of the Bruins’ defensemen came out of nowhere and slammed Rafe into the boards. Another Bruin stole the puck and headed toward the opposite goal.

God dammit!

Before Rafe could even sprint down the ice after the other player, Andre Kristoff, their first line center, cut across the Bruin’s path, stole the puck, set up, and slammed the damn thing right past the goalie and into the net, putting the Rough Riders on the board for the first time tonight.

Lights and sirens joined applause from the crowd, but Rafe still heard Tremblay’s order to return to the bench. He’d spent more time on the bench tonight than he had in any other game since he’d joined the NHL.

He dropped beside Tierney, and before Rafe could pick up his water bottle, Tremblay’s hand settled on his shoulder from behind.

“You hurt?” he asked. “Sick?”

Rafe’s stomach dropped. As if playing shitty wasn’t bad enough, now his coach thought he had a physical impediment. Which meant Rafe was playing worse than shit. “No, Coach. Just having a bad game.”

“Professionals don’t just have bad games,” he said. “Figure it out. Whatever you did to play like you played last week is what I want you doing before every fucking game from now until we win the Stanley fucking Cup. Got it?”

Rafe nodded and shot water into his mouth. But he doubted Mia would be amenable to “doing” him senseless before every game. Though he was starting to think that was exactly what he needed to get back on track.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Tierney wanted to know. “You went from white to black in twenty-four hours, and now you’re stuck there.

“You think I haven’t noticed?”

One of the Bruins’ defensemen tripped Tate and took a penalty. While the Bruin skated to the penalty box and the others set up for a face-off, Rafe’s gaze drifted to the stands again. That empty seat made his gut squeeze. He wondered if she’d show up to the dinner they had planned with Joe tonight after the game. Rafe wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t. Who needed this bullshit? Tate on her back, Rafe acting like she didn’t matter. Hell, maybe she’d hopped a plane back to New York like she’d threatened a week ago.

That thought stabbed him so deep, he closed his eyes and rubbed them.

The puck dropped, and Rafe refocused on the game. Watching the movement on the ice, he asked Tierney, “You’re not a suspicious guy, right? You don’t believe in habits and good luck charms, right?”

“Not like those disgusting socks Belanger wears, or that stupid rabbit’s foot Jaeger sticks down his shorts before every game. But I believe there are things you can do to get you into the zone. The way Lawless goes into the rink before anyone arrives and piles those stupid pucks into two R’s on the ledge of the bench box when it’s quiet. That’s like meditation. It gets your head and your heart in the right place, you know? It focuses you. Centers you. That I believe in.”

Centered.

Rafe’s chest warmed and chilled at the same time.

That was what he’d been missing since he’d pushed Mia away. He was fragmented. Distracted. He felt like all his pieces were jumbled and mixed up. Some of them missing.

Mia centered him.

But a lot of good figuring that out did. It took a lot to keep Mia away from a game. She’d clearly had enough of his and Tate’s bullshit.

The second period ended with the Rough Riders two points behind. And as they filed into the locker room for the break, frustration permeated the air around the team. Rafe shouldered his share of the blame, and even though his teammates never said a word about Rafe’s shitty play, he knew they were all thinking about it.

The coach didn’t lecture. He highlighted the good, gave direction to improve the bad, and let the guys have a few quiet minutes to rest.

Rafe set his helmet on the bench beside him, wiped the sweat from his hair and face with a towel, then kept the terry there as he rested his head in his hands. He needed to get his groove back. Needed to find a way out of this funk.

“What’s going on?” Tate’s voice interrupted Rafe’s thoughts, and he mentally rolled his eyes before dragging the towel away and picking up a water bottle.

“I’m playing for shit, that’s what’s going on.”

“
Why?
You were on fire two nights ago.”

Because Mia sets me on fire.

For a split second, Rafe thought of voicing that fact. In the next second, he realized that would turn this mess into a catastrophe.

He took a long drink of water, rested his elbows on his knees, and stared at the concrete. “I don’t know why. When I figure it out, I’ll make sure to notify you, okay?”

“Don’t bother. Just get rid of this asshole attitude before we meet Dad for dinner.”

Tate walked away, and Rafe closed his eyes on a sigh of dread, dropping his head back to his hands. Dinner with Joe.