Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (11 page)

“Yes, she is.”

“Did I interrupt?” White chewed on his bottom lip, and Pischlar made a strained sound as he spent more time than necessary fixing Sahara’s blanket. “I shouldn’t have come. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Pischlar sighed. “I’m being an asshole.
I’m
sorry. I just don’t get why you let your agent set you up with chicks. They’re either shallow or stupid. Or, like this one, want things you can’t give them.”

“What did she want? I figured she was just mad because of what I did. That was stupid. I just don’t like random people touching me. And he thought I was gay. And I’m not.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?” Pischlar disappeared into the hall, returning with another blanket for White. “We have a game tomorrow. Drink your water. I’ll get you more. And you’re gonna forget that girl.”

“Okay.” White flung an arm over his face. “I need better girls. I’m no good at this. It was more fun when you came out with me. They’re nice with you.”

“They expect nothing.”

“Which is cool. I’m tired, Shawn. Can I crash here?”

Pischlar went still and stared at White as he closed his eyes. He spread the blanket over the other man, looking like he’d been punched in the gut. “Stay. But don’t call me that. I’m Pisch. Or Easy. Always ‘Easy.’”

Damn it, Sahara couldn’t ignore what she’d seen. Or the pain in Pischlar’s eyes. White wasn’t perceptive sober. Drunk, he’d flung out his issues carelessly and Pischlar had taken a few hits. She rose from the chair and wrapped her arms around him from behind.

“I’m sorry I was part of all the drama you had to deal with tonight. Let me make it better?”

Arching a brow, Pischlar looked over his shoulder at her. “How?”

“I need to be held tonight. And so do you. The rest can wait for the morning.” She pressed a soft kiss on his cheek. “Please?”

“Yes.” He drew her before him and wrapped his arms around her waist, breathing into her hair. “That sounds like the perfect fucking plan.”

“I own a hotel.”

Dominik blinked and looked over at Hunt, who was sitting on the bench a few feet away from him with the bottom half of his equipment on, staring at his phone as though he’d been struck dumb. Dominik shook his head, sure he’d heard wrong. “What?”

Hunt plunked his phone onto his sports bag and raked his fingers through his close-shaven hair. The poor boy looked just as confused as Dominik was. “Not sure how that happened. I have to talk to my dad. He has power of attorney because I don’t want to deal with all the money shit. He pays my personal trainer and my manager and… I guess he thought it was a good investment?”

What the hell?
Dominik’s jaw hardened. He’d heard about this happening to other players. Not just the young ones either. It wasn’t any of his business, but why the fuck was Hunt finding out about this right before their first game in the goddamn playoffs?

Other players were filling the room, and Dominik was sure Hunt didn’t want everyone to know, so he shifted over and kept his tone low. “He
thought
it was a good investment? I’m guessing it’s not?”

“No. Fuck, I shouldn’t worry about this now. I got some bills in the mail, and I was like ‘Huh?’” Hunt rubbed the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath, picking up his phone again when it
dinged
. “I couldn’t get ahold of my dad, so I sent everything to my accountant. He just emailed me. There’s all kinds of repairs I need to pay for. And late payments and interest… I’m kinda fucking broke. I don’t get it.”

Damn it.
If this got out, Hunt would be dealing with more than money problems. The press loved stories like this. Dominik wasn’t an expert on investments, but he knew a few of the players were. If nothing else, he could help make sure this didn’t get the young goalie off his game.

He put his hand on Hunt’s shoulder. “Listen to me, kid. There’s nothing we can do now, but tomorrow we’ll talk to a few of the guys. They’ll have some great ideas for you and know all the right people. Keep it quiet until then, all right?”

“Yeah. I can do that.” Hunt paled, still staring at his phone. “My credit cards are frozen. My accountant said he’s talking to the bank in the morning, but I’m in deep.”

“If you don’t have good people to help you manage your affairs, Hunt, we’ll find some. This is some nasty business, but you’ve got us. Give me the fucking phone.” Dominik held out his hand, breathing a little easier when Hunt handed it over without question. “Get this out of your head. The game is
all
that matters. I’ve got you. ’Kay?”

“’Kay.” Hunt rubbed his thighs irritably. “But me being fucked doesn’t matter since I’m just the backup. And Bower’s on fire!”

Dominik smiled at that, glancing over at the starting goalie who was bouncing his daughter on his knee. Under normal circumstances, wives and children weren’t allowed in the locker room before games. But nothing lit Bower up more than those few precious moments with his baby girl. And his fiancée, Silver, and their man—Dean Richter, the team’s general manager—didn’t need anyone’s permission to be here. Media wasn’t allowed in before playoff games, and everyone was cool with whatever worked for their star goalie.

“He is, but you’re a big part of the team, and you damn well know that. I expect you to be on the bench, ready to step into the line of fire if you’re needed. Understood?” Dominik gave Hunt a hard look, and Hunt ducked his head and grinned.

“I’m on it!” He pushed to his feet and strode over to Richards, the team’s youngest player, and hooked an arm around his neck. “Those strippers fucking loved you! Tell me that didn’t get you off!”

And this is why I’m fine with getting old.
Dominik rolled his eyes, chuckling as Richards did the same. A few of the players were bisexual, but they kept to themselves and the media didn’t have the opportunity to make a story out of most of the relationships. The trashier reporters had tried, which was Hunt’s reasoning for trying to make things “easier” for Richards. And even though Richards was only attracted to men, he was young enough to go along with all his friend’s crazy plans.

If it kept up, Dominik would tell Hunt to back off. But so far, it had been pretty harmless. Hunt looked out for the rookie and was supportive. He didn’t want anyone messing with the kid, which was fine, but his attempts to throw women at the rookie were questionable.

When Richards was ready, he’d likely tell Hunt to back off himself. But Dominik had a feeling he enjoyed spending time with Hunt and understood that the other young man had been raised with an old-school mentality that needed to be gently shifted to reality. And the reality was, Hunt’s outlook was changing more than Richards’s ever would.

Relaxing back against the edge of his stall, Dominik observed the rest of the team like he did before every game. The trouble triplets—Vanek, Demyan, and Carter—were kneeling around Demyan’s adopted daughter, Casey. Looking at pictures she’d probably drawn at school. Scott Demyan was becoming downright respectable as a father and staying out of trouble so he might lose his spot with the trio at some point, but that wasn’t a bad thing. The other two? Dominik reserved judgment.

Over on the other side of the room, Shawn Pischlar and Ian White had their heads bowed as they spoke quietly. Pischlar looked up and a brilliant smile spread across his lips.

Dominik’s lips thinned as Sahara hurried across the room and wrapped her arms around Pischlar’s neck. She patted White’s cheek and let out a soft laugh.

Whatever was going on with them was new. Yes, she’d played with Pischlar at the club, but it was never serious. Pischlar didn’t do relationships, and Sahara hadn’t wanted one at the time.

He’d hoped that had changed, but maybe he’d read her all wrong.

Or maybe you fucked that up when you ditched her during your date.

Possible, but he didn’t regret being there for Sloan. Or Oriana and Max. He couldn’t imagine Sahara doing differently if Jami or Akira had called her. He wished he’d had a chance to talk to her, to iron things out, but after being at the hospital most of the night, he’d gone home and crashed. Then went back with Sloan to get an update on Oriana’s condition.

She was stable, but there were complications and she needed more tests. Sloan still wasn’t allowed in the hospital, but when Dominik had come back and given him an update, he seemed more relaxed than he had just hearing it on the phone from the nurse.

Speaking of Sloan, he walked in with Max, looking tired, but determined. They parted near the coach’s office and Max went to his stall to change, glancing over to give Dominik a nod, mouthing, “Thank you.”

Inclining his head, Dominik smiled. Despite the mess of his first real date in far too long, he was happy with the progress that had been made. Both Max and Sloan seemed focused. The tension between all of three of them was gone. He couldn’t ask for more.

But he had a hard time keeping his eyes off Sahara as she hugged White and kissed Pischlar’s cheek. He was on his feet before he had a chance to think of what he’d say to her. Or worry if she wanted to see him.

He caught up with her in the players’ lounge and spoke softly. “Sahara?”

She jumped and spun around, almost falling over on her cute little bright pink heels. Which almost matched her cheeks. He grabbed her wrist as she flailed and pulled her close to steady her on her feet.

“Dominik.” She wet her lips and turned her head, but he’d already seen the bruises. She’d tried to cover them with makeup, but the discoloration was still obvious.

And as he put his hand under her chin to make her face him, he could tell by the placement that they had been made by a big hand. Not quite as big as his, but with strength that hadn’t been held back.

She had seen Grant Higgins yesterday—she’d told him as much. But these marks hadn’t been there when she’d been with Dominik.

“What happened?” He managed to keep his tone calm. As angry as he was, he needed her to know he was in control. That she didn’t have to worry about his reaction. “Was it Higgins?”

Her eyes teared as she nodded. “Yes, but he won’t come near me again. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard. I have to go see Mr. Keane—he wants to hear what happened from me before this goes public. I’m honestly shocked it hasn’t already.”

“Higgins showed up at your house last night?” Damn it, he should have seen her home himself rather than put her in a cab. The phone call from Max had him thinking of nothing but keeping Sloan out of jail. And making sure Oriana was okay.

Sahara shrugged and dropped her gaze. “He broke in to my house. He was there when I walked in, and I had to kick him in the balls to get out of there.”

Dominik swallowed, torn between pride and a deep, acidic rage. The encounter could have ended so much worse. “That’s my girl. I’m… Damn it, Sahara. I’m sorry. I should have stayed with you.”

Hiking up her chin, Sahara met his eyes. “It is what it is. Pischlar picked me up at the station. I’m staying with him for a bit. I’m not sure when—”

“Sahara! Damn it, sweetie, are you okay?” Silver burst into the lounge, holding up her cell. “I can’t believe I had to find out about this on Facebook! Your ex was just charged with breaking and entering. The Islanders said that he won’t be playing tonight, but other than that, they’re not saying much. His fans are trying to start shit. Idiots!” Silver pulled Sahara into her arms. “I’ve got you—I hope you know that? The press is swarming the halls, but Keane has security clearing them out.”

“Oh.” Sahara pulled away from Silver, all the color gone from her cheeks. “I knew it would get out, but not this fast…”

“Honey, it’s the playoffs. All the guys are being watched. But your followers are defending you and you know the team will. Keane asked Becky to meet with him for a press release. We have less than an hour before the game. Becky will probably want to talk to you.” Silver shook her head and carefully brushed her fingers across Sahara’s jaw. “I could kill that man. You!” She pointed at Dominik. He narrowed his eyes in warning, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Talk to the guys and make sure none of them does anything stupid out there. He’s not playing. This isn’t to affect the game.”

“Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure neither Richter nor Bower tolerate you speaking to them that way. And I sure as hell won’t.” Dominik tried to keep the anger out of his tone, but he needed to be alone with Sahara. To make sure she was all right before she was dragged in front of the cameras and reporters. “
You
need to back off.”

Silver’s cheeks reddened. She stomped her foot, her heel clicking sharply on the tile. “This isn’t about you being a Master at the club.”

“No, it’s about respect. I don’t work for you, princess.”

“You work for my family. Dean will—”

“Then he can speak to me himself.” Dominik shook his head, not too impressed with Silver going back to her spoiled rich girl attitude. She may think she was being professional, but she was crossing the line into diva territory. And the focus should be on what was best for Sahara. He turned to her. “You don’t have to speak to anyone if you’re not ready. I can take you home.”

“I can’t go home, I don’t feel…” Her lips parted as though what he’d said had just registered. “Dominik, you have to play. The team needs you.”

“Do you need me, Sahara?” Fuck, he never missed games for personal reasons. He’d even played once with a fractured ankle. But he couldn’t see past those bruises.

Dropping her gaze, Sahara hugged herself. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t know. I can’t think about… Please don’t be upset, but staying with Pischlar is the best thing for me right now. And I want to perform. And forget about…everything.”

He inclined his head, schooling his features to show nothing but acceptance. She wasn’t rejecting him for another man. Not yet anyway.

There was no place for bitterness. If he was going to support her, he had to do so completely. Pischlar would keep her safe. Comfort her.

Do all the things Dominik had lost the chance to do.

“Talk to Becky. I’m sure she’ll field any questions if you’re not ready to answer them.” He cupped her cheek in his hand, loving the way it felt to touch her and have her lean toward him as though she wanted to be near him. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m not upset. Say the word and I’ll be there.”

“Thank you.” She put her hand on the back of his and inhaled slowly. “I did enjoy our date. Maybe we can do it again sometime? And leave our phones at home?”

“Definitely.” He smiled, dropping his hand when she slipped away to follow Silver out.

He stood there for a few long moments, groaning as he realized, despite her questionable delivery, Silver was right. If Higgins’s arrest had gone public, the guys needed to be told what happened. The last thing they needed was to see it on Twitter or Facebook or whatever their social addiction happened to be.

Or worse, on the ice.

Stepping into the locker room, he looked around, catching Sloan’s eye as the other man glanced up from where he was having a heated discussion with Max. Lips drawn in a hard, thin line, Sloan nodded.

“All right, men. Listen up.” Dominik folded his arms over his chest, waiting until conversation died before he continued. “This is gonna piss some of you off, but don’t you fucking forget why you’re here. And the people out there in the stands, the fans
and
our family, need us to prove they’ve put their faith in the right team.”