Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (18 page)

He couldn’t hold back his laugh. Yes, calling her had been a very good idea. “Something like that. I had to come see Zovko first.”

“How is he?”

“Stable. Which is the best that can be expected right now.”

“I guess, but that was scary. And poor Tyler…this is too much like his own injury. He’s not playing tonight, is he? I know you guys are supposed to tough it out, but he loves that man.”

My feelings exactly
. Not a conversation he could have with most of those on the team, but Sahara wasn’t in the game mentality. And neither was he, obviously. “I made sure he knew he can take the time he needs. Zovko will probably insist that he play, but maybe, once he’s able to do so himself, Tyler will be ready.”

“I’d imagine so.” Sahara’s voice relaxed, as though she’d settled into a comfortable chair. “So aside from that, how are you? I heard Oriana went home today… You don’t mind me mentioning her, do you?”

“Not at all. She’s a friend. I saw her, spoke to Max, and I think they’re going to be fine. How are your boys?”

“Pischlar and White? Good, I think. Being here is…uncomplicated.”

“Good.” He wasn’t feeling the word, but he was happy for her. She needed uncomplicated after what she’d gone through. “Are you ready for tonight?”

“Yes, but you guys better win!” She giggled. “Don’t want to put too much pressure on you, but the last game
sucked
.”

“I agree.”

“Can you score one for me tonight? I’ve always wanted someone to do that.”

He opened his mouth, tempted to tell her to ask Pischlar or White, but that would be petty. He’d told her he was fine with her doing whatever worked for her right now. And he was.

But her asking him something like that caught him off guard. He needed a few minutes to come up with a logical reply.

Any reply.

Any time now.

“Dominik?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll score one for you.”

“That means something, doesn’t it?”

He steadied his breaths, leveling his tone. “No more than you want it to, sunshine.”

She hesitated. Then exhaled loudly. “I kinda want it to. Is that weird? I’m a head case, right? Don’t worry, you can be honest.”

“I always will be, Sahara. And no, you’re not a head case.” He rested against the headrest. “I’ll be in New York for a few days, but when I come back, I want to see you.”

“Won’t I see you tonight?”

There was something in her voice, a quiet longing. Which shouldn’t be there if Pischlar had succeeded in distracting her. If they were both her Doms, Dominik would give the man a call and see what more could be done.

But this wasn’t a partnership and Pischlar was no more than a casual, temporary lover.
Very
temporary if Sahara decided she needed more.

He grinned and shrugged. “I don’t see why not. I’ll introduce you to my new roommate.”

“Uh…I didn’t know you were looking for one.” She released a small, irritated sound. “Is she nice?”

Her jealousy was something they’d have to work on. He could point out that she was hardly in a position to judge who he lived with while she was staying with two other men, but he’d rather build up her confidence than press her insecurities.

So he clarified. “
He
. And I don’t know, I haven’t met him yet.”

She laughed with obvious relief. “So stupid…I’m sorry. I guess he’s a rookie you’re looking out for? I should let you go so you can focus on him.”

“Yes, I’m about to join him at my place. But do me a favor, pet.”

A soft, rapid intake of breath, so close to the phone she must have it pressed right against her face. “Yes, Sir?”

“Don’t call yourself stupid. I don’t like it.”

Nothing. Then she laughed nervously. “Sorry. I nodded, but you can’t see me. I won’t anymore.”

“Good girl.” He shook his head at himself, both loving and hating how natural the dynamic between them felt. Loving it because he didn’t doubt they could have a good, strong relationship. Hating it because they weren’t there yet. “I have to go now, sunshine. Watch for that goal.”

After he hung up, he drove home, feeling fully at ease for the first time in a while. Things may be complicated with Sahara on the whole, but tonight, they’d be very simple.

Light the lamp. Make her smile.

And win the game.

* * * *

Sahara bit back a grin as she stood with Akira in the bedroom Jami shared with Sebastian and Luke. Holding up one of each of their home jerseys, Jami dropped back on the bed and groaned. She had a tough decision to make.

And both Sahara and Akira were trying very, very hard to be sympathetic.

In nothing but jeans and a bra, Jami lay on the bed, the jerseys on either side of her, her hands over her face. “This sucks! Why isn’t it this hard during the regular season?”

“Because they take turns?” Sahara bit her lip. Exchanged a look with Akira.

They burst out laughing.

“You’re both horrible bitches and I hate you.” Jami sat up and smirked. “Besides, they don’t always take turns. Sometimes—”

“TMI!” Sahara slapped her hands over her ears and hummed loudly.

Akira was just about on the floor, hardly breathing through her laughter.

Sticking out her tongue, Jami returned her attention to the jerseys, petting the numbers with a fond expression on her face. “They both know I love them. They lost while I was wearing Luke’s jersey, so… But I don’t want him to think I blame him—”

The sharp snick of boot heels came from the hall as Chicklet strode into the room, right up to the bed, and picked up the jersey with “Ramos” and “11” on the back. She held it out to Jami. “Get dressed. You will not be late on my watch, and you’re being ridiculous.”

Jami wrinkled her nose the second Chicklet turned to leave the room again, but she quickly donned the jersey. And kept her voice to a whisper when she spoke. “How much longer are you going to need your own security detail, Sahara? Not that I don’t love Chicklet, but…
damn
. She’s miserable. And before you remind me, I know how scared she is for Raif, but why isn’t she with him? Can’t Cort or Cam trail you?”

That would probably be easier on everyone, but the conversation before Chicklet had come to pick her up hadn’t gone well. Sahara’s attempt to release Chicklet from her team-appointed job as bodyguard had been taken as an insult.

“I promised to tell you when I was leaving Pischlar’s place, but you don’t need to come. He’ll drop me off at Jami’s. Tyler and Raif need you more than I do.”

“They need me sitting in the damn hospital, completely useless, more than you need me watching your back?”

Sahara winced, wishing she’d worded that better. “No! I mean, I’ll be fine and you should—”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes. Be ready.”

Chicklet had been hired because Mr. Keane thought Sahara would be more comfortable with a woman, but she’d be fine with Dominik’s brother. Having Cort watch her would be awkward after what she’d said to him, but she’d rather swallow her pride than keep Chicklet away from her men when they needed her.

“I tried to suggest she stay at the hospital, but she gets all the details of the case from Laura, so… Well, she’s not convinced that I’m safe out on my own.” She hugged herself, grateful for the long, black wool jacket that covered her uniform. She was suddenly very cold. “Grant’s out on bail, but I haven’t heard anything from him. The crazy calls I’ve
been getting are from his fans. As well as the Facebook messages—”

“Death threats.” Akira corrected with the same irritation she showed anytime Sahara tried to downplay the situation. She folded her arms over her chest. “And one of the crazy bitches found your apartment.” Her lips thinned when Jami’s eyes went wide. “I’m not surprised you didn’t know. Sahara doesn’t want us to worry. Because that’s the priority.”

“Damn it, Sahara.” Jami drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “What happened?”

Sahara dropped her gaze to the floor. “My landlord said someone spray-painted ‘Lair’ all over my door.”

Akira’s brow shot up. “You mean ‘liar’?”

“I think whoever wrote it
meant
liar.” Sahara rubbed her arms. Laura had tried to joke about it when Sahara had called her, but finding any humor in it was difficult when both the team and the police were taking the threats seriously enough to have her constantly watched. Despite Chicklet’s presence, there was a unit parked outside Jami’s house. The last straw had been the message posted on Sahara’s Facebook wall, detailing an orgy of violence that took a truly twisted mind to think up.

At least the woman who’d left that hadn’t been difficult to track down. The arrest had brought even more attention to the case.

Sahara had changed her phone number and texted the new one to all her close contacts. Stopped going online at all. Didn’t spend much time outside. Or anywhere public.

If she hadn’t had Jami and Akira, she would have felt very alone. Fooling around with Pischlar and White had been fun the first night, but after that, simply…shallow. Not that they weren’t sweet to her. Tender and attentive, always making sure she enjoyed herself.

“Uh-oh. She’s all lost in thought again.” Jami nudged Sahara into the hall, hooking her arm on one side while Akira took the other, making the hallway very crowded. “What’s wrong, babe? You know you’re safe, right? Whether it’s Chicklet or—”

“
Or
?” Chicklet slapped a magazine on the coffee table as they stepped into the living room. “Why would there be an ‘or’?”

Damn it, Jami’s getting as bad as Luke and Tyler at keeping her mouth shut.
Sahara worked her arms free and held up her hands. “No reason, I was just saying I felt bad keeping you away from Raif. And that maybe we could get Cam to take over.”

Chicklet grunted and grabbed her leather jacket. “I’ll talk to Mr. Keane. He’s the one who hired me, and the team needs Cam on the road. Cort would be a better option. He’s got a hearing soon.”

She didn’t sound mad. Or insulted.

Sahara nodded quickly. “Sure. I’d be fine with Cort. Or whoever—”

“Not whoever, little girl. I would like to be with my man more, but I won’t leave you with someone I don’t think can watch you as well as I can.” Chicklet opened the door and led the way out, surveying the street before heading over to the black SUV the team had loaned her. She gestured for Sahara to get in the backseat with Jami. “You’ve made your point. It will be considered.”

Another nod and Sahara sank back in her seat, silent for the ride to the Delgado Forum. Jami and Akira seemed lost in their own thoughts, which was good. There wasn’t much to say.

Once they were inside the restricted area of the Forum, Chicklet left them to go talk to Mr. Keane. There was enough security around that Sahara didn’t need a constant shadow. They were early, and she and Akira were already dressed, so there wasn’t anything to do besides hang around.

She turned toward the Ice Girls’ locker room. Akira and Jami started in the other direction.

“Hey, where are you going?” Akira crossed the short distance and grabbed Sahara’s hand. “The wives’ room is ten times nicer than our locker room. Have you been there yet?”

Umm, no.
Sahara laughed and dug her heels into the carpeted floor. “Why would I go there? I’m not married to a player. And Jami’s the only one engaged to…two.”

Jami let out a happy sigh and admired her engagement ring. “I’m one lucky bitch, eh?”

“Yes, but that still doesn’t explain why
I
have any business in there.” Sahara had met some of the players’ wives in New York. Longtime girlfriends were sometimes accepted into their ranks, but it was a dubious honor. They could be damn catty, and Sahara wasn’t in the mood to deal with cliquish behavior.

Akira rolled her eyes. “Oriana is usually Queen Bee in there. And when she’s not running the show, Silver is. She’s probably there with Becky and the babies right now. You’ll see, it’s great.”

Babies. Yep, Akira knew just how to convince her. Sahara giggled as Akira pulled her, half running, to a room all the way down the hall from the locker rooms. She pushed the large wooden double doors, slipping in as quietly as she could, feeling like a kid late for class when the women inside looked over at her curiously.

The room was a bit bigger than the locker rooms, and much more stylish than the players’ lounge. All the décor was still in the team’s black and gold, but there were glass and mirror accents, as well as softer golden shades to lighten up the room. With leather sofas on one side, and several tables on the other, the set up was perfect for the players’ families to relax in before the game started and between periods.

Silver wasn’t here, but Becky was. In a crisp, tan skirt suit with a white shirt and snazzy nude heels Sahara was so going to beg to borrow, she was perched on a black leather armchair, bouncing Amia on her knee and watching Casey color a huge poster on the floor with several of the other Cobra kids.

A smile lit Becky’s face when she spotted Sahara and she stood, lifting Amia to her hip and crossing the room to give Sahara a hug. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?” She eyed Sahara’s chin, likely checking out the fading bruises. “You look better.”