Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) (35 page)

“Yes! I’m you!” Bran hopped up and turned around. He was wearing #6, with MASON across the top.

Why…?
Dominik looked at Ladd, who grinned and shrugged.

“The guys who painted my room brought us a few jerseys.” Kimber came over to sit cross-legged in front of them. “I’m wearing Heath’s #4. Bran wanted to wear your jersey, Dominik. He said he wants to be just like you when he’s big.”

“He said all that?” Dominik was happy with the few words the little boy had spoken up to now, but he’d love to hear a full conversation.

“I want to be this big!” Bran opened his arms the width of Dominik’s shoulders. “Heath isn’t big.”

Ladd snorted. “You’re one to speak, squirt.”

Bran stuck out his tongue.

Dominik hugged the tiny child and laughed. Damn, it was hard to stay mad with his house full of youth and innocence and life. He might not have been able to spare Sahara from facing down Higgins one last time, but he’d meant it when he’d told her to remember how strong she’d been.

Speaking of Sahara, he could sense her presence as she stepped into the room. She was wearing jeans and a Cobra hoodie, her uniform in her hand on a hanger in a clothing bag. Her hair was straight, spilling over her shoulders with a soft golden glow.

His beautiful, loving, fucking tough woman looked like an angel as she smiled at him. He stood, lifting Bran when the little boy put his arms up, and strode up to her to claim her lips. A quick kiss since the kids were watching, but it was all he needed to assure himself she was really all right.

“I heard him talking to you.” Sahara tapped Bran under the chin. “And he’s letting you hold him.”

“I think he figures, if you trust me, I must be worthy.”

“Hmm.” Sahara rose up on her tiptoes to steal another kiss. “He’s a smart kid.”

Today had to end. Dominik had assumed the worst was over but, while he couldn’t compare the mess the team was in to what had gone down with Higgins, it wasn’t fucking pretty.

Bower couldn’t play. He’d come, determined to get out on the ice, but the man’s skin was green and he couldn’t stand for more than a minute without rushing off to puke. Richter wasn’t sick, but when the doctor had asked what he and Bower had eaten, he’d mentioned being in the office all day. Since neither Silver nor Bower could cook worth a damn, they’d probably gone out to eat somewhere.

Hunt was the one looking sick now though. The young backup goalie sat alone on the other side of the players’ lounge, dressed in only his goalie pants and huge black and gold pads, taping his stick and talking to himself. A few of the guys had tried talking to him, Dominik included, but Hunt said he wanted to get “in the zone.”

Fair enough, so long as he didn’t psych himself out.

A tense quiet filled the room, followed by murmurs as the door to the players’ lounge opened. Vanek came in first, followed by Zovko and Chicklet. For some reason, Vanek was eyeing all his teammates with a challenging gaze, hovering close to Zovko, who was holding Chicklet’s arm.

The big Croatian moved gingerly, which wasn’t unexpected considering his injury, but as he spoke softly to Chicklet, she guided him around a table, leading him over to Hunt.

Dominik set aside his skates which he’d been relacing and strode across the room, ignoring the whispered remarks from all the guys who seemed too uncomfortable to even welcome Zovko back. There was clearly something wrong, but as captain of the team, Dominik had to make sure the team understood Zovko wasn’t to be treated any differently.

“Zovko, good to see you, man.” Dominik smiled and shook Zovko’s hand before pulling him in for a hug. “What’s the damage?”

Vanek let out a rough sound in the back of his throat. His eyes glistened as he glared at Dominik. “Fuck, Mason. I wasn’t expecting you to be the one asking stupid questions.”

“Cool it, boy.” Chicklet put her hand on the back of Vanek’s neck in a gesture that was both restraining and comforting. “Raif’s got this.”

Drawing away slightly, Zovko put his hand on Dominik’s shoulder. He lifted his head and appeared to be staring at something in the distance. He gave Dominik a grim smile. “I’m glad you brought me in on the hotel investment—I’ll need a new project to keep me distracted. Which is actually why I came. I went over all the information you left me, and I believe, between myself and Hunt, this will be a successful venture.” He looked over in Hunt’s general direction. “If he’s willing to work with me.”

Hunt swallowed hard, staring at Zovko as though he’d just come to a terrible realization. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

“No.” Zovko squared his shoulders, his jaw clenched. “But your only concern tonight will be winning this series for us. I’ve heard that the mess with the hotel distracted you. There’s no reason for you to worry about it any longer. I’ll be up in the press box, cheering you on.” He shifted his unseeing gaze to the rest of the room. “All of you.”

There was no avoiding the brutal fact. Zovko was blind. Dominik rubbed his lips with his fist, trying to think of the right thing to say. Sorry wouldn’t fucking cut it. Besides, Zovko had come here tonight to show his support, and he wouldn’t appreciate anyone’s pity.

His career was over, but he would find success, regardless of the obstacles. Even if he wasn’t out there on the ice with them, he was a fucking Cobra. And Cobras were the best at beating the damn odds.

“If there’s space for another partner, I’d like to be involved with the hotel as well.” Dominik had several strong investments of his own, but facing how quickly life could change made him more determined to make sure he had more than his hockey career to fall back on. “I’m probably not too far away from retirement myself.”

“Ha! Not so fast, Mason. I expect you to keep my boy out of trouble.” Zovko reached out and put his arm around Vanek as the young man shifted closer. Vanek looked sad but determined as he stood by his Dom’s side. “But he’s promised to be on his best behavior.”

Dominik grinned as Vanek’s face reddened. “I’ve dealt with him at his worst. I’m not worried.”

Conversation had resumed around them, and Chicklet dragged a seat over for Zovko and herself as he told Dominik the details of his vision loss. His optic nerve had been damaged, but there were several treatments that might help him regain at least part of his vision.

Not enough to get him back on the ice, but Dominik couldn’t imagine that being a priority at the moment.

About half an hour before warm-up, Richter came in with his daughter, Amia, and his niece, Casey. The way he greeted Zovko made it obvious he’d already been aware of the man’s condition. They made small talk while Casey went over to sit beside Hunt.

She smiled up at the goalie shyly, holding up a small plastic container. “Mommy said you’re playing tonight because Uncle Landon ate bad food. So I brought you good food.”

“Thanks.” Hunt took the container and opened it. His brow furrowed, but he kept smiling. “Cookies?”

“They’re not fucking donuts, Hunt,” Demyan shouted from the other side of the room, looking ready to come over and either snatch his daughter away or punch the goalie. He grunted when his partner, Pearce, elbowed him in the ribs. “Language. Sorry. But if he doesn’t eat those cookies, I’m gonna—”

Pearce elbowed him again.

Casey sighed and shook her head. “Don’t mind my daddies. They’re peanut butter, and Uncle Landon eats them all the time. He says they make him stronger, and I make them for him a lot.”

Dominik bit back a laugh as Hunt picked up a cookie and took a big bite. The baby goalie was blushing all the way up to his ears, and he didn’t seem to know what to say to the little girl who was watching him expectantly.

Swallowing, Hunt nodded. “They’re really good.”

“Do you want some milk?” Casey clasped her hands behind her back, bouncing on the toes of her tiny Chucks. “They’re better with milk. I could get you some.”

“No, that’s okay. I like ’em just like this.” Hunt shoved the rest of the cookie in his mouth.

Richter chuckled and stood, holding Amia on his hip. “All right, time to go, sweetie. You want to wish your fathers luck before we go?”

“Yes, Uncle Dean.” Casey hesitated. Then she shot forward, planting a kiss on Hunt’s cheek. “I think you’re more handsome than Prince Eric.”

Giggling, Casey skipped across the room, hugging both Pearce and Demyan before running back to take Dean’s hand.

Hunt finished the rest of the cookies, looking like someone had hit him in the head with a shovel. After Chicklet and Zovko left and the rest of the team headed to the locker room, Hunt just sat there, a confused expression on his face.

“Come on, kid.” Dominik had to fight not to laugh. He held the door open as Hunt ambled over, that same dumb struck expression still present. “I’m surprised you’re not used to girls falling in love with you by now.”

“She’s, like,
five
.”

Demyan threw his sports bag into his stall, practically growling. “She’s almost eight, Hunt. Still too young, but you better be fucking nice to her until she decides she’s in love with Justin Bieber or something.”

Pearce’s eyes went wide. “Hey, that’s not funny, Scott.”

“You know what I mean.”

Slumping onto the ledge in front of his stall, Hunt shook his head. “It’s cute and I’ll be nice. I just…”

Dominik waited. Then sighed when it became clear Hunt wasn’t going to complete the sentence. “What?”

“Who the hell is Prince Eric?”

Every man in the locker room burst out laughing.

Vanek tossed a roll of tape at Hunt. “Are you serious? You’ve never seen
The Little Mermaid
?”

That only had the men laughing harder. Dominik grinned as he pulled on his equipment. He was feeling good about this game. The atmosphere in the locker room was positive. Even Pischlar and White seemed to have made up. Pischlar was holding a comic book he’d pulled out of his stall. He gave White a crooked smile, then went over to sit by his best friend, holding the comic book like it was the most precious thing in the world.

The rest of the guys were joking and laughing, eager to get on the ice. More than once, he heard a player mention winning “this one” for Zovko.

You’re damn right, we will.
Dominik stood by the door, holding up his fist to bump with each player as they passed. Ladd and Hunt were the last two, and tension radiated from both men as they stared one another down.

“You’re teammates. Hate on each other after the game.” Dominik sighed when Hunt’s eyes narrowed.

“Seriously, man.” Hunt folded his arms over his chest. “What the fuck are you staring at me for?”

The edge of Ladd’s lip twitched up with amusement. He reached out and brushed something off Hunt’s chin. “You’ve got cookie crumbs everywhere. Just thought you should know.”

As Ladd took off, Hunt shook his head. “That guy is fucking weird.”

“Maybe, but he spoke to you. That’s some fucking progress.”

“I guess.” Hunt took a deep breath and dropped his gaze. “Zovko though…that fucking sucks. He’s a great guy.”

“He is.” Dominik shifted his gaze as he saw the younger man tear up. The last thing they needed was for the kid to be an emotional wreck before stepping between the pipes. “He’s gonna be okay, kid. He didn’t come here to upset you.”

Hunt shook his head and tucked his glove under his arm, pulling his hand out to dry his eyes. “He didn’t upset me. He made me see that all the shit I’m dealing with is nothing. I want to prove to him I’ve got this.”

Good man.
Dominik slapped Hunt’s shoulder. “Damn right, you do.”

* * * *

Sahara jumped to her feet as she watched Dominik snatch the puck from an Islander forward. He led the charge, whipping a pass to Heath on the breakaway. Heath sped across the ice, faking a shot, then lifting the puck high stick side.

The goal light went off and the crowd cheered. By her side, Bran hopped up and down. Kimber let out a deafening scream of excitement. Sahara gave both a high five as their brother’s first goal in the league was announced.

On the ice, Dominik retrieved the puck, then joined the throng of players hugging and congratulating Heath. Heath was smiling from ear to ear as he skated by the Cobra bench, knocking fists with the rest of his teammates.

“We win! We win!” Bran climbed up on his seat, arms up in the air.

Laughing, Sahara picked him up and hugged him tightly. “Not yet, buddy. But we’re leading two-nothing.”

The second period was almost over and the Forum was buzzing with energy. Sahara had been around the game too long to count the Islanders out just yet, but she had a good feeling with how well the Cobras were playing.

Five minutes later, and the high of Heath’s goal had faded. The Islanders had finally gotten one past Hunt. He still looked solid, but the comfort of a two-goal lead was gone. The Cobras had to score a few more goals to guarantee a win. Facing the backup goalie might have given the Islanders a false confidence at first, but they wouldn’t make that mistake again in the third period. Not when they were fighting for their life in the playoffs.

During the break, Sahara brought Kimber and Bran to the wives’ room for snacks. She smiled when she saw Akira and Jami, but her smile faded when she saw the blotchy redness of Jami’s cheeks.

A woman touched her shoulder. She glanced over to see Becky.

Becky motioned her forward. “Go talk to her. I’ll watch your little ones.”

“Thank you.” Sahara crouched down in front of Bran. “I’m going to talk to my friends. Can you stay with Becky?”

Bran frowned and handed Kimber his plate. “I come.”

“Have you met my daughter, Casey?” Becky held out her hand. “She brought all kinds of toys. I bet she’ll let you play with them.”

Bran’s lip quivered, but he took Becky’s hand. And stuck his thumb in his mouth as she led him to the group of children playing at the other side of the room.

Sahara bit her lip, hating how upset Bran was about her leaving him. Fine, she wasn’t going far, but he’d been with her for the past few days. It would take much longer than that for him to stop worrying that she wouldn’t come back.

Kimber came over and hugged her. “He’ll be all right. I’ll stay with him. Go on, you’re allowed to have a life.”

“Which you’re part of.” Sahara sighed and kissed Kimber’s hair. “I’ll be right over there. Come get me if there’s anything.”

“I will.”

Crossing the room, Sahara pulled up a chair and sat in front of Jami, taking both her friends’ hands in hers. “Hey, what’s going on?”

Jami closed her eyes, tears trailing down her cheeks. “Sam’s moving out. Things are really bad with her and Luke, so I get it, but…” She swallowed hard. “She’s moving in with Oriana. She’s letting her adopt the baby.”

Damn, that’s…
Sahara shook her head. What could she say? That was actually pretty smart of Sam. The girl was young and in no position to care for a baby. Jami had been looking forward to helping raise Luke’s nephew, but the tension between Sam and her brother wouldn’t have been good for any of them. Least of all the baby.