Iron Cross: The Dartmouth Cobras #6 (27 page)

The players whooped. Tyler stood, helmet on, eyes glowing with emotion, and threw his fist up in the air, shouting over them all. “For Tim!”

Several men echoed him, but the rest went silent as they spotted the general manager, standing in front of the doors that led out to the ice. Dean Richter took a deep breath, glancing over at Bower, who immediately stood as though to go to him. Richter shook his head, then walked over to Tyler and hooked an arm around his neck.

“For Tim.” Richter kept Tyler at his side as the player
s each took their turns stepping up to him, receiving a handshake or a pat on the shoulder. Raif went last, shaking Richter’s hand and taking his time before joining the others so he could hear what the GM had to say to his boy. Richter put both hands on Tyler’s shoulders. Shook his head again and pulled him into a rough hug. “My brother followed your career closer than the rest, Tyler. He’d be damn proud of you now; I hope you know that.”

“Thank you, Mr. Richter.” Tyler stood there, watching the GM walk out of the locker room, and Raif could tell he was shaking. He pulled Tyler into his arms the second he turned. Kissed his cheek, his throat tightening as he tasted Tyler’s tears. Tyler held on to him, choking back a sob. “Fuck, Raif. We can’t lose now. He’s right. Tim would’ve told me I can do this!”

“You know what, Ty?” Raif tipped Tyler’s chin up with a fist, knowing Tyler needed his strength. He waited for those pale blue eyes to meet his before he spoke, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “You can.”

The game was won, 3-0 with Bower earning a shutout. And Tyler scoring twice.

Carter and Demyan stood together, waiting for the team, an iPod hooked up to the stereo in the locker room. As soon as Raif entered the room behind Tyler, they blasted the music and started singing at the top of their lungs with the rest of the team quickly joining in to “Son of a Preacher Man.”

Tyler laughed and sang with them. After the song was done and the stereo was shut off, he went to his stall to change. Carter hovered, but this time, Raif didn’t mind. His boy was shaky and needed his friends. Tyler laughed at something Carter said, then started singing under his breath when White came over and distracted Carter.

Carter cocked his head, then barked out a laugh. “Okay, let’s make a deal. ‘Son of a Preacher Man’ is our new good luck song. We play it once before every game so long as you swear to
never
sing ‘Let it Go’ again. I don’t care if you start getting hat tricks because of it.”

“Fuck that! Let him sing what he wants! He’s on fire!” White shoved Carter playfully. Hard enough that if Mason hadn’t caught Carter, the young man would have hit the floor.

Demyan snorted. “You sing that song with a little girl twenty times a day for a week and see if you’re still saying that.”

“For The Cup? You’re telling me you wouldn’t?”

Raif chuckled when Demyan made a face, clearly not willing to argue White’s logic. It took Demyan shooting Raif a killing glare to remove him from the intimate atmosphere in the room. However well things were going between Raif and Tyler, Raif couldn’t let himself forget he was on the outside of the Cobras inner circle. Which hadn’t bothered him before, but seeing Tyler going from group to group, chatting up all the men, smiling as they squeezed him and ruffled his hair, made Raif wish he could cross the distance he’d inadvertently put between himself and the rest of the team.

Once he’d finished changing out of his uniform, Raif turned to go to the players’ lounge to wait for Tyler. A firm grip on his arm brought his head up to meet Mason’s level gaze.

“Why don’t you hang here with me for a bit?”

He was friendly with Mason, so he wouldn’t get defensive, but he couldn’t help be suspicious about the man suddenly wanting to spend time with him. “Is there a reason you do not want me in the lounge?”

Instead of answering, Mason jutted his chin toward the door. Where Zach was just stepping out with a quick glance over his shoulder at Demyan.

Yes, leaving at the same time as Zach, especially when Zach was clearly being duplicitous, would not make Raif any friends. He returned to his stall, opening his bag as though he’d forgotten something while speaking quietly to Mason, who stood at his side. “Thank you, but I’m not sure I understand. What makes you think I didn’t intend to slip out with him?”

“Did you?”

Eyes narrowed, Raif refused to dignify that with a reply.

“I didn’t think so. You’re not the fucking scumbag everyone seems to see you as. You hit on your ex, but you’ve backed off, and I’m thinking you know whatever you had is long gone.” Mason leaned against the side of Raif’s stall and shoved his hands into his pockets, his eyes on Perron and Callahan. “Takes a while, but the bullshit will pass and maybe you and Demyan will be cool one day. Will happen a lot sooner if you let Pearce dig himself out of his own hole.”

“I had every intention of doing so.”

“Good. Then you’ll make sure Pearce can’t use you for an alibi anymore.” Mason frowned and Raif looked over his shoulder as a reporter came into the room, a woman with brassy red hair pulled into a tight bun and enough makeup to make her look like an old hooker despite her respectable gray skirt suit. A young cameraman with short, spiky brown hair followed at her heel.

“Pischlar, I have a few questions for you!” She flashed an overly bright smile as she walked up to Pischlar and shoved a handheld recorder in his face. The cameraman positioned himself to snap a few pictures. “Your coach said it would be okay.”

“Yeah, sure.” Pischlar ran his hands through his sweat-soaked hair, then held one up abruptly to White, who’d risen in front of his own stall at the other side of the locker room.

White folded his
big arms over his chest. Callahan stood beside him, his expression making it clear he hadn’t been “the coach” who’d approved of the impromptu interview.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the allegations that you drugged the man you were found in the hotel room with? Have any charges been laid against you?”

Pischlar took a step back, lips parted. “What?”

“He gave me an exclusive interview, but I assumed he would have spoken to you first. It’s possible he’s looking for a settlement. Before this goes public, would you like to give me your side of the story? Where did you pick him up? Was he ‘in the closet’ like you were?”

“Hayley Turner?” Callahan crossed the room, grabbing the recorder from her. “You do not have clearance to interview my men.”

“Your men? Coach Walrye assured me
his
men would have no problem speaking to me,” the woman, Hayley—a name Raif was vaguely familiar with—said pleasantly, holding out her hand. “Now please return my recorder so I may conduct my interview.”

With a rough sound of disgust deep in his throat, Callahan gave her the recorder.

“Pisch ain’t got nothin’ else to say to you, lady.” White had joined Callahan, standing closer to Pischlar as though prepared to physically defend his friend. “You can give me the name of that guy though. I’d like to meet him.”

Hayley put her hand to her throat dramatically. “Mr. White, I think that would be a very bad idea. I heard you have to wear an ankle monitor even on the ice. Your violent tendencies seem to have gotten worse since the tragic death of Tim Rowe. He was a father figure to you, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah.” White rolled his shoulders and swallowed. “He was a good man.”

“Of course, everyone knows that. But few know how close he was to you. You spent a lot of time with him and his wife. Of all the interviews done with the players about the beloved coach, there’s been nothing from you.” There was fake sympathy in her tone, but Raif sensed her moving in for the kill. The cameraman was standing a few feet away with the camera on White.

Raif exchanged a look with Mason. Mason shook his head as though to say he had no idea what the woman was digging for. Aside from the fight at the gym, White hadn’t been involved in anything that would interest the tabloids.

“I ain’t got much to say. Tim knew I loved him.”

“I’m sure he did. Only, considering how comfortable many of your teammates have been in coming out, perhaps now would be a good time to be honest about what exactly you lost?” She glanced over at the camera as though to include the “audience.” “Never once in your professional career have you been in a serious relationship—”

Callahan moved between Hayley and White, practically snarling at the woman. “Get the fuck out of my locker room!”

“There’s no need to be ashamed, Ian. You loved Tim. Perhaps Madeline as well? You wouldn’t be the first involved in that kind of relationship.” Hayley tried to get around Callahan, but her face paled when she finally met the coach’s black eyes. She tripped backward into the cameraman. “I have permission to be here. You can’t stop me from speaking to the men.”

“Maybe not, but I can throw you pretty far, you vindictive bitch.” Callahan herded the
woman to the door with her cameraman scrambling out with her. “Which isn’t half what Silver will do if she finds out you’re here.”

“What is she saying?” White shook his head even as Pischlar drew him aside. “Does she think I’m gay? That I should’ve told Tim? I’m not—”

“I know, Bruiser. Forget her, she came to start shit, and Walrye let her.”

“She was starting shit with you. She’s got nothing on me.”

“That’s right. So don’t worry about it.”

The few men who’d remained in the locker room stared at White. Several spoke quietly amongst themselves. Tyler sat hard beside Carter, his eyes wide as though he was in shock. Ramos moved closer to Carter who had his white-knuckled fists pressed to his knees.

Raif had a feeling Ramos knew his sub needed to be calmed down before he opened his big mouth. Unfortunately, he was too late.

“You think we can’t hear what you assholes are saying? That cunt comes in here and talks shit about Tim, and now you’re wondering if it’s true? You all make me sick!” Carter threw his skates into his stall. “White was like a son to him. But he cared about all of us, that’s why it wasn’t obvious. He wasn’t hiding anything!”

“Shut up, Luke.” Tyler mumbled. “Not now.”

“Why not now? We used to have each other’s backs when Tim was around.”

Perron cleared his throat. “That hasn’t changed, Carter.”

“Hasn’t it? Tim wouldn’t have put up with that bitch even being in here. And you’re all going to act weird with White like you did with Pischlar? It’s bullshit!”

“Go home, Carter.” Callahan returned from getting rid of the vicious reporter, striding across the room and making a sharp motion with his hand before Carter could say another word. “Actually, all of you go home. What she said makes no difference. We’re here to play hockey. I see any more crap in here, and I’ll start making a long list of healthy scratches. We’ve got a lot of damn good players on the farm team ready to take the place of any one of you.”

The room emptied fairly quickly, leaving only a handful of men, including Raif, Tyler, White and Pischlar. Ramos had firmly led Carter out the second Callahan had finished his speech.

“They believe…she meant…” White rubbed his hand over his mouth, blinking fast. “And I told her I loved Tim. She’s gonna use that and make it seem like…shit. I gotta get out of here.”

Pischlar put his hand on White’s forearm. “White—”

“Don’t fucking touch me!” White shoved Pischlar away from him, stopped as Pischlar’s hand hit the wall as though to make sure he hadn’t hurt his friend. Then he left the locker room, slamming the door behind him.

Tyler went over to White’s stall, picking up a set of keys. “How’s he getting home without these? Should I—”

Taking the keys, Pischlar shook his head. “He hasn’t gotten behind the wheel since Tim’s accident. I usually drive him, but he’ll walk tonight. Be good for him to cool off.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Tyler watched Pischlar leave, sinking down to the bench, not looking up as Raif approached him. Raif nodded to Callahan, waiting until the coach disappeared into his office before crouching down in front of Tyler.

“Would you like me to drive you home?”

“You’re not coming with me?” Tyler rubbed his thighs, a gesture Raif had come to realize he did in a self-soothing kind of way. “I mean, Laura should be there, but I’d like you to come and stay at my place and maybe have a drink or five with me. I don’t get stupid ideas about stealing cars when I’m drinking with a grown-up and Laura’s a grown-up, but she’s no fun to drink with and—”

“Breathe, Ty.” Raif pulled Tyler into his arms and gave him a firm hug. “If you need me, I will be there.”

“I need you. That was pretty fucked up.” Tyler put his forehead on Raif’s shoulder. “You think Luke is right? The team really don’t feel comfortable with the guys that came out?”

“I think there’s some tension with the team, but less since the three of you returned. The rookies we had fed off the head coach’s bigotry, and
that
made everyone uncomfortable. You will see that reduced now that Richter has made his intention to be with us more often clear.” Raif gently massaged the back of Tyler’s neck. “
Luke
is very private about his life, but people aren’t blind, and he doesn’t know how to deal with them knowing about his relationship with Ramos. He’s projecting his fears on the situation with Pischlar. And even more on the implication that White had something going on with Tim.”