On Thin Ice (The Baltimore Banners Book 8) (3 page)

Chapter Four

Kenny knew he should have just stayed home.

His mood was still soured from last night's 2-1 loss—a loss no doubt helped by the lousy penalty he drew. The boarding call landed him in the bin and allowed Carolina to score their first goal on a power play in the second period.

He absently rubbed at his side, his fingers automatically finding the tender spot along his ribs from the hit he'd taken in the third. It should have been a penalty but somehow, the refs didn't see it.

Yeah, of course they didn't. But they didn't have a problem calling too many men on the ice against the Banners when he was moving off for a line change. That call gave Carolina another power play—and the game-winning goal.

So no, Kenny shouldn't be here. He should be back at his apartment, still sleeping, not at some silly youth hockey game at such an ungodly early hour on a Sunday morning.

Except he was having fun. He shouldn't be, but he was.

And it wasn't just because of a certain ref he couldn't seem to stop watching, either. And wasn't that just a kick in his ass, for him to actually be enjoying watching a ref? Especially after last night.

But it wasn't just watching the woman he couldn't seem to get off his mind. The game itself was fun to watch, bringing back memories of when he was a kid that age, playing his heart out each weekend, never imagining that he'd make it all the way to the pros. Yes, he hoped and dreamed. Didn't they all? But for it to actually happen—no, he hadn't dared to hope and dream that much.

Although if the shit from last night became a habit, he wasn't entirely sure he wouldn't be sent back down to the minors. Coach Leblanc and Coach Stephenson hadn't seemed too upset. With the calls, yes, but not with him, at least. But he wasn't about to read too much into that, not now, not this early in the season. He didn't care that they'd renewed his contract over the summer. Didn't care how much reassurance his agent gave him, telling him he was there to stay and to stop worrying.

JP tensed beside him, leaning forward on the bench as he focused on the game in front of them. Kenny scanned the ice, following the play as JP's niece moved toward the net, the puck right on her tape as she closed in for a shot. A kid from the other team—at least a foot taller than she was—raced toward her. She must have seen him or sensed him or something because she cut to the left, spun around, and pulled back her stick to shoot. It would have been a beautiful shot, too, if the bigger kid hadn't swung his stick up and out, catching her in the arm at the last minute and ruining the shot.

A shrill whistle split the air and Kenny jumped to his feet, his mouth opened to start shouting. JP grabbed his arm and yanked him back down with a small shake of his head, even as he let loose a string of French that Kenny didn't understand.

"No, my friend. They don't allow that here, as I've been reminded many times. Just sit and let the officials handle it."

"But that was bull—"

"They have a zero tolerance policy here. Including language." JP's wife, Emily, leaned across to interrupt, the small smile on her face letting Kenny know that this wasn't the first time she had given the reminder. Kenny snapped his mouth shut and turned back to the ice.

The ref—the same woman Kenny had been watching throughout the game—skated over to the two players and jerked her thumb toward the penalty box. The bigger kid must have said something because she moved even closer to him and pointed again, her arm outstretched. Her lips pursed in a thin line and Kenny was pretty sure he saw the muscle tick in her clenched jaw.

It reminded him of his encounter with the woman last week. The memory made him smile but he wasn't sure why. He'd never been attracted to tougher women—not that she was necessarily tough. For all he knew, she was completely meek and humble.

He watched her again, saw the stubborn set of her shoulders and tightened jaw, the raised chin that seemed to dare anyone to say a word. Humble and meek? Somehow he doubted that.

Kenny leaned to the side to talk to JP as the bigger skater headed to the penalty box. "She's pretty good."

"Your ref?"

"What?" Kenny leaned back, shaking his head. "No! I meant your niece. Taylor."

A bright smile spread across JP's face. "She is, isn't she? A natural talent. And maybe some personal coaching as well, eh?"

Emily laughed and nudged JP in the side. "Yeah. It has nothing to do with the fact that she's been playing for four years. Or that she went to hockey camp this summer. Or that she loves it and is just good at playing it."

"Of course not,
ma chère
. But it's also not a bad thing that her uncle has given her pointers, is it? She should be playing travel, not rec."

"Not yet. Maybe next year, when she's older. You see how much bigger everyone else is. It would be even worse in travel…"

Kenny tuned them out, knowing just from the words that this wasn't the first time JP and Emily had this discussion. Something nudged him in the side—his sore side—and he shifted on the cold metal seat, scowling at his fellow teammate, Mat Herron.

"Did you really need to hit me there?"

"Dude, sorry."

"Yeah, sure you are." Kenny rubbed at the bruise, waiting for Mat to say something else. "Well? What did you want?"

"I was just wondering what JP meant when he said 'your ref', that's all. Do you know her?"

"No, I don't know her. And she's not 'my ref'. Ignore JP. He's an idiot."

The idiot in question leaned over, looking at both of them. "Lauren."

"What?"

"Her name is Lauren." JP nodded his head toward the ice. "Your ref."

"How do you know that?"

"I did what any good teammate would do." JP's grin widened. "I sent Taylor over to ask."

"You did what? You have got to be kidding me. Great. Now she's going to think I'm interested in her or something."

"Aren't you?"

Kenny glared at Mat and shook his head. "No, I'm not."

The lie only stuck a little in his throat. Was he interested? Maybe. No, he was just curious, that was all. He didn't have time to be interested, didn't have time for anything but focusing on his own game. And even if he did have time, she wasn't his type. Of that much, at least, he was certain.

Mat snorted in disbelief, the sound echoing the same one going on in his own head. He lowered his brows, giving Mat another dirty look. "Shouldn't you be down there with your girlfriend or something, keeping her company while she's taking pictures?"

A sly smile spread across Mat's face, completely at odds with the faint blush that was turning his ears red. "I keep Nicole plenty company when she's taking pictures, trust me."

"Oh Christ. Really? I so didn't need to hear that. Did you really need to say that? I need bleach for that unwelcome visual now. Thank you so much." Kenny shoved at Mat, maybe a little harder than he needed to because the man almost fell off the bench. But it was his own fault for even mentioning it. Apparently Mat did a lot of posing for Nicole when they were alone. A few of the wives and girlfriends had gotten an eyeful at JP's wedding a couple of months ago when Mat accidentally showed them some of the pictures. He still hadn't lived it down—but at least nobody was calling him The Saint anymore.

Mat just laughed and pushed to his feet, climbing over the benches until he reached the bottom. JP nudged him in the other side and motioned toward the ice.

"Don't worry, my friend. Not even Taylor knows why I was asking so your ref won't know that you're interested."

"I am not interested." Kenny uttered the words through his clenched jaw. This is what he got for saying anything in the first place. He should have just kept his mouth shut the other day at lunch. If he had, none of this would be happening.

JP raised his eyebrows in disbelief then muttered something in French that made his wife nudge his leg and tell him to watch his language. But JP only laughed then grabbed her and gave her a quick kiss. He said something else in French, something that had Emily blushing and suddenly looking shy.

Kenny rolled his eyes and looked away, feeling like a sudden intruder. He was surrounded by men entirely too in love. And no, that wasn't a spurt of jealousy he felt. He wasn't the jealous type, and he certainly wasn't the type to be looking for love. Later, maybe, when his career settled and the future was a little more certain. But not now. Definitely not now.

He turned his attention back to the game, tuning out everything else around him. Taylor's niece was back on the ice, tapping her stick until one of the kids passed her the puck. She whirled and took off down the ice in a breakaway that had Kenny jumping to his feet, cheering.

One of the kids from the other team—the same kid as before—launched himself over the bench and took off after her, a look of intense fury on his face. Only this time he didn't go for a hooking. He caught up to Taylor and dove forward, swiping at her skates with the blade of his stick. Taylor tripped and flew forward, hitting the ice on her side as the puck slid away, out of control.

Kenny knew the whistle blew, he saw the ref bring it to her mouth so she must have blown it, but he didn't hear it. Anger ripped through him. Anger on Taylor's behalf, anger at the bully who had gone after her. He climbed down the bleachers, ignoring JP's call, ignoring the looks of some of the other parents as he reached the glass and banged against it with his fist.

"You're going to let that one go? Really? You're just going to let him get away with that?"

But she wasn't, even he could see that. The ref was leading the kid over to the penalty box, her face a cool mask of irritation as she leaned over and said something to the kid. Then she looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his for just a second before she skated over to the players' bench. Had she recognized him? He couldn't tell, and he didn't really care, not right now. He was still too angry.

And yes, the anger was irrational and misplaced. Maybe it had something to do with last night's game and the frustration he thought he had put behind him. Maybe it was something else entirely, he didn't know.

"He should be ejected for that move and you know it!" Kenny banged against the glass again then looked over in surprise when someone grabbed his arm.

"Dude, are you crazy? Stop. You're acting like an ass." Mat hissed the warning as he glanced from side to side. Kenny pulled his arm from Mat's grip and stepped back, taking a deep breath. What the hell was he doing? Mat was right, he was acting like an ass.

"I—" He stopped and took another deep breath, calming himself. "Sorry."

"You need to knock it off or you're going to get kicked out." Mat's gaze focused on something behind Kenny. "And oh shit, now you did it."

"Did what?" But Kenny didn't think Mat heard him, not over the loud banging against the glass—coming from the other side. Kenny turned, his eyes narrowing when he stared into the dark brown eyes of the ref.

And she didn't look happy.

He swallowed and tried to smile, but that only made her frown deepen. She crooked her finger, motioning for him to follow her as she skated along the boards to the far corner. He glanced back at Mat, who merely shrugged, then walked down to where the ref was waiting for him. She popped open the door and stepped out, one hand braced against the outside boards as she waited for him.

And yeah, she still looked pissed.

"Do you know how to read?"

"What? Of course I know how to read. What kind of stupid question—"

"Good. Read this and tell me what it says." She pointed to a large sign taped to the glass, still scowling at him. Kenny hesitated then moved closer, his eyes moving between her and the sign. He let out a heavy sigh then looked to the line she was pointing at, silently reading it.

Support the officials on and off the ice. Any criticism of the officials only hurts the game.

"Well? What does it say?"

"Listen, I'm sorry. It won't happen again."

"What does it say?"

"I read it already." Christ, did she have to act like he was three years old and didn't know how to read? "I said it won't happen again, I'm sorry."

"Get out."

"What? You can't be serious!"

"You do understand what zero tolerance means, don't you?"

"Of course I do. I'm not an idiot. I said I was—"

"You need to leave. Now." She stepped closer and Kenny realized that they were actually eye-to-eye, that the skates made her the exact same height as him. A tiny thrill—completely unexpected and totally unwelcome—went through him at the realization. He kicked it away.

"You're seriously kicking me out? Seriously?"

"Yes, I am. Seriously. Now leave."

"But—"

"Dude, come on, let's go." Mat tugged on his arm, trying to pull him away.

"But I—"

"Later. Now come on." Mat tugged his arm again, pulling until Kenny finally followed, still not believing he was being ejected from a youth hockey game. A freaking youth hockey game! They were ten feet away when the ref called out.

"Mr. Haskell?"

Kenny paused, wondering how she knew his name, surprised she was calling him. He turned around, thinking that maybe she had changed her mind, that she was going to let him stay. "Yeah?"