Playmaker: A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella (10 page)

As much as she didn't want to admit it, his callous actions, his complete disregard, hurt more than she thought it would. Because she had hoped that maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong about him.

"So dude, what the fuck was up with that?"

Derek ground his teeth together, not even bothering to look at Mat. He hit the remote and unlocked the SUV then opened the cargo door. He threw the bag of plastic sticks and rubber balls into the back then slammed the door shut. "What was up with what?"

"Whatever was going on with you and Bridget."

"Nothing was going on." Derek climbed into the front seat and slammed his door shut before jamming the key into the ignition. Mat climbed into the passenger seat, leaving Brad to sit in the back.

"Could have fooled me. Looked pretty intense."

"Yeah, and she was crying."

Great. Even Brad had noticed. Not good. Derek clenched his jaw again then took a deep breath and put the vehicle in gear. "It was nothing. She was overreacting. Typical woman."

Mat spun around in his seat so fast, Derek was surprised he didn't get whiplash. "Whoa, dude. What the hell? That's a little nasty, even for you."

"Even for me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Just what I said. We all know you're Mister Fun-and-Games but come on. Even you have to admit that was pretty low."

Derek slammed the SUV back into Park and turned in his seat. Mat was still watching him, his eyes harsh and judging. Even Brad was leaning forward, a frown on his face as he looked at Derek. Although with Brad, that could just as likely mean he was trying to figure out what was going on.

"Nasty? Low? What the hell are you talking about, Herron?"

"I know Bridget. Not well, but enough to know she's chill. She doesn't overreact. So what the hell did you say to upset her?"

"Is that what you think? That I upset her?"

Mat just shrugged, the expression on his face saying more than what Derek wanted to hear. He looked over at Brad. "Is that what you think, too?"

Brad frowned, glanced over at Mat, then looked back at Derek. "Even I could see she was upset. You must've done something."

Dammit. What the fuck? Derek slammed his hand against the steering wheel then leaned his head against the headrest. Even his teammates were ganging up on him, accusing him of—whatever the hell they were accusing him of. Fuck.

"I didn't do anything."

"Yeah. Okay. Are we going to sit here all day or what?"

Derek swallowed the curse he wanted to hurl at them then put the SUV in gear and pulled out of the garage. The tense silence in the vehicle lasted one block, before Mat started talking again, acting like the last five minutes had never happened.

"I actually had fun today. Those kids were pretty cool."

"Yeah, I guess."

Brad leaned forward, his arm resting against the back of Derek's seat. "What happened with Justin? I thought he was supposed to meet us."

"Probably too hungover."

"You mean probably still drunk." Mat grunted and shook his head. "He needs to get his head out of his ass."

"Yeah, he does." Derek nodded his agreement. "What's going on with him, anyway?"

"Who the fuck knows? But this has been going on since before Christmas and he's getting worse."

"Anyone talk to him?"

"Better luck talking to the wall."

"I guess."

Brad leaned forward, his elbow knocking the side of Mat's head. "Hey. Watch it."

"Sorry." He moved his arm then looked over at Derek. "So are we going to start doing this every week?"

"Doing what?"

"You know. Coming here, hanging with the kids."

"I'm in. Like I said, it was fun." Mat shifted in the seat, a grin on his face. "I talked to one of those nurses about maybe getting regular tickets for the kids. She liked the idea, gave me a number to call so I can arrange it."

"That'd be cool. Count me in. So—are we?"

"Are we what?"

"Going to do this each week. I mean, when we're not playing."

"Yeah, I'm in," Mat repeated. "Maybe we can get a few of the other guys to come with us."

"Yeah. You guys have fun with that."

"What?" The word was a loud echo ringing in Derek's ears, coming from Mat and Brad at the same time. He shook his head then checked traffic before merging onto the expressway and heading south to the arena. "You heard me. Count me out."

"What do you mean, count you out? This was your idea."

"Yeah, it was. I was hoping to impress Bridget. That obviously didn't work, so count me out."

Stark silence, heavy and accusing, settled around him. It wasn't until after the words came out that he realized how they sounded, how they made him look. Christ, was he really that big of an ass?

"Man, you really are an asshole."

"I didn't mean—" Derek stopped himself from saying anything else before he made things even worse. He didn't even know what to say, what he was going to say. He didn't mean…what? What didn't he mean?

He didn't know. And for the first time in a long time, that bothered him. Christ. Was he really that fucked up?

What was it he had said to Bridget to upset her? He frowned, thinking, almost afraid to remember.

He knew she'd be there, that it was the perfect time to see her. And then he had just told his teammates to count him out because he was only trying to impress Bridget.

Fuck. Had he really meant it that way?

He didn't want to think so, didn't want to admit he could really be that shallow and unfeeling. That irresponsible. But the truth was staring him right in the face. No, not in the face. In his gut. Twisting, bitter. Too painful not to be real.

He glanced over at Mat and Brad, unable to really look at them. Not when they wore identical expressions of surprise and disgust, not when those expressions were turned on him.

Derek ran a hand through his hair then slammed his fist against the steering wheel. "Fuck. I so fucked up."

His teammates didn't say anything. They didn't have to, not when the heavy silence said so much more than they ever could. Derek clenched his jaw and pulled into the parking garage, stopping on the second level to drop off his teammates. Brad climbed out without saying a word, pausing long enough to give Derek a dirty look before slamming the door.

Mat gave him a similar look before climbing out. His hand closed over the edge of the door, ready to close it. Before he could slam it shut, Derek leaned across the console, motioning for him to stop.

"Mat, what do I do?"

"What the hell are you asking me for?"

"Because. You're the nice guy. The one everyone goes to for advice. Help me out."

Something flashed in Mat's eyes, something impatient and almost angry. But the look was gone before Derek could question it, replaced by something even worse: pity.

"Do you like her? I mean, really like her, not just want to add her to your collection?"

Derek ignored the jab and nodded. "Yeah. I do."

"Then take responsibility for your fuck-up and apologize. Get on your knees and do some serious groveling and prove you're not the privileged asshole we all think you are." Mat slammed the door hard enough to shake the SUV, cutting Derek off before he could respond.

Grovel? Yeah, right.

Bullshit.

No way.

Derek straightened in the seat and took off, the wheels spinning on the smooth concrete with a loud squeal.

Grovel.

He should have known better than to ask the team's saint for advice.

Bridget's hand tightened around the handle of the shovel as she peered over Rob’s shoulder to watch the play. Her eyes automatically sought out Derek, seeking the smooth grace of his moves on the ice.

Well, maybe not so smooth tonight.

He sped toward the net, leaning down and reaching with his stick as Mat passed the puck to him. It was a beautiful pass, one of those moves they'd play over and over just before the puck slammed into the back of the net.

Except Derek missed it. The puck sped between his legs, unstopped, then hit the boards. He spun around and went after it, colliding with one of the players from the Michigan team as they fought for it in the corner.

Bridget leaned forward, trying to get a better look, her teeth pulling on her lower lip as she muttered to herself. No. She had to be imagining things. Surely he couldn't be—

She didn't even have time to finish the thought before Derek brought his stick up and slammed the other player across the back with it, pushing him against the glass. A shrill whistle split the frigid air, signaling a stop in play as the ref hurried over to the players.

Was it her imagination, or did Derek really just look over at her? It had to be her imagination, there was no way he could actually see her. Could he?

"Alright guys, let's go."

The door opened and the ice crew sped out, collectively focused on clearing the ice in the less than two minutes they had. And dammit, now she had to skate right past the penalty box.

Right past Derek.

If she didn't know better, she'd almost think he drew the penalty on purpose. For their first three sweeps, she had been on the outer edge, closest to the players' benches. Except each time she went past, Derek leaned out and tried to say something to her.

Bridget, I'm sorry.

Bridget, I'm an ass.

Bridget, would you at least look at me?

She nearly slipped and fell flat on her ass that last time. And yeah, wouldn't that have been just perfect, to fall in front of 20,000 people? She caught herself just in time and managed to give him a dirty look before skating past the bench.

But not before she saw the anguish on his face. And not before she saw the amusement on the faces of his teammates.

She switched sides with Gary, so she was against the boards closest to the penalty box on the last two sweeps. And now, so was Derek.

That couldn't be coincidence. Could it?

She pursed her lips together, pushing her shovel against the ice, gathering the loose ice scrapings in front of her. She wanted to race past the box, just pick up speed and take off down the ice. But she couldn't. Their moves were too concise, too choreographed, designed for purpose and efficiency. She couldn't just go do her own thing, no matter how much she wanted to.

And sure enough, Derek was standing up, his face damn near pressed against the glass of the penalty box as she skated toward it. She glared at him, a full-on frown that would leave no doubt about what she was thinking on her face. But it was like he didn't even notice.

He banged on the glass, trying to get her attention.

"Bridget, please. You have no idea how sorry I am."

He had to be yelling, for her to hear him so clearly. She narrowed her eyes and shook her head then skated by, doing her best to ignore him despite the sound of his fist pounding on the glass.

She heard a chuckle behind her but didn't bother to turn around, already knowing that Rob would be smiling at her through his bushy beard.

"It's not funny."

"You're right. It's freaking hysterical."

She paused long enough to toss him a dirty look over her shoulder then kept going. Less than a minute left, time to pick up the pace.

They finished clearing the ice with seconds to spare, the gate latching behind them with a booming click. Bridget placed her shovel in the rack then moved deeper into the tunnel and out of the way.

Gary came up behind her, giving her a wide smile. "Did you want to switch back, take over your normal spot now?"

She turned, one hand on her hip, and looked at him through narrowed eyes, silently daring him to say anything. Then she blew a strand of hair out of her eyes and sighed in defeat.

"Yeah, sure. Not like it's going to make any difference, is it?"

Derek glanced at his watch, something close to panic tightening his gut. Why the hell had the coaching staff kept them so late? Yeah, they had been lucky to win. Yeah, everyone's play had been off. Yeah, they needed to keep it together if they wanted to keep their spot in the playoffs.

Did they really think the team didn't know that? Did they really think keeping them an extra fifteen minutes was going to make any difference?

He slung his bag over his shoulder and hit the panic bar on the door so hard the noise echoed in the empty stairwell like a shot. Derek hurried his steps, turning the corner near the elevator, hurrying to get deeper into the garage. He didn't know exactly where Bridget parked, wasn't sure if she usually parked in the same spot or not. If she didn't, he wouldn't know where to look. And if she did—

He rounded the corner and came to an abrupt halt, the bag jerking his arm as it slid off his shoulder.

Well, if she did, she was already gone, because there wasn't a beat-up red car anywhere in sight.

Fuck. Now what?

Disappointment swept through him. Disappointment? Who the fuck was he kidding? He wasn't sure what he was feeling, but it was a hundred times worse than disappointment. Disappointment he could live with. But this—no, this was something worse. An emptiness that chilled him from somewhere deep inside, so deep he hadn't even realized that part of him existed. And the emptiness was growing, spreading out, taking over his entire body until he thought he'd just disappear.

Fuck.

He wanted to hit something, to ram his fist into the wall over and over until he couldn't feel anything at all. This—whatever this was he was feeling—he hadn't expected it. Hadn't expected the misery he'd been feeling the last two weeks, the almost desperate need to see Bridget, to talk to her. To apologize.

Yeah. To grovel.

But she hadn't been home the few times he stopped by, wouldn't answer his calls. And when he saw her tonight…yeah, maybe he had made an ass out of himself, but he didn't care. He had hoped—

Well, it didn't matter what he hoped. It didn't matter, because Bridget wasn't talking to him, period. And he didn't know what else he could do, what else he should do.

The elevator dinged behind him, the sound sharp and surprising in the damp concrete space. Another ding echoed on top of the first one, signaling the arrival of the second elevator. Then laughter and voices, too happy, too cheerful, bounced off the walls, grating on his nerves. It wasn't right that people could still be laughing, not when he was pretty sure he'd never laugh again.

"Hey, Caulton. What are you still doing here? The way you flew out of the locker room, I thought you had someplace else to go."

Great, just what he needed. Mat, of all people. And who knew who else was with him? The last thing he needed was to have Mat lecture him, because there was no doubt in his mind that Mat knew exactly what he had been doing.

Or trying to do.

Derek swallowed back the sarcastic reply that he wanted to scream and forced a smile on his face. Or maybe it was a grimace. He didn't know, didn't care. Then he turned around, ready to tell Mat and everyone else with him to just get lost, to go to hell. Something.

Except no words came out at all, nothing more than a barely audible hiss when the group moved closer. Mat, Brad, Kenny. Even Justin, looking too pale, too shaky, too out of it.

And dammit. There was Melanie and Ciarra, another one of the girls from the dance team. He didn't miss the warm smile Melanie gave him, didn't miss the seductive way she pushed pass Brad as she moved toward him.

But he didn't bother smiling back. Hell, he barely noticed her. His eyes were completely focused on Bridget, with her baggy track pants and oversized sweatshirt. With her thick curly hair pulled back into a sloppy ponytail, the color glowing deep red like warm fire. And her eyes, those deep emerald eyes staring at him from behind wire-rimmed glasses.

"Bridget."

Her eyes widened. In surprise? Something else? Derek didn't care. He stepped forward, not paying attention to anyone else, wanting only to reach Bridget.

A hand closed around his wrist, stopping him. He glanced down, irritated, then looked up as Melanie inched even closer, pressing her ample chest against his arm.

"Derek. Are we finally going for those drinks you've been promising me?"

Fuck. No, this couldn't be happening. Not now. He looked over at Bridget but she was already walking away. Dammit.

"Well? Are we?"

"Not interested, sorry." Derek yanked his arm from Melanie's grasp and stepped around her, ignoring her outraged gasp, ignoring the chuckles and comments from everyone else. "Bridget. Bridget, wait!"

Derek hurried his steps, finally catching up to her. He tossed the bag to the side and grabbed her hand, threading his fingers through hers and tugging. "Bridget, wait. Please."

"What, Derek? What do you want?"

"You. I want you."

"Really?" She pulled her hand from his grasp and fisted it on her hip. "Been there, done that, remember?"

"No, not like that. I want
you
. To spend time with you, to just…be with you."

Her eyes widened, but only for a brief second before they narrowed. He held his breath, expecting her to take a step back, to walk away. What would he do if she did? He didn't know.

"I'm not interested, Derek."

"Why?"

"Seriously? You have to ask me why, after what you did the other week?"

"I was an ass. I know that. I—there's nothing I can say to make up for it, and I know saying I'm sorry won't help. But I am sorry. I just…all I'm asking for is a second chance."

Bridget didn't move, just kept staring at him with those huge green eyes. He held his breath, waiting, hoping. Then she shook her head and took a step back.

"Why? Why do you even care?"

"Because—" He swallowed and looked over his shoulder. Yeah, sure enough they had an audience. Fuck it, he didn't care. He'd do whatever he had to for that second chance.

He turned back to Bridget then dropped to his knees, the concrete hard, cold, unforgiving. Bridget's eyes widened, her gaze bouncing from him to the crowd behind them, then back to him. An expression of horror crossed her face and she tried to take another step back but Derek reached out and grabbed her hand, holding her in place.

"What are you doing?" Her clipped words were nothing more than a hissed whisper, meant for his ears only. He shook his head and tightened his hand around hers. And when he spoke, he made sure it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I'm groveling. I was told groveling helps." He ignored the choked laughter coming from behind him and tugged on Bridget's hand, pulling her closer. "I like you, Bridget. Really like you. And I think we could really have something good between us. Just—all I want is a second chance. To prove that I'm not as big an ass as you think."

Bridget blinked and looked around, her hand relaxing just the slightest bit in his hold. "Derek—"

He shook his head, interrupting her. "I like who I am with you, Bridget. I like who I want to be with you. Please. That's all I'm asking for. A second chance, to see if we're as good together as I know we can be."

"I can't believe you're doing this." She squeezed her eyes closed and tilted her head back, her jaw clenching. Shit, she was going to say no. He knew it, could feel it in his gut. Something like panic, cold and heavy, gripped him, shaking him.

"Bridget." Her name was nothing more than a whisper, broken and desperate. But she didn't pull her hand from his like he expected, didn't turn and run away. She took a deep breath and finally opened her eyes, looking down at him. Then she shook her head and tugged on his hand.

"This is ridiculous. Stand up. No—" She shook her head again, stopping him before he could say anything, and pulled on his hand. "Stand up."

Derek tightened his grip on her hand and pushed to his feet, helped by her tugging. He didn't pause, didn't stop to think, just pulled her into his arms and held her against him.

Bridget placed the flat of her palms against his chest and for one horrifying second, he was afraid she was going to push him away. But she didn't. Instead she tilted her head back, her brows creased in confusion as she stared up at him.

"Why? I don't understand. Why me?"

"Because you're nothing like anyone I know. And because I need someone like you in my life." He reached out and brushed a loose strand of hair off her face, tucking it behind her ear. "I don't know what's going to happen, Bridget. But I do know I want to at least try. Will you give me that second chance? Take a chance on me? On us?"

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and dazed, her mouth slightly parted. And Derek held his breath, waiting, trying not to lose himself in the depths of those eyes. "I think you're insane."

"So is that a yes?"

"I still don't understand why."

"Then you'll just have to hang around so I can show you."

"Groveling? Really?"

Derek laughed. "Did it work?"

"Maybe. A little. I'll let you know after."

"After what?"

"After you kiss her, asshole. Shit, do I have to teach you everything?"

Derek cringed then looked over his shoulder. "Dammit Mathias—"

Bridget's palm closed over his cheek, turning his head back to face her. He didn't miss the amusement in her eyes. Amusement and something else, something that radiated out and filled him with warmth.

"He's right, you know. This is the part where you kiss me." Then she leaned up and pressed her mouth to his, her lips warm, welcoming.

Derek tightened his arms around her and held her close, losing himself in the kiss until it was just the two of them.

No, he didn't know what would happen, what the future held. But he sure as hell knew he wouldn't give up, not until Bridget was his.

Not even then.

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