Winning Streak (17 page)

“You really are in a hurry.”

She'd already dug into her fries but looked up at him and returned the smile with a small sigh that drained most of the tension from her body. “Sorry. Tonight's a big night, and there's so much to do.”

“Well, I have an idea that might improve your mood.”

She smirked and kicked his shoe, just a tap, not enough to hurt. “You said a quick lunch. That'll add at least another fifteen minutes.”

He laughed, and the tightness in his chest eased some. “That's not what I meant.”

“Oh. Then I'm listening.”

“Now I'm thinking about sex.”

“Madden.”

“Just kidding.” Sort of. “Well, I had a long talk with Cole last night. Just between us, Tricia broke up with him, and he's not taking it well.”

“Oh no.” She frowned and paused with the cheeseburger halfway to her mouth.

“Yeah. He was in bad shape. He wanted to move in with her. I really feel for him. I've been there more times than I'd like to admit. But it got me thinking … maybe we should give it a shot.”

It could've just been the blue glow from the rink's advertisement screens, but she looked paler. “Give what a shot?”

“Living together. We don't have to hide anything now. It would give us more time with each other, and I can think of numerous other benefits.” He wiggled his brows.

All expression fell off her face, and the cheeseburger landed in the bag in her lap. “I … I don't think so.”

“Why not?”

“I just got my apartment and decorated it. It took me three months to finish moving in, but I did, and it's my space. The first home that's just mine. I worked hard for it. And you've still got Cole for a roommate. I'm not ready. Can't we just keep going like we've been?”

“We could … but I'm starting to get the feeling you'll never be ready.”

“That's not fair. You said you'd be patient.”

He had. And he wanted to be. But he'd made a bad habit of taking the passenger seat in relationships, and they'd never ended well. He just wanted to be copilots, but one sign after another was pointing to Saralynn never giving up the wheel. “Be honest. How far do you see us going?”

She stared at him, lips parted, and shook her head. “Why are you doing this? Why are you pushing so hard?”

Why
was
he? Was it because he really did believe in what they had and just wanted to be with her? Or was it because having a stable, solid relationship would show his sister he was ready and able to be a positive influence? As much as he wanted to deny the latter, he wasn't completely sure. “So you're saying no?”

“I'm saying not now.”

“All right.” He set his untouched bag of food by her feet and stood.

“Madden … ”

He shook his head and climbed the steps, kept going even though he could feel her staring at his back. Whatever his motives were, he knew in his gut that they could wait six months, a whole year, and Saralynn would never be ready to take the next step, even if the next step was just trading keys. They weren't on the same page. Not even in the same book. And it felt like they never would be.

Friday Night, Surrender Nightclub

Vaughn Manor felt too big on a regular night, but it was unbearable now, and he was in no mood to be at the game. His presence wasn't required, and it was unlikely anyone would even know he was missing. Maybe Jace because they usually watched together. Then again, she might be glad for his absence. That thought stung, which was saying a lot because he couldn't feel very much at the moment. Not with five beers and three shots in him.

The alcohol and the Friday night crowd at Surrender kept him from thinking too deeply about anything. Add in the strobe lights and pounding music, and it was the best anesthetic he could hope for. A small voice in his head said this was a bad idea. He was supposed to be staying
out
of trouble, and getting this drunk rarely had a happy ending. That voice, however, was silenced by another shot he accepted from a passing server.

He took an open spot on the winding, plush, yellow sofa that spanned the room and let the chaos absorb him. A girl in a gold bikini swung around a pole on the platform behind him, and he glanced back just to make sure he wasn't going to get a go-go boot in the head.

He'd spent a lot of time working on himself the past two years after getting in deep with a loan shark. As far as he thought he'd come, it was depressing as hell to accept he had so far left to go. He'd gone into work that morning hopeful and sure of his reasons for wanting Saralynn to move in. But with dumbfounded and horrified way she'd stared at him, he might as well have proposed. After everything they'd gone through, he should have known how she'd react. He just couldn't resist. Once again, he dove into the ocean without checking for an undertow. But it wasn't all him. She'd started distancing herself the second he opened her door.

Some guy dropped down next to him and squinted. “Yo. Aren't you that guy who works for the Sinners? Vaughn? Your sister owns the team, right?”

Madden nodded but didn't make eye contact, didn't engage.

“Whoa. Awesome. Nice to meet you man, I'm Joe.” He held out his hand.

Walking away wasn't an immediate option. He wasn't sure he could stand with the room tilting side to side like it was. He shook briefly and hoped Joe would get the hint.

He didn't. “I'm a big fan. I know the team's on the longest winning streak they've ever had, but the Stars have also been on a streak. What do you think? Can the Sinners pull out another one?”

It could go either way, but with the captain's head out of the game, another win was unlikely. He shook his head. “Not tonight.”

“What's up with Cole? I was watching pregame warm-ups at a bar down the street, and he's not looking good. I mean like he wouldn't even make the minor league. He was taking shots on net, and he couldn't have hit the puck with a tennis racket.”

“Lay off, man. How well would
you
play if your girl just broke up with you?”

“No shit? Guess that explains it. So you think they're definitely going to lose?”

“I don't know, but I wouldn't put money on a win.”

“Thanks, man.” Joe clapped him on the shoulder, stood, and disappeared in the sea of sparkly, half-naked people.

Madden frowned. Why would the guy thank him? Something nudged his brain, an obvious answer clouded by the beer haze. No more. He flagged down a server and tipped her twenty for a glass of water and to keep them coming. A half hour and a few bathroom breaks later, the nudge in his brain turned into a rock in his stomach.

He pushed his way out of the club and waited on the sidewalk for a taxi. No need to call one when they cruised the Strip twenty-four seven looking for tourist fares. The throbbing in his skull lowered to a manageable level. He pressed his palm into his forehead, and between that and the soft breeze, he was mostly sure he wouldn't throw up. That was subject to change, of course.

He still wasn't firm on the details, but instinct told him to call Saralynn. She needed to know about whatever was going on. She wouldn't be happy to hear from him, but she was the only one he trusted to sort it out. He dug in his pocket for his phone, scrolled through the log, and hit dial. It rang six times, and he expected voicemail, but she picked up and yelled over the deafening background noise.

“Madden? Hold on!” The roar of the arena gradually faded until the only sound was her ragged breath. “Where are you? What's going on?”

“I'm leaving Surrender.”

“Are you drunk?”

He paused, probably too long. “Not anymore.” She didn't respond to that. When a woman chewed you out, she was angry. When she didn't say a word, she was furious. He closed his eyes and forged ahead. “I think I messed up.”

Las Vegas Arena

Normally on game nights, nothing could steal Saralynn's focus, especially when they were debuting a promotion, but all she could think about was Madden. How could he be so careless? She should have predicted this. He'd been so upset that afternoon. Yes, he pushed when he said he wouldn't, but if she were being honest, she'd started mentally backing away days ago. He sensed that, and while it was pretty clear he had his own stuff going on, she wasn't entirely blameless.

He hadn't answered a text or call all day. And when he finally got back to her, it was to report a potential disaster? A nagging feeling in her gut said to track him down and be his life preserver until he could keep his own head above water, but that wasn't an option. Any number of the hundreds on staff could miss a game and go unnoticed. She was not one of them.

And in any case, what could she do? Even if he were currently sober—big if since he'd still been slurring words—he'd admitted to drinking. Maybe he'd imagined the whole thing. Yeah. And maybe her brother would leave hockey for Disney On Ice. The Sinners could win. That would take some heat off if anything came of it. No time to think about it now.

She ran down the steps, her heels echoing. The elevator might have been faster, but maybe not, and she couldn't stand to get inside with the afternoon's silent ride still replaying there, a phantom reminder of one more memory she wished she could rewrite. At basement level, she burst out and jogged down the hallway. Right outside the locker room, in the space the guys used for pregame soccer exercises, the dance team shot pucks back and forth, staying in formation for the most part.

“Hey, ladies.”

They looked up and beamed at her. Miranda, the captain, waved. “Hey, Sare. With only four days' practice, we're lookin' good. I think Coach Windham would be impressed.”

“That's what I like to hear. The first period's almost over, and we're going to start with the three-on-three. The shootout will be after the second period. Everybody clear on what they need to do? Any questions?”

They all stared at her and shook their heads, looking a little like traumatized soldiers after war. Their war had been on ice every afternoon that week, their commanding officer Nealy the tiny tyrant. Saralynn had watched the first two practices, but they'd been so brutal, she couldn't bear to witness the rest. The women had started out with a rudimentary knowledge of how the game worked, which was nowhere near Nealy's standards. There had been strong words and tears, but it looked as if everything turned out okay in the end.

“Okay, great. Let's head around and use the ground floor B entrance to the ice. We don't want to go through the locker room and risk running into the guys. The littlest things psych them out, and they're already down by two. If they break their winning streak tonight, it won't be because of
us
.”

Most nodded their heads. Superstition was nothing to mess around with. Saralynn waved an arm and led the march. By the time they got to the Zamboni entrance, the first period was over, and the players were heading off. The dance team laced up their skates and wobbled toward the ice.
Please don't let them fall. Please don't let them fall.

That's all she needed—this honest effort to morph into a parody. One slip, and her mailbox would flood with complaints about the “bimbo cheerleaders” turning the game into a joke. At least they looked respectable in the blinged-out, signature Sinners' women's jerseys and yoga pants. She held her breath as they made their entrance. Their arms shot out for balance the first few steps, but nobody tumbled as they skated into place center ice.
Thank God
.

Six women took sticks while the other half sat on the players' bench. A ref skated out to drop the puck. And the arena went crazy. Normally, people left for bathroom or snack breaks, but the majority stayed in their seats to watch the real, live Barbie dolls play hockey. And the most surprising thing? They were
good
. They darted and dodged over the ice, passing, receiving, and stealing the puck cleanly. Even the line changes went smoothly as if they'd been doing this all season. Anyone who doubted the coaching magic of Nealy Windham wasn't paying attention.

And even with this unqualified success, she couldn't get Madden off her mind. Where was he now? He'd said he was going home, but in his state, it would be easy to get sucked into a shiny casino on the way. He normally spent games against the glass by the players' entrance with Jacey. She now stood there alone, and his absence was palpable.

The urge to fix everything overwhelmed Saralynn. That was her job and coded in her DNA. But she was torn between sympathy and frustration. How could you help someone who kept making things worse? He was a grown man. He could take care of himself.
Please, God, let him take care of himself. At least until tomorrow.

The ref blew his whistle to end the dancers' game, and the crowed cheered as if the Sinners had been out there. Jacey caught her eye from the other end of the rink and nodded with two thumbs up. Boyfriend alarm bells aside—assuming she could still call him that—satisfaction swelled through her. If the dancers could make it through the mini game, the shootout would be no problem.

They skated off-ice waving to the audience, and she opened the rink door for them. One after another, they hugged her and whooped.

“That was awesome! I never knew hockey could be so much fun! I mean, it's exciting to watch, but to really go out and play? Can we do this every game?” Excitement rolled off Miranda in waves that practically shimmered around her, and Saralynn laughed despite herself.

“Not every game, but at least once every home stand. You guys were incredible out there.”

“All thanks to Coach Windham. I'll be honest—she scared the Spanx off us the first day, but she knows what she's talking about.”

“Well nice job, ladies. Stretch it out, get some water, and get ready for the second period break.”