Delay of Game (The Baltimore Banners Book 6) (5 page)

Focus. Focus.

Justin gripped the stick between his hands, waiting for the puck to shoot his way. There, now. He accepted the pass with a grunt and took off down the ice, heading to the goal. Brad Goodrich, their back-up goalie, was in the net, waiting for him, crouched low.

Probably expecting him to miss.

Christ, please don't let him miss.

Justin inhaled sharply, held it, skated to the left before changing directions at the last minute. He pulled the stick back, still not breathing, ignoring the sweat stinging his eyes.

Then he took his shot.

Brad slid from the far end of the net, reaching for the puck with his gloved hand. But he had read Justin's move wrong, couldn't get in place in time. The puck soared past his glove, hitting the back of the net with a satisfying whoosh.

Justin nodded, mostly to himself, celebrating on the inside. And hoping he wouldn't be a scratch again tonight. He was here in Buffalo with the rest of the team, participating in the game day skate with everyone else. Sonny had been watching him all morning, those expressionless eyes following each move, picking up on each mistake.

Saying nothing, just watching.

Justin hoped it was a good sign, hoped to hell Coach wouldn't scratch him tonight. He wanted to play. For the first time in a long time, it felt like his heart and mind were completely on the game, that he was here, really here.

Not worried about keeping the contents of his stomach where they belonged, not worried about the throbbing in his head. No, he was here.

Christ, don't let him be a scratch.

Because yeah, he could admit it, at least to himself: he wanted Val to watch him play tonight. And he wanted her to be proud of what she saw. A real player, the one he used to be, one who played with his heart and soul. Not a drunk, so worn out and tired and shaking from the previous night's binge.

He didn't want to play like that ever again, didn't want to let those phantom voices calling him a fuck-up get the better of him.

Christ, what was with him? Just listen to him. One night with Val, and already she was always with him, just there in the back of his mind. Encouraging, smiling, the memory of her voice off-setting those phantom voices. One night, and he was completely bewitched.

Justin slid across the ice, stopping next to Mat with a short spray of snow.

"About damn time you stepped back up."

Justin grunted, not quite able to meet Mat's serious green gaze. Out of everyone on the team, Mat knew more about Justin's binges than anyone—probably because he'd saved Justin's ass on more than one occasion, and not just by driving his ass home. But Mat's gaze was still too serious, still saw too much. Justin wondered if his friend was just waiting to see how long this reprieve would last, if he'd start the same shit all over again tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that.

No. Hell no. Justin didn't want to go to that dark place again, didn't want to risk losing everything he had worked for his whole life. Coach had been serious the other day, Justin was certain of that. Between the not-so-subtle threat to his playing and the subtle encouragement he'd gotten from Val, Justin was convinced he wouldn't sink again.

No way. Once was enough. No, once was too much.

The drills continued for another thirty minutes. Light, easy, just enough to get ready for tonight's game. Justin fell in line with everyone else, heading back to the locker room to change and clean up. His steps slowed as he approached Coach, watching, wondering what the verdict would be.

Sonny nodded. That was all, just that curt movement of his head. Justin's breath left him in a rush and he had to bite back a smile as he continued to the locker room. If he didn't think everyone would stare at him like he lost his mind, he'd do a little celly right there in the hallway.

But he couldn't. Not here, not now. Besides, he had a feeling he might get a chance to do a real celly out on the ice later tonight, where it actually counted.

Two hours later, back in the hotel room, Justin was starting to have doubts. He should be sleeping, getting in a quick pre-game nap. Except the headache that had been plaguing him the last few hours was back, worse than before. There was a sharp throbbing in the back of his head, made a hundred times worse by Mat's snoring.

Justin rolled to his side and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to ignore the throbbing, trying to ignore the snoring. If he could just tune out the noise, get the headache to go away, he could finally get some rest.

It was no use. He sat up and balled his fists then punched the pillow. Once, twice. Once more. Then he bent over and wrapped his arms around his head, digging his fingers into the base of his skull, squeezing. There, just there. That's where the pressure was. He dug in a little harder, finally getting relief from the painful throbbing.

He stayed that way for a few minutes, taking long deep breaths and just squeezing. Aspirin. He needed aspirin, and maybe a hot shower.

Justin got up and stumbled to his overnight bag, his hands rummaging through it until he found his shower kit. He grabbed the bottle of aspirin, fumbling the lid off with shaking hands. Why the fuck were his hands shaking like this? Christ, he couldn't be coming down with something. Not now, not tonight. Not when he was finally getting his shit together.

He popped four aspirin and swallowed them dry, wincing at the bitterness. Then he stumbled to the bathroom, grabbing his phone from the dresser as he went. He reached into the shower and turned on the faucet, twisting it to the hottest setting, then sat down on the toilet.

What the hell was Val's number? Justin closed his eyes, trying to remember. Except there was nothing to remember because he never got her number. Shit. Why the hell hadn't he got her number?

He could worry about that later. She was probably at the restaurant anyway, so he hit the number for information, gave the automated voice the name and address of the number he was requesting, and waited.

It seemed like an hour passed by before the call was automatically connected, before he heard ringing on the other end. Once, twice.

"The Maypole, this is Richard. May I help you?" The masculine voice was slightly raised, just enough to be heard over the background din.

"Uh, yeah. Yes. I'm trying to reach Val."

"Hold on."

Justin squeezed his eyes shut and leaned forward, his free hand massaging the back of his scalp as instrumental pop music filled the silence. And then, finally, a voice came on the other end.

Light, laughing, musical in its own way. "This is Val, may I help you?"

"Hey. It's me. Uh, Justin."

There was a slight pause, just long enough to make him wince. "Hey."

Another pause. Shit. Did she sound annoyed, or happy to hear from him? He couldn't tell. What the hell should he say now? "So, uh, how's your day going?"

And Christ, could he sound any lamer? He shook his head and wondered if he should just pretend to lose reception. The longer the silence stretched out, the more he was convinced calling her was a bad idea. He should have called her yesterday. Why the hell didn't he call her yesterday?

Then he heard laughter, soft and mellow. The sound warmed him, pushed away some of his awkwardness. "It's been going, same as usual. How about you? Are you in Buffalo?"

"Yeah. Got here yesterday afternoon. I, uh, I'm sorry. I should have called you—"

"Why?"

Justin opened his mouth, then snapped it closed. Why? Did she really just ask him that? "Because—well, you know, because—"

"Justin, it's okay. I didn't expect you to call me yesterday. Or today. I know you're busy and that you have a lot going on."

"Oh." He hadn't expected her to say that and didn't know how to respond, not without sounding like an even bigger idiot. He searched his mind, trying to figure out what to say next. Why was he having such a hard time just having a conversation? It shouldn't be this hard, no matter how much his head was pounding.

"How did practice go today?"

Justin breathed a sigh of relief, grabbing the conversational lifeline with both hands. "Good, really good. I'm playing tonight."

"That's great news, Justin. I'll be watching for you. How about…everything else?"

He didn't miss the slight pause, knew exactly what she was trying to ask him. He cleared his throat, winced, let out a breath. "That's good, too. Nothing to drink since the other night. I think I might be coming down with something. I hope to hell not, though. But my head's pounding, feels like it's going to fall off."

There was a pause, not unbearably long, but still there. Then he heard a sigh, just a soft one, barely audible over the sound of running water from the shower. "Justin, it's probably from the alcohol. From not having any."

"What? No." He shook his head even though Val couldn't see him. Then he groaned when a spasm viciously tore through the base of his skull. He clenched his jaw, took a deep breath, pushed away the brief spurt of anger and annoyance. "I'm not an alcoholic going through withdrawal, Val."

"I didn't mean—"

"I'm not, okay?"

Another sigh, a little louder. "Aspirin. Lots of water. A long shower. Time." Was it his imagination, or was Val's voice just a little sharper?

Justin closed his eyes and tightened his hand around the phone. Shit. He shouldn't have snapped at her like that, no matter how her words had surprised him. No, not surprised. Upset. He didn't want to think too hard about why. "Val, I'm sorry—"

"It's okay. Listen, I have to get going. Good luck tonight, okay?"

Justin straightened, something close to panic seizing him. He didn't want her to hang up, not just yet. Not like this. "Val, wait."

For a terrifying second, he thought he was too late, that she had already disconnected the call. But then he heard her breathing. Not exactly a sigh, not really. He took a deep breath and let it out. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know."

"Oh. Okay, good. Uh, listen, I was wondering, tomorrow night. Did you want to get together, have dinner or something?" Smooth, real smooth. Why was he having such a hard time with this whole conversation? From the second Val answered the phone, every remaining intelligent brain cell had completely succumbed to the pounding in his head.

"Tomorrow's Friday, we're usually pretty busy—"

"Yeah, no, that's okay. I didn't realize—"

"No, I want to. Maybe a late one? You could pick me up here."

"Yeah, perfect. That'll be great." Justin winced at the words, wondering again why he couldn't seem to form intelligent sentences.

"Sounds good. See you tomorrow night then?"

"Absolutely. Yes."

"Great." A few seconds of dead air, then he heard Val clearing her voice. Maybe he wasn't the only one having trouble talking tonight. "I have to go. Good luck tonight, Justin. I'll be watching."

He opened his mouth to say something, to tell her to watch for something special when he scored, but he waited too long. The call disconnected, leaving nothing but silence.

Shit.

He stood and tossed the phone onto the counter then stripped out of his clothes. As far as conversations went, it definitely could have been better. But maybe it wasn't as bad as he first thought, now that he had something to look forward to tomorrow night.

Yes, he was definitely looking forward to tomorrow night. And maybe, just maybe, he'd have something to celebrate after tonight's game.

Val leaned against the hostess podium, her head turned back to the bar, squinting to see the large television along the back wall. The volume was turned down, not that that meant anything, not with the noise of the late evening crowd. And for once, just once, she wished the bar and restaurant wasn't quite so busy, that she had the leisurely option of just staying home and watching a game in the quiet comfort of her own place.

That's when she knew she was in trouble. Because yes, she may occasionally wish she had more time to herself, but that's all it was—empty wishes. She loved working, loved the crazy hours and constant bustle of running—of owning—a successful business. That's why she rarely took off. This is where she belonged, what she wanted to do. What she had worked for all those years of school and long hours of working for someone else. This was the payoff.

Except for tonight. Tonight, for the first time since before The Maypole opened, she didn't want to be here.

A discreet cough from behind her jerked her attention from the television and she turned, surprised to the see the group of four women standing there, waiting. From the impatient glare of two of them, Val had no doubt they had been waiting for more than just a few minutes. She pasted a bright smile on her face and muttered an apology, then grabbed four menus and led them to a table.

She didn't miss the rude comment about guest service from one of the women, someone she recognized as a semi-regular. Val bit the inside of her cheek and forced her smile to grown even wider as she handed the woman her menu.

"Your waiter will be over in a few minutes to go over the specials. Hockey players won't be featured tonight, since the Banners are on the road." Val ignored the outraged gasp and turned away, mentally berating herself for the comment. What was wrong with her? She knew better, should have never let the woman get to her, especially not to that point.

Especially not when she knew part of their success was because The Maypole had become a hang-out for a lot of the team, in part because her brother, Randy, had been their major investor.

Major investor? Try only investor, especially after all the banks had turned them down. Nobody had wanted to take a chance on a sports bar geared for women, no matter how solid their business plan, no matter how untapped the market they were targeting.

Oh well, their loss. The Maypole had opened just over two years ago, a strong success from the first night they opened the doors. And yes, having her brother's teammates hang out here had certainly helped, especially at first. But even without them, the place was a success. If Val's comment upset the woman and she decided never to return, then oh well. Val wouldn't miss her.

But she couldn't afford to make a habit out of insulting the patrons, no matter what her reasons were.

If she even understood her reasons.

Val returned to the podium and the new arrivals waiting there, managing to get them seated without any more insults. But her attention kept drifting back to the television, her focus more on the game than anything else.

No, not the game. On Justin, and his unexpected phone call earlier.

She hadn't expected him to call. Almost didn't want him to call because she had no idea what to say to him, not after the other night.

When she pretty much tackled him then threw herself at him. In her office. Here. At work.

Even now, the memory brought heat to her face, and it wasn't just from embarrassment, either. No, definitely not just embarrassment. How was she supposed to act after doing something so…so…so completely out of character? It had been a blessing in disguise that he'd left for Buffalo the next day, that he wouldn't be here at the restaurant and she wouldn't have to figure out what to say or how to act or what to do.

And then he called. And he had sounded…different, somehow. Not quite as lonely, not quite as lost and desolate. And then she had to make that whole stupid comment about his headache. No, he hadn't been happy to hear that, not at all. Why couldn't she have just kept her big mouth shut? She was twenty-eight years old, she knew better than to just blurt out whatever was on her mind. She'd been dealing with that flaw her entire life, she should know better by now.

Except maybe it didn't really matter, because he had asked her out for dinner anyway. And he was playing tonight, too, not that that had anything to do with running her mouth. But he wasn't a scratch, and from what she could see, he was playing better than he had been the last few games.

From what she could see, which really wasn't much, not when she had to squint to see the television since she was all the way over here—

"Go. Sit. Watch the game."

Val whirled around, nearly jumping at the voice just behind her. Jodi Randall, her friend and business partner, stood there, making shooing motions with her hands.

"What? No, don't be ridiculous. I'm fine."

"No you're not. You've been standing over here all night, squinting at the television. Go watch the game."

Val didn't want to comment, not when she knew Jodi was right. It was better to change the conversation. "If you're here, who's going to be behind the bar with Darrin if he needs help?"

Jodi was a master mixologist, the brains behind their bar operation. And the question was obviously the wrong one to ask, if the scowl on Jodi's face meant anything. She shook her head, frowned in the direction of the bar, then pulled her blonde hair behind her, twisting it at her neck. Val had the impression that Jodi wanted to twist Darrin's neck instead.

"Darrin can manage perfectly well on his own."

"Uh-oh. Does that mean there's trouble in paradise?"

"Sweetie, paradise came to an end a few weeks ago. Where have you been?"

Val didn't know what to say, hadn't known what to say when the pair first started dating a few months ago. It was a never a good idea to date a co-worker. Never. Too much chance of something going wrong.

But really, who was she to judge or criticize? Not three days ago, she jumped one of her brother's teammates, one her brother's friends, right here. In the restaurant. In her office. While people were on the other side of the door eating and drinking.

Val shook her head to clear the memory and tried to smile at Jodi. "Really, I'm fine. You don't have to take over—"

"If you can't admit you're more interested in the game, that's fine. Just tell yourself you're doing it for me. I need the break. Now go." Jodi nudged her out of the way, literally. Val stood there for a few seconds, not sure what to do. Then she just turned and headed to the bar, to the empty stool near the end so she'd be out of everyone's way and still have a clear view of the television.

It would be better if she could watch from the comfort of her own home, curled up on the sofa in her loose lounge pants with a nice glass of wine. That way, nobody would notice if she started paying too much attention to one player in particular. Or worse, started talking to the television. But she couldn't do that, so this was the next best thing.

Darrin gave her a nod of acknowledgement when she climbed onto the barstool then turned to grab the remote. He pointed it at the set, nudging the volume up just a bit. It still wasn't loud enough to clearly hear but if she concentrated hard enough, she could make out enough.

They were showing a replay, the announcers using their magic digital red pen to circle first one player then another. To Val's surprise, Justin was one of the players being circled. She leaned closer, her eyes focused on the screen, her ears attuned to the faint voices of the announcers.

"You can see the set-up right here, when Tome takes the puck behind the net. He sees Herron wide open, right there."

"That's right, Joe. Tome makes a clean pass and Herron wings it, sending the biscuit straight to the back of that net. Great play. Great play by both of them."

"That it is, Greg. And it's great to see Tome's play tonight. He actually looks like the player we all loved the last several years. As you know, he's been struggling this season, ever since the holidays. Let's hope what we're seeing tonight isn't just a fluke."

"Especially with the playoffs coming up, Joe. And that wraps up the second period of this game here in Buffalo, with the Banners leading 3 to 2. We'll be back with some player interviews, and see if the Banners can hold onto their lead in the third."

Val swallowed back the disappointment she felt at missing the actual play. At least she'd seen parts of it in replay. It sounded like maybe Justin really was having a good night, like he had told her earlier. She wondered if his headache was any better, if it was giving him problems. Probably not, considering even the announcers were complimenting him tonight. She wondered if Justin would have a chance to see that later. Probably, considering a lot of the players recorded the games to watch. And if he didn't…well then, he could watch it at her place, since she recorded the games, too.

Darrin stopped in front of her, sliding a tall glass of water and lemon toward her. He nodded, his dark shaggy hair falling over his forehead, then stepped away. Val didn't miss the look he tossed toward the hostess stand, where Jodi now was. And she didn't miss the flash in his dark eyes before he turned away.

So maybe paradise wasn't really over. Maybe it just needed a small break. Yeah, and maybe she just needed to mind her own business. She had her own issues to deal with.

Like the one with the player who's face took up most of the television screen. Justin was being interviewed, and she couldn't hear a word of it.

"Darrin, quick, turn it up." Val leaned across the bar, trying to reach the remote. Darrin beat her to it, adjusting the volume before handing it to her. Several of the customers sitting at the bar winced at the sudden increase in volume but Val ignored them, her attention focused solely on the man on the screen.

He looked tired, a little worn out. A red crease ran across his forehead from his helmet, his blonde hair even darker, wet with sweat. His face shone in the light from the camera, looking a little pale. And he was breathing heavy, no doubt from just coming off the ice.

Her heart sped up, tripping over itself before slowing to a steady pounding beat. Justin was tired, sweaty, worn out. And he looked sexy as hell, filling up the giant television screen.

She was in so much trouble.

Val watched closely, chewing on her lower lip as the reporter asked him a question. She missed the question but saw a flash of impatience in Justin's dark eyes just before he started answering. His right eye twitched, just the smallest bit, and he raised his hand to the back of his neck, rubbing as he spoke.

"I can't look back at the last few months, Tom. I just need to focus on this game, then the next and the next. One game at a time. That's all we're doing, moving forward."

"The Banners won the Cup last year and you're heading to the playoffs in a few weeks. Do you think you have what it takes to get through the post-season and bring the Cup back here for the second year in a row?"

"Absolutely, Tom. We've got a great bunch of guys, really working hard to get where we're at. The coaching staff is great and we continue to work together, following the game plan and moving forward."

Way to deflect the reporter's real question, Val thought. There was no doubt, in her mind at least, that the question had been intended to be more personal. About Justin specifically, not about the team. But Tom didn't seem to notice the deflection, or decided to just go with it and moved on to the next one.

"So what's next?"

"You know, just staying focused as a team, staying on course. One step at a time, starting with a win tonight." Justin smiled, that dangerously boyish half-smile that showed the briefest glimpse of a chipped tooth. The smile that made her melt into a puddle and lose all common sense.

The reporter chuckled and said something else, something Val wasn't paying attention to. No, she was trying to do her best not to sigh and melt right there on the barstool.

Justin laughed at whatever the reporter said and nodded toward the camera. And then, just before he turned away, he looked straight into the camera, smiled that boyish half-smile, and held up his right hand. The fingers were curled down, all except his index and middle fingers. Those two were extended out, spread about an inch apart.

It was the universal peace symbol.

Or the letter "V".

Val gripped the edge of the bar to keep herself from falling off the stool. She had to be seeing things. Or reading into things. Surely it didn't mean what she thought it meant. No, Justin couldn't have meant it as the letter "V", couldn't have meant it for her.

She was reading too much into it. She had to be.

Val grabbed the remote and turned the volume down then grabbed the glass of water. Was it her imagination, or was it suddenly warm in here?

She drained the water in several long, indelicate swallows, refusing to acknowledge the sudden pounding of her heart. Just like she refused to acknowledge the tiny thrill shooting through her, warming her from the inside.

No, she was reading too much into the gesture. She had to be.

Because if she wasn't, she was in so much trouble.

She was in trouble either way.