Read Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7) Online
Authors: Bianca Sommerland
Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras Book 7)
GOAL LINE
By
Bianca Sommerland
Copyright © 2015, Bianca Sommerland
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Cover art by Reese Dante
Copyright © 2015, Bianca Sommerland
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Edited by Lisa A. Hollett
Cover art by Reese Dante
Photo credit to:
Jenn LeBlanc/Illustrated Romance
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to the vendor and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Licensed material is being used for illustrative purposes only and any person depicted in the licensed material is a model.
The goal doesn't count until it crosses the line.
Captain of the Dartmouth Cobras hockey team, Dominik Mason, believes his team can make a damn good playoff run. He and his men won't stop fighting until they win the ultimate prize. There's no doubt when it comes to The Game.
Off the ice, there's nothing but uncertainty. His life has been in a holding pattern and it's time to move on. Which might be easier without the lifestyle that has lost its appeal. As much as he loved training subs, he's tired of giving his all only to go home alone.
Tragedy once brought him closer to Sahara Dionne, the exquisite, yet fragile Ice Girl, but when her abusive-ex darkens her path once again, Dominik can't help but wonder if his friendship might not be the best thing for her.
But she craves his touch, his dominance, and his possession. Everything he desires is finally within his reach.
All he has to do is take the shot.
This book contains material not suitable for readers under 18. Besides the usual combination of loving in all different forms, there is edgeplay that may go beyond what some readers are used to. There are also confrontations with a past abuser and flashbacks that may trigger those who’ve been in this terrible situation. I’d like to add that if you ever find yourself the victim of physical, emotional, or mental abuse, please reach out to friends or family or one of the many organizations that can give you a safe way out. While this is fiction, some situations happen in real life. Everyone deserves to be treated with love and respect.
Author’s Note: The Cobras series has a continuing arc about the franchise, players, and previous relationships. Some plots continue through the series and may involve more than the main relationship. The series is best read in order.
The Dartmouth Cobras
Game Misconduct
(The Dartmouth Cobras #1)
Defensive Zone
(The Dartmouth Cobras #2)
Breakaway
(The Dartmouth Cobras #3)
Offside
(The Dartmouth Cobras #4)
Delayed Penalty
(The Dartmouth Cobras #5)
Iron Cross
(The Dartmouth Cobras #6)
Goal Line (The Dartmouth Cobras #7)
Line Brawl (The Dartmouth Cobras #8) – Coming 2016
Also
The End – Coming 2015
Rosemary & Mistletoe
The Trip
Oh captain... Mon capitaine
1931-2014
This could be a really long list of people, but I’m going to keep it as short and sweet as possible. ;)
I have a massive support group consisting of readers, authors, and people in the business who have been there for me at every turn, whether I’m streaming down life’s highway or stuck on a muddy dirt road. You all know who you are. You’re the beautiful people that make living my dream still feel like a dream even when it looks more like a nightmare.
During one of the most horrible times of my life, I had a few people who were always willing to hold me while I fell apart, even when they couldn’t be there physically. Stacey and Doug Price, I have never had truer friends in my life and I’m grateful for you every day. I’m also happy I haven’t driven you both nuts yet!
Reese Dante, who does all the beautiful Cobra covers, you are such an amazing person and I’m so grateful to have you in my life. Jennifer Zapata, we’ve shared so much insanity while keeping one another sane and you know just when I need to laugh and forget and how to bring me to a better place. Stella Price, I don’t care what anyone says, you are such a warm, loving person and I feel damn blessed to have you in my life.
As always, Cherise, your honesty in critting my work has made Goal Line a much better book. Your faith that I can always ‘Do better’ has made for stronger characters. And has made ME stronger time and time again.
To all those who helped with the language and facts in the books, I would name each and every one of you, but I’ve kept you all waiting long enough for this book! <3 Sowhat I will say is it’s here, now, because you were willing to share your stories, to give advice, and talk over different concepts. Thank you from the bottom of my crazy little heart
!
Mid April
Ugly and threadbare, the patchwork sofa had never really gone with anything in the apartment, but Sahara Dionne still missed the big old thing. Funny, because she’d once playfully complained about the comfy eyesore to one of her roommates, but she’d found a new love for the sofa when she’d learned about the sentiment attached to it. The new, pale blue loveseat taking its place didn’t have the same character.
Actually, the whole apartment felt empty.
You’re the last woman standing, Sahara.
She laughed at her own dry humor, but it was close enough to the truth. Akira had moved out months ago, but Jami had still considered this her home until yesterday. She was engaged, and there was no point to her staying here any longer.
Not that she’d been here often, but now the move was official. All her things were gone.
And Sahara was alone.
She walked around the apartment, all the rooms bright with their big windows, but one room was completely empty. She could set up an exercise room or something, but she simply closed the door so she wouldn’t have to think that far ahead yet. The kitchen looked the same; the girls hadn’t taken any dishes or furniture from there, so Sahara curled up on the window seat Scott Demyan, her closest male friend and one of the players for the Dartmouth Cobras, had made for them. The teddy bear he’d gotten her for Valentine’s day—because, as he pointed out, guys could get gifts for their fake girlfriends—sat on the gold cushion by the window. She hugged the bear and opened Facebook on her phone.
Putting up a status report that was all depressing wouldn’t be good; she had too many followers since she was the alternate captain for the Cobras’ Ice Girls, but people liked her being real. So she typed in a little happy face, choosing her words carefully.
Got the place all to myself! So happy for Akira and Jami, they deserve the best—I better get invites to the weddings! Lol! Being single is cool though. So many hot boys to play with. How does a girl decide…not that I’m in a rush!
She could say more, but she decided just to post the update. The likes came fast—her followers
loved
her posting stuff about the players. And making them happy gave her something to do. She grinned at the comments and replied as fast as she could. Chin resting on the head of the teddy bear, she read a longer post from a woman who was absolutely in love with Shawn Pischlar, one of the Cobras’ forwards. Apparently she’d gotten him to sign her arm and now the ink was permanent. She gave all the reasons why Pischlar was the ultimate fantasy boyfriend—and then suggested Sahara find someone else because Pischlar was
hers
.
I so have to get Pisch to look at this. He’ll find it funny.
Sahara smiled as she checked her messages. Some from her cousins who wanted to know if she’d be in New York since the Cobras were playing the Islanders in the first round of the playoffs. Sahara told them she’d try, but the reminder of who the Cobras would be facing made it hard to keep up the happy front. Grant Higgins, her ex-boyfriend, played for the Islanders. The first game was tomorrow. In Dartmouth.
And there was a message from him. She clicked on it and held her breath as she read.
Grant: You doing okay, babe? You seem sad.
Sahara frowned and checked her status again. How had she seemed sad?
She shook her head and replied.
I’m fine.
Grant: You’re not. I know things ended bad, and it’s my fault, but I still consider you a friend. Did you hear about my mom?
Sahara had liked Grant’s mother. The poor woman had died while volunteering overseas in Haiti as a teacher. When Sahara had first heard about her death, she’d been tempted to call Grant. But she was afraid. They were over, and she needed to make that clear.
She was careful as she typed her reply:
I heard and I’m so sorry. She was a wonderful woman. But the team putting up a memorial for her was nice. It’s good that you have them.
No reply for a long time. She looked out the window, enjoying the view. This part of Nova Scotia, smack dab in the middle of Dartmouth, was nice. Not close to the ocean, but even looking out at the backyards with pools and freshly planted gardens was pleasant.
A ding and she glanced at her phone.
Grant: I miss you.
How to answer that without encouraging him? She bit the tip of her tongue. And wrote a quick response.
We’re both doing better now, Grant.
Grant: I need to see you. Can I? I’m at the door, but I’ll go away if you want me to.
The knock at the door tripped up her heart. Her phone rang. Akira. She didn’t move and kept her voice low as she answered. “Hello?”
“
Pischlar?
Hell, your ‘fans’ might buy that, but we both know you’re not moving on with him. And if you’re even considering it, I’m going to kick your ass!”
Sahara let out a strained laugh. “I’ve had great scenes with him.” Another knock. She pressed her eyes shut. “Damn it, I don’t know what to do.”
“About what?” Akira let out a sharp “
Hush!”
to whoever was talking to her. “If the house is too quiet, come over here.”
“I have to get used to this. I’ll be okay, but…I think Grant’s at the door.”
“
What
? Grant—as in your
ex
? Damn it, Sahara, don’t you dare answer. I’m calling the cops—Cort, relax. I—”
“I’m
fine
, Akira!” Sahara rose off the window seat. Grant wasn’t banging hard or anything. She heard him speaking softly on the other side of the door, but she couldn’t make out what he was saying yet. “His mother just died. I can’t ignore him.”
“Yes, you can! Sahara, he hurt you!”
“I know that, but we had a messed-up relationship. You only know my side. And it’s not like I’m going to take him back.” Standing by the door, Sahara stared at the lock. She didn’t have to open the door. She really
could
ignore him. But she didn’t want to. She wasn’t that cruel. “Maybe we can be friends. Would be good since the Cobras are playing the Islanders. I can ask him to stop getting the boys riled up. Make it a clean game.”
“Fuck no. Sahara, listen to me.” Akira’s tone was soft. Gentle. Her words…not so much. “A man who hits a woman can never be a friend. Call the cops, or I will.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You don’t know why…” Sahara scowled as she put her hand on the lock. Her friends loved her, and she appreciated their concern, but she hated how easily they dismissed her responsibility for how the relationship had failed. “I have to let you go. I love you. And I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
Hanging up, Sahara made up her mind and unlocked the door. Grant stood there, and… She wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but he looked exactly the same as he had the day they’d met. That charming, boyish face, dirty blond hair badly in need of a trim only complementing his laid-back manner. He had a way of giving off the impression that he didn’t give a damn about anything, but you only had to check out his perfectly maintained body to know that wasn’t true. He was rugged and buff and so damn hot. He’d turned her head even though she’d grown up around enough hockey players for her to be used to big, muscular guys.
A dull ache in her chest made speaking difficult as he met her eyes with his dreamy, deep blue ones. How damn easy would it be to forget the horrible end of the relationship and just focus on the wonderful times they’d had? To forgive him for turning mean, then violent.
Don’t even fucking think about it, Sahara.
Maybe she could forgive him, but she’d never forget what he’d done to her. She held the door just wide enough to talk to him, leaving no doubt that he wasn’t being welcomed inside.
“What are you doing here, Grant?” She bit down hard on her bottom lip, a lip he’d left swollen and bloody one too many times, and refused to feel bad as he shuffled his feet and dropped his gaze. “How did you find me?”
“Facebook.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans. “Your location was on the message, so I figured you weren’t trying to hide. I saw your car out back… One of your neighbors told me which door was yours.”
“Yeah, because that’s not creepy or stalkerish.” Sahara frowned when he shrugged. “This is a bad idea. You have a game tomorrow and you should focus on that. I don’t want any trouble—”
Grant shook his head and brought his hands up, fast enough that she almost jumped back and slammed the door in his face, but he simply held them up in an “I’m harmless” gesture. “No trouble—and damn it, Sahara, I hate that you’re afraid of me. I have a horrible temper and I’ve been working on controlling it. I love you, and I understand that you can’t love me back, but my mother would want me to make things right with you. She’d be so ashamed of me if she knew…”
Well, he was right about that. Mrs. Higgins was—
had
been—the gentlest, most caring person Sahara had ever met. Losing her must have forced Grant to face all the mistakes he’d made, because he hadn’t accepted any blame before. Sure, he’d said he was sorry when he hurt her, but he’d always accused her of pissing him off to get a reaction.
And she’d been so blinded by love for him that she’d taken responsibility for each and every time he’d lifted a hand to her.
Never again.
But she’d give him a chance to make things right. To prove he was the man she’d fallen in love with, rather than the monster he became. “Is that all you want, Grant? Seriously? You’re fine just being friends?”
“That’s all I want.” Grant backed away from the door. “You’re right, coming here was…creepy. I just wasn’t sure if you’d meet me anywhere, but maybe we can have coffee sometime before the teams head to New York for the third round?”
“I guess so…” She pursed her lips, knowing if she waited too long, one of her friends would talk her out of giving him so much as the time of day. He’d clearly made progress, and she didn’t want to ruin that by turning him down. “What are you doing now?”
He ducked his head. “Trying to convince myself this is for real? I imagined all the things I would say to you, but every time your only reply was ‘fuck off.’”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Would probably be the smartest response. Wait here, let me grab my shoes.”
“You won’t regret this, babe. I promise.”
Those words were hauntingly familiar, but she shook off her misgivings as she grabbed her running shoes from beside the door. She pulled them on, wondering for a second if she should change out of her black yoga pants and baggy white sweater, but decided, if he wanted to hang out, he’d take her as she was.
Grabbing her keys from the entry table, she joined him in the hall, locked her door, then led the way out to the parking lot behind the apartment. “We’re taking separate cars. And I’m warning you, any funny business—”
His fingers were suddenly at her ribs, tickling her as he laughed. “Like this?”
“Grant!” She squealed and smacked his hands away. “Stop!”
A huge body shoved between her and Grant, knocking Grant onto the pavement while tugging Sahara back. Cortland Nash, Akira’s boyfriend and the head of the Cobras’ security team, pulled off his leather jacket and handed it to Sahara as he held Grant down with a boot on his throat. “Go wait in my car, Sahara. I’ll make sure this bastard never comes near you again.”
Eyes wide, Sahara dropped the jacket and quickly latched on to Cort’s arm as he jerked Grant to his knees by the front of his shirt. “Cort, don’t! You don’t understand—”
“You were screaming for him to stop.” Cort glanced over at her, speaking like he thought she was a little slow. “What’s to understand?”
“He was tickling me. We’re going for coffee. I’m fine!” She slapped Cort’s arm when he hauled back like he was going to hit Grant no matter what she said. “Let him go! Damn it, Cort, he’s playing tomorrow.”
This time Cort released Grant. And turned to her, drawing her aside and keeping his voice low. “I get that he’s with your old team, but they have other players. There’s no need to protect him. Go inside if you won’t get in my car. I won’t give you details.”
The man was insane. She grabbed his arm again before he could resume his attack on Grant—who, for some reason, hadn’t moved. “I’m not going inside. You are going to leave him alone.”
“And why is that, exactly?” He glared at Grant, which got Grant out of his stupor and scrambling to his feet, closer to his car. “Did he threaten you?”
“No. And I think you should go home before someone calls the cops. My house is not on the list of places you’re supposed to be with that ankle monitor.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Cort groaned as his phone went off. He held up a finger, then answered. “Yeah, I know. Like I give a shit? One minute.” He looked at Grant. “I’ll give you ten fucking seconds to get the hell out of here. After that, the only question is where you want me to send your body.”
