Mica (Rebel Wayfarers MC) (31 page)

Gary yelled at Jason, “Catch,” and threw a box across the room at him. Jason caught it and burst out laughing, ripping the box open. He shoved a handful of the contents into his mouth with a loud growl.

Charging towards Daniel, he caught him and shoved a handful of what looked and tasted like fruit-flavored cereal with marshmallows into his face and mouth. “Fucking lucky charm, motherfucker! WOOOOO!” Grabbing Daniel around the shoulders, he danced around the room with him. “Fucking win column, baby. Yeah!” Jason flashed his easy smile, the one that got him girls in every town they played. “WOOOO!”

Daniel winced and pulled away. “God, you stink, Jase. Take a shower and get outta here; celebrate at the hotel.”

Gary hooted, “Aaahh yeah, get a little celly-bration going on, Jase. Get your celly on!”

Nate walked up to Daniel. “Good game, good game, man. You guys were reading them left and right; they couldn’t find a play you didn’t already know about. Awesome strategy, perfectly executed, that’s why you are the best.” He clapped him on his shoulders. “Awesome game.”

The medic waved impatiently at Daniel from across the room and he nodded, turning to tell his friends, “I gotta get this taken care of, guys. I’ll see you on the bus in the morning, yeah? Get your celly on.”

Stripping off his jersey, he wrinkled his nose at the blood that covered it from armpit to hem. Thankful it had absorbed it all and he hadn’t bled on the ice, he threw the jersey at Nate. “Take care of that, would ya, old man?” Laughing, he walked into the first aid room for his stitches.

Nearly an hour later, Daniel walked back into the locker room. It was quiet now, and all the gear was packed on the bus, ready for the trip back to Chicago. He figured all the rest of the players were off eating and drinking in celebration, but was surprised when he saw Jason and Gary stand up from where they had been sitting, and he smiled as he spotted who was with them.

“Mica,” he breathed, smiling at her, “sorry you had to wait.” She looked stunning, wearing a Mallets shirt, her faded jeans, and low-top sneakers.

She frowned at him. “Are you okay, Daniel? Steve said you were cut by a stick?” He thought to himself how sweet she was, worried about him. He was smiling broadly until she said, “I would understand if you don’t want to go out to dinner tonight. Jason and Gary explained how much it can hurt after a game like this, once the adrenaline wears off. If you’re hurting and want to go back to the hotel, I can eat by myself, or with them.”

She didn’t seem to want to have their dinner date after all. It was her first hockey game; maybe she didn’t like it, and by association, him. In a terse tone, Daniel clipped, “If you would rather not go to dinner, that’s fine, Mica. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll be riding the bus back to Chicago tomorrow, but Samuel can take you home.” He nodded at Jason and Gary, stalking past them and holding open the door. “Hotel it is, then.”

He saw Jason look at Gary, hands up and shaking his head. Mica gazed at him with emotion welling in her eyes. “Daniel, I want to go to dinner with you, but if you are hurt, I would be okay with postponing our date—not canceling it, just postponing—unless
you
decide canceling it is what you want.” She walked through the open door, making her way up the hallway.

Jason spoke up, “What the fuck just happened?” Slapping Daniel on the shoulder, he explained, “She was excited about the dinner, you bastard. What just happened? I thought you liked her, Daniel?”

Daniel turned back and punched Jason hard in the chest. “The fuck, man? She said she could have dinner with you two instead. I don’t know what happened. You tell me,
friend
.”

Gary got between the two men, pushing them back and frowning. He looked back and forth between his two best friends and frowned harder, an old hockey scar puckering up beside his eye. The door snicked closed on the now-empty hallway.

He pointed at Daniel. “You, go after her. Take her to dinner.” Turning, he pointed at Jason, “You, shut the fuck up. Walk with me.” Snagging his shirtfront, he pulled Jason into the hallway with him, taking him towards the exit nearest the hotel.

Walking out of the room, Daniel saw Mica standing a little ways up the hallway chewing on the side of her thumb. “I’m hungry,” he said, walking towards her, “and…I’m sorry. I misunderstood. Would you still want to have dinner with me, beautiful? Can we rewind and start over?” Her wide smile was his reward as she nodded at him. He smiled back. “Let’s go, then.” He took her hand, weaving his fingers in between hers, pulling her towards the parking garage. “Samuel should be waiting for us,” he said. “I had a plan all laid out, but it might be too late now. I didn’t expect it to take so long to get cleaned up after the game.”

Opening the back door, he helped her into the car ahead of him. Keeping possession of her hand, he pulled her close to him as he sat down. “Samuel, were you able to call ahead?”

“Yes, Mr. Rupert, they will still be open; there is plenty of time. I’ve called…the other location as well, to let her know we are delayed.”

Daniel sighed and sat back into the seat as the car moved out of the garage. “Great, thanks. Let’s go.”

Mica looked at Daniel; he was wearing dress slacks and a crisp button-down shirt opened at the neck, and on his feet were dressy, leather shoes. She frowned, looking down at her much more causal outfit. “Daniel, am I dressed okay? I didn’t bring anything with me to change into after the game.”

He laughed. “You are fine, beautiful. I’m overdressed, if anything.”

“Okay. So…you guys won. That’s good, right?” she asked, smiling. “I don’t know much about hockey, but the end score was easy to read.”

“Everything about hockey is easy, simple. All we have to do is skate, pass, score, and win.” He scoffed after a moment. “I wish it was really that easy. We were well-prepared for the game tonight, and the guys all did a great job handling the puck and playing under pressure.” He sighed, leaning his head back.

Watching the scenery pass by through the car windows, Mica wasn’t prepared when Daniel tugged her back into him, and she fell awkwardly across his lap. He grunted when her flailing elbow planted in his side, and she jumped back up, horrified that she had hurt him. “I’m so sorry, Daniel; I didn’t mean to hit you.”

He laughed. “My fault, Mica, I wanted to be closer to you. It’s okay, beautiful.”

Scowling at him, she put on a serious face, all business. Reaching out for his shirt, she tugged it from the front of his pants. “Let me see where you’re hurt.” Unbuttoning his shirt quickly, she smiled as he objected mildly, and then gracefully submitted. She pulled it the rest of the way out of his waistband, then unbuttoned his cuffs and pushed it off his shoulders onto the seat.

Gasping when she saw his torso, it was marked with bruises all along his ribs on both sides. He had more big bruises on his right shoulder and left bicep, but what her eyes stayed on was the long length of stitches running raggedly up his right side.

She frowned, looking down, her hands touching the flesh on either side of the stitches gently. Keeping only her fingertips in contact, she began inventorying his injuries, her eyes leading her fingers from scrape, to bruise, to knot.

Her feather-light touches were unintentionally arousing. Daniel watched her face, and he saw the change when she realized the game she had watched from the safety and protection of the suite had been physical, and hard, and dangerous…and that dampened his desire. He saw the light dimming in her eyes, and watched her pull her bottom lip into her mouth and bite down hard as she considered his injuries. If only she knew these were mild to what he’d come home with from other games.

“Mica, it’s what I do. It’s a game I love,” he said. “It’s as safe as the rules can make it, but we are highly-skilled, competitive players, and the younger guys on the teams are trying to move up the rungs to the NHL. They are scrutinized, and their plays are analyzed with each game. They have to play as hard and aggressively as possible every game, in order to catch a place at the national level when, or if, one opens up. I do not regret a single bruise, bump, or knock from tonight,” he smiled softly, “or even a stitch. So don’t look at me like that, beautiful. I’m okay.”

Looking into his face intently, Mica still looked unsettled. “Does it hurt much?” she asked.

“Not right now—I’ll be sore tomorrow, but right now, I feel fine.” Shifting her hands to his legs, he released them and started putting his shirt back on. He held out an arm to her in silent supplication, and she smiled and buttoned his cuffs, smoothing the fabric down his arms. “Want to know where we’re headed?” Daniel grinned. “I hope you aren’t expecting a gourmet meal. We’re getting my favorite food, from my favorite place in the world, but it’s definitely not gourmet.”

She looked at him quizzically. “Well, I wasn’t, but I’m wondering now. Where are we going?”

He looked out the window, peering around until he saw a landmark. “Looks like we have about fourty-five minutes until we get there. It’s a secret until then.” He turned and eyed her. “Why don’t we talk? Mica, how much do you know about me, like where I came from, or what I do?”

She turned sideways on the seat, folding one knee underneath her and facing him. “Well, I only know what you’ve told me. You own the Chicago Mallets, you play hockey, and you’ve played all your life. You are from Wisconsin, and you have a brother…or two, maybe. You like beer and cupcakes, especially the ones Brandy makes. You make a great hero,” she said with a smile. “Jason, Gary, and Steve are your friends.” Her smile faded. “You don’t trust easily, but you are loyal. Honestly, that’s about all I know.”

He leaned back into the door, relaxing. “I grew up just outside Milwaukee; this area is home to me. My mom still lives in the house where I grew up. In high school, I started working as a trailer spotter at a local food processing plant. That’s the guy who drives a hotrod mini-truck to move trailers into and out of dock doors, going as fast as possible…but without damage. I liked the challenge and need for precision. I found out I liked trucks, and admired the regular truck drivers too. Gary and I played junior league, OHL. We played in Canada for two years, and then I got a hockey scholarship to college, while Gary went to Russia to play. I was at University of Illinois in Urbana-Champaign. That’s where I met Steve; we were teammates through college.”

She leaned forward, asking, “Tell me about your family?”

He grinned affectionately. “Oh, they are a motley crew, but I need to set this up right.” His smile faded. “Dad died when I was sixteen; it was sudden. He was coaching my little brother’s team one evening, and by two a.m., he was just gone. J.J.—that’s Jon Junior, my oldest brother—had joined the Army, so he was not home much. It was just me, Mom, and Dickie; he’s the baby, nine years younger than me. My Mom was only thirty-nine when Dad died. She remarried a couple years later, Garrett Maddock, a local guy. He was a jerk; they’ve been divorced for years now, good riddance. She even changed her last name back to Rupert, instead of her maiden name, saying she never should have tried to replace Dad in the first place. He was her soul mate.

“Anyway, I got picked up by an EU team after college and played overseas for nearly ten years. I made good money, but it was hard. It’s a high level of skill those players have, mostly because they are hungry to come to the US and play, but it was good to really push myself. It was good money coming in with every game I played, which I turned around and invested. When I came home, I took my money and bought a business that had intrigued me—a trucking company.” He laughed. “I didn’t want to drive, but I liked the business. I liked knowing the drivers had a little bit of freedom in their jobs. So, now I’m the owner of DRTC, Daniel Rupert Trucking Company, and I make good money with this too.”

“DRTC—I’ve seen that on trailers around Chicago a lot,” Mica mused. “Is it a big company?”

He nodded. “I’ve got more than two-hundred drivers in the OTR division—that’s over-the-road. Plus, I have a couple of smaller, local divisions too. I like knowing I’m keeping jobs here in Wisconsin, in the Midwest. I know that sounds corny, but it really does matter to me.”

“Do you live here in Milwaukee when it’s off-season for hockey, when you aren’t playing in Chicago?” She propped her chin on her hand, looking interested.

He grinned at her. “Nope, I live in Glencoe full-time.” He watched her eyes widen.

“Nice,” she teased, “pricy, but nice. I think I knew that.”

“Yeah, it’s costly, but it’s private and located nearly halfway between the places I need to be, so it’s convenient.” He gave her a big grin. “Plus, I love living along the lake, even with the mess in the winter. I love the expanse, and the sound, and the location. After the Army, J.J. came to work for me as a mechanic. He runs all my truck yards now; we have four in this area, and another half-dozen on the east coast, so he’s a busy guy. Dickie drives; it’s what he enjoys. I’m glad to have someone I can trust as a driver-trainer, and someone to pickup trucks and loads as needed.

“Mom won’t admit it, but she’s the one that really runs the business. Between her and my cousin, April, they keep all the bills paid and invoices going out to bring checks in. I’m lucky to have a family who supports me like they do.” Daniel grinned at Mica. “Mom’s looking forward to meeting you.” She cut her eyes at him, surprised by that last.

He continued, “I bought the Mallets several years ago. I’d been playing for the team for a couple years and became friends with the owner. He wanted to retire, and it was a great opportunity for me to stay involved in the sport I love. It’s a good thing I have the trucking business to support me, because hockey doesn’t make a lot of money.” He laughed. “Of course, I’m told that’s because I pay too much, coddle the guys, and don’t charge enough for tickets, but as long as it pays for itself, I’m pretty much okay with breakeven.”