Offside (42 page)

The call didn’t last long. Whomever Tim had spoken to was coming.

And it didn’t take a genius to figure out who he was.

* * * *

Scott rolled his eyes as Stephan followed him down the hall, bitching as usual. His voice was thin with exertion as he struggled to keep up with Scott’s long strides.

“You’re not ready. You waited too long to get in good enough shape for training camp. It’s going to be brutal.”

“I’ve been through this before. Fuck, Stephan, by the way you talk I’ve been sitting on my ass all summer eating fucking nachos.” Scott patted his firm stomach. “I’m at the gym every day. I’m being a good boy and cutting back on the red meat. What else do you want from me?”

“Tell me what’s so important that you had to blow off your conditioning. People are watching everything you do. That trainer will report back to Keane. He’ll think you’re not serious about—”

Stopping short, Scott glared back at the little man, fed up of working his ass off and getting no fucking credit. Yeah, he’d earned people not thinking he took
anything
seriously, but when would his actions start to count for something? “I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been in. Me and Sahara have smiled pretty for all the cameras. When I’m not posing for photos or getting kicked in the nuts by angry chicks with asshole boyfriends, I’m doing promo and charity gigs. I don’t have a life. But I do have friends. People that matter to me. If taking some time to be there for them means I’m not serious, then you and Keane can go rim each other in the middle of the Delgado Forum. There’s a lot I’ll give up for this team, but there’s got to be a limit.”

“Fine!” Stephan slapped his hand onto the glass door of the gym before Scott could touch it, shoving it open. “Tell me and I can make it work for you. That’s my
job
!”

No fucking way would he tell Stephan what was going on. Coach said Zach needed him. That was personal. Beyond his keeper’s payroll. But he had to give the man something. “You told me I needed to find a chick for the public to see me with, right?”

Stephan’s brow furrowed. “Right.”

“This isn’t about a chick.”

“Damn it. I can’t make this look good for you, Scott. The league barely managed to tolerate Pearce coming out.” Stephan’s expression was fit for a man who’d been told the world was about to go through a full-fledged zombie apocalypse. He took the car keys from Scott’s hand, waving him toward the passenger side as though he’d accepted that serving as a chauffeur was the best he could do at this point. “But he’s in a position to make some positive changes. You’re not.”

“And you’re repeating this to me why exactly?” Scott smirked as he dropped the passenger seat back far enough so he was almost lying down. He knew it irked Stephan when he looked sloppy and lazy, but hell, he had to have
some
fun! Besides, showing up to see Zach acting all worried wouldn’t do him much good. He’d use the drive and irritating Stephan as a way to tone things down a notch. “I promise, I won’t propose to him until after Keane offers me a contract.”

The man didn’t take the bait. Instead, Stephan cast him a sideways look as he pulled out. “You’re going to see Zach?”

“And if I am?”

Stephan shrugged. “You suddenly don’t look overly concerned. The shift in behavior is a little surprising. I assume it’s not serious?”

“It’s serious enough.” Scott brought one hand to the back of his neck, massaging the knots out of his muscles. Acting all relaxed wasn’t gonna be easy. “But I need to keep my cool.”

“I see.” Stephan’s lips curved up on one side as though he was considering something. “Perhaps some good news will help you both. I received a call while you were on the cruise from the YWCA, the organization that runs the Rose Campaign to end violence against women. They really appreciated your interview discussing what happened to your foster sister. They wanted to know if you’d like to get involved.”

Scott sat up, blinking. They wanted
him
? “Are you sure I’d be good for that? I mean, I’ll donate money and stuff, but I want to
help
the cause, not—”

“You’ll be perfect. Speaking of which, letting the Cobras know that you had a difficult childhood would probably serve you well.” Stephan sounded excited now, like he’d finally come up with a way to fix all of Scott’s problems. “People will be sympathetic. They’ll understand that you were just acting out because—”

Scott cut Stephan off with a sharp motion of his hand. Making up shit wasn’t a solution. “Stop right there, Steph. My childhood was fucking fine. You think I was drafted out of the fucking womb? Yeah, I was in foster care, but I’ve had support my whole life.”

“All right. It was just a suggestion.” Stephan sighed. “Your behavior sometimes indicates some kind of abuse, but—”

“Abuse?” He sucked his teeth, more than a little pissed that the man would throw a word like that out when he didn’t know shit about Scott’s past. And even if he did . . .
No. Just no.
“You’re joking, right?” Scott rolled his eyes at Stephan’s solemn look. “I was spoiled rotten. My foster mother gave me anything I wanted.”
Everything.
Scott tugged at the collar of his T-shirt—stupid thing was too tight around his neck. “My behavior is all me. I’m trying to fix it, but don’t make excuses for my shit.”

Eyes on the road, Stephan gave a curt nod. “Very well. I’m not a therapist in any case.”

“No kiddin’?” Scott straightened his seat, opening his door and jumping out before Stephan had finished parking. “You can use my car or bring it back to my place to grab your own. Whatever you want. I’ll catch a ride with Zach.”

“Okay. But, Scott?” Stephan waited for Scott to look at him before he continued. “Please use discretion, whatever you do. You have made progress and . . . How can I say this in a way you’ll understand?” His eyes hardened. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“Gotcha.” Scott saluted, then spun on his runners, needing to get away from Stephan before the man decided they needed to have another heart-to-heart. He approached the lot behind the school at slow saunter. A rather large crowd surrounded the play. Reporters from local stations had cameras set up, locked on the game. The Cobras were putting on a pretty good show.

Sneakers slapped on pavement, but other than that the sounds weren’t much different than what you’d hear on the ice. Shouts from the men. The scrape of sticks, then the snap when they hit the orange ball being used as a puck. The way the guys played was like there were points on the line.

Carter hogged the puck, effortlessly looping around the college boys to take a shot on Ingerslov. Then he spotted Scott and tripped over his own big feet.

Guess he remembers.
Scott chuckled, nodding at Tim as the coach waved him over. Two cute little Ice Girls cut him off, giggling and shoving cans for donations at him. He pulled out his wallet and stuffed a few twenties into the can. Then he made his way to the end of the lot, close to the back of the school, where grass and flower beds softened the harsh appearance of the school yard. Zach sat on a long, wooden bench, puffing at a black cigarette, filling the air around him with a pungent, spicy scent. Black butts littered the grass around his feet.

The man had sacrificed his lungs to whatever was eating at him. Scott clenched his jaw, his throat tight as he looked at Zach, head bowed, shoulders hunched. Zach was the strongest man he knew. Seeing him like this made Scott feel . . . powerless. What the hell could he say or do to make things better?

If anything, he’d probably make things worse.

Tim latched on to Scott’s arm and drew him back far enough that Zach couldn’t possibly hear them. “Ever heard of ‘top drop’?”

Scott arched a brow. “Yeah. At the club there was a big debate going on. Chicklet and Callahan were butting heads about it. She was saying Doms should prepare for it before a scene. Callahan seemed to think it was bullshit. A few of the other guys agreed with him. I didn’t have anything to add, so I stayed out of it.”

“So you have no opinion on the matter?”

“Not sure. I mean, I’ve never seen a sub drop, so I guess I could be an ass and say that’s not real either.” Scott knew he was being a bit of a jerk, but seeing all the Doms and subs on the team all in the loop, and knowing he didn’t fit in there either, got him feeling a bit defensive. “My opinion doesn’t mean much.”

Tim’s lips thinned. “My question was pretty straightforward. Why don’t you just give me an answer?”

Damn. All right then. “Doms are still human, right? I mean, Chicklet said sometimes she feels like she’s doing stuff most people think is messed up. She beats her subs. Makes one watch while she fucks the other. It’s not that hard to believe that a Dom would need a sub to say it’s all good after, right? I mean, a Dom is all about the subs during the scene. Looks out for them after. But . . .”
Fuck.
His muscles tensed as he glanced back at Zach. It was not okay with him for Zach to feel like he’d done something wrong.
Where the fuck is Becky?
“Who takes care of the Dom?”

“My thoughts exactly.” Tim let out a rough exhale. “Zach’s in a bad place. I called my brother to find out what was going on. Becky left. Zach asked Dean to keep an eye on her because they had an intense scene, and she’d taken off early this morning. This conversation happened at about eight a.m., so we’re talking
really
early. Dean had to tell Zach Becky had gone to Gaspe with her parents. The thing is, Zach was worried about her. Worried that she’d drop. I think he’s like the rest of the Doms that go to the club. They’re all concerned about their subs dropping but are too macho to admit to what they feel after a scene. Dean’s no better. I’m sure he’d spot it if Bower dropped, but there’s a lot of snuggling and talking after their scenes with Silver, so I’m pretty sure it hasn’t been an issue.”

“Are you telling me Becky just left Zach, like right after he . . . fuck, what did he do to her?” Scott felt a little sick. He’d seen enough scenes at the club to wonder if Zach didn’t deserve to feel like shit. If he’d used a whip on her, made her bleed—screw helping him get past the drop. Unless beating the crap out of him would help? “She’s in Gaspe? Maybe I should go see her. And maybe you called the wrong person. If he fucking beat her—”

“Damn it, Scott. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I
did
call the wrong person.” Tim took a step back. “Do you know Zach at all? He’s not a sadist. And what if he was? Would that change how you feel about him?”

Scott inhaled sharply. He knew Zach. He wasn’t sure how he’d feel about the man if Zach enjoyed drawing blood like Callahan. But that probably had more to do with how Scott felt about Becky. She wasn’t into that extreme. Or . . . he didn’t think she was.

Being into two people was complicated. How was he supposed to handle this? People at the club talked about trust a lot. Did he trust Zach?

On the ice? Absolutely. With Becky . . . he couldn’t just
give
that trust. But this was
Zach
. The man who’d pushed Scott away from Becky because Scott couldn’t be faithful. Couldn’t give her what she needed. Would Zach
ever
risk hurting Becky?

No fucking way.
“You’re my coach. If anyone else asked me this shit, I’d tell them where to go. But . . . fuck! You’ve got my career in your hands, and I trust
you.
If I’m gonna be honest, I love Zach—” Scott swallowed. Had he really just said that? Did he mean it?

Yes. Great big fucking yes.

“Tell me what to do. I don’t really get this whole ‘top drop’ thing, but I don’t get sub drop either. And I’d be there for Becky if she was going through it. Damn, Zach doesn’t smoke this much. I get that as a coach you probably don’t think any of us should smoke at all, but Zach’s all about moderation. I’m not seeing that right now.”

“I wish I
could
tell you what to do, Demyan. And you’re right. In moderation, Pearce smoking cigars—and even cigarettes—isn’t any worse than the other men going to a fast food joint once a month. In my experience as a sub, a drop can make me feel off for a few hours. On a rare occasion, days. I don’t know the effects of a top drop long-term—if there are any. But right now, I’m concerned. That’s why I called.”

“Got it.” Scott knew he had been right about one thing back in the car. Going to Zach all serious wouldn’t do any good. He needed to handle this with his devil-may-care attitude. He swung at the coach with a feigned left jab, right hook when he noticed Zach watching. “Thanks, Coach.”

“No problem.” Tim threw a light punch that connected with Scott’s gut, laughing at Scott’s exaggerated grunt. “I heard that you’re going to be the new spokesman for the Rose Campaign. I’m impressed.”

“Yeah?” Scott grinned, his chest swelling as Tim gave him a look filled with something he couldn’t recall ever being aimed his way. Pride. Coming from the coach, it meant a lot. “I mean, it will be good for my image. But that’s not why I’m doing it.”

“I know.” Tim nudged Scott’s shoulder with his fist. “Now go get him, kid.”

Zach watched Scott as he approached, his expression more curious than defeated. He nodded in Tim’s direction as the coach headed back toward the play. “What was that all about?”

Scott dropped on the bench beside him, still grinning. “I got an offer to be the team’s spokesman for this anti-violence against women’s group.”

“Nice.” Zach brought a fresh cigarette to his lips, shook his head, then dropped it to the dirt to crush it under his heel. “I’m happy for you. It’ll be good for people to see what a good guy you are.”

“Yeah, well, I’m honored to get the offer, you know?” Scott ran his tongue over his teeth. “You don’t look happy though. What’s going on?”

“I’m sure Tim had some theories.”

“Yeah. Something about Becky leaving and you needing to snuggle.” Scott shrugged. “I’m good with that.”

Letting out a dry laugh, Zach dropped his head back. “Right. You? Snuggling?”

“Sure. But I want to get in on this game first.” Scott’s lips formed into a crooked smile as he stood. “I’m thinking we should play for something. The winner gets whatever he wants from the loser when we go back to your place.”