Hawke, Page 4

  She wasn't expecting that question, and for some reason, I can see it clearly on her face, she doesn't want to answer me. But then just as quickly, she schools her features to bland perfection and even gives me a tiny smile. "He's good. I'll tell him you asked."

  "Bet he's still running the training room with an iron first," I muse, thinking of the paces that hard-ass used to put me through when I played for the Oilers.

  Vale doesn't respond, instead turning to pick up the scraps of tape and empty wrappers. Something about her stubborn silence piques me.

  "Well?" I push at her as I hop off the table. My towel falls to the floor but I ignore it, instead reaching down to pick up my shin pads. My knee feels good. Damn good, actually.

  She clears her throat, back still to me, and says quietly, "He retired actually. At the end of this past season."

  My head snaps up and I narrow my eyes at her. By a quick calculation of his current age--fifty-four if memory serves--there's no way he'd be retiring. Dave Campbell is a man so in love with his job and career you'd expect he'd die out on the ice.

  "Why did he retire so early?" I ask.

  A brief look of panic flits over her face, so fast I almost doubt I see it. But it's gone, replaced by that cool aloofness. "Just got tired of the grind of it all."

  Our eyes lock, and it's a staring war. She swallows hard but then tacks on, "And don't you have to get out on the ice?"

  Shit.

  I totally need to get back out there. This is training camp. Where decisions are made who makes the team and what line you start on. I can't afford to be wasting it back here trying to push at a woman to open up to me when I really absolutely don't give a fuck if she opens up to me or not. In fact, it's better for me all around if she doesn't.

  I tip my head at her in acknowledgment. "Thanks for the tape-up."

  Relief floods her face and it's clear she's glad I'm letting it go. Which really makes me want to push it further.

  But she turns her back on me, grabs her laptop, and heads toward Goose's office. I watch her retreat from me, totally conflicted. I'm curious about Dave and why a workhorse like him would give up his career. A conversation about Dave would hold us together here...keep us communicating. A luxury she denied me seven years ago.

  Granted, it's been a stilted, practically one-sided conversation, but it's still conversation with a woman who holds so many answers that I used to want answered. Is it possible I still want to know what made her do what she did to me all those years ago? Even as I tell myself I'm past that shit and it doesn't make a damn bit of difference?

  Shaking my head, I finish suiting up and decide that it's probably best I let it go. Who knows, maybe if I'm lucky, I can go injury free all year and won't have to cross paths with Vale for the rest of the season, and eventually the need for questions to be answered will just fade away like they did before.

  --

  And yet, I can't let go of this opportunity to appease my curiosity.

  As I walk through the player parking lot after practice, I see Ryker and Gray standing next to a sporty red convertible BMW. His hands are on her waist and he's leaning in to give her a kiss. A sweetly intimate moment, yet I'm fixing to bust it up.

  I drop my bag to the ground and trot over toward them. When they hear my footsteps, Ryker pulls away and they both turn to look at me. I'm greeted with friendly smiles, so it appears it's not a big deal that I'm interrupting their kiss.

  "Hey, man," Ryker says as he sticks his hand out. "Good practice today."

  I give him a quick pump and then turn to stick my hand out to Gray. "Miss Brannon."

  She decided to keep her maiden name after marrying Ryker, I suspect an ode to her strong independence as well as reluctance to depart from the branding that makes "Brannon" and "great hockey" synonymous.

  She smirks at me even as she shakes my hand. "It's just Gray."

  "Okay, just Gray," I say with what I hope is my most charming smile. "I was wondering if you have a second to talk."

  Her eyebrows raise in surprise, because really, what could a player need to talk to the GM about? Contract is signed, sealed, and delivered, and besides, those talks would be through an agent. She slides a quick glance at Ryker, and then looks back at me. "Sure. Is this private?"

  "No," I say quickly, and nod toward Ryker. "Not anything like that."

  She settles her hips back against her car door and tucks her hands into the pockets of her skirt. A skirt I happen to notice fits her form fantastically, and again I have to think Ryker is a lucky fucker. "So what's up?"

  "Well...um, I was curious about Vale Campbell."

  More raised eyebrows, this time from both Gray and Ryker, but they don't say anything.

  "I was talking to her earlier today, and she mentioned her father, Dave, had retired as the trainer for the Oilers, and, well, I was wondering if you knew why."

  Gray narrows her eyes at me slightly and tilts her head to the side. "That's sort of an odd question."

  I take a deep breath and scrub a hand through my hair, rubbing it hard at the back of my neck as I give her a sheepish smile. "Okay...here's the deal. Vale and I used to have a thing. Well, not a thing. We were serious. Dated for four years when I was with the Oilers."

  "I see," Gray says noncommittally.

  "She was taping my knee today and mentioned her dad retired, but didn't say why. And, well, I sort of got the impression...well, not so much an impression as it was I can't imagine that man retiring early to save my life, and I was curious if you knew why."

  "And she wouldn't tell you," Gray surmises.

  Wincing internally and with knowledge I'm probably going to hell for this little white lie, I say, "Well...there wasn't much time to get into it. I was due back out on the ice, and she had to get back to work--"

  "I'm sorry," Gray says as she pushes up off her car, her tone going from casual friendly to general-manager polite, "but that's probably a private matter that you should take up with Vale. Or Dave, for that matter."

  "So you do know the reason?" I push at her.

  "I do, but again...not my place to say," she hedges.

  I let out an exasperated breath, slide my gaze back over to the arena, and try to figure a way to get her to just fucking tell me. With a soft hand to my shoulder, my attention is brought back to Gray.

  "Look," she murmurs. "Why don't you just talk to Dave yourself?"

  Huh? Hadn't thought of that.

  "I don't have his--" I start to say, but Gray cuts me off.

  "Go back into the executive offices. See my secretary, Charlene. She'll give you his phone number and you can give him a call," she says with a smile, and then turns back to Ryker. "Ready to go, baby?"

  "Yeah," he says as he leans in to open her car door. As an afterthought, he says, "Hey, man...want to get together sometime this weekend? Me, Garrett, Alex, and Zack. Get a beer or something?"

  "Sure," I say with a grateful smile toward both of them. "And thanks, Gray."

  She nods and then I turn from them, trotting back into the arena.

  In just five minutes, I'm calling Dave on his cellphone.

  He answers on the second ring.

  "Um...hey, Dave...it's--"

  "Hawke Therrien," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "How the hell are you?"

  "I'm good," I say as I walk back toward the player parking lot. "Saw Vale today...said you'd retired and just thought I'd give you a call to see how you're doing."

  "Well, that's mighty nice of you," he says gruffly. "Been following your career. You're a fucking star, boy. Always knew you had it in you."

  I can't help it. The affection in his voice...not just for a boy he trained, but for the boy that became a man that was in love with his daughter at one time. And I feel like shit for letting so many years go by.

  "Yeah, I appreciate that. It's really good to hear your voice. Nice to be able to catch up, even if it's from a very long overdue call."

  "I get it," he says. "You get
busy and all that."

  "Not much of an excuse, really," I say lamely.

  "Listen, why don't you come on by and let's visit a bit. Vale's at her second job and it gets lonely sitting in this apartment all by myself."

  I freeze in midstep. "You're here...in Raleigh?"

  "Well, yeah. Didn't Vale tell you?"

  "No," I say quietly into the phone. "No, she didn't."

  Chapter 4

  Vale

  I pull into my apartment complex, beyond exhausted. I had three clients to train at the gym tonight and haven't eaten dinner. As if to prove its displeasure with me, my stomach emits a snarly grumble as I turn off the ignition. At least I had the presence of mind this morning to put a roast in the slow cooker for me and Dad, and nothing sounded better to me than wolfing down some food, taking a hot shower, and collapsing into bed.

  Sucks having to work two jobs, but what the Cold Fury pays me isn't enough to cover everything. When Dad and I realized we'd need to do a fast relocate to this area, I did a mad scramble to put in applications anywhere I could think to get a job. While there's a nice selection of collegiate sports teams in this area, the pickings for a coveted AT position were slim, so I also put in applications at all the area gyms. My certification as a strength and conditioning specialist earned me several offers, but the pay was even worse than the Cold Fury because it was commission-type work, and without a solid base of clientele, there was no way we'd be able to make it. Luckily, though, the offer came down from Gray Brannon, and after I accepted it, I was fortunate to still be able to take on a part-time position at Xtreme Fit gym just a few miles from our apartment. It meant hitting the gym early each morning before I started work at the arena, and most nights after work I was back there again, but it meant the bills were paid and there was money left over for pot roast.

  My legs are heavy as I walk the stairs to the second floor. I wanted a ground-floor apartment, but there weren't any available and the waiting list is long. So far, though, it hasn't been a problem for Dad to navigate the stairs, and I hope that remains true.

  The minute I unlock the door and open it, I inhale deeply, willing the scent of slow-cooked meat to permeate and hopefully give my stomach a promise of something good to come. Instead, I smell...is that pizza?

  I step inside and my eyes immediately go to a pizza box on the coffee table, then slide over to a pair of long legs encased in dark jeans. My gaze travels up and I see Hawke sitting on the sofa with a beer bottle in hand, watching me with harsh eyes.

  "What are you doing here?" I blurt out as I remove my key from the lock.

  "He came by to visit me," my father says jovially, and my head snaps over to him as he sits back in his recliner. He also has a beer bottle in his hand.

  My blood pressure spikes, my vision goes hazy from anger, and I stalk up to him. "What are you doing, drinking beer? You can't have that."

  Dad just chuckles and holds it up for me to see. "Relax, Vale. It's nonalcoholic."

  I expect the anger to quiet but it doesn't. I look back pointedly at the pizza box and then back to my father. "And pizza? What about the roast I put in the Crock-Pot?"

  Without waiting for his answer, I spin on Hawke. "Did you buy that for him? He shouldn't be eating that."

  Hawke doesn't say a word, but narrows his eyes further at me.

  "Honey," Dad says, and I spin back on him. "You, um...forgot to turn on the Crock-Pot, and I didn't realize it until a bit ago. So...we, um...we just ordered some pizza."

  My stomach bottoms out, sad to not have roast for dinner, and filled with leaden guilt that I forgot to turn on the cooker. I was so damn tired this morning when I rolled out of bed, it must have just slipped my mind.

  "I'm sorry," I murmur as I lean down and kiss my dad's cheek. "I forgot, and I hate that you had to eat pizza. You need to eat better than that."

  "It's okay," he says as his hand comes up to palm my cheek, holding me a second so my lips stay pressed to him. He then pats me and I pull back. "You've got a lot on your plate and I don't need you doting over me."

  I look down at my father, worry and love I know evident on my face, because his eyes get shiny with warmth. We stare at each other a moment as he silently communicates to me that it's all going to be okay.

  Except, I don't know that it is.

  Setting my purse and keys down on the table beside my dad's chair, I lean over to grab the pizza box. Shooting a quick glance at Hawke, I bite out, "So, what, you decided to stop by and check in on an old friend?"

  "Something like that," he growls. "Of course, it would have helped if you'd just told me what the hell was going on when I asked about your dad today at the arena."

  I slam the top of the pizza box over the remaining contents--two pieces of New York style with pepperoni, and my stomach grumbles again.

  "Now why would I tell you that, Hawke?" My voice is bitter with confusion and anger. "It's not like you kept in touch with him all these years. Why would anything about my dad be any of your business?"

  "Vale," my dad says in warning. "Ease up."

  "Whatever," I mutter, and stalk off into the kitchen. I head to the garbage can, stomp my foot on the pedal at the base, and when the lid raises, I try to stuff the box inside.

  Except it's about two sizes too big, so I wrestle with it, taking my frustration out on the cardboard and the two aromatic pieces still in there taunting me. I feel tears welling in my eyes as I push and punch at the box, trying to get it to conform.

  "Not hungry?" Hawke asks quietly from behind me.

  My body stiffens as I make a last hard push to cram it all in and I blink my eyes rapidly to dispel the moisture. "No," I say sullenly.

  Starved, more like it.

  "Your dad says you have a second job training people at a gym," he says conversationally.

  I ignore the remark and instead turn on him. "Seriously, Hawke...why are you here?"

  "Because I was worried about your dad," he says simply. "I knew you were hiding something from me, and while I might have lost contact over the years, I still like and respect your dad very much. Why wouldn't I check in to say hello?"

  He has a point, and I don't like it, because I don't like anything about Hawke being back in my life. It dredges up too many memories and flares my guilt and heartache back to life. My heart is already full to bursting with worry and dread; I don't have room for all of the emotions that come with the territory of Hawke Therrien even talking to me.

  "Fine," I say, my voice heavy with exhaustion. "You're concerned about him. You've come to visit. You can feel good now about making contact with old friends."

  No mistaking the sarcasm in my voice.

  I turn to the refrigerator and pull out a protein shake I keep stocked. It won't satisfy my hunger, but at least it will give me something. As I twist the cap, I notice Hawke lean back against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest.

  "Why are you so angry with me?" he asks softly. "I'm not the one that abandoned first."

  My eyes widen with surprise even as guilt flushes through me. He's right, I'm the one that cut ties, but surely he has to admit that I tried to rectify...

  No, wait...doesn't matter. What's done is done.

  "Listen, it's late for me and I need to get a shower, head to bed," I tell him firmly as I move past him.

  His hand shoots out, lands on my shoulder. His fingers curl in to stop me, and I hate the sudden flash of euphoria over his touch. That shouldn't happen. I should never feel that way from one simple touch.

  "Why, Vale?" he whispers, his eyes hard yet filled with need.

  My breath seizes in my lungs, the urge to rail against him clogging up my most basic need to survive. I swallow hard, suck in deep through my nose. "Why? You want to know why now?"

  "Yes," he grunts with exasperation.

  More hot anger flashes through me, giving me a resurgence of energy. "Maybe you should have asked why back when--"

  The sounds of Pharrell Williams's "Happy" start
s bleating from my phone, a ringtone that generally puts a smile on my face. The most it serves to do is shock me into instant recognition that I forgot to call Todd again.

  I pull away from Hawke's grasp and pull my phone from the case clipped to my hip. I don't even give him a glance as I connect the call and put it to my ear. "Hi, honey," I breathe into the phone. "I'm so sorry I didn't call."

  My eyes slide to Hawke, who lowers his arm and drops his face to look at the floor. A muscle ticks in his lower jaw.

  "Hey, sweetie," Todd croons at me, because he can hear the exhaustion on my voice. "Rough day?"

  "You have no idea," I tell him as I push past Hawke and walk back to my bedroom.

  "It must have been a doozy. No room in your life for me right now, huh?" His tone is light, but I don't miss the underlying censure.

  "It's been nonstop since five a.m.," I tell him defensively as I step into my bedroom and shut the door behind me.

  "You're working too hard," he says pointedly.

  Well, there's a news flash.

  "Yeah, well, someone's got to do it," I say as I sit down on the edge of my bed and then lie back. I stare at the popcorn ceiling with water stains indicating the apartment above me at some point had a leak. "And until I win the lottery, well...this is just the way it is."

  "I can send you money," he says automatically, and it's a rote offer, because we've had this conversation before.

  Too many times.

  "You know that's not an option for me," I remind him.

  Todd blows a pained gust of frustration into the phone and then lets out a long-suffering sigh. I roll my eyes, curious as to why he feels affronted over my refusal to accept his help. It wouldn't change anything between us one way or the other.

  At least on my part.

  On his, I'm sure he thinks it will bring us closer together. Almost as if he wants to tie me by dependency, and that's never going to happen.

  I feel bad thinking these things about him.

  Todd Walters has been in many ways very good for me. We met almost six months ago while I was working in Columbus for the Ohio State Buckeyes. He's a dentist and works for a large practice specializing in sedation dentistry. We met when one of my players cracked a tooth wide open during spring training practice and I was tasked with driving him for an emergency repair. The poor kid was so terrified he insisted we go somewhere that would knock his ass out, and thus my first meeting with Todd. By the time the tooth was repaired, I'd accepted his invitation to coffee because he was cute and charming and I was lonely.