Nathan didn’t argue. His attention had already turned back to the team, which was enjoying a power play thanks to the penalty called against the player who took out Mike.
With a shaking hand, Lauren took a deep pull of her water. I hate hockey, she reminded herself. And Mike Beacon is nothing to me. But the sight of his body lying still on the ice had made her feel cold inside. Damn him.
And now she was eyeing the clock, wondering if the Bruisers could capitalize on the power play. Feeling the old pull.
There were less than three minutes left, and they would decide her fate for the next two weeks. If the Bruisers scored, it was on to the conference semifinals in another city—another seven-game series. A hundred more chances to feel the weight of Mike Beacon’s eyes on her in airport terminals, buses and hotel lobbies.
Or.
If they couldn’t clinch the series tonight or in the next two games, it would all be over. A week from tonight she could be back at her desk in Manhattan, worrying about Nate’s next international software trade show.
Why did that sound disappointing all of a sudden?
She risked another glance at the rink, where Leo Trevi was making a new charge at the opponent’s net. Defenders scrambled into place, but Trevi snapped the puck back to Castro, then evaded the player who tried to check him.
Lauren went completely still inside. Then, with two minutes and forty-two seconds left on the clock, Trevi received the puck again, quickly passing backward to team captain O’Doul.
Who flipped the biscuit into the basket.
O’Doul’s girlfriend, Ari, let out an earsplitting shriek of joy as the lantern lit behind D.C.’s goalie. The stadium went nuts, some fans moaning and others hooting with victory.
Lauren stared at the scoreboard as the goal became official. The Bruisers were a few cautious minutes away from going on to round two.
Beside her, Nate rubbed his hands together. He didn’t yell or even smile because the game wasn’t officially over yet.
It was, though. Lauren knew in her gut that Brooklyn would advance. And she was stunned to realize she was a little thrilled by the idea. Nate and this team had worked so hard for two years to rebuild the franchise.
Not that I care, Lauren reminded herself as the puck dropped on the next faceoff.
Both teams skated with electric, sweaty energy as the clock wound down. With forty five seconds left, D.C. pulled its goalie. They needed a goal to push the game into overtime.
They didn’t get it.
Leo Trevi scored on the empty net, and then it was all over but the cryin’. When the buzzer sounded with its deafening glee, fans began streaming for the exits and pundits everywhere began speculating over who the Bruisers would meet in the second round.
Lauren chugged her bottle of water and wondered how all this would end.
? ? ?
As the evening progressed, Lauren found it much easier to rustle up the proper amount of loathing for hockey. She stood for hours on weary feet at Nate’s side as he took questions from journalists and conferred with Hugh Major, the general manager, over stats and predictions. During the play-offs, these sound bites and analysis—always Lauren’s least favorite aspect of the game—were dialed up to eleven. Reporters were everywhere, nabbing players for a few words of commentary wherever they could find them.
She found herself inspecting her manicure as Mike Beacon was interviewed a few feet away from her in the corridor.
“Michael—that was quite the athletic save you made during the first period,” a sports reporter said into his own microphone, while a cameraman filmed them. “Great work getting your glove into that corner! What was going through your head while you dove for that puck?”
Lauren knew him too well to miss the irritation in his answering chuckle. “Honestly? A few different four-letter words. I know the highlight-reel saves make for good video, but that kind of save only happens if I’ve read the scene wrong in the first place, and have to make a quick and desperate correction.”
“Got it,” said the announcer with an uncomfortable laugh. “Nicely done, then. Good save, as they say! Heh-heh.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. Hard. But then she caught Mike watching her. And when their gazes met, his lips twitched with amusement. Do you believe this guy? his expression seemed to ask.
She smiled before she remembered that they didn’t do this anymore. They weren’t each other’s port in the shit storm of life.
The moment was over anyway because her boss stepped up to ask her, “Did you reach Rebecca? I need to make sure she knows about her doctor’s appointment tomorrow.”
“I tried,” Lauren told him. “But she didn’t answer her phone. I didn’t think you’d want me to keep trying. It’s almost eleven.”
Nate frowned. “Call my landline.”
“Your . . .” Lauren was confused. “At home?”
He gave a curt nod. “She’s staying with . . . at my place for a little while. It’s more peaceful there.”
More peaceful my ass. “I’ll try your landline,” she said, pulling out her Katt Phone. “But, Nate? Why didn’t you just call her yourself?” If her life was up for discussion, he could take a poke or two. Fair was fair.
Nate’s eyes flared. “Are you too busy right now to make the call?”
“Not at all,” she admitted. But why am I the only one who gets called out for ducking people?
“If you reach her,” he began, as if her moment of disobedience had never happened, “tell her that the car will be there at nine fifteen instead of nine thirty tomorrow morning, because traffic in the Battery Tunnel can be nasty.”
“Yes, sir,” Lauren said a little too flippantly. She tapped the number for his mansion on her phone and listened to it ring while he walked away.
“Hello?” Rebecca answered just as Lauren contemplated giving up. “Lauren?”
“Hi. I’m sorry to call so late.”
“It’s okay. I just didn’t know if I should answer Nate’s phone. But the caller ID said your name so I figured I was supposed to answer. Did you know there are computer screens in every room of Nate’s house? They blink on when you walk past them. I’m all creeped out.”
“Why, um . . .” Lauren didn’t make a point to start conversations with Becca. But she was dying of curiosity. “Why are you there?”
Becca groaned. “It’s weird, right? But I wasn’t doing so well, and I mentioned to Nate that my sister and her idiot boyfriend were back together and making a lot of noise in my apartment. I couldn’t sleep and I was all stressed out. Nate showed up the next day with empty suitcases and told me to pack for an extended stay. I have to wonder—is his Manhattan empire crumbling without you at the helm? Because the man really doesn’t want me to take any more sick leave.”
He’s in love with you, idiot.