by Sarina Bowen
“No shit?” O’Doul laughed. “I have to see that.”
“Okay,” she promised. Bravery came in many forms, apparently. Paragliding was one thing. But letting loose in front of the people you worked with day in and day out counted, too. Why had she never realized this before?
“You’re thinking pretty hard over there. Trying to pick a track?”
It was her turn to laugh. “No, I like the song to be a game time decision. Although, if I’m choosing one to sing for you . . .” She couldn’t resist making the dig. “I should pick ‘Bitch’ by Meredith Brooks.” That’s what he’d called her at the press conference last month.
O’Doul flinched. “God, I regret ever saying that. I’m truly sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she said quickly. Even though it really wasn’t.
“Naw. See, you shot me down a couple of times, and I’m not used to that. Turns me into a toddler, apparently. Lesson learned.”
Georgia’s face heated. “Um . . .”
“Don’t apologize.”
She let out a nervous laugh. “Okay. But I’m pretty clueless sometimes.”
“No big. But, listen—I saw you at the dojang on Spring Street a couple weeks ago—right before the road trip. What is that—a third-degree black belt you’re sporting? You outrank me.”
“Do I?” she squeaked. “I didn’t know you did tae kwon do. Isn’t it a little too much like your day job?”
He snorted. “Maybe. But I’m a little touchy about the way people think of me as a heavy. I took up tae kwon do because it makes fighting orderly. It’s an art form and a skill, you know what I mean?”
This was easily the most personal conversation she’d ever had with O’Doul. “It is a skill. And beautiful when it’s done well.”
He grinned. “People don’t usually say the word ‘beautiful’ in the same sentence with me. But I know what you mean. Is that why you took it up?”
“Nope. I did it because I needed to defend myself. When I was eighteen, something terrible happened to me. After I was raped, this was how I learned to feel confident again.”
His eyebrows flew upward. “Jesus. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks. It was a while ago. I started with aikido first, but it felt too staged.”
“Yeah, I get that,” he said. “Hey—you can help me study for my next belt test. I need some one-step sparring practice.”
Georgia grinned. Sparring with O’Doul could be a hoot. “Okay! Let’s go. I see a mat in there.” They’d reached the stretching room where yoga would be held. He waited politely for her to enter the room first, and she slid past him. “There’s nobody else in here yet. Quick—drop me, Doulie.”
“I knew you were fun.” He chuckled. He gave her a quick bow then relaxed into a preparation stance, while she waited with a grin on her face.
THIRTY
Leo followed Silas and Castro out of the dressing room and into the dank basement hallway. “Classy place,” he muttered.
“It reminds me of a horror movie set,” Silas quipped. “Didn’t Psycho have some basement scenes?”
“Dude, The Silence of the Lambs,” Castro suggested. “It puts the lotion in the basket.”
Silas snickered as they turned a corner, finding nothing but an old mop bucket and a dead end. “Shit, are we lost?” he asked.
“Wait, this isn’t a horror movie,” Castro said as they all spun around. “This is Spinal Tap.” He stopped beside a door marked Steam Chute 17 and pounded on it. “HELLO, CLEVELAND! I always wanted to say that.”
“Cross that off the bucket list,” Silas agreed.
“Wait, I heard voices,” Leo said as they approached another turn.
“I see dead people,” Silas countered.
“Aren’t you both just hysterical,” Leo grumbled. “Hustle, though. I’m not getting left off the game card tonight just to hear more of your movie trivia.”
“We all know I won’t be playing,” Silas muttered. “Might as well take the scenic route.”
But there was no scenic route, and Leo picked up the pace. He turned left and spotted the long hallway they needed. And this one had an arrow stenciled in paint on the wall beside the words “training facility.”
“Here we go,” someone said as they all turned in the proper direction, finally.
They walked onward. And it was really just happenstance that Leo lifted his chin toward the distant end of the hall at exactly the right moment. He saw two figures through a doorway at the opposite end of the hall, and one of them was Georgia. He knew the shine of her hair and her supermodel posture even in bad lighting at a hundred paces. He might have called out a greeting, except the man beside Georgia raised an arm and grabbed her, yanking her out of sight, into the shadows.
Later, he wouldn’t even be able to recall the fifty yard sprint down the hall.
The same instincts that allowed him to reach a puck traveling seventy miles per hour across the ice had him racing toward the shadowy place where she’d been taken. The sounds of his teammates’ voices dimmed to only a warble on the edge of his consciousness. There was only his speed, and the acidic bite of bile in his throat as he launched his body toward the target. His vision tunneled down to include only the doorway where she’d disappeared.
Seconds later he flew through that doorway at the man who had Georgia around the waist, on the fucking floor. Not a half second after that, his own hands dug into the perpetrator’s flesh. A shout of rage tore from his own throat as he threw the man aside.
But the next sound was Georgia’s shriek. And as he fell to his knees beside her, she grabbed his arms and yelled “STOP.”
She kept talking, but it wasn’t possible to understand. He was too caught inside the moment—the memory of that arm yanking Georgia out of his sight, tossing her into the shadows. It was all he could see.
His teammates arrived a moment later, their voices crowding his head. “Is Doulie okay?” “Shit—what happened?”
Someone helped O’Doul off the floor. The captain raised a hand to the back of his head, and came away with a smear of blood. And Leo’s eyes finally focused on Georgia, in her yoga pants and a Bruisers T-shirt, babbling about “sparring” or something. His brain told him he’d made an error of judgment. But his stomach still wasn’t sure. And even though he’d gotten to his feet again somehow, the weirdest sensation crept up his arms and legs. It was an unfamiliar chill in his fingertips, spreading rapidly up and toward his core.
“Leo? Are you okay? He’s turning gray.”
Standing up wasn’t really working for him. So he put out a hand toward the nearest wall. But the nearest wall turned out to be Silas. So Leo bent over to clutch his knees instead.
Then his stomach heaved, and he vomited all over the floor.
* * *
Half an hour later, Leo sat on a table in the medical facility, leaning his head back against the cool wall.
The team doctor had come and gone. Leo had explained himself. Sort of. It was all a stupid misunderstanding. He was horribly embarrassed, and hoping for a chance to apologize.
If only his stomach would stop rolling.
He’d also insisted to the team doctor that he was okay to play tonight. They’d handed him some of the sports drink, and he’d choked part of it down. And he continued to clutch the half-empty bottle in case anyone else came into the treatment room. He didn’t want anyone to notice his hands were shaking.
Jesus Christ. Of all the bullshit he’d pulled, freaking out on O’Doul was the worst yet. He’d bet any amount of money that they had the captain in another exam room right now so that they could evaluate him for a possible concussion. He’d thrown O’Doul on the fucking floor.
But the guy had had his hands on Georgia, as if . . .
Leo’s gut clenched again and he swallowed hard as another wave of nausea rolled through him. Don’t go
there, he told himself. Don’t think about that. It had been a simple misunderstanding. He’d reacted very badly. There would be repercussions, but there was also a game to win. If he could just stay focused on that, everything would be okay. He took another sip of the sports drink and closed his eyes, picturing the rink. Too bad he hadn’t made it to yoga. Right now he could really use some positive visualization or what-the-fuck-ever.
The door opened after a minute and Leo opened his eyes, expecting the doctor. Only it wasn’t the one he’d expected.
“Hi, Leo,” said Dr. Mulvey, the team shrink. “How are you doing?”
“Fine,” he said tightly.
“Your hands are shaky?”
Fuck. A chill ran through his body, and he did a poor job of fighting it off. “I think I might be fighting off the flu or something.” Why else would he feel so shaky? Maybe they could give him a vitamin shot and some Advil before game time.
“The flu, huh?” The doctor perched on the table beside him. “You ever have panic attacks?”
“Fuck no,” Leo grumbled.
“There’s a first time for everything.”
Leo pressed the back of his head against the wall and sighed. “Who’s getting cleared for the game tonight? Is O’Doul okay?” Please say yes. In the first place, he really hoped that O’Doul was okay. And in the second place, if O’Doul really wanted to make a stink about it, he could get Leo in a lot of trouble. Shit, he could call the cops if he really felt like ruining Leo’s day.
“He’ll be all right,” Mulvey said lightly. “He might need a night off. Doc will decide soon.”
Leo groaned.
“Can you tell me what happened back there?”
No. Leo hesitated. “I misinterpreted something. It was a stupid mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“I get that part,” the doctor said. “But then what happened to you?”
“Uh, I got . . .” Leo did not even have words to explain what he’d felt. He wasn’t even sure he remembered it all that clearly. Maybe it was the flu. “My stomach is just a little upset.”
The shrink clicked his tongue. “But why is it upset? I think you are upset, and you’ll feel better if you can articulate why.”
Right on cue, Leo’s gut clenched. “I psyched myself out there for a minute. It won’t happen again.”
“Maybe that’s true,” the doctor said quietly. “But for you to have such an outsized reaction to a misunderstanding suggests a fear you haven’t dealt with. Shake my hand.”
“What?”
“Just shake.” Doctor Mulvey held out his hand.
Leo shook.
“Your hands are cold and you’re not steady,” the doctor said. “That’s shock, Mr. Trevi. It happens after physical or psychological trauma. Like a bone break, or witnessing an accident on the highway.”
“But I didn’t.”
The doctor chewed on his lip. “I think you did, though. In your own way.” The doctor got off the table. “Lie down on your back and bend your knees.”
“I don’t need . . .”
“You want to play tonight, or what?”
Fuck. Leo turned to stretch out on the table. If this is what they wanted him to do, he’d do it. The doctor put a foam stretching block under his feet, to elevate them. Then he put a blanket over Leo’s chest, while Leo clenched his jaw to keep from arguing.
“I’m going to speak to the doctor for a moment,” Mulvey said. “Hang tight.”
“Don’t let anybody else in here,” Leo said, irritation leaking into his tone.
“Okay,” the doctor said, looking down at him. “By ‘anybody else’ do you mean Georgia?”
Leo grunted his acknowledgment.
“Fine. But you and I are definitely talking about this later.”
I can’t wait. Leo folded his hands on his chest and willed them to stop shaking.
When the doctor came in a while later, he brought Hugh Major with him. Leo sat up quickly, ready to take his punishment. The room only spun a little bit. So that was progress.
“Brought you this,” the doctor said, setting down a tray with a banana and some kind of protein bar. “If you can eat, you need something with some available sugars.”
“Thanks,” he said, waiting.
The GM was eyeing him with a frown. “O’Doul can play tonight,” Hugh finally said. “No sign of a concussion. It’s just a scrape on his head, and a big bruise on his ass.”
Leo sagged with relief. “That’s good to hear. Will he let me apologize to him?”
The GM cocked his head. “Sure he will. But are you okay to play?”
“Yeah,” Leo said immediately. “Of course I am.”
The doctor rolled his eyes. “We’ve heard that before, son. You eat something and we’ll talk in an hour, okay?”
“Sure.” Leo grabbed the banana and began to peel it. If everyone would just leave him alone for a few minutes, he’d be fine.
They left, but the goddamn door opened up again to admit O’Doul. “Hey,” the captain said.
“Hey.” Christ. “Look, I’m really sorry.” How many times was Leo going to have to give this speech? He’d never fucked up so many times before coming to the Bruisers. Seriously. His life had gone pretty fucking smoothly until now. He hadn’t realized that there would be some serious karmic payback for getting to the NHL.
The captain waved a hand in the air. “I, uh . . . I didn’t know about Georgia before today.”
“What about her?”
O’Doul lifted a hand to the back of his neck. “You know. That when you guys were together in high school, she was raped.”
Leo couldn’t stave off his flinch at the sound of that word. “She probably doesn’t like talking about it.” And he could seriously relate right about now.
“I’m sure.” O’Doul hopped up on the counter top opposite him. “But that’s some pretty awful shit. Kinda explains a lot. About both of you.”
Did it? Leo wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. He didn’t want to be explained. He wanted to stop freaking out all the fucking time. “I’m still sorry I overreacted. Be kind of nice if that stopped happening.”
O’Doul actually tipped his head back and laughed. “You think?”
“Yeah.” And a ripple of laughter wobbled through him, too. Although it felt a little like hysteria. “So am I getting out of this little jail? Are we going to mow down this team, or what? Where is Coach anyway?”
“With Georgia,” he said. “But, yeah. I’m sure he’ll be barking at all of us within minutes.”
“Good to know.” Leo finally took a bite out of the banana. He didn’t feel like eating, but he’d take one for the team.
“You know Georgia is a black belt at tae kwon do?”
“She didn’t tell me much about it,” Leo had to admit. “She’s good at everything she tries, though. So it’s not a big shock.”
O’Doul grinned. “She is, isn’t she?” He shook his head. “I asked her out a couple of times and got the brush-off. Didn’t know she was waiting for you.” He hopped off the counter. “I’ll see you in the dressing room later?”
“Yeah. And I’m sorry about your . . .”
“Stop, college boy.” The captain laid a hand on Leo’s shoulder on his way out of the room. “Let’s just win tonight, okay?”
“Yeah.” The door shut on O’Doul, and Leo eyed the protein bar with suspicion. He picked it up and sighed.
THIRTY-ONE
Georgia had never cried at work before. Not even when her dad had called to tell her that her grandmother had died. Not even while they were all watching the movie Rudy on the jet to Vancouver, and the team carried Rudy around on the field on their shoulders.
Because you can’t cry at work. That just makes you into the girl, damn it.
So Georgia bit hard enough on her
lip to make it bleed as two of Leo’s teammates hooked him under the arms and dragged him away from the scene of the crime. O’Doul stood there feeling the back of his scalp and asking, “What the fuck just happened?” until Hugh Major swept in and hauled him off to have the doctor look at his head.
Other teammates began to circle her, trying to be helpful, asking questions which Georgia did not feel like answering. Somebody called down to maintenance for a mop. And someone else called Coach Worthington.
Georgia just stood against the wall feeling . . . terrified. But of what, she wasn’t sure. She couldn’t stop hearing the awful sound that Leo had made when he tore around the corner. He’d thrown O’Doul down in front of witnesses. And he’d been ready to break the guy in half. She’d never seen anything like it.
It was all her fault, most likely. No—her shrink would reject that idea in a half second flat. But still, she felt guilty. Leo had come unglued before her eyes. Seeing it happen made her heart ache. And it made her realize that he wasn’t unscathed by what had happened to her. It had happened to both of them. She hadn’t really understood that before now.
“Georgia?”
She looked up to see Roger beckoning to her. “Yeah?” It came out as a croak.
“Your father would like a word with you.”
Her heart sank. Wordlessly, she followed him down another of the million hallways this place seemed to have. She was going to have to say something to him now about seeing Leo. If there was any way to shift some of the blame off him, she’d do it in a heartbeat.
And please let O’Doul be okay, she begged inwardly. She’d just begun to like the guy, too.
Georgia ducked into the little office her father and Hugh were sharing. She’d had enough of depressing, underground spaces today. What she needed was to see the sun.
“Close the door, honey,” her father said.
She obeyed, and took a set across from him.
“What the hell just happened?” he asked. “Help me understand. Leo attacked O’Doul? Was anyone else there? I didn’t see it. But . . .” He cleared his throat. “I heard.”