Dax Page 17

  My heart is hammering over the unexpected admission. There’s no doubt it’s a secret that no one else knows. I nod in understanding and sympathy. “I’m sorry about what happened to your fiancée. I remember when it happened, and I can’t even imagine going through that.”

  His face softens minutely, and he murmurs, “Thank you.”

  Tacker’s gaze slides off to the side, and I feel like we’re losing the connection.

  “So are you going to do the therapy?” I blurt out.

  His eyes snap to mine. “Don’t really want to.”

  “Why not?”

  I get a mirthless laugh in return that comes out more like a staccato grunt. “Pretty sure I’m going to have to talk about my feelings, and that’s sort of not my thing.”

  “And look where that’s gotten you,” I point out.

  Tacker stares at me blankly for just a moment before his head tilts back and he lets out a long, deep-bellied laugh.

  At that same moment, Dax comes trotting down the stairs, obviously searching for me. What he finds is me sitting with Tacker, who is laughing with deep amusement. Dax’s jaw drops slightly as his eyes roam back and forth between Tacker and me. I grin at him, clearly pleased at my breakthrough.

  “Who are you and what have you done with my teammate, Tacker?” Dax accuses, tongue in cheek, as his eyes focus on his laughing friend.

  Tacker’s laugh turns to a chuckle before fading away. His eyes are still bright though when he answers. “Your wife told me all her secrets. So I told her one in return.”

  Dax’s eyes now bug out of his head as his face morphs into disbelief that I’d outted our marriage. I shrug and say, “I thought I should share something personal to get him to open up.”

  Dax blinks.

  I grin. “And it worked.”

  Knowing I won’t reveal it unless given permission to do so, Dax raises an eyebrow at Tacker. “And what exactly is your secret?”

  “Management has ordered me into mandatory therapy if I want to keep my place on the team. My suspension will be lifted as soon as I start meaningful counseling sessions, whatever the hell that means. I have to give them an answer tomorrow.”

  I’m shocked he gave that information up to Dax so easily. I almost feel a little betrayed, but not really. I’m actually thrilled he’s brought my husband into the fold.

  “So,” Dax drawls, taking a few steps closer, his gaze pinned on Tacker. “You’re ready to hug it all out and open up to your pain?”

  “Fuck no,” Tacker growls as he pushes from the couch. He holds his hands out, looking baffled. “Last thing in the world I want to do is discuss my ‘issues’ with some stranger. It means I have to move on, and I don’t feel ready to.”

  “I sense a ‘but’ in there,” Dax murmurs. I hear it, too.

  “But…” Tacker continues, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “I’m also tired of feeling shitty. I’m ready for these toxic, wasteful feelings to get the fuck out of me. And… I miss hockey. It’s one of two things that have given me purpose lately.”

  “What’s the other?” I ask curiously.

  Tacker darts a glance to me and he flushes, as if realizing he’s truly opening up and ruining his reputation or something. I tilt my head, eyes imploring him to trust me with another secret.

  He sighs, gaze dropping to the floor as he rubs the nape of his neck. Finally, he raises his head, looking first to me, then to Dax, before he admits, “When you and I were riding around, searching for Charlie… I felt so fucking awful for Legend. I was expecting the worst, and my heart was fucking bleeding for him. And that made me realize I cared about you fuckers a lot more than I’d given myself credit for. So yeah… you guys give me purpose, too.”

  “That’s wonderful,” I exclaim, having to restrain myself from clapping in delight. “So you’re going to give it a try. Good decision, Tacker.”

  His eyes are flat when they return to me. “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Regan, but I haven’t made my final decision. Still have some thinking to do.”

  And with that, he nods at Dax and moves around the couch, heading to the staircase. He doesn’t say another word, just leaves us staring at each other, more confused than ever.

  CHAPTER 24

  Dax

  Checking my watch, I see the reporter is technically only two minutes late. I try not to be annoyed. I’m a stickler for punctuality, but even I admit things can sometimes throw schedules off.

  I stir my club soda and lime. The reporter—a woman by the name of Chelle Markinson—suggested we meet for drinks. I never quite know what that means coming from a woman, which might be interpreted as sexist by some, but I always tread with caution these days since I got sued by Nanette Pearson for sexual harassment. It still burns me up so bad knowing a woman can just lie like that and take a man to court. But because the woman doesn’t have a shred of proof and Dominik Carlson is taking a tough stand against her, I’m just not going to worry about it. At any rate, I suggested a restaurant/bar I had intended to take Regan to dinner at tonight. She should be arriving within half an hour. She had a job interview this afternoon close by, so this was about her convenience as well.

  I check my watch again. Now two and a half minutes late.

  Lifting my glass to take a sip, I see a woman walking in dressed semi-causally in jeans, a white t-shirt, and a navy blazer. Her hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, and she’s carrying a cross-body satchel. She scans the bar area, which only has a handful of people and zeroes in on me.

  When she smiles and raises a hand, I return the motion.

  The woman holds her hand out after she approaches. “Chelle Markinson.”

  “Dax Monahan,” I reply as we shake. I nod to the stool beside me. “Have a seat.”

  Chelle hops on the barstool, putting her satchel on the bar top before pulling out an iPad. It’s equipped with its own keyboard and she takes a moment to set it up, commenting, “I hope you don’t mind if I type my notes.”

  “Not at all.” While she gets set up, I take a moment to ask, “So what magazine do you work for again?”

  I should know this and ordinarily I would before I agreed to give an interview, but Brooke had asked me to do this as a favor as Chelle was a friend of hers from New York. She works for a company called LWW Enterprises, which is launching a new sports magazine for women.

  Shooting me a quick glance, Chelle smiles. “Right now it’s just an online blog called Sporting Insights.”

  “And it caters to women?” It’s a fascinating concept, and I was intrigued enough I didn’t mind doing this little interview for Brooke.

  Chelle nods and turns to me with an enthusiastic sparkle in her eyes. “We cover all the mainstream sports—and even those that aren’t—but we focus more on what women want to know about the sport.”

  I can’t help but tease. “Like they want to know stuff like what fashion labels I wear or what cologne I use? Stuff like that?”

  Snorting, Chelle rolls her eyes. “Please… give our women readers some credit. You’d be surprised how many women out there are deeply rooted in sports, which are dominated by male players. Some of them know the ins and outs of a sport far better than many men do. But we do focus on some of the lighter things like home-life balance, dealing with notoriety and pressure, and mental health awareness issues.”

  I blink at her stupidly, effectively put in my place. “That’s actually some serious stuff. Have to tell you, most men readers just want to know stats and what my workout routine is.”

  Chelle laughs and replies, “Hey, you don’t have to convince me the female species is the deeper of the two.”

  A bartender comes up and asks Chelle what she’s drinking.

  “Bottled water,” she replies efficiently before she asks me, “Are you under any time constraints? Shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”

  “I’m getting ready to meet my wi—” I catch myself, give a cough. “My girlfriend for dinner here. But we’ve got about twenty minutes
.”

  I half expect Chelle to seize on the opening and ask me something personal about my “girlfriend,” but she doesn’t.

  She merely gives me a brisk nod, references something on her iPad, and then shoots her first question. “The Vengeance is doing what no other expansion team has ever done… entered the league and shot straight to the top. What’s the secret to your team’s success?”

  I launch into a recitation of the perfect recipe that sort of came together on this team. Unmitigated talent, great coaching, and a team owner who believes in his men. We talk for fifteen minutes straight, and I am incredibly impressed at the level of awareness Chelle has about the depth charts as well as a pretty damn good analysis of our chances in the playoffs.

  She asks a few follow-up questions. I find her to be thoughtful as she prods way past the surface of most interviews I’ve done.

  She also stays aware of the time. As we’re winding up, she says, “One last question. I have to ask you about the lawsuit that’s been filed against you, Erik Dahlbeck, Sebastian Parr, and the team as a whole for sexual harassment. The responsive court documents I’ve looked at show an adamant denial of all of her charges, and I don’t expect you to tell me anything different than that. But I am curious as to your feelings on the matter.”

  Any veteran professional athlete has got to be ready for tough questions in any interview. I had suspected this was going to come because it is pretty buzzworthy news around the sporting world.

  I try to temper my answer as best I can while still making clear my disgust over the whole matter. “You are correct we have categorically denied all of her allegations. When it’s all said and done, you will see she has absolutely no proof to back up her claims. And while I can’t speak for the team or the other men named in the lawsuit, I can tell you that I will never, ever pay her a dime. If I do something wrong, I’m man enough to admit it and accept the consequences of my actions. But in this instance, Nanette Pearson is flat-out lying about us harassing her.”

  The reporter cocks an eyebrow. “Can I quote you on that?”

  I nod. “You can quote me on anything I’ve said here today.”

  “As this case progresses and is eventually resolved, do you mind if I contact you for a statement?”

  I flash her a confident smile. “I don’t mind at all.”

  I give Chelle my direct email address that is set up through the Vengeance organization. She offers to send me a copy of her article before she publishes it, and I gratefully accept. While she seems on the up and up and it sounds like she’s going to put out a really interesting piece, I don’t mind taking a gander at it first.

  We shake hands. As she’s exiting the bar, I pull out my phone to call Regan. However, I see a text from her that she’s running about fifteen minutes late, so I ask the bartender to bring me a beer while I wait for her.

  A couple comes in and sits down to my left at the bar. The guy nods in greeting, then his eyes go wide as he recognizes me. He doesn’t make a big deal out of it, though, and I lift my gaze to one of the TVs behind the bar to watch a basketball game they have on.

  A few moments later, someone takes the stool to my right. When I glance that way, I see it’s an attractive woman who is roughly my age. I can tell by the way she’s staring at me that she knows exactly who I am. She has on a dress that slits right up the outside of her thigh when she crosses her legs. By the way she is pointedly staring at me, I can tell she’s looking for a reaction.

  I give her a polite smile before turning my attention back to the basketball game.

  She asks the bartender for a glass of wine. Once she has it in front of her, she unfortunately attempts to make conversation with me. “You are Dax Monahan, aren’t you?”

  It would be rude of me to ignore her, so I give her my regard along with a polite smile. “You got it.”

  She holds a limp hand out sideways. “I’m Tara.”

  Again, it would be rude to ignore her, so I give her a quick shake and another smile.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” she asks.

  I pick up my beer mug, holding it up to show her it’s still three quarters full. “I’m good, thank you.”

  “Your next drink then?” she persists.

  I manage another smile. It slides off just as fast as she takes the tip of her index finger and runs it down the center of her chest to the low-cut V of her dress. It’s a move that’s highly sexual and meant to convey she’s offering more than just a drink. I try to figure out the most nonconfrontational way to stop this in its tracks.

  A month ago, I would’ve made a move, but today I am completely uninterested. “Look, you seem like a nice—”

  I’m completely stunned when she leans on her barstool toward me and puts her hand on my thigh, moving it quickly upward. Of all the times I have been hit on by women eager to fuck a hockey star, I have never had one touch me so intimately and so quickly after having just been introduced. She almost reaches my dick, but my hand moves light and fast to latch it around her wrist.

  The woman grins as I remove her offending appendage. “Oh, come on. I know you’re not a shy, schoolboy virgin. I also happen to know you’re single. I follow the Vengeance very, very closely, and you, Dax Monahan, are as single as they come.”

  I open my mouth to respond. Instead, Regan’s voice comes from behind me. “He is most certainly not single. And if you put your hand back on him, I am going to break it.”

  I jerk my head up to see Regan, who is absolutely and perfectly glorious in her fury directed at this woman. For the first time, the woman appears to be off balance as she stares at Regan with a healthy dose of fear in her eyes and an unflattering pallor to her face. Her eyes slide to me in question.

  Nodding, I gesture at Regan with a thumb. “She’s really scrappy. I wouldn’t mess with her.”

  The woman wraps her hand around her wineglass, then picks up her clutch purse. “I’ll just go find another place to sit.”

  I push up from my barstool as I grab my beer. “Don’t bother. We’re here to have dinner.”

  Turning to Regan, I put my hand behind her neck and pull her to me for a soft kiss. “You hungry, babe?”

  “Starved. And I’ve got great news to tell you about.”

  And just like that, the woman at the bar is forgotten as we walk over to the maître d’ stand.

  We’re given a nice table by the window. Once we get settled in, Regan nods toward the bar area. “Is that pretty typical?”

  I grimace. “It’s typical for women to hit on professional hockey players, but I’ve never had one move that freaking fast. I feel violated.”

  Regan snorts. “Puh-leeze. What man doesn’t enjoy a beautiful woman putting her hands on him?”

  “This man.” There’s no teasing in my voice, and Regan blinks at me as I clarify. “Unless it’s your hands.”

  She stares at me a long moment, appearing slightly confused. “How do you do that?”

  I tilt my head. “Do what?”

  I know she doesn’t mean it, but her tone sounds almost angry. “Sound so goddamn convincing.”

  “Because what I said to you is true, Regan. I don’t want another woman’s hands on me. I have no interest in that. Why is it so hard for you to believe?”

  She gives a tiny growl of frustration. “Because I’m just me. Just Regan Miles. College graduate and former nerd who you’ve never looked at twice while growing up. And on top of that, I’m sick and my future is uncertain.”

  Reaching across the table, I take her by the hand to give her a tiny squeeze of reassurance. “You are the most beautiful, sexiest, and intriguing woman I have ever known. I’m not going to lie to you—you weren’t always that way, Regan. You are so much younger than me. At the age I was starting to notice women, you were too young, but I’m looking now. And what I see is what I want.”

  I expect her to have some follow-up questions. Perhaps she might need some additional reassurances. At the very least, I kind of expect her to tell m
e how much she digs me in return. Instead, she changes the subject.

  “Willow just texted me a little bit ago. She’s going to come visit next week before heading off to her next assignment in Kosovo.”

  Great. Just perfect. Willow is going to come in and take all of Regan’s attention from me. Can’t wait. There will probably even be a side dose of Dominik Carlson drama to go with it.

  I don’t use my inside voice, though—because I really do love my sister—and instead, I convey an enthusiasm that is truly there. “That’s awesome. I’ll take any chance I can to see her since she travels so much.”

  “Oh, and I had a fantastic job interview this afternoon,” she says, then starts chattering on about a pediatric office she applied to that needs a part-time nurse.

  I sit back, listening to my wife tell me all about her day, knowing I could get very, very used to this.

  CHAPTER 25

  Dax

  We have a home game tonight. On game days, we usually only have a light skate practice. But a team meeting has been called by upper management. Since it is the day after Tacker was supposed to give his answer to the organization about whether he wanted to meet their demands to stay on, I have a fairly good suspicion that’s what the meeting is about. I did not tell any of my teammates about the conversation Regan and I had with Tacker at Billy’s party. This included my best friend on the team, Bishop, who has been acting as team captain since Tacker got suspended. Prior to that, we had shared the co-captain title, but I singularly own that since Bishop has been promoted.

  Even though Tacker hadn’t said the information was secret, I chose not to tell anyone what he’d revealed to us at the party. It was such a deeply personal issue, and it’s just not my place to share it. Regan and I sure have talked about it a lot the last two days, wondering what he was going to do.

  The team meeting is held in a large room with stadium seating and a podium at the front. All the chairs have flip-top desks used for a surface to write on. There’s a large electronic screen that drops from the ceiling where we can watch video of game footage for analysis and discussion. When I enter, I see I’m one of the last to arrive, with a few guys trickling in behind me. I take a seat next to Bishop in the front row, giving a quick scan around the area. I’m disappointed to see Tacker isn’t here.