25: Angels and Assists (Enforcers of San Diego Book 3) Read online

  The way Mikey looked at my friend, like she was his entire world…

  Thinking of Trina, I leaned over to drop open the glove compartment, and pulled out the card I kept there. Every now and then, I just needed to see her handwriting; to try and hear her voice, even if it was only a fading memory.

  Trina had been my family.

  My mother passed when I was too young to remember, and while my dad and stepmom had been great growing up, they chose to distance themselves shortly after my eighteenth birthday, for reasons I still didn’t know, and likely never would. I met Trina during a particularly dark time in my life, but it was easy to forgo loneliness and despair when you had a bright, bubbly blonde chattering away.

  Trina’s love for life was infectious, and when she chose to call you ‘hers’? You knew her love ran deep. I swallowed hard, running my finger over the swirling ink of her perfect penmanship.

  My Molly-Doll:

  Sweet girl, I’m so glad you are in my life. Thank you for making my transition to the States easy. Thank you for loving my baby like he is your own. You, lovely, are meant for great things and I cannot wait to watch you achieve them. You are worth more than you think.

  You, Molly, are more than my friend; you are my sister, and I love you.

  xx, Trina

  That had been a hard day, for no particular reason. I’d been single for a few weeks, but I wasn’t missing Jack. We parted ways amicably.

  But still, I’d been hit with loneliness.

  Back then, mostly I felt that I was succeeding at the being-alone-in-the-world thing, but every now and again, the loneliness would hit me, a big one-two punch to the heart.

  Watching Trina with Mikey and Anderson.

  Sitting at the park with Anderson, watching the other moms and their babies.

  Eating at a restaurant with Trina, and seeing the couples, young and old, having a good time.

  Everyone happy. Everyone with someone.

  It didn’t have to be romantic; it wasn’t romance I was craving.

  It was companionship.

  Family.

  And while I had Trina’s friendship, and I adored the baby who gave me gummy smiles the moment he heard my voice…I’d often felt like an intruder in Trina’s life.

  That day, I’d thought I kept the sadness to myself, but of course, my friend saw right through me. At the end of my day with her and Anderson, I’d gotten to my car only to find a bouquet of yellow tulips sitting on the driver’s seat with this card.

  Now, nearly ten years after finding the card, I couldn’t always make out the tone of her voice, but I could always feel the French tilt of her words. God, I missed her.

  These days, I still felt like an intruder, only now, I was the one raising her son, making sure her house ran smoothly, that there were groceries in the pantry and fridge.

  It may not be the house Trina had lived in—Mikey and Anderson moved out of their first house when Anderson was three—but home was rarely a place, but a person, a feeling…and Mikey and Anderson had been Trina’s home.

  A home I had no business wrecking.

  The moment my friendly like of the man turned to attraction and want…

  I swallowed hard, trying to keep my mind present. I didn’t need to remember his hands.

  His mouth.

  His body…

  “Have a good day, Molly,” Anderson’s first grade teacher said after I signed him in, puting the flower-tipped pen back in the holder.

  I smiled, then glanced behind her to where the blond-haired boy I cared for sat in a circle with his classmates. “You guys too. His dad will pick him up today.” It was an early release day, and a day Mikey didn’t have a game, so after dropping Anderson off for the morning, I was done for the day.

  “Sounds good. Oh, wait!” She turned toward a basket, sifting through the papers. “Anderson’s dad never brought in his permission slip for our social this morning. You don’t have it, do you?”

  I shook my head, “No, I’m sorry. I think I saw it somewhere; I can grab it quickly.” The Leeds’ only lived ten minutes from the school and while I was Anderson’s emergency contact, I wasn’t allowed to sign his permission forms.

  “Could you? I’d hate for him to have to miss out.”

  I smiled, shaking my head. “Yeah, it’s not a problem at all.”

  By the time I got to the house, Mikey’s car was in the garage. He’d had an away game the night before, and I’d stayed the night with Anderson. When we left for school, Mikey still hadn’t been home, so I was a little surprised to see his car there now. When I walked into the house, though, it was silent; no television, no blender.

  Huh.

  Mikey must have gone straight to bed.

  No worries. I could be in and out quickly; he’d never know I’d come back.

  The ranch house was designed so Anderson’s room, and the one I used whenever I stayed over, were to the left of the living room and kitchen, and Mikey’s room was to the right. Even if I were to make noise, he probably wouldn’t even notice I was there.

  In Anderson’s room, I sifted through the folder that was on top of his bookshelf. I tried to keep important papers in it, and every now and then, the wrong ones would end up between the kraft-brown sides. I knew I’d seen the permission slip somewhere, but as I thumbed through the papers, I realized it wasn’t there.

  Maybe I saw it on the fridge.

  After putting the folder back, I headed toward the center of the house, where the kitchen was. Sure enough, on the fridge behind Anderson’s weekly print-out that the teacher sent home every Friday for the following week, was the signed form.

  I slipped it off the magnet but when I turned…

  From where I stood, and how Mikey’s door was hinged, I could see just inside his room, and what I saw had my heart slowing, before racing in an uneven staccato.

  The door stood ajar, with perfect view of Mikey’s bed.

  And it wasn’t Mikey sleeping on the bed that caught my attention.

  Oh, no.

  It was his strong backside, his tight ass, as he knelt behind a woman on all fours, his muscles bunching and moving with each roll of his body, each thrust of his hips.

  Good God, the man was magnificent.

  And Oh, my God, I can’t be seeing this!

  My mouth was hanging open, salivating; my heart racing as I watched him fucking a woman from behind. Now that I’d noticed, I could hear the soft grunts, the moans of pleasure coming from both him and her.

  Shaken, I swallowed hard and left quickly, vowing to never think of this moment again.

  Even now, the memory had me panting.

  But then again, now I knew the feel…

  I shook my head quickly, then reached for my phone, checking the time.

  It would be safe to head to the house now.

  The drive wasn’t particularly long and, once there, I parked in the same spot I always did, before grabbing the bags containing mine and Anderson’s dinner. When I walked into the house, I expected the television on and Mikey ready to head out, but the TV was off, and instead of waiting for me on the couch, Mikey leaned against the kitchen counter, thumbing through his phone.

  He was a beautiful man in regular-day attire and even in gym clothes.

  He was a walking GQ ad in his pre-game suit. Pressed slacks. Properly sized and tucked dress shirt. And even though he had the sleeves down right now, I could picture them rolled up, showing off his strong, corded forearms.

  He looked like he’d been waiting on me to get back but, upon checking the time on the microwave behind him, I saw I was on time.

  “Sorry,” I still said. “You can head out.”

  I walked to the opposite side of the kitchen counter, needing space between us, to put the grocery bag down. From inside, I pulled out the box of noodles and the makings of homemade spaghetti sauce.

  “I want to talk to you real quick, before I head out.” His voice was near—far nearer than the space I put between us a
llowed—and when I looked up, I realized he’d silently walked toward me. My eyes were level with the knot in his navy-blue tie, and I forced myself to look up further, past the already stubbled jaw and to his green eyes.

  The same pretty green his son had.

  “Yeah. Sorry I took so long,” I managed, looking back down at the bag and contents.

  Mikey was silent at that—probably taking in my minimal grocery haul and figuring that it didn’t take forty-plus minutes to grab these few items.

  I grabbed the blue box of noodles and moved toward the other counter, the one that held the stove top, putting space between us once more.

  “So, what’s up?”

  Thankfully, Mikey stayed at the island, where he bunched up the now-empty plastic bag. “One, I called Anderson’s pediatrician. If you could bring him into the office at four-thirty, I’d appreciate it. I just want his eye looked at. From what I felt, it’s just swollen, but I’d hate for there to be a fracture or something, and we do nothing.” Then he shrugged. “Not that there’s much we can do for that, but I’ll be damned if the school gets away with writing it off as a simple fight, when my son was actually hurt.”

  Mikey’s voice had started out calm, but the further into his talk, the more passionate and angry his voice got.

  When I’d first met Mikey, he was the laid back, easy to laugh type. Losing Trina brought a very protective side of him out. He was still that laid-back guy, until something pissed him off. And, he was stubborn to a fault.

  His son was just like him.

  It was no wonder I loved…Anderson.

  I swallowed hard, past the guilt of my thoughts, and nodded. “Okay. Yeah, I can do that.”

  “Two, if you could stick around in the morning, that would be great. I want to go into the school and talk to the nurse who saw him today. Shit, she probably wasn’t the nurse, but one of those stand-ins.” Again, his voice was bordering that line of calm and angry, but he shook his head and continued on. “Then three…” Mikey took a deep breath, looked away for a full three seconds, before his eyes locked in on mine. “In the next day or so, we’re going to have to talk about your job.”

  My heart fumbled in my chest, and my jaw slackened.

  “Like you said, he’s ten,” Mikey continued, pushing away from the counter. And was I imagining it, or did his eyes do a quick once-over of me? Surely that hadn’t just happened.

  “But—”

  “Four-thirty, Bay office.” He said, as if he didn’t just essentially pull the rug out from underneath my feet. “Anderson’s in his room, working on that project. Thanks, Moll.”

  And then he was gone.

  Chapter Three

  Mikey

  Run and evade.

  Run and evade, Mikey-boy.

  When I told myself earlier that I was going to have to figure out how to talk about…things…with Molly, I didn’t really figure I’d just blurt it out there.

  We’re going to have to talk about your job.

  Yeah, no shit, she looked worried when you left.

  I shook my head; I needed to stop thinking about Molly. At least for now, as I pulled into the apartment complex that Ryan Fitzgerald lived at. Well, the complex the Enforcers organization threw all the new guys.

  Fitz was the newest in the locker room.

  Twenty-year-old kid from Minnesota.

  I figured those Prescotts thought they were pulling a fast-one on me, making me essentially face who I was, once upon a time. Make me pick up and mentor the new kid—the new kid who was, basically, me.

  The difference between Fitz and me?

  He’d played University of North Dakota for a season.

  He never dealt with the political bullshit that came with moving over the border a couple of times.

  Nah.

  Fitz wasn’t me.

  “Hey,” he said, pulling open the door and slamming himself into the leather seat.

  “What’s up?” I didn’t even give him a chance to buckle or answer; I was pulling my Tesla out of the parking spot and heading for the freeway.

  “You in a hurry or something?”

  I glanced over and saw Fitz looking at me, amused.

  “We have a game.”

  “Dude, you got to my apartment five minutes early. We’ve got time.”

  Looking at the clock, I saw that he was correct. Shit. Things with Molly really threw me off.

  “How’d things go with the kid?” Fitz asked, making small talk.

  He was a talker. Every damn time I picked him up before a game, talk talk talk talk talk.

  I’d have to see if someone else wanted to pick the kid up next week. I needed calm.

  Zen.

  Quiet.

  Before a game.

  And, considering I had a son and a nanny at the house, quiet was what I got on the drive to the arena.

  The illusion of which was crushed the day Mykaela Prescott-Johnson walked into the room we were going over stats in, looking over all of us players, her eyes eventually landing on me.

  “You. Mikey. You’re in charge of the new kid.”

  The Prescotts ran the team unlike any other team I’d been a part of. Okay, so there weren’t many on the list of “Who Mikey Leeds played for”, but when you worked in this environment, you heard stories, and the stories of a Prescott-run locker room?

  They didn’t match the rest of the NHL organization.

  It wasn’t that the buddy-system was a new concept to the hockey locker room. That happened in many cities.

  It was simply how the Enforcers made that decision.

  It wasn’t Caleb Prescott, at coach.

  It wasn’t Trevor Winski, with the ‘C’ on his chest.

  Hell, it wasn’t even those of us suited up for the game.

  No.

  It was the Director of Player Personnel.

  Probably because everyone listened when Myke spoke.

  Which was why she was great at her job. She was a great liaison for the guys, and not only because she had vast knowledge of the sport thanks to growing up under Prescott rule, but she’d started a pro women’s hockey club in the Midwest and knew the vast ins and outs of all aspects to the game.

  So, when Mykaela told you that you were going to be the one to walk the new guy through the ropes…

  You sighed and did as she asked.

  Even if that meant losing the last few minutes of quiet you found.

  Snap, snap, snap.

  I slapped Fitz’s hand out of my view. “Driving.”

  “How’d it go with the kid? You ran out of the weight room like the devil was on your tail.”

  “He’s fine.”

  “Wow. Short. Did you ground him?”

  “I did not ground him.” I was going to ground Fitz though. Into the ground.

  Fitz sighed heavily, slouching in his seat. “You on your period today, or what? You’re not normally this pissy.”

  I was supposed to be a role model for the kid, so telling him that he annoyed the shit out of me with his yapping wasn’t the correct answer. Instead, I said, “Just juggling things with Anderson.”

  It wasn’t like I kept my kid away from the team. Anderson was at nearly every team family function I was at. He considered the Prescott kids family, and I was glad he had that. But with Anderson, came Molly, and with thoughts of Molly, came my butchering of a speech to her only twenty minutes before.

  Thankfully, Fitz stayed quiet then.

  For three minutes.

  “So, master,” Fitz said, crossing his arms over his chest and looking out the passenger window, “and by master, I mean teacher. Tell me. When do you think I should look for permanent digs?”

  Giving up on the quiet, I gave in to his questions. “Your contract is what, three years? Five?”

  “Five. But burned a year.” Meaning, his contract years and entry-level contract shifted due to not playing.

  “Do you really want to live in an apartment complex for longer than you have to?” I’
m still watching the road but lift a brow all the same. Stupid questions called for stupid answers.

  “Alright. So, I go house hunting during summer.” He looks out the window, but I’m not stupid—I’m counting in my head for him to continue.

  I don’t even get to ten.

  “Have you done the roommate thing? Maybe I should find a roomie.”

  I try to keep the annoyance from my voice, keeping the tone even, although it’s flat. “I’ve not done the roommate thing, no.”

  “I don’t think I could live in a big house by myself.”

  “No one said you had to be in a big house.”

  “Tyler—” He doesn’t have to give the full name for me to know who he’s talking about. The kid is something of a legend, with the newer generation of players.

  “We do not mention that kid’s name.”

  “Well, I saw his house on YouTube once—”

  “If you don’t want a two-story brick mansion, don’t get a two-story brick mansion. Houses are different in Texas, anyway. That house probably only cost the kid…maybe a mil. Probably just under. You get that house here? You’re looking at two mil, minimum.”

  “Maybe I could live on the beach.”

  “If you’re thinking of Coach’s house,” it felt odd talking about a friend as ‘Coach’ but Fitz only knew Caleb as that, so I couldn’t very well go all familiar-territory on him, “that’s probably out of your range.”

  “Shit.”

  I chuckled; couldn’t help it. “My first house was a cheap cottage. It was big enough for my wife and me. Wasn’t the prettiest, but that was alright.”

  “You don’t talk about her.”

  And that right there was why.

  The guys on the team who’d been around since I came on, they all knew the story. Hell, you could still find the articles online, if you wanted.

  “I mean, I know how she died. I researched you,” Fitz continued. “But for having this big love for her, for the fact that you can’t play the day before Christmas break…I’m just surprised you don’t talk about her.”

  “Well, would you lookee there, we’re here,” I said instead, pulling the car into the lot and toward the garage door where the veterans were able to park.

  Just in time, too, because thoughts of Trina, so close to inappropriate thoughts of Molly…