“I really wish you hadn’t dragged me here,” Becker groaned as he drove his shiny silver Lexus in the direction of the Gallagher Club. “My wife is pissed.”
“Come on, Mary doesn’t have a pissed bone in her body,” Brody replied, thinking of the tiny, sweet woman who’d been married to Sam for fifteen years.
“That’s what she wants you to think. Trust me, behind closed doors she’s not very nice.”
Brody laughed.
“I swear, she almost tore my head off when I told her I was going out with you tonight. It was last minute, so we couldn’t get a babysitter for Tamara. Mary had to cancel her plans.” Becker grumbled under his breath. “I’ll never hear the end of this. Thanks a lot, kid.”
Sam’s words might have evoked guilt in some men, but Brody couldn’t muster any. All day he’d been trying to come up with a way to see Hayden and make things right. Sure, he could’ve just called her, but the way things ended at the penthouse the other night left him cautious.
Luckily, Hayden had mentioned she’d be at the Gallagher Club tonight, and he’d spent the entire afternoon wondering how he could show up there without appearing desperate. The answer had come to him during a call from Becker, who’d phoned to discuss a charity event they were participating in next month.
Brody wasn’t a member of the Gallagher Club, but Becker was, and so he’d promptly ordered his best bud to brush the dust off his tuxedo.
He felt bad that Becker had been raked over the coals by his wife, but he’d make it up to him.
“Why didn’t you get Lucy to watch Tamara?” Brody asked. He’d been over to Becker’s house dozens of times, so he’d spent quite a bit of time with Becker’s two daughters. Lucy was fourteen, ten years older than her sister, Tamara, but it was obvious to Brody how much the teenager loved her baby sister.
“Lucy has a—God help me—” Becker groaned “—boyfriend. They’re at the movies tonight.”
Brody hooted. “You actually let her leave the house with the guy?”
“I had no choice. Mary said I couldn’t threaten him with a shotgun.” Becker sighed. “And speaking of threats, she said to tell you she’ll be pissed if you don’t agree to spend a week at our lake house this summer. She renovated the entire place and is dying to show it off.”
Brody usually tried to spend his summers in Michigan with his parents, but for Becker, he was willing to alter his plans. “Tell her I’ll be there. Just name the date.”
Becker suddenly slowed the car. “Oh, shit.”
A small crowd of reporters hovered in front of the gates of the Gallagher Club. A few turned their heads at the Lexus’s approach.
Rolling up the windows, Becker said, “Obviously, the vultures are following Pres.”
He suppressed a groan. “Are you surprised? Someone on the team came forward and confirmed the rumors. The press is salivating.”
Becker drove through the gate and stopped in front of the waiting valet. Lips tight, he got out of the car without a word.
The second Brody’s feet connected with the cobblestone driveway, one of the reporters shouted at them from the gate.
“Becker! Croft!” a man yelled, practically poking his entire bald head between two of the gate’s bars. “Any comment on the allegations that Presley Houston fixed Warriors games and…”
Brody tuned the guy out, choosing instead to follow Becker up the front steps toward the entrance of the club.
“Fuck, I hate this place,” Becker muttered as they entered the foyer.
“How’d you get to be a member anyway?” Brody asked the question without caring too much about the answer.
He’d much rather talk to Becker about Craig Wyatt and the possibility that he was the one who’d come forward, but his teammate’s body language clearly said he didn’t want to discuss the reporters or the scandal. His massive shoulders were tight, his square jaw clenched. Brody could understand. He’d been feeling tense himself ever since he’d watched that news story with Hayden.
And yesterday’s loss against Colorado hadn’t helped. Losing a playoffs game was bad, but losing 5–0 was pathetic. They’d played like a team of amateurs, and though nobody had brought up the scandal, Brody knew it was on their minds. He’d found himself glancing around the locker room, wondering which one of the guys had confessed to knowing about the bribes.
“My wife is involved with one of Jonas Quade’s charity foundations,” Becker was saying. “When he offered to put in a good word for me with the members’ committee, Mary pretty much threatened divorce unless I joined.” Becker muttered a curse. “I’m telling you, man, she’s not a nice person.”
He snorted. “You must have seen something good in her considering you married the woman.”
“These days? I’m not sure I remember what that something was.”
Concern flickered through him. “Everything okay on the home front?”
Becker was quick to reassure him. “Oh, ignore me. Mary and I are good. I’m just being dramatic.”
The two men entered the massive ballroom, and Brody’s eyes instantly began darting around the room.
“Is she here?” Becker asked with a sigh.
He blinked. “Who?”
“Come on, Croft. Only reason you dragged me here is because I belong to this pretentious society of snobs and you needed to score an invite. And since you’re no social climber, that means you came here to see Houston’s daughter. Which, by the way, is still a terrible idea.”
“Is it really, though?”
Becker accepted a glass of wine from a passing waiter. “Beyond terrible, kid. You don’t want to get involved with a Houston, not while this betting bullshit is going on.”
His tuxedo jacket suddenly felt too tight. “Hayden has nothing to do with that. She’s just visiting from California.”
“And if the media finds out you’re sleeping with her, they’ll start drooling. It’ll be all over the headlines, how Pres’s daughter is screwing one of the star players in order to shut him up.”
“You say that as if you think there’s something I need shutting up about.” The hairs on the back of Brody’s neck stood on end. “Sam…do you know something about this bribery shit?”
“No, of course not.”
“You sure?” He hesitated. “You didn’t… You didn’t take a bribe, did you?”
Becker looked as if he’d been struck. His mouth dropped open. “Seriously? You actually think I’d take a fucking bribe? I’ve been playing in this league for half my life. Trust me, I earn enough.”
Brody relaxed. “I didn’t think you took a bribe,” he said, trying to inject reassurance into his voice. “But what you just said…it sounds like you know more about this scandal than the rest of us. Did Pres tell you anything?”
Though he looked calm now, the vein on Becker’s forehead continued to throb. “I don’t know anything,” he said firmly.
“Well, I think I might,” Brody found himself confessing.
Becker’s head jerked up. “What are you talking about?”
Although this was probably not the time, and definitely not the place, Brody told Becker about what he’d seen at the rink. He spoke in a hushed tone, revealing his suspicions that Sheila Houston had confided in Craig Wyatt about whatever it was she knew, and that Wyatt was the one who’d spoken to the league.
He finished with, “Do you think I should do something?”
The other man released a ragged breath, looking a bit shell-shocked. “Honestly? I think it would be a bad idea.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You don’t want to get involved,” Becker warned in a low voice. “You’ll only cast suspicion on yourself.”
He mulled over his friend’s advice, knowing Becker did have a point. But then he thought of the team captain, and how subdued Wyatt had been lately. Sure, Wyatt was perpetually serious, but he’d barely spoken a word to anyone in weeks, and when he did, it was to yell at them for making a mistake on the ice. Brody got the feeling Wyatt might be in need of a friend, and as reluctant as he was to get involved, he wasn’t sure he could watch a teammate struggle without doing a thing to help.
But Becker remained firm. “Don’t confront Craig, kid. If it bothers you this much, I’ll talk to him, okay?”
He glanced at his friend in surprise. “You’d really do that?”
Becker gave a faint smile and said, “Unlike my old-timer self, you’ve still got a lot of years ahead of you. I don’t want to see your career tank just because Presley Houston might’ve decided he needed some extra cash.”
“My two favorite players!”
Speak of the devil.
Brody shot Becker a look of gratitude, then pasted on a smile as Presley approached them, holding a glass of champagne in his hand. Considering there were reporters outside just dying to roast Pres for these bribery charges, the man seemed surprisingly jovial. Either the allegations didn’t concern him, or he was doing a damn good job covering up his distress.
“Having a good time?” Pres asked.
“We just got here,” answered Becker.
“Well, the party’s just getting started.” Pres lifted his glass to his lips and emptied it. A second later he flagged down a waiter and promptly received a full glass.
“Is your daughter here tonight?” Brody asked. His voice came out more eager than casual. His peripheral vision caught Becker’s mouth creasing in a frown.
Pres looked distinctly ill at ease at the mention of Hayden. “I think she went out on the patio,” he said.
And there was his cue.
Brody didn’t feel bad leaving Becker in the clutches of the obviously plastered team owner. Sam had been in the business long enough to know how to handle every situation thrown at him, and he usually handled them as well as he did the puck. The man was a pro, through and through.
Brody stepped away, glancing around the enormous ballroom for the patio entrance. Finally, he spotted the French doors and made his way toward them.
His breath caught at the sight of Hayden’s silver-clad figure. She was leaning against the railing overlooking the grounds of the estate, her long brown hair cascading down her bare shoulders, her delectable ass hugged by the silky material of her dress.
Christ. She was fucking edible.
He paused at the doors, admiring her. To his surprise, she turned abruptly as if sensing his presence. Their eyes locked. And that was when he saw that her eyelashes were spiky with tears.
He was by her side in seconds.
“Hey, what’s wrong?” he demanded, resting both hands on her slender waist and pulling her toward him.
She sank into his embrace and pressed her face against his shoulder as she mumbled, “What are you doing here?”
“I tagged along with a friend.” He gently stroked her back. “And I’m glad I did. You look awful.”
“Gee, thanks.” Her voice came out muffled against the front of his tuxedo jacket.
“Oh, quit sulking. You know you’re the sexiest woman at this party.” He swept a hand over her firm ass. The feel of her warm, curvy body made his pulse quicken, but he reminded himself that now was not the time.
“Now, tell me the reason for these.” He brushed the moisture from her lashes. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Hayden.”
She lifted her head, chin tilting with defiance. “It’s not a big deal, Brody. Just go inside and enjoy the party.”
“Screw the party. I came here to see you.”
“Well, I came here to see my dad.” She turned her head away and stared out at the landscaped grounds.
The temperature had dipped drastically and the thick gray clouds littering the night sky hinted at a storm. Already the endless carpet of flowers on the lush lawn was starting to sway in the wind, sweeping a sweet aroma in the direction of the cobblestone patio.
It was the kind of night he usually enjoyed, the moistness of the air, the hint of rain and thunder, but he couldn’t appreciate it when Hayden looked so distraught.
And beautiful. Damn, but she also looked beautiful. The silver dress, the strappy heels, the shiny pink gloss coating her full lips. He wanted her, as strongly and as violently as he’d wanted her that first night in the bar. And not just sexually. Something about this woman brought out a protective, tender side in him he’d never known he possessed.
“Please. Tell me what happened.”
She hesitated for so long he didn’t think she’d say anything, but then her mouth opened and a string of words flew out.
“I think my father is drinking too much. He blew up at me when I questioned him about it, and then he made a few remarks about bad investments.” She looked up, her eyes wide with anguish. “I’m worried he might have done some of the things everyone is accusing him of. Fuck, Brody, I think there’s actually a chance he might have bribed players and bet on games.”
His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach. He shoved his fists into the pockets of his jacket, hoping to bring warmth to hands that had suddenly grown ice-cold. Damn it. He didn’t want to have this conversation, especially with Hayden. Not when his own flags were risen.
So he just stood there in silence, waiting for her to continue and hoping she wouldn’t ask him any questions that might force him to reveal something she probably wouldn’t want to hear.
“I don’t know what I should do,” she murmured. “I don’t know how to help him. I don’t know if he’s guilty or innocent. I have no proof he has an alcohol problem, but it’s obvious after tonight that something is going on with him.”
“You need to talk to him when he’s sober,” Brody advised.
“I’ve tried,” she moaned with frustration. “But he’s determined not to be alone with me. And then when we are alone, he changes the subject every time I try to bring up my concerns. He won’t let me in.”
They stood there for a moment, silently, his arms wrapped around her body, her head tucked against his chest.
“I never thought my relationship with my dad would get to this point,” she whispered. “He treated me like a stranger tonight. He snapped at me, cursed at me, looked right through me, like I was just another headache he didn’t want to deal with instead of his only daughter.”
Brody threaded his fingers through her hair and stroked the soft tresses. “Did you two used to be close?” he asked.
“Very.” She gave a sigh. “Nowadays, the team comes first.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
She raised her chin and met his eyes. “Tell me, in all the years you’ve played for the Warriors, how many times has my father mentioned me?”
Discomfort coiled in his gut. “A bunch of times,” he said vaguely.
Her eyes pierced his. “Really?”
“Fine, never,” he admitted. “But I’m just a player to your father. He’s certainly never treated me as a confidant.”
“My dad is obsessed with the team,” she said flatly. “He’s always loved hockey, but when he was just a coach, it wasn’t this bad. Now that he owns a franchise he’s almost fanatical. It used to be about the game for him. Somehow it’s become about making money. Being as powerful as he can be.”
“Money and power aren’t bad things to want,” Brody had to point out.
“Sure, but what about family? Who are you supposed to rely on when the money and power are gone? Who will be there to love you?” A cloud of sadness floated across her pretty face, her expression growing bittersweet. “You know he used to take me fishing a lot? Every summer we’d rent a cabin up at the lake, usually for an entire week. We moved around so much, but Dad always managed to find a place to go fishing. I hated to fish, but I pretended to love it because I wanted to spend the time with him.”
She moved out of his arms and walked back to the railing, leaning forward and breathing in the cool night air. Without turning around, she continued speaking.
“We stopped going once I moved to California. He always promised we’d go back to the lake during my visits home, but we never got around to it. Though we did go out on the yacht last summer. Sheila spent the entire trip talking about her nails. And Dad was on the phone the whole time.”
The wistful note in her voice struck a chord of sympathy in him. Despite his busy schedule, he always made sure to return to Michigan a few times a year to see his parents. In the offseason he stayed with them for a month and spent every available moment with his folks. Although it pissed him off a little that his mom refused to quit her job and take advantage of her son’s wealth, he loved being home. And they were always thrilled to have him. He couldn’t imagine his parents ever being too busy to hang out with their only child.
Presley Houston was an idiot. There was no other explanation for why the man would pass up the opportunity to spend time with a daughter as incredible as Hayden. She was intelligent, warm, passionate.
“You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” she blurted out. “There’s no point. Dad and I have been drifting apart for years. I was stupid to think he might actually value my support.”
“I’m sure he does value it. It’s obvious he’s been drinking tonight. It was probably the alcohol that made him snap at you like that.”
“Alcohol is no excuse.” She raked her fingers through her hair and scowled. “God, I need to get out of here. I want to go someplace where I can hear my own thoughts.”
He glanced at his watch, nodding when he saw it wasn’t that late. “Come on. I know just the place.”
She studied him warily, as if she’d suddenly remembered what transpired between them two nights ago. He noted her hesitation, her reluctance to let him back in, but thankfully, she made no protest when he took her hand.
Instead, she clasped her fingers in his and said, “Let’s go.”
