The atmosphere in the locker room was subdued, the usual pregame chatter absent as the players changed into their gear and spoke in hushed voices to one another. Brody would’ve liked to blame the serious mood on nerves; the series was 3–2, and once again, they needed a win to stay alive. But he knew it wasn’t the pressure that was weighing everyone down.
Fifteen minutes earlier, a league executive had informed the team that an investigation into the bribery claims was officially underway. Players would be interviewed privately starting Monday of next week, and if the allegations bore any weight, proper disciplinary actions would be taken.
And possible criminal charges executed.
Lacing up his skates, Brody glanced discreetly at his team captain, who was adjusting his shin pads. Wyatt hadn’t spoken one word since the announcement, his sharp features furrowed with silent concern, his big body moving clumsily as he dressed. He was visibly worried.
Fuck. Winning this game tonight was going to be tough. The morale was lower than the murky depths of the ocean, all his teammates behaving as if individual axes were hovering over their heads.
Which one of them had taken a bribe? And was it only one?
For all he knew, half the guys could be involved. The notion caused his blood to boil. You had to be a real fucking asshole to deliberately throw a game. The media claimed only one or two games had been fixed, and early in the season, but it didn’t matter to Brody when or how many. All it took was one game. One loss could be the difference between making the playoffs and ending the season in defeat. It was a good thing they’d played well enough to make up for those early losses.
“Let’s give them hell tonight,” Wyatt said quietly as everyone began shuffling out of the locker room.
Give them hell? That was the big pep talk for the night?
From the wary looks on the other men’s faces, Wyatt’s words of encouragement were about as effective as dry glue.
“You good?” Becker nudged his shoulder, his expression serious.
Brody shrugged. “Not really. But there’s not much I can do about it. This investigation is happening whether we want it to or not.”
Sam nodded bleakly. “Yup.” He hesitated, then muttered, “I really wish you’d take my advice.”
He knew what his teammate meant, but he played dumb anyway. “What advice?”
Annoyance flashed in Becker’s eyes. “About Presley’s daughter,” he said in a low voice. “I saw her coming out of a fuckin’ supply closet at the autism event, Brody. And then, what do you know, you walked out a minute later.”
Shit. He’d thought they’d gotten away with that public quickie.
“What the hell are you thinking, man? There’s playing with fire, and then there’s whatever the hell you’re doing. You’re just daring the media to catch you two together.” Sam shook his head in disapproval. “You need to stay away from her.”
Stay away from Hayden? Yeah, right. At the moment, he was doing everything in his power to stay close to her. And he was succeeding. For the most part anyway.
No matter how often Hayden called their relationship a fling, Brody didn’t view anything between them as casual. For the first time in his life, he was with a woman he actually liked hanging out with. Sure, he liked the sex, too—fine, he loved the sex—but there were other things he enjoyed just as much. Like watching art documentaries with her. Holding her while she slept. Teaching her to skate even though she wasn’t much of a student.
He honestly couldn’t get enough of her. She was funny and smart, and her eyes lit up when she talked about something she loved. And it bothered the shit out of him that she seemed determined to keep him at a distance, at least when it came to admitting they were in a relationship. He desperately wanted to bridge that gap, make her realize just how important she was becoming to him.
“Are you even listening to me?” Becker’s irritated voice drew him out of his thoughts.
He lifted his head. “Look… As much as I value your advice, I can’t stay away from her, man.” He shrugged sheepishly. “I’m seeing her tonight, in fact.”
Becker frowned, but before he could respond, Wyatt barked a command at them from across the room.
“Croft, Becker, what the hell are you doing whispering over there? Get on the fucking ice.”
Still frowning, Becker headed for the door, but Brody didn’t immediately follow him. Instead, he intercepted the team captain before he could exit the locker room.
“Craig, wait a second,” Brody said.
“We’ve got a game to play, Croft.”
“It can wait. I just need a minute.”
Wyatt tucked his helmet under his arm. “Fine. What is it?”
What now? Did he come out and ask about the bribery bullshit? Bring up the affair with Sheila Houston?
Fuck, maybe he should’ve come up with a game plan before initiating this conversation.
“Well?” Wyatt said, looking annoyed.
Brody decided to take a page out of his mom’s policy book: honesty.
“I saw you with Sheila at the arena.”
Wyatt’s face went ashen. Then he swallowed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t bother with denial. I saw you.” The collar of Brody’s jersey suddenly felt hot, and the padding underneath it became tight. Sucking in a breath, he added, “How long have you been having an affair with Presley’s wife?”
The air in the locker room grew tense, stifling. Wyatt’s face was still white, but his eyes flashed with indignation. Shoving his helmet onto his head, he shot Brody a frown. “This is none of your business.”
“It is if you’re the player who came forward and confirmed Sheila’s accusations.”
A long silence fell, dragging on too long for Brody’s comfort. Wyatt’s expression was completely devoid of emotion, but it didn’t stay that way for long. After several more beats, weary resignation clouded Wyatt’s eyes.
“Fine. You’re right. It was me.” Wyatt’s hands trembled as he fumbled to snap his helmet into place. “I went to the league, Croft. I’m the reason this fucking investigation is starting up.”
Brody swallowed. His gut was suddenly burning, but he couldn’t figure out if he felt angry, betrayed or relieved. He studied Wyatt’s face. “How did you know Sheila was telling the truth?”
“I had my suspicions at the beginning of the season, when we lost a couple games we had no business losing. Sheila only confirmed it.” Wyatt exhaled slowly, his breath coming out shaky. “I can’t play on the same team as a few assholes that would sabotage us for money. I can’t play for an owner who is willing to cheat.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Brody believed him. He didn’t want to believe him, but it was impossible not to hear the sincerity, the integrity, rippling in Wyatt’s voice. The man seemed legitimately torn up about all this.
“You know who took the bribes, then?” Brody asked, a sick feeling crawling up his spine.
Wyatt quickly averted his eyes. “Just drop it, Brody. Let the league conduct its investigation. You don’t want to get involved in this.”
“Craig…”
“I’m serious. It’ll all get cleared up eventually. Just…drop it.” Wyatt stepped toward the door. “Now get your ass out there. We’ve got a game to win.”
Brody watched the other man stalk off. A part of him wanted to run after Wyatt and shake the names out of the guy, but another part was telling him to let it go. Trying to force Wyatt to confide in him wouldn’t achieve anything. Craig would just get angrier, more volatile, and the last thing Brody wanted to do was piss him off, not before one of the most important games of their season. This was do or die. Win or kiss the Cup goodbye. He needed his captain focused on the game, not on personal shit.
And he needed to focus on the game, too. Lately, he’d spent too much time worrying, doubting his fellow players, wondering if his career would be blown to hell by the scandal. He had the truth on his side, the knowledge that he’d played clean and hard all season, but that didn’t mean shit. Guilty by association, or whatever the hell they called it.
He would be a free agent in a few months, but another franchise might be loath to pick him up knowing he’d been investigated for bribery. All he could hope was that the investigation was quick, painless, and that his name wouldn’t be dragged through the mud for something he hadn’t done.
Cursing softly, he left the locker room and headed down the tunnel. When he entered the arena, the deafening cheers of the crowd assaulted his eardrums. The Lincoln Center was filled to capacity tonight, the bleachers a sea of silver and blue. Seeing all the fans warmed Brody’s heart, but it also renewed his anger.
All these fans who’d come out here tonight—the people yelling words of encouragement, the kids wildly clapping their hands. They deserved a team they could be proud of.
Unfortunately, there was very little to feel proud about, especially when ten minutes into the first period, the Warriors were already down by two goals.
And it was one of those games that went from bad to worse. The Kodiaks cleaned the ice with the Warriors. By the second period, Brody was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and wanting to bodycheck everyone from the refs to his coach. It didn’t even seem to matter how fast they skated, how many times they rushed the net, how many bullets they slapped at the Colorado goalie. The opposing team was faster, sharper, better. They had the advantage of good morale on their side.
When the third period rolled around, Brody could tell most of his teammates had given up.
“This is bad,” Becker muttered once they’d sunk down onto the bench after a line change.
Brody squirted a stream of water into his mouth then tossed the bottle aside. “Tell me about it,” he muttered back.
He could feel the entire season slipping away with each second ticking off the clock. They were down by three goals. Three fucking goals. With ten minutes left in the third. It was the kind of uphill battle that rarely had a good outcome.
The ref’s whistle pierced the air, and Brody looked over to see who’d taken a penalty. Wyatt. Goddamn it.
There was no more time for chatting as Coach Gray tossed them both back onto the ice for the penalty kill, and although Becker scored a ridiculously incredible shorthanded goal, it wasn’t enough. The buzzer went off, indicating the end of the third period and the game. The final score was 4–2, Kodiaks.
The Warriors were out of the playoffs.
