Crosscheck Read online

  Giving one sharp whistle, Zane lowered himself into a ready stance. “Here we go, Clay! Light ’em up, kid!”

  Clay squared off against the Eagles’ center, and Shap to his left seemed to be muttering encouragement under his breath. Zane flicked his eyes to Janny on the right and smirked when he saw the exact same intensity on his face as he saw on every other player on the ice.

  This was going to be fun.

  The puck was dropped, and Clay swept the puck away from center ice, sending it back to Zane, who scooped it up almost lazily. He moved forward on the ice, his eyes scanning for any and all players. The Eagles’ left winger was coming at him hard, and it was exactly what Zane wanted.

  “Hot, hot,” Zane called, flinging the puck up into clear ice just as his attacker was reaching him, knowing Janny would be there in a heartbeat to grab it.

  Zane stooped low and slammed his shoulder into the stomach of the Eagles’ winger, sending him flying backwards and landing flat on his back on the ice, his stick sliding across the ice to the boards.

  The crowd roared its approval, and Zane pumped a fist in the air as he took off towards center ice, Boomer sweeping behind him to cover.

  “Yeehaw!” Boomer whooped as he moved by him. “That’ll smart later!”

  Zane grinned but focused his attention on the wingers and on Clay up near the goal.

  They weren’t making much happen, despite several shots on goal. It wasn’t for want of trying; the Eagles were apparently just as hungry for this overtime as they were.

  Something special would need to happen, if anything.

  An Eagles player sent the puck around the boards, and Zane exhaled shortly, seeing an opening for something they’d only ever practiced once.

  If there was ever a time to nail it, this was it.

  “E-I-E-I,” he shouted hoarsely as he raced towards the puck. “E-I-E-I!”

  There was a pause for maybe the space of half a heartbeat, and then everyone moved. Boomer darted towards middle ice while the wingers charged forward and began scuffling against Eagle players in the offensive zone. Clay, on the other hand, swept up to meet Zane as he moved towards goal, the pair of them sending the puck between each other as they skated in parallel formation.

  “Door! Door!” Boomer came forward and took on the large Eagles’ center, currently keeping Janny busy while the Eagle defenders were focusing on intercepting Clay and Zane.

  Janny dropped towards goal. “Over, over, over!”

  As they’d hoped, one of the Eagle wingers moved to flank Janny, leaving Shap free to join Clay and Zane.

  “Set?” Zane grunted.

  “Go!” Clay and Shap said together.

  Zane made a hard cut to the right, slapping the puck forward so that it wrapped around the boards behind the goal. He slammed the nearest Eagles’ player into the boards, then spun around, hovering and starting to move backwards towards the net if they needed him to.

  Boomer had done his job, and Janny had scooped the puck up from his side of the boards, sending it up to Boomer, who returned it to the right side, where Clay and Shap were.

  Clay took possession and flicked the puck just inside the goalpost before the goalie could get there.

  The buzzer sounded, and the entire arena roared its approval.

  Zane whooped and rushed forward, almost skipping on the ice towards his teammates. They came together and pounded each other’s backs and helmets.

  “Good catch, Z!” Shap shouted, thumping his helmet hard. “Fantastic!”

  “Hey, no penalties, eh?” Zane replied with a slap to his chest.

  They turned towards the box, where their team was pounding the boards in celebration, making the accompanying barnyard sounds the play called for.

  Zane threw his hands up into the air, whooping loudly. His teammates reciprocated, and he turned to skate along the boards towards their goal, whooping again and gesturing for the crowd to do the same.

  The response was electric, and the trademark howl of a hound dog echoed across the speakers, followed by the equally important song that always accompanied a Hounds’ win.

  Pulling off his helmet, Zane exhaled deeply, tossing his head and pumping one fist in the air as he made his way behind the goal. Fans pounded the plexiglass as he did so, and he grinned at them all. Once he passed the goal, he skated backwards towards center ice, showing off a little, but the crowd loved it. He pointed at a particularly loud section with his stick, raising his helmet in his other hand as if to punch the rafters with it. They roared and clanged their cowbells, gold- and black-streaked faces practically glowing with excitement.

  Zane laughed and lowered his arms, his eyes sliding just to the right of the section he’d riled, and saw a trio of people tucked in a section almost alone, as others around them had left. They were all on their feet and clapping, wearing the faux-jersey sweatshirts of black and gold, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

  It was the tall brunette in the middle of the trio, her bobbed hair braided back with gold ribbons and her long, perfect legs encased in faded skinny jeans.

  Mara.

  He pointed directly at them, laughing, surprised at the exhilaration that hit him in the chest.

  Mara’s companions, an older man and woman, raised their hands above their heads as they clapped, but Mara kept her hands where they were. Her smile, however, could have lit the entire arena.

  He needed to see her. Really see her.

  He glanced behind himself to see the teams lining up and knew he needed to get back, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—let this go. He looked back up at Mara, holding one hand up as the other pointed towards her.

  Her head cocked to one side.

  Perfect.

  He pointed towards his right twice, then signaled the number twenty-two before pointing again.

  She held up her hands in a helpless gesture.

  Zane groaned as he skated backwards. He pressed his hands in a praying motion.

  The man to Mara’s left turned to say something to her, and then she nodded. Looking at Zane again, she nodded more emphatically.

  He dipped his praying hands in gratitude, then spun to bring up the rear of his team’s lineup to shake hands.

  Slapping the palms of each guy he passed, Zane caught sight of the rookie he’d sent to his back and grinned at him. “All right there, Five?”

  The kid gave him a crooked smile. “Breathing hurts, but I took on a Zamboni, right?”

  Zane chuckled and cuffed the guy’s head. “Dead on, buddy. Good luck, and stay hungry, ’kay?”

  “Thanks, Z.”

  Zane nodded and moved on, slapping hands and giving a respectful nod to their captain, Danny Ream, who had been one of his fiercest competitors back in the Northbrook days.

  “Once a cat, now a dog?” came the teasing remark. “Interesting.”

  “Well, we can’t all go from firebirds to eagles, can we?” Zane replied, taking the time to actually shake his hand. “You guys are beasts. Do me a favor and pound the Steers for me, yeah?”

  Danny laughed once. “Paper beats rock every time, bro. I got a score to settle.”

  Zane chuckled as well. “Tell him hi.”

  “Z-style?”

  “Is there any other way?” Zane shook his hand again, then shook hands with the coaches, who didn’t care all that much, before making his way towards the locker room. His eyes returned to where he had seen Mara, only to find the section empty.

  He could only hope she’d gotten the message.

  And would comply.

  After taking the fastest shower known to professional athletes anywhere, Zane only paused long enough for an extra two swipes of deodorant before shouldering his bag and grabbing his coat. His teammates were used to him leaving before the majority of them, so they only waved at him as he left the locker room.

  He hadn’t been able to take a real breath since the game ended, and he hadn’t exactly breathed much in overtime, so his heart pounded just as hard
now as it had during those last few seconds. His chest ached still, and he knew that wouldn’t really relax until he was in his bed tonight, but hopefully he would avoid panting in front of Mara and her parents.

  It could be taken in so many wrong ways.

  Not that panting over Mara would be wrong.

  He frowned at that. He barely knew Mara; how would he know panting over her wouldn’t be wrong?

  Legs, his memory reminded him.

  He slapped himself on the back of the head. He’d been a shallow guy once before, and only one good thing had come from that. He couldn’t afford to be shallow, shortsighted, or immature anymore.

  Much as he enjoyed a good pair of legs.

  He glanced down at himself quickly, forgetting for a moment what he was wearing. Home games he didn’t have to dress up as much, so he usually didn’t, but thankfully, good jeans and a gray T-shirt were classic enough. His hair was still wet, but he’d put it up in a tidy bun, so he shouldn’t look too scraggly.

  Pausing for a moment, he dropped his bag and slipped his arms into his black leather jacket, despite still sweating and not really wanting to. Appearances with fans were important.

  And, of course, there was Mara.

  Over whom he would not pant.

  He picked up his bag and hurried over to the end of the hall, then down just a few halls to gate twenty-two, which was the nearest any fan could get without being invited to the players’ entrance.

  He’d get her a pass.

  His next step was slow as that thought bounced around in his mind. He’d get her a . . . Why in the world would he get her a pass?

  Or anything?

  Zane glanced up and couldn’t help the grin that flashed across his lips. Leaning against the cement wall, one long leg propped up and bouncing slightly, was Mara. The other two adults stood nearby, purses on the ground next to a huge pillar, and all were chatting quietly, though Mara looked slightly uncomfortable.

  He wasn’t exactly at ease himself, but he had to do this. Not sure why, but he knew he did.

  “You got the message,” he said without any preamble whatsoever, surprising himself with his stupidity, his attention focused on Mara.

  Her eyes darted to his at once. “You did say please. Sort of.”

  He smiled easily, his discomfort fading a little. “I tried. The crowd made asking out loud a little difficult.”

  “Wonder whose fault that was.” She smiled just a little at him, and that little smile made his stomach backflip precisely three times.

  He covered it by turning to the couple at the pillar. “I’m so sorry, where are my manners? Zane Winchester.” He extended his hand, walking towards them.

  “Paul Matthews,” the man said, grinning as he took Zane’s hand. “Mara’s father. This is my wife, Vicki.”

  Zane offered his hand to her as well, mentally smirking at how alike Mara and the woman looked, despite her being twenty-plus years older. Like seeing into the future. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

  “Bless you, sweetie, the pleasure’s mine,” Mrs. Matthews drawled in the most Tennessee twang he had ever heard.

  For some reason, that made him smile more.

  “Helluva finish to that game, son,” Mr. Matthews said with an approving nod as Zane took a polite step back.

  “Daddy,” Mara interrupted with some exasperation. “Don’t call him son!”

  Mr. Matthews looked at her, one graying brow raising. “Mara June, I’ll call ’em like I see ’em, and I’ll thank you to shut your piehole.”

  She gaped at him, then covered her face as she burst out laughing. “Oh my gosh.”

  Mr. Matthews grinned up at Zane and winked. “Embarrassing daughters is one of the perks of being a father, Mr. Winchester.”

  Zane barked a laugh and nodded. “Please, sir, call me Zane. And I am well aware. Your daughter has the impossible job of teaching my little girl Zumba, and I don’t envy her that. No one dances in our family.”

  Mrs. Matthews sobered and slipped her arm through her husband’s. “I understand you are a private man, Zane, especially with your baby girl. Lord bless you for that. I had to drag that information out of Mara. I just want to assure you that we will not say a word about her, and you can trust us to take that to the grave.”

  There was something incredibly touching about that, and Zane looked over at Mara, whose hands had come down from her eyes and now rested at her mouth, her index fingers pulling the lower lip out slightly.

  Amazing how distracting that was.

  “I believe you,” Zane murmured, his attention still on Mara.

  As though she could hear him looking, her eyes came back to him. She straightened fully and dropped her hands, though her lower lip still fascinated him. “I wasn’t sure . . .” she began before stopping and biting that lip with perfect teeth. “I didn’t know what to tell them about why we . . . how we . . . and I didn’t want to presume . . .”

  “It’s fine,” Zane assured her gently. He smiled with genuine warmth and looked at her parents again. “I’m not worried about Hope where you three are concerned. The rest of the world, maybe. But not you.” His eyes drifted back to Mara as she came closer to her parents.

  And to him.

  “Not you,” he murmured again, this time for her alone.

  The corner of her lips curved in another slight smile, and again, his stomach flipped.

  Then it growled.

  “I’m famished,” he announced to no one in particular, looking around at them. “Can I take you guys out to dinner? Drinks? I’ve already missed bedtime, thanks to overtime, and it would be great to have some company not asking me to braid their hair or read Princess Dolly and the Angry Apples again.”

  “Depends on your braiding skills,” Mara quipped in a low voice, as though she’d intended to keep the remark to herself.

  Zane looked at her, lifting a brow in a challenge. “French, fishtail, upside-down, Dutch, or regular, smartie?”

  Mr. Matthews chortled into a fist while Mrs. Matthews looked between Zane and Mara with a smile.

  Chastened, but not beaten, Mara pursed her lips, and Zane wondered faintly if her perfect teeth were biting her cheek. She cleared her throat. “But can you do the Princess Dolly voices? Not worth reading if you don’t.”

  “I’m going to ask your parents to drop you off at home if you keep this up,” Zane told her, though there wasn’t enough money in his contract to tempt him to follow through on that threat. He was enjoying this far too much, and he wanted it to continue for the rest of the night, if not longer.

  “Excellent,” Mr. Matthews replied, rubbing his hands together. “More Angry Apple voices for me.”

  Zane threw up his hands with a laugh, and the rest joined in. Mara, for one, was rosy cheeked, and there was something incredibly attractive about that.

  Please say yes.

  “Sorry,” Mara told him with a hint of a wince. “It’s late, and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow. We really should go.”

  A boulder landed in Zane’s gut at that. “Really?”

  Her blue eyes widened at the dejected tone, and he saw her swallow. “Sorry.”

  “But thank you so much for offering,” Mrs. Matthews added smoothly, drawing Zane’s attention. “Such a kind thought. But you go on home and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

  Zane returned her smile, despite his disappointment. “Thank you, ma’am. Do you think you’ll come to more games this season?”

  “Oh, you can count on it,” Mr. Matthews assured him. “Especially now that we’ve met you.”

  “Excellent.” Zane grinned now, the weight lifting from him. “Well, I’ll make sure Will Call has tickets in your name every home game.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Mara said quickly while her parents only gaped.

  “Sure I do,” Zane corrected her. “I don’t have much family, or any particular fans, in Tennessee. Might as well give the seats to someone worthy of sitting in them.” Again, he looked at Mara
, daring her to take his meaning.

  She said nothing, eyes still wide.

  “Well, we won’t keep you,” Mrs. Matthews said, saving them all from the heavy silence. “Wonderful game, Zane. I hope we see you again soon.”

  “I hope so too, Mrs. Matthews,” he told her with a dip to his chin. “I really do.”

  “Bye, then.” Mara gave him a quick wave and turned, walking away, her parents following at a more sedate pace.

  Zane watched her go, his eyes narrowing.

  There was something very appealing about Mara Matthews, and he was suddenly desperate to figure out just what it was.

  And to then explore that appeal in great depth.

  “Wrap it up, two, three, four, and take it back, two, three, four. Clap, touch, clap, touch, clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap-clap, and punch!”

  The kids cheered loudly, their fists high in the air, and Mara laughed, applauding their most exuberant dance in some time. They had come to class with their own selections of music, and she had done what she could with most, if not all of them. The class might not be its most effective exercise, but it was certainly the most entertaining.

  Sometimes that was more important.

  “Great job, you guys!” Mara told them, moving over to the stereo to change the song. “After all of that, I think we need a cooldown.”

  “What’s a cooldown?” one of the kids asked loudly.

  Mara grinned in her direction. “You know how you feel all hot and sweaty right now? A cooldown helps take that away, and it’s good for your body in the process. Makes the body happy. Sound good?”

  “Yeah!” a few kids cheered, while others looked uncertain.

  “Hmm.” Mara pursed her lips and looked around, seeing that she would have to do some convincing. How did one convince high-strung kids to do a cooldown? If any of them had athletic ideals for their lives, they’d need to swear by the cooldown or endure the consequences.

  A slow smile crossed her lips at a memory from the night before, almost unrelated yet perfectly inspirational.