Page 46 of Power Play

Silently, Duke hooks his fingers under the laces. “I’ll pay on the way out. That okay, Sam?”

“Oh, oh yeah.” The kid waves his hand in the air. “Not a problem. Honestly, I wouldn’t even charge you but you know how my uncle is. No one goes in for free, not even his own flesh and blood. I’m talking about myself on that one.”

“I got it, Sam.”

Duke glances down at me, a look of impatience glittering in his blue eyes. “You ready, Charlie?”

“Sure, sure, I’ll be right there. Just have to use the restroom first.”

He nods, and his gaze takes on the look of a man who isn’t all quite present in the here and now. “I’ll wait for you by the vending machines over there.”

“Okay.”

I wait until he’s out of earshot before pulling my wallet out of my purse and sliding my credit card across the counter. Duke may be a millionaire—hockey players of his caliber always are—but something about the way he shuts down while talking about his career calls for me to . . . to want to take care of him.

It’s stupid, I know. The man is thirty-four, as he’s told me plenty of times, and probably needs no one. But if paying for his skates can put a smile on his face, even ever so briefly, then it’s worth it.

Sam’s hero-worship act has died off now that Duke is no longer with us, and the impassive mask is back in place. “You paying for both pairs?” he mutters, taking my credit card and tapping away at the iPad with the corner of the card. “You a friend of his or something? I’ve never seen you here before.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him that I’m Duke’s girlfriend, but that’s not exactly true. For that reason alone, I merely shrug my shoulders. “Yeah, I’m just a friend.”

The words don’t feel right.

Sam hands over my card and the paper receipt. “Have fun,” he says, already turning his attention to the TV above my head.

Well, isn’t he a charmer.

I find Duke by the vending machines, as promised. We climb onto the first row of bleachers, settling in beside each other as we start unwinding the laces of our skates, with our sticks by our feet. There’s no missing the unhappiness that now cloaks Duke like a finely worn jacket.

There’s definitely something going on there.

The journalist in me itches to push for answers, but the woman in me, for once, realizes the benefits of sitting tight and allowing him to speak when he’s ready. Wasn’t that exactly how I was, when my mother left and when Dad passed away? Jenny was my sole confidante for years, and even that open communication didn’t come easily.

As if reading my thoughts, he mutters, “Sometimes it’s nice not to have people ask you for favors.”

My gaze drops to my skates, and I try to hide my surprise at his admission. “Like people asking you for free tickets all the time?”

His knee bumps mine. “Among other things.”

Is he referring to me? I glance over at his face, and decide that no, for once he isn’t throwing jabs in my direction.

“You ready to go?” he finally says, after we’re both laced and ready to hit the ice.

I fall back into our regular routine, hoping to cheer him up in the face of a little competition. “Ready to lose, Mr. Harrison?”

His hand slides down my back before cupping my butt. His palm is as big as one cheek, and he squeezes playfully. “No dirty tricks out there, Charlie Denton.”

Lifting my stick, I point the stick’s toe at him. “I make no promises.”

Blue eyes narrow in warning. “Thought you were over playing games?”

I choose not to answer verbally. As it always has, the ice calls to me, and it’s been so long since I’ve had the chance to play the game. I slip through the partition in the low-framing boards, sucking in a deep breath the moment that my blades hit the recently shaved ice.

God, it feels amazing.

For the first few minutes, Duke and I do nothing but skate casually around the rink. We’re the only ones here, seeing as how it’s late afternoon on a Wednesday. He moves like a predator, hips slung low, broad shoulders barely shifting as he lets his powerful legs do all of the hard work.

It’s fascinating to watch him breeze around, considering that for most of his career he’s been stationed in the net, a warrior bent on keeping the enemy out. It’s easy to forget that at one point in his career, goaltending was not his main priority.

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