Page 25 of Power Play with My Brother's Irish Friends

13

MIRANDA

“Smile.” I nudged Duncan with a single poke to the center of his spine while keeping my own smile in place.

He grinned and posed with the hockey stick in his right hand and raised the puck with his left.

A camera clicked, voices rose, and kids tore across the grass to explore the vast expanse of Discovery Park.

A month into my work with the team and we’d made huge strides in Duncan’s image. Even though he was my biggest challenge of the whole team, they all made strides under my guidance, finally grasping the full scope of what it meant to reap the benefits of good publicity.

“I thought you said no charity events?” Duncan asked with a quick shake of his head.

“I said no charity events where you dressed up in a tux and were forced to walk around talking about stocks and markets while drinking champagne and eating caviar.” I laughed at the snarling upper lip that exposed his canines. “But this?” I spread my hands wide toward the stretch of beach, the grasses waving in the salty breeze, and the laughter of a hundred kids. “This is perfect.”

The snarling stopped and a genuine smile that brightened his green eyes appeared. “All right. I can agree with that.”

A boy of about twelve ran up to Duncan. “Will you sign my hockey stick?” He thrust a thin black and white hockey stick into Duncan’s chest. “I want to play as good as you when I grow up.”

“Yeah?” Duncan gripped the cap of the silver Sharpie between his teeth and yanked. He somehow managed to talk around the cap while signing the stick with a flourish. “You practicing every day?”

“Almost.” The boy frowned and rubbed the fluff of downy hair wisping around his head. “I finished my chemo, and my doctors say if I can stay in remission, I might be able to rejoin the team next year.”

I swallowed hard, hoping neither of them saw the pity that rose up. I squashed it, replacing it with sympathy. Today’s charity event for kids with cancer was the hardest to endure. Their excitement helped buoy everyone’s spirits, but seeing all the hollow faces and skeletal frames ravaged by illness threatened to send tears streaming down my face.

Duncan’s fingers flashed with a savage dexterity. He swung the stick around and held it out to the boy. “Show me your stance.”

More cameras clicked as Duncan dropped to a knee and talked to the boy.

I gave them space and checked in with the coordinators. The event had run like clockwork, but it never hurt to keep tabs on the behind the scenes action.

Parents and kids started to line up to talk to Duncan, and I smiled at him when a panicked look burst across his face. I’d coached him about these scenarios. He knew what to do, and for the first time in his career, he was on track to make the right kind of headlines.

With Duncan busy, I checked my schedule for the next week. Charlie and Patrick both were on my list for Monday meetings, and a nervous flutter tickled my stomach. My attraction for Charlie refused to die, and the more time I spent with Patrick, the more our chemistry grew. What was I supposed to do? I had no choice but to work with them. Even Duncan. He housed enough charm beneath his gruff exterior to have every single kid and parent in the vicinity smiling and laughing. He walked all the kids through a complicated skating move, making exaggerated motions with his hands and feet to show proper placement.

A brisk wind whipped up from the beach, ruffling his red hair and plastering his gray shirt to his immense frame. No matter how often I worked with him, his sheer physical power never ceased to amaze me.

He held out the stick to the boy and set a gentle hand on the narrow shoulder. “You keep practicing. I expect to see you on the ice one day.”

The boy nodded, his expression fierce. “Yes, sir. I will be.” He tore off to join his friends on their way to a colorful tent where a group gathered to paint faces. I’d seen tigers, butterflies, and myriad other animal faces throughout the morning, along with balloon animals from another tent, and a series of inflatable bounce houses that gave the kids a whole day of normalcy.

Duncan strode over and turned his back on the crowd. For a split second, the agony of the day warped his features. “Why?” He asked it with a breathlessness that tore at my heart. “Why does such an evil thing exist and why does it attack helpless children?”

“I don’t know.” I’d love nothing more than to eradicate the terrible illnesses from the world. “But this is how we help. We raise awareness. We give those affected a chance to breathe and experience life outside of hospital walls. And we keep a smile on our faces.” I tapped his arm, unable to touch him more than that without risking giving in to the incredible need to snuggle into his broad chest and never leave. The more time we spent together, the harder it was to forget the night I’d kissed him. I had no choice but to keep going.

A low growl of thunder rumbled overhead.

Duncan faced the sound like a gladiator prepared to battle the entire coliseum. His shoulders squared up with the ocean, where dark gray clouds rioted and roiled together. “Better find shelter.”

The breeze I’d enjoyed earlier turned vicious, tearing through the grasses and whipping my hair into my face, causing it to lash my cheeks. I shook it from my eyes.

Behind us, parents and kids ran for cover. Tent flaps were lowered, the people inside ushering others into safety.

“The flyers.” I ran toward the tables set up near the lighthouse. Before I made it two steps, another brisk wind ripped up the coast and tore the sheets from the tables, sending them spiraling through the air like drunken kites. I jumped and grabbed one from the air, then another. I’d opted for jeans and a thin long-sleeve shirt paired with my favorite tennis shoes for the event, and I thanked my subconscious mind for keeping me in comfortable and functional clothes that gave me enough freedom to chase down a flurry of flyers that skittered on the wind and fluttered toward the ground.

“Leave them.” Duncan caught up and tried to nudge me toward the lighthouse.

“I can’t.” I jumped and grabbed another handful. “They’re for the kids.”

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