Fighting For More Read online

  Fighting For More

  Susan Scott Shelley

  Copyright 2017 Susan Scott Shelley

  ISBN: 978-1-944220-27-3

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person from proper authorized retail channels. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Visit Susan at http://www.susanscottshelley.com

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Thank You

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Susan's Books

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE BUFFALO BEDLAM arena was the most unfriendly rink in the league. The ice wasn't giving or forgiving. The fans were loyal and loudly voiced taunts for the opposing team. And, the Bedlam players were getting under Leo Brennan's skin. Knocking them into the boards and onto their asses throughout the game had been a pleasure.

  Leo hopped over the boards and onto the ice. Clutching his stick, he joined the rush. The Sea Lions were down by four goals with ten minutes remaining in the game. His team needed a fire lit under them, and his job was to provide the spark.

  Skate hard, hit harder, and, no matter what, make sure he was the last one standing.

  They needed a win to close out the abysmal mid-February road trip. Then they could leave cold, snowy Buffalo and get back to warm, sunny Los Angeles and the Sea Lions fans, who loved the team through highs and lows and everything in between.

  Cold air rushed over his face as he flew up the ice. Two Bedlam players chased the puck into the corner with two Sea Lions at their backs. The glass rattled as the players collided into the boards.

  The puck shot out to center ice, and right onto Dylan Fraser's stick. The Bedlam's talented captain was responsible for three of his team's goals. No way in hell would Leo allow him another one. He adjusted course, gunning for Dylan, the blue jersey a target on a field of white. They were nearly matched in height, but he outweighed Dylan by a good thirty pounds.

  Focused on the goalie, Dylan raised his stick for a slap shot.

  Leo lowered his shoulder, braced his body, and slammed into Dylan's side. The captain fell like a domino.

  Target eliminated.

  Securing the puck, Leo skated in the opposite direction and fired the puck at the Bedlam goalie. The goalie skated forward, knocking the puck aside and then kept coming.

  What the...

  The whistle blew, and Leo turned to see why the play had been blown dead and why the crowd had grown silent.

  Dylan lay unmoving at center ice, and the ref and linesmen were breaking up fights all around him. Bedlam players on the bench climbed onto the ice, as the trainer and doctor rushed to Dylan's side.

  Mouth dropped open, Leo stared and skated closer. A blunt force slammed into his back, knocking him forward. The ice rushed up to meet him. Cursing, he turned his head. The goalie, Rod Fraser, loomed over him. Eyes heated, Rod ripped off his mask and dropped his gloves, and then his hands formed fists. "What the fuck? You fucking knocked out my brother."

  Shit.

  Leo pushed to standing.

  Glaring, Rod charged, his fist flying forward. It caught Leo's jaw. Pain exploded, radiating as his teeth knocked together and his head snapped back.

  Rod's fist came at him again. The right hook was as precise as one Leo would have thrown. Leo blocked him, countering with his own. Anger didn't flare, it couldn't, not with the concern for Dylan tightening his chest. He'd react the same as Rod if someone had hurt one of his brothers. Hell, he'd gotten into more fights than he could remember trying to protect Ryan.

  Another jab caught his cheek.

  Enough.

  Leo barreled forward. "I gave you that first one. No more."

  "You think so?" Rod came at him again.

  Players flew in from every angle, a blur of Bedlam blue and Sea Lions white. A wall of white jerseys formed around Leo as his teammates pulled him away from the irate goalie and toward the Sea Lions bench.

  Worried about Dylan, he searched through the throng of players scattered across the ice. Dylan still lay motionless. Was the man conscious? Could he move his limbs? Rod knelt beside his brother, face creased in concern. Emergency personnel crossed the rink, carrying a backboard.

  Not a good sign. Not at all.

  The deafening silence of the arena, the fans' harsh glares and anxious faces, magnified Leo's guilt. He stood by the bench and forced himself to watch the replay on the Jumbotron. His skates hadn't left the ice when he'd lunged at Dylan, and he hadn't struck Dylan in the head. The hit was legal. Clean. He didn't play dirty. Never had, and never would.

  But seeing Dylan's helmet fly off his head mid-fall, and then Dylan's head hitting the ice, sickened his stomach. The helplessness and fear on Rod's face as he watched his brother clawed at Leo's heart. Again, Ryan came into his thoughts. That helplessness echoed what Leo had felt after finding his baby brother beaten up in a park after the previous year's Pride parade in Philly.

  He shook his head to clear the memory. His teammates' words of comfort and the taps on his back in support seemed far away. He wouldn't be welcomed if he skated to Dylan's side to offer an apology. Words were weak anyway, they couldn't make up for what had happened. He knew that better than anyone. Still, he'd have to find Dylan's number somehow after the game, and try to express his regret.

  Gaze glued to Dylan being wheeled off the ice, he struggled to shift his focus back to the game. Coach Brown ordered his line back to the bench. Leo sat beside his line mates, trying to ignore the fans behind the glass and their screamed insults. Of course, they were worried about their captain. And of course, they were angry at him. Accidents happened. Injuries happened. But maybe by some miracle, Dylan would be completely fine by the next day.

  Cold liquid splashed the back of his neck. Startled, he jumped and twisted around. An empty cup clattered to rest beside his skate. The yeasty scent of beer surrounded him.

  Behind the glass, two fans smirked at him. One raised his cup in mock-toast. The other flipped Leo off.

  Beside him, McSorley stood, and his line mate glared at the fans. "What the hell? They're throwing shit at you?"

  Coach Brown hurried from his position at the center of the bench. Shaking his head, he placed his hand on Leo's shoulder. "Let it go. Leo, head to the locker room."

  "But..." There were still eight minutes left. Not that he'd be able to concentrate on playing.

  "Now."

  He grabbed his stick and ambled away from the bench. As he headed into the tunnel, more trash rained down from the fans. Beer, sodas, and an entire container of chicken wings accompanied a chorus of boos. Fighting the urge to rush into the stands and go after the assholes, he wiped splatters of red and brown from his visor and lumbered through the hallway.

&n
bsp; The game couldn't end fast enough.

  The sooner he got away from Buffalo, the better.

  LEO ENTERED THE SEA Lions locker room, exhausted from the day's grueling practice. He had pushed himself hard, trying to take his mind off of the league's impending trade deadline. Tension hung in the air, thickening with every minute. All around him, his teammates were on edge, jumping with every ring of a phone or text alert. The Sea Lions didn't have much of a hope to make the playoffs, and there wasn't a doubt that by the end of the day a few of them would be traded to teams who were looking to shore up their talent or depth at a position in preparation for a playoff run. No one would relax until the deadline passed.

  The team had already made two deals earlier in the week, and saying goodbye to those teammates had been almost as hard as saying goodbye to one of his brothers. He tugged on his clothes and then glanced around the room. He was happy here, they had a good group of guys. He'd hate having to say goodbye to anyone else.

  Coach Brown walked in, looking grim. All the conversations fell silent. "Leo, the GM wants to see you."

  His heart slammed in his chest. No way. No way. His name hadn't even been mentioned in the trade rumors.

  He tucked his hands in his pockets, nodded at the guys, and then followed Coach out of the room. As they walked, Leo tried to wrap his head around the fact that he really was the one following Coach to the GM's office and his entire life and career were about to change. "Do you know where I'm going?"

  "The GM wants to be the one to let you know." Outside the GM's door, Coach stopped and knocked. "I hate to lose you. But it's for a good reason. You'll be going to a Cup contender."

  "Yeah. I know. It's a good thing, right? But I'll miss being here too." He drew in a deep breath, then entered the GM's office.

  "Leo," Bruce Ballard stood from behind his massive desk. "Come in."

  He waited for Coach to enter first and then shut the door at his back. "So, where am I going?"

  Philly would be perfect. Hopefully, it was Philly. He'd always wanted to play for his hometown team, and the opportunity would put him back in the same city as his family.

  Bruce leaned on the end of his desk. "You're going to Buffalo."

  Shock jumped through his system and his gaze jumped between the two men. "That's not funny."

  "It's not a joke."

  "But..." He shook his head and dragged his hand through his hair. "Buffalo? They hate me over there."

  Hate was a mild term for what he'd seen while scouring the news for updates on Dylan, who was still out of the lineup. "I've been ignoring my social media for the past two weeks because it's been filled with Bedlam fans bashing me for Fraser's concussion."

  "Leo, it'll be fine once you score a couple of goals and get in a few hits." Coach patted him on the back. "They'll get over the hit on Fraser."

  Bruce leaned closer. "Fraser's being out is one reason they need you. Plus, they lost Yves Paquette last night to an upper body injury and he'll be out for the rest of the season. You can hit and you can score. You'll fill two of their needs."

  What could he say? It was a done deal. "All right then."

  "This is a good opportunity for you. And for us, we're getting Erik Clark and two draft picks. We're going to be rebuilding here for a while, Leo. Probably longer than you'll be playing." Bruce smiled. "You've done a lot for us over the years and I've had other offers for you come my way these past few weeks. Buffalo will give you the best shot at winning the Cup. I want that for you."

  At thirty-six, he didn't have that many years left in the league. Another opportunity to be on a Cup contender might not appear. "I appreciate that. Thank you."

  "Someone from the Bedlam will call you today and they'll get you on a flight." Bruce stood and shook his hand. "Good luck."

  "I think I'll need it." After shaking hands with Bruce, he hugged Coach, then left both men in the office.

  He needed to go home, call his family, and pack. But first, he needed to collect his things from the locker room and say goodbye to his teammates. Heart heavy, he trudged to the locker room. Every hug and handshake and wish-you-well thickened the lump in his throat and added weight to the lead balloon in his stomach.

  His phone rang the moment he climbed into his car. His stomach tightened at the Buffalo Bedlam on his display. "Hello?"

  "Mr. Brennan." A woman's voice, cool and clipped and a shade familiar, came through the speaker.

  "Yes."

  "This is Kelsey Fraser with the Buffalo Bedlam."

  He leaned against the headrest. A Kelsey Fraser had appeared on the Jumbotron during the game, in a clip interviewing a Bedlam player during one of the game's commercial breaks. He and McSorely had been discussing strategy so he hadn't gotten a good view of her, but he'd glimpsed long brown hair and he'd know that cool voice anywhere. She couldn't be related to Dylan, could she?

  "We have you on a seven o'clock flight out of LAX."

  He glanced at the dashboard clock. Already two PM. That wasn't a lot of time.

  "I've also made a hotel reservation for you and will have a driver waiting for you at the terminal when you arrive. If you'll give me your email address, I'll send over all the information. You can get your boarding pass when you check in at the airport."

  He blinked at her frosty tone and relayed his information. On the interview piece, her voice had been welcoming and friendly. The opposite of the icy reception coming his way.

  "The driver will pick you up from the hotel at nine-thirty tomorrow." The faint click of fingers tapping a keyboard accompanied her voice. "You need to be at our practice facility at ten o'clock. The receptionist will direct you to my office, and then you'll meet the GM after that."

  "I'll see you then."

  "If you have any questions or issues, you have my number." The call disconnected.

  He frowned at the phone as the screen faded to black.

  So much for a warm welcome.

  He fought traffic, then spent the next few hours packing and talking to his dad and brothers and his agent. Then fought traffic again via a cab driver with a death wish, and arrived at LAX with two suitcases, a suit bag, and his hockey stuff. His phone continued to vibrate with messages from his now-former teammates wishing him well.

  He looked at the board to see the flight status and gate number. His flight wasn't listed.

  Frowning, he approached a clerk at the counter. She offered him a bright smile. "Where are you traveling to today, sir?"

  "I'm heading to Buffalo, but I think there may be a stop in between."

  "May I see your ID? I'll look up your reservation." She looked at her computer. "Sir, your flight was at four o'clock."

  "Four?" He thought back to his conversation with Kelsey. No, she'd definitely said seven. And realization dawned. She'd given him her time zone, not his. "So my flight is currently somewhere over the middle of the country?"

  Shit.

  "I need to be in Buffalo tomorrow morning for a ten o'clock meeting."

  The woman continued to click on her computer. "There aren't any direct flights until tomorrow afternoon. The only flight that will get you there before your meeting leaves at eight o'clock tonight. I can put you on that. You'll have nearly an hour layover in Baltimore, then a ninety-minute layover in Detroit, and will arrive in Buffalo at nine-fifteen their time tomorrow morning."

  "Okay, I'll take it." He tried to tamp down his frustration, both at Kelsey and at himself for not confirming the information earlier, but it pulsed hot under his skin.

  He never could sleep on planes, so he'd arrive in dark and freezing Buffalo and not have any time to sleep at the hotel before meeting his new team. Great, just great.

  She checked his bags and handed him the boarding pass and wished him a good evening. He doubted the evening would improve but appreciated her optimism.

  As he waited in the long line at security, he brought up Kelsey's email, then visited the Bedlam's site and looked for her under their list of team personnel. />
  His breath caught in his lungs as her photo filled the screen. Stunning, with dark brown hair that fell in waves and blue eyes more like storm clouds than a tropical sea, she smiled right at him. Sure enough, her bio confirmed she was Dylan and Rod's sister, and the daughter of a hockey legend.

  If she hated him with the same passion as the rest of the Bedlam fans—and from her tone on the phone call he guessed that she did—then maybe she'd fucked with him on purpose.

  Curiosity at what the fans were saying about the trade ate at his resolve to stay off social media. He clicked to his accounts. Tons of messages and posts poured in from irate Bedlam fans protesting the trade, protesting his presence on their team and in their town. Sports radio joined in, stirring up the tension. It was unanimous. They didn't want him there, in no uncertain terms.

  Three months to endure until the season was over. He'd put in his time, try to help the team win. Then, he'd get the hell out of town.

  He already couldn't wait to leave.

  CHAPTER TWO

  KELSEY SET DOWN HER phone and pushed away from her desk. Ready or not, Leo Brennan was in the building and on his way to her office. All morning, anger had gnawed at her stomach and needled her nerves with little pinpricks ready to fight. Preparing for meeting with him wasn't as easy as welcoming another player to the team.

  The hit he'd laid on Dylan hadn't been malicious, but it still had hurt her brother pretty badly, and every time she saw Leo's face in a game highlight or read his name in the league stats, her mind replayed the awful moment when Dylan's head had hit the ice.

  Her stomach clutched at the memory and soured the triple espresso she'd downed in defense of a night spent tossing and turning and imagining how the meeting would go.

  Sleepless nights before big games against rival teams during her hockey career had been the same. She had to keep reminding herself that Leo was no longer the enemy. No matter how much she wanted to hit him with a hockey stick.

  She rearranged the papers in the folder she'd prepared for him. She had a job to do, and she was damn good at it. She'd treat Leo with professional courtesy and then send him on his way. No matter how attractive he was, no matter how impressed she was about his career, and no matter how much something about him called to her. The deep tug had been there ever since he'd first popped up on her radar several seasons ago. She couldn't explain it, but damn it, she'd do her best to ignore it.