Clusterpuck (Vegas Crush #9)

13. Burn-it-Down-Blackburn

13 /

burn-it-down-blackburn

Lila

It’s the third period of the Crush’s home opener and I’m in the owner’s box with Max and the rest of team management. The box is always fun because the staff members bring their kids up, something Max Terry absolutely loves.

I’ve been so focused on the game the whole time, both Grant and Laura have told me that even they aren’t as laser-focused on the game as I am. What can I say? I love the game of hockey. And I also love watching the player combinations, assessing the chemistry, and pretty much everything else about the best sport in the world.

“What do you think of the talent?” my grandfather asks as he takes the seat next to me.

“It’s good, for the most part. I like Giroux at right wing. That is, if I can’t have Kazmeirowicz.”

“Giroux is Coach Brown’s go-to in that spot, for sure. He filled in when Evan was injured a few seasons ago. He’s been patiently waiting, and his contract is up this year. He can go free agent if he wants but I suspect he’s hoping for the word that he’ll take the first line. If that’s a guarantee, then I suspect he’ll want lots more money, so there’s some negotiating to do.”

“Well, Evan’s off the books after this year, so why would that be a problem?”

“It’s not. It’s just that he’s not Evan. You know what I mean? Evan’s contract is roughly the size of his ability to put butts in seats. Same for Georg and Vik and Tyler and Boris. Mikhail’s getting there. But Emile Giroux? Meh.” He shakes his head definitively.

I can see his point already. “Aiden Kennedy is too young. He’s decent but not ready for the top lines.”

“Agreed.”

“And you only have Tripp for a year.” I want to slap myself for stupidly bringing him up into the conversation because I’ve tried so very hard to not think about him ever since?—

“I only have Tripp for a year,” he repeats. “I mean, unless he likes money. I suspect he does.”

“Grandpa, he’s on the south side of thirty-six. I still haven’t figured out why you even brought him here. He was ready to knock off.”

“He wasn’t that ready if he took the contract I offered him.”

“Okay?” I tilt my head at him and widen my eyes, hoping for a bit more of an explanation.

“I’m just saying, he’s super fit and super consistent. He can be an asset to this team. I have a bunch of guys who aren’t ready. They’re good. They want it. They’re working the program. But they need to grow up and quickly. I’m really hoping Tripp will step up to the challenge of mentoring those kids and help shape them into something great.”

I can’t help rolling my eyes. “You know damn well Tripp Blackburn is not gonna be that guy. He’s a lone wolf.”

“You know too much,” he says, laughing. “Lila, I do hope for those things. But I also wanted him to have one last season on a cup-winning team. I’ve seen that kid’s talent since he was a youngster. He’s been grinding and grinding, but never found his way to the finals, to the big game. I want that for him, and I want it for his family.”

“What a big softie you are, Grandpa. I think you’re very sweet wanting that for him, but Tripp was a colossal waste of money.”

“You’re being too hard on him,” he chides.

“No, I’m thinking like an owner and a manager. You taught me that.”

“I also taught you to take risks and to have a heart. I took a gamble. He could be great, or he could be a waste. We’ll just have to wait and see which scenario shakes out.”

Our conversation gets interrupted as Laura comes over with both of the Gerard twins in her arms. I think Devon told me her daughter is Josie and her son is Nate.

“You look awfully comfortable holding those tiny humans,” I tell her.

“I love babies.” She’s smiling wildly as the two cuties grab at her big, gold earrings. “You want one?”

“A baby? Thank you, but no.”

Max chuckles as he waves to baby Josie. “I think she meant do you want to hold one.”

I shake my head firmly. “Still no, despite their cuteness, I’ll let you enjoy them. And frankly, I’m feeling a bit duped by your obvious baby lust after you told me you didn’t believe in love. That was you who said it, was it not, Laura Gallant?”

“I said I do not believe in romantic love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be a mom someday. I adore kids. I just don’t want the emotional baggage of a romantic relationship to go with it. Just knock me up in the lab and I’ll be good to go.”

“Yeah, no. Not me. At least not for a long while. I’ve got grad school ahead of me and then a career to build. No babies are pushing ahead of that.”

To Laura, Max says, “Lila’s always been a planner. She likes being in control of her own fate.”

“I applaud that. And, I, someday, will be in control of my eggs. At which time I will have a baby on my own terms,” Laura says confidently while bouncing a real baby on each hip. “For now, I ogle other people’s beautiful progeny.”

“Sometimes life takes you in different directions, ladies,” Max says to both of us. “Plans get derailed.”

“Not mine.” My eyes go right back to the ice as Tripp comes out on the right wing and I change the subject. “I want to know how you feel about Evan’s retirement, Grandpa.”

He groans in response. Sympathetically, I feel his pain probably right along with the rest of the entire Crush organization. “No. I can’t bear to think about it. He’s so good and he’s grown so much. I think it’s too soon, but he’s got his own family to consider. And on the bright side, I’ve got him lined up to run the Crush Foundation, which will be a great role for him.”

“I like that idea a lot. Evan’s a very charitable person from what I’ve learned in the short time I’ve been here.”

“He is, and he’ll open a lot of doors for the Foundation. He’ll really help ratchet things up for what we can do in the community here.”

“All of that is perfect, Grandpa, but it’s the gaping hole he’ll leave behind. I’m worried.”

“You don’t get paid enough to worry, Lila Jayne.”

“Can’t you convince Evan to take a two-year extension or something?” I throw up my hands. “Beg him to give the team a little more time to mature. Can’t you make him an offer he can’t refuse?”

“Are you channeling The Godfather right now?” Laura pipes up as she narrowly blocks a very determined slobbery kiss to the bottom of her neck from little Nate Gerard. Impressive. Both.

“I wish I had such power.” I shrug my shoulders at Max.

“Lila, this is one part of the game that sucks, right? Letting go of the players we all love. Allowing them to move on and use their skills somewhere else. It’s really hard, but it’s Evan’s decision and he feels like this is the time. He’s ready for a change.”

“But what if he does what Tripp did? Announces his retirement and then goes and takes a big paycheck to play somewhere else?”

“He won’t.” The great Max Terry folds his arms over his chest, about to have the final word on the subject, as usual. “His life is here. His wife has built her very successful company here. Their kids are settled in the schools here. He has close friends here. It’s a completely different situation for Tripp. He was a rolling stone. He had no other plans.”

At that, I sit back and get quiet, content to watch the rest of the game. But also thinking about Tripp…again.

It happens more often than I’d like to admit, my thinking about him.

Even though we’ve avoided each other like the plague since the club bathroom incident with the blonde/puck bunny/random skank?—

Gah. I shouldn’t diminish another woman like that when it takes two to tango. Regardless of what they did together inside that stall, both parties were consenting adults.

I still hate that skank though.

But only for the reason of having Tripp’s cock in her mouth and for having his fingers in her as she came. Ugh.

In the past weeks, I have asked myself why it bothered me so much, but I don’t have any good answers yet. I just know how it made me feel in the moment, meeting his gaze in the bathroom mirror: jealous, sickened, and annoyed—and the weirdest part—betrayed. I felt betrayed, which is just so stupidly ridiculous. Tripp’s the one who should feel ridiculous getting caught with his pants down. Quite literally, in the spirit of the idiom, even if his pants were back up when he came out of that stall. Doing something so cliché and then telling me he never does stuff like that.

Spare. Me. All. The. Lies.

He got his rocks off and who am I to care with whom?

Nobody.

Tripp and I aren’t anything to each other. Just two people whose families are friends. Nothing more. Acquaintances at best, not even really friends…now, sadly.

And yet, how many times have I imagined it was me? That Tripp would be so desperate to have me that he would take me into a club bathroom stall and give me a spectacular orgasm after I blew him and let him come in my mouth?—

Annnnd , I need to just stop remembering the sounds I heard coming from that stall while I was in the bathroom and later at the sink washing my hands, thinking I was eavesdropping on two people making each other feel good. At least that’s what I believed when I had no idea one of those people was Tripp Blackburn?—

See? This is why it is imperative that I must pull the damn crazy train to a full and complete STOP and hop off the thing for good. It’s absolutely ridiculous for me to keep having these thoughts about Tripp?—

A horn goes off. A goal? I blink back to the present, seeing a giant animated #81 flashing next to Tripp’s ruggedly handsome face on the big screen. I watch as he does a flyby celly-skate in front of the bench. He gets high fives and taps from his teammates, both on the ice and those cheering from the bench. The replay starts with a pass from Boris Dr?ghici, gentle giant and very lethal center known as The Ice Dragon. Tripp goes on a breakaway, taking a quick shot that sails straight before sinking hard into the net. It’s nothing fancy, just solid teamwork and some excellent timing. A fast shot propelled forward and bang on target. I can’t help but swoon a little.

“He looks gooooood out there. Doing just what he’s supposed to do,” Max says with a nudge to my shoulder. It doesn’t take a genius to see that Max Terry, respected owner of the Vegas Crush, is smugly pleased with his hockey sense about Tripp. I am witnessing the whole NHL complex being schooled by my grandfather right now in real time. It’s a weird feeling but oddly…momentous at the same time.

“Simple.” I nod. “Nothing too fancy. Slipped it right in.”

That’s what she said ?—

God! I’ve lost it if I’m now quoting Michael Scott, even if just in my head.

“The crowd will certainly pay attention to him now. He’s still got it!” Max shouts from his perch, looking downright cheerful about signing Tripp to another year.

I don’t say anything because a part of me doesn’t want the crowd paying attention to him. Also, because I’ve watched most of his games on television, just to see him play. From New York to Nashville to Anaheim, I’ve been Burn-it-Down-Blackburn’s number one fan. He doesn’t know that. Doesn’t need to know. God, that would be a disaster. I can only imagine the razzing I would get, and not just from him.

The reality is that I know Tripp Blackburn’s play probably better than anyone else on the planet.

And yes, he’s still got it.