Offside (41 page)

“No worries, Becky. If you feel off today, give me a call. I pushed you a little . . .” He took her hand, kissing her palm without opening his eyes. “But I need you to know you did plenty for me. I know it bothers you when you think you haven’t.”

“I’ll call you if there’s anything.” She promised, even though she wouldn’t. There was no reason to call until she figured things out.

Until she decided whether or not “next time” was worth the risk.

A
hard-core beat sounded in the darkness. Zach sat up quickly, reaching for his phone on the night table, hoping the guitar rift of Metallica’s “Whiskey in the Jar” didn’t wake Becky up. He glanced over to Becky’s side of the bed as he answered and frowned. She wasn’t there. His brow furrowed as he vaguely recalled talking to her—he looked at the clock. It was only 8:15 a.m. Must have been early.

“Zach?”

By the sounds of it, Tim had repeated his name a few times. Zach scratched his jaw, leaving his room naked to fetch a bottle of water from the fridge even as he spoke. “Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”

“We have a charity street hockey game today with some college kids. I mentioned it to your agent, but she never got back to me.”

Zach’s laugh sounded hollow to his own ears as he tried to keep things light. For some reason, he felt a little off. He cleared his throat and took a swig of water. “She’s juggling details for my contract and a wedding, so I’m not surprised. Why didn’t you mention it on the cruise?”

“Honestly? I forgot what day it was scheduled. Madeline just reminded me.” Tenderness softened the coach’s tone. Nice that things were going so well between him and his woman, but it would be nice if he could pull his shit together.

That last thought aggravated Zach even more than the last-minute invite. He rolled his shoulders, trying to ease the tension coiled around his spine.
Pull it together, Pearce.
He inhaled slowly, nodding. “Sure, I’ll be there. What time?”

“Around ten?” Tim sighed. “Sorry about the short notice. I’ve been a bit distracted lately.”

“How come?”

“Madeline and I have been trying for a baby again. She’s taking fertility drugs, I’m watching the calendar, and—” Tim snorted. “You don’t need to hear this.”

“It’s all good, Coach.” Actually, it was great. Tim would make an amazing father, and the couple had been trying for years. But Zach couldn’t seem to work up any enthusiasm about it.
You need a fucking cup of coffee.
“Let me get ready and I’ll be right over. Where are we doing this?”

After getting directions, Zach hung up and went to fix himself some coffee. He’d downed a full cup, black, before his conversation with Becky came back clearly. She’d had to leave—hadn’t mentioned why. And he hadn’t questioned her because they had an agreement. She decided how he fit into her life. Which was fair. She had her daughter and her career. He had the game.

What they had came in the rare moments between.

That worked for him, but still . . . something about her leaving nagged at him. He’d known their scene could trigger things for her. If not right away, then possibly when she woke up. She’d promised to call, he remembered that clearly, and she was experienced enough as a sub to keep an eye out for a drop, but that wasn’t the same as
him
keeping an eye out for one. Why should she feel alone, uncertain, sad? He was right here.

Call her.

No. She’d gone because she had things to do. She spent enough time with Bower and Richter for one of them to notice if something was off. Of course, they wouldn’t know to look out for it.

He didn’t like the idea of going behind her back. He turned his phone in his hand for almost an hour to make sure he was doing the right thing before dialing. Becky’s independence could be an issue if she dropped and didn’t catch it in time. Better safe than sorry.

Richter answered on the first ring. “Pearce.”

“Yeah. How are things?” He went to the small desk in his living room, ruffling through the drawers for a cigar. Lighting it, he dropped into the high-backed wood chair and took a long drag. “How have Silver and the baby settled?”

“Amia is doing well. Silver . . . Silver will be fine.” Richter cleared his throat. “The girl thinks she has to handle everything on her own. Much like Becky. I assume she’s the reason you’re calling?”

“She is. We had a scene last night that might take longer to recover from than she expected.” He paused, feeling pride digging in its heels. Ignoring it. “Since she couldn’t stay, I hoped you could look out for her.”

Richter didn’t speak for what seemed like a very long time. Then he sighed. “I had a feeling she didn’t tell you. Rebecca asked for some time off—with all she’s put in setting things up for the Ice Girls’ show, Keane gave it to her. She called him earlier this morning, before her parents left so she could go with them to Gaspe.”

“Gaspe.” Zach blinked, sure he’d heard wrong. “She . . . did she say how long she’d be gone?”

“Two weeks. Maybe three. Keane doesn’t need her until right before training camp.”

Two weeks. Zach ran his tongue over his teeth, nodding slowly. “All right. Thanks, Boss.”

“Pearce—?”

Zach ended the call. His hand shook as he brought his cigar to his mouth. It was fine. Just fine. She needed time with her daughter. With her family.

She hadn’t told him.

Why though? Had she just wanted to get away from him? Nothing in her tone or actions this morning even hinted that, but why else would she go from having a busy day to taking off for weeks? In any normal relationship, a couple would discuss long absences beforehand.

That apparently wasn’t the kind of relationship they had. He pushed his chair back carefully, resisting the urge to throw it, and went to the kitchen for more coffee. The bitter liquid burnt his tongue as he gulped it down, but he hardly felt it.

What exactly is it that we have?

Something other than what he’d thought they did. Which didn’t change how far he’d pushed her. He wouldn’t have pushed her that far if he’d known . . . he snuffed out his cigar and went through his kitchen drawers, looking for—there. Clove cigarettes. The pack was still closed; he didn’t indulge in cigarettes often, but he wanted one now. He put the filter of the black cigarette between his lips, staring at the flame of his lighter as he lit the tip. Stupid to smoke this much this close to training camp—he couldn’t bring himself to care. He felt weighed down. His brain felt foggy. He had to snap out of it.

In his room, he changed into black jogging pants and a white Cobra T-shirt. He stuffed his phone and his cigarettes into a black knapsack with his wallet and a bottle of water. Grabbed his motorcycle helmet from his living room table. A glance in the hall mirror told him he needed to shave. He looked like shit.

And I give a fuck, why?

He was pissed. But not at Becky. At himself. There must have been clues, must have been something he’d done that had made her want to leave. And he hadn’t fucking caught it. What he’d done to her—his neck cracked as he rolled his head from side to side. Any Dom worth his leathers would have known she wasn’t ready. Would have realized it was too soon to fucking go there. A flogger and anal play.
Damn it!

On the way to the school yard where the teams would play, Zach spotted the red flashing lights and cursed under his breath. On top of being an irresponsible Dom, he was being an irresponsible driver. At least 10 miles over the speed limit.

“License and registration,” the cop said, sounding bored.

“No fucking kidding.” Zach pulled his wallet out of his backpack. He handed his documents to the cop. “Just give me the ticket.”

The officer took off his sunglasses. “We gonna have a problem here, Mr . . .” He looked at Zach’s license and shook his head. “Why am I not surprised? I guess being a star athlete means that you don’t have to follow laws like everyone else, right? All the fucking money in the world—a ticket don’t mean shit.”

A car pulled up behind Zach’s bike. The officer’s hand went to his hip, close to his gun.

“Hey, Pearce!” Chicklet stepped out of the car. She frowned at the officer, then glanced over to the passenger side of the car. “Laura, I think one of our boys got himself in trouble rushing to the
charity
game.”

Laura came out from the other side. “Is there a problem here, Butler?”

Aw, fuck. Just haul me in.
The last thing he needed was to be “saved” by a sub. She would hate him if she knew what he’d done.

“No, ma’am.” The officer’s lips thinned. “Unless you’re going to tell me not to give him a ticket because you’re in bed with the team.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Laura said tightly. “If he was going too fast, give him a ticket. If he did anything else, bring him in. I just hope you’re not taking this personally because your little sister is fucking one of the players. Which one is it this week? Brookmann?”

“You fucking bitch . . .” Butler hissed through his teeth, then went to his car, returning with a ticket which he slammed into Zach’s chest. “Try not to kill anyone, asshole.”

Once the cop was gone, Chicklet and Laura approached Zach, both looking concerned. Zach spotted Vanek, getting out of the backseat, and couldn’t take it anymore.

“Don’t ask.” He took off before they could, wishing the route was a little longer when he parked and saw them pulling into the lot behind him. He was in the fucking mood for a fight and he wasn’t sure why. His whole body was shaking. He wanted to break something.

He should have stayed home. Alone in a dark room with his thoughts of how much he’d fucked up.
I should have called her.

Things only got worse when the game started. The teams were divided school yard-style and the dozen Cobras that had come were split evenly amongst the college kids. Late teens, early twenties, all the boys were overexcited about playing with the Cobras. Being downright obnoxious. And the younger Cobras weren’t behaving much better. Carter checked Zach, holding him against the brick wall as Vanek swiped the puck and dashed for the net. Zach growled when Carter wouldn’t back off. The crowd cheered as the puck hit the back of the net.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that if we’re gonna make the playoffs. That was pathetic, dude!” Carter smirked and moved to join him team.

Zach latched on to the front of Carter’s shirt and slammed him into the wall. “Dude? I suggest you watch it, you smart-ass fucking twinkie. If you were my sub—”

“Jesus, Pearce.” Chicklet slapped her hand into Ramos’ chest a second before he could lunge for Zach, then pried Zach’s hand from Carter’s shirt. “Ramos, cool it. Carter, you open your mouth again and I’m gonna flog you myself. Pearce, take a walk.”

Ramos took a step back, but his eyes were hard as they met Zach’s. “We will speak again,
hombre
.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, Ramos.” Tim stepped between them. He drew Ramos aside, speaking low.

Ramos’ expression softened suddenly. He caught Carter by the back of the neck and led him away. The rest of the team had banded together to distract the curious college boys, giving Zach some space. Which he badly needed.

I don’t need space. I need Becky. I have to find out if she’s all right.

“I’ve got it, Chicklet.” Tim patted Chicklet’s shoulder, nodding as she gave him a look Zach couldn’t read. He felt completely out of control. And when Tim turned to him, it seemed like the man knew it. “Go ahead, Pearce. Take a swing. Curse me out. I can’t promise I won’t bench you for half the season if you’re going to be an idiot about this, but if you’re itching for a fight, I’m right here.”

“I should go.” This had never happened to him. He was a loose cannon, and he had no right to force anyone to deal with him like this. He needed to be alone.

But Tim wouldn’t have it. “Dean told me Becky left.” Tim’s brow rose as Zach’s jaw ticked. “You two had a scene last night, right?”

“That’s none of your business, Coach.” Zach clenched his fists at his sides. And kept them there.
What the fuck is wrong with you, Pearce?
He loosened his fists, then went to his knapsack, which he’d dropped on a nearby bench. He pulled out a cigarette, groaning when he realized Tim had followed him. The other players had continued the game without them. Fans filled the lot, cheering from the sidelines with players’ wives and kids.

He grunted as Tim took the lighter from his shaky hands to light his cigarette. “Thanks.”

“Did you eat today?”

Zach frowned. Just the thought of food made him feel a little sick. “I had some coffee.”

Tim laughed. “We’d have words if you gave me that answer before a game. What would you say to a sub if they were behaving this way after a scene?”

“Coach, you can go fuck yourself. I’m fine.” Hell, since when did he talk to the coach like that? Tim was the best thing the team had ever had. Zach knew that. But he couldn’t stop lashing out. “Damn it. I didn’t mean that.”

“I know.” Tim shook his head and pulled out his phone. He pointed at the bench. “Sit down. And listen to me. There are benefits to being a switch. We aren’t expected to be perfect—”

“Believe me, I know I’m not perfect.” Zach’s eyes narrowed. “What are you getting at? I shouldn’t be here.”

“This is the best place for you. With your teammates.” Tim gave him a hard look when he opened his mouth to protest. “You would do the same for any one of them, Pearce. I wish I’d figured things out in time to do it for Callahan. Maybe he’d still be here.” He shook his head. “Just shut up and let me help you.”

Zach rolled his shoulders, not sure it mattered one way or another. He wanted to go home, where no one would have to put up with him being a complete asshole. He puffed at his cigarette, feeling the burn deep in his lungs, knowing he’d regret it when the trainers got to him.

Tim gave him a sideways glance as whomever he was calling answered. “The physical conditioner said you couldn’t get out in time to make the game, but we need you.” He paused. “More importantly,
Zach
needs you.”