Face-Off at the Altar
Page 2
He felt like their redheaded stepbrother.
Even though he was black, and they loved him like they loved each other.
According to Mama Sinclair…er…Moore—it was still hard for Markus to remember she had gotten married almost a year ago—he was her fifth baby, and he could never express how much that meant to him. He had always loved the family dynamic the Sinclairs had; he hadn’t had that growing up. He was an only child, and his parents didn’t pay him much mind. It was his grandfather who got him into hockey, but then he passed from cancer when Markus was sixteen.
It was one of the greatest losses he had ever suffered. But to honor his grandfather, he played harder and knew he had to live his dreams for the man who gave him the love of the game. He missed Grandpa Mo. He was a cool dude, funny as hell, and he’d loved Markus. He’d loved him more than his mom and dad put together. If Mo had known that Markus hadn’t talked to them in over a year, that they hadn’t even been there when he was drafted, Mo’d lose it. But he wasn’t, and for the most part, Markus was alone.
Which was another reason he hated Florida.
While Jace was down in Fort Lauderdale, it was still a five-hour drive to see each other. With him having a baby and being the all-star rookie, it was easy to say Markus didn’t see his best friend much. Boy, could he use his friend’s guidance at the moment. Between the drinking and the girls, Markus wasn’t who he wanted to be. He wanted to be something great. He wanted to be respected and loved. The only way that would ever happen was if he got his head out of his ass, played it off, and got to where he wanted.
And maybe along the way, he could find a nice girl. That would be a good thing. He wasn’t one of those guys who was afraid of commitment or anything like that. He wanted to be in a relationship, but it hadn’t happened yet. Everyone he met was only worth a fuck, nothing more, and he hated that. He wanted to value someone; he wanted to grow with someone like his boys had done. But then, the last nice girl he’d found, he fucked over royally.
At that moment, it wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t breathe from the exhaustion that had his stomach clenching and his chest aching. It was something entirely different.
Better yet, someone.
“No wonder no one has been called up in months. This team is a joke. You’re making us look bad, people. Get your shit together. You know what? Hit the fucking showers.”
Letting out a long breath, Markus hung his head low as he followed his teammates off the ice. He needed a change. He had to get out of there. But then, he knew he wouldn’t make it if he couldn’t handle playing here. Not everywhere was ideal. That’s why he had to work. He had to dig in and show who he was and what he wanted.
And what he wanted was to succeed.
He just wished he had a coach who could help with that. Mold him into the player he needed to be in the NHL. He was on his own, and while he was used to it, it was scary. He didn’t want to be one of those players who was lost in the AHL. He wanted to shine. He wanted to do his grandpa proud.
He wanted to feel whole, but he needed to get out of here to do it.
“Why did I get the team of worthless bastards?” Coach Saint mumbled, but everyone heard him, heads dropping even lower.
“Such a douche,” Markus muttered, and Jordan nodded beside him.
“Can’t wait to get out of here.”
“We gotta play good for that to happen,” Mattis said from behind them, and Markus nodded.
He was right, and from now on, Markus was going to do just that. As he skated off the ice, he made a list.
No more drinking.
No more women.
Only hockey.
His one and only true love.
It was a solid plan, one he had no issue with following. He didn’t have any distractions here anyway. He could focus only on working to get to the top. Downtime, he’d read and work out. He could do this. He knew he could.
Or at least, he did for a whole five seconds. But that changed when he heard the click of heels against the solid floor around the ice.
All at once, everyone turned in the direction of the familiar noise.
Because that sound meant one thing: Elli Adler was in the building.
Gorgeous as the day was long, Elli Adler stood taller than she would on bare feet in her four-inch black stiletto heels. Her skirt was almost painted on, stopping right below her breasts in a vibrant shade of purple. Her billowy, sheer black top went down to her wrists, and she wore chunky jewelry Markus was convinced only Elli could pull off. Her lustrous auburn hair was up in a tight bun, and her makeup was perfectly applied. She looked like a million bucks.
One thing was for sure.
The Assassins and the Ninjas had one hell of a hot boss.
“Um, excuse me, Coach Saint,” she said, her voice dripping with a Southern twang as she held up her pointer finger.
Looking back at their owner, Coach stood straighter, moving his hand through his wild blond hair before skating toward the rink door she stood by. “Mrs. Adler, I hadn’t expected you today.”
“I can tell,” she said sharply, her eyes in slits. “I’d like to speak to you, and then to Markus Reeves.” She turned her gaze to where the guys were stopped, her gaze falling on Markus. “When you’re done showering, if you’d please meet us in Coach Saint’s office?”
Markus almost couldn’t find his voice. Blinking, he choked as he cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Um. Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning with ease and heading toward Coach’s office.
No one moved, only watched as her perfect, peach-shaped ass moved from side to side. At that moment, he knew everyone who was watching that ass, himself included, was going straight to hell—and that her husband, Shea Adler, was one lucky man. But when she disappeared down the hall, it was like he was struck in the head as he realized she had been speaking to him.
Crap. She wanted to talk to him.
Shit, was he fired?
Hell, was he moving up?
His heart kicked into overdrive as if he had been skating for nine hours straight, and he started for the showers as someone said, “What does she want Reeves for?”
“He’s been sucking bad.”
Their doubts made him roll his eyes and fueled him to walk faster. No one was supportive at all on the Ninjas, and it drove Markus crazy. If Elli Adler was here for what he hoped she was here for, the Bullies would have razzed him, but they would have lifted him up, been excited for him. But not the Ninjas. Nope, they were all jealous bastards, and he hated them. He wouldn’t let them derail him, though. Wouldn’t let them ruin this for him because he deserved this.
Even though he was black, and they loved him like they loved each other.
According to Mama Sinclair…er…Moore—it was still hard for Markus to remember she had gotten married almost a year ago—he was her fifth baby, and he could never express how much that meant to him. He had always loved the family dynamic the Sinclairs had; he hadn’t had that growing up. He was an only child, and his parents didn’t pay him much mind. It was his grandfather who got him into hockey, but then he passed from cancer when Markus was sixteen.
It was one of the greatest losses he had ever suffered. But to honor his grandfather, he played harder and knew he had to live his dreams for the man who gave him the love of the game. He missed Grandpa Mo. He was a cool dude, funny as hell, and he’d loved Markus. He’d loved him more than his mom and dad put together. If Mo had known that Markus hadn’t talked to them in over a year, that they hadn’t even been there when he was drafted, Mo’d lose it. But he wasn’t, and for the most part, Markus was alone.
Which was another reason he hated Florida.
While Jace was down in Fort Lauderdale, it was still a five-hour drive to see each other. With him having a baby and being the all-star rookie, it was easy to say Markus didn’t see his best friend much. Boy, could he use his friend’s guidance at the moment. Between the drinking and the girls, Markus wasn’t who he wanted to be. He wanted to be something great. He wanted to be respected and loved. The only way that would ever happen was if he got his head out of his ass, played it off, and got to where he wanted.
And maybe along the way, he could find a nice girl. That would be a good thing. He wasn’t one of those guys who was afraid of commitment or anything like that. He wanted to be in a relationship, but it hadn’t happened yet. Everyone he met was only worth a fuck, nothing more, and he hated that. He wanted to value someone; he wanted to grow with someone like his boys had done. But then, the last nice girl he’d found, he fucked over royally.
At that moment, it wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t breathe from the exhaustion that had his stomach clenching and his chest aching. It was something entirely different.
Better yet, someone.
“No wonder no one has been called up in months. This team is a joke. You’re making us look bad, people. Get your shit together. You know what? Hit the fucking showers.”
Letting out a long breath, Markus hung his head low as he followed his teammates off the ice. He needed a change. He had to get out of there. But then, he knew he wouldn’t make it if he couldn’t handle playing here. Not everywhere was ideal. That’s why he had to work. He had to dig in and show who he was and what he wanted.
And what he wanted was to succeed.
He just wished he had a coach who could help with that. Mold him into the player he needed to be in the NHL. He was on his own, and while he was used to it, it was scary. He didn’t want to be one of those players who was lost in the AHL. He wanted to shine. He wanted to do his grandpa proud.
He wanted to feel whole, but he needed to get out of here to do it.
“Why did I get the team of worthless bastards?” Coach Saint mumbled, but everyone heard him, heads dropping even lower.
“Such a douche,” Markus muttered, and Jordan nodded beside him.
“Can’t wait to get out of here.”
“We gotta play good for that to happen,” Mattis said from behind them, and Markus nodded.
He was right, and from now on, Markus was going to do just that. As he skated off the ice, he made a list.
No more drinking.
No more women.
Only hockey.
His one and only true love.
It was a solid plan, one he had no issue with following. He didn’t have any distractions here anyway. He could focus only on working to get to the top. Downtime, he’d read and work out. He could do this. He knew he could.
Or at least, he did for a whole five seconds. But that changed when he heard the click of heels against the solid floor around the ice.
All at once, everyone turned in the direction of the familiar noise.
Because that sound meant one thing: Elli Adler was in the building.
Gorgeous as the day was long, Elli Adler stood taller than she would on bare feet in her four-inch black stiletto heels. Her skirt was almost painted on, stopping right below her breasts in a vibrant shade of purple. Her billowy, sheer black top went down to her wrists, and she wore chunky jewelry Markus was convinced only Elli could pull off. Her lustrous auburn hair was up in a tight bun, and her makeup was perfectly applied. She looked like a million bucks.
One thing was for sure.
The Assassins and the Ninjas had one hell of a hot boss.
“Um, excuse me, Coach Saint,” she said, her voice dripping with a Southern twang as she held up her pointer finger.
Looking back at their owner, Coach stood straighter, moving his hand through his wild blond hair before skating toward the rink door she stood by. “Mrs. Adler, I hadn’t expected you today.”
“I can tell,” she said sharply, her eyes in slits. “I’d like to speak to you, and then to Markus Reeves.” She turned her gaze to where the guys were stopped, her gaze falling on Markus. “When you’re done showering, if you’d please meet us in Coach Saint’s office?”
Markus almost couldn’t find his voice. Blinking, he choked as he cleared his throat, nodding his head. “Um. Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning with ease and heading toward Coach’s office.
No one moved, only watched as her perfect, peach-shaped ass moved from side to side. At that moment, he knew everyone who was watching that ass, himself included, was going straight to hell—and that her husband, Shea Adler, was one lucky man. But when she disappeared down the hall, it was like he was struck in the head as he realized she had been speaking to him.
Crap. She wanted to talk to him.
Shit, was he fired?
Hell, was he moving up?
His heart kicked into overdrive as if he had been skating for nine hours straight, and he started for the showers as someone said, “What does she want Reeves for?”
“He’s been sucking bad.”
Their doubts made him roll his eyes and fueled him to walk faster. No one was supportive at all on the Ninjas, and it drove Markus crazy. If Elli Adler was here for what he hoped she was here for, the Bullies would have razzed him, but they would have lifted him up, been excited for him. But not the Ninjas. Nope, they were all jealous bastards, and he hated them. He wouldn’t let them derail him, though. Wouldn’t let them ruin this for him because he deserved this.
