Vital Blindside (Swift Hat-Trick Trilogy Book 3)

“You sure Scarlett actually wanted to come and didn’t just say yes because you’re her boss?” Banks asks from the passenger seat of my SUV.

He’s smacking a piece of nicotine gum in his mouth even though he knows that’s one of my pet peeves. I’ve wanted to reach over and take it away more than once since I picked him up, and if it weren’t for how hard I know he’s been working to quit smoking, I would have already.

The guy is only four years younger than me, but some days, I swear he behaves worse than Cooper.

“She seemed like she wanted to come when I talked to her this morning,” Brielle chimes in from behind me. She grabs the corner of both front seats and pulls herself between us. “I’m excited to spend some time with her outside of work. She’s not really much of a talker during work hours.”

I chuckle and, per the GPS instructions on my phone, turn down what appears to be Scarlett’s street. “I don’t think it has much to do with work, Brie.”

“We’ll see about that,” Brie retorts. She thrusts her arm forward, pointing at something up ahead. “There! It’s definitely the one with the bird bath by the porch.”

I look at the GPS and nod when she turns out to be right. My pulse quickens with excitement the closer we get to the small yellow house. Scarlett’s mom must be a bird lover if the several birdhouses on the lawn are anything to go by.

“Never understood why birds need baths,” Banks grunts. I glance over to find him reclined in the seat and toying with the rip on the knee of his jeans.

Brielle makes a noise in her throat. “Because unlike you, they take hygiene seriously.”

“Wow, good one,” he replies gruffly. Rolling down the passenger window, he leans over and spits his gum out. “How long have you been holding on to that sizzling burn?”

She pushes back into her seat, and I catch her glaring at the back of Banks’ head from the rear-view window. “Almost as long as it’s been since you’ve gotten laid. That would be what? Months?”

Banks’ laugh is rough, abrupt. “No, sweetheart. Not quite.”

I pull up in front of the yellow brick house at the same time Brielle rolls down her window and all but sticks her head out the window. Ignoring that, I turn to Banks. “I need you to knock it off. Please behave like an adult tonight. I want this to go well.”

“Yeah. You got it,” he replies without hesitation, and I smile gratefully.

Nodding to myself, I smack my hands on my thighs and announce, “I’m going to get her.”

When I get out of the SUV, I shut the door and wipe my sweaty palms off on my shirt. I’m not exactly sure why I’m so nervous. This isn’t a date; it’s not anything like that.

This is me being a friend. And fucking hell. I’ll be damned if this doesn’t turn out to be a fun night for her. It’ll be the first time she’s been to a hockey game since before her injury, and she’ll be away from the crowds in a comfortable environment. Plus, she agreed to come. I didn’t force her. If she didn’t want to, I have no doubt she wouldn’t have told me to fuck right off with my offer. All I did was point out the advantage of coming with us.

With a head-clearing breath, I straighten my shoulders and start up the sidewalk. The strong scent of flowers is instant when I reach the front porch. And once I climb the three steps, I realize why.

Flower pot after flower pot line the front of the porch, the petals vibrant, with not a single dead leaf to be seen, even in the dim light of the setting sun. A small table and two wicker chairs sit in the corner, and several wind chimes hang from the wooden slats above.

It’s clear a lot of care went into this area of the house.

I raise my fist to knock on the front door, but it swings open before I get the chance, revealing a petite woman I recognize as Scarlett’s mother. She’s grinning at me, her green eyes just as piercing as they were the day we met in the flower shop parking lot.

“Oh, Adam. It’s lovely to see you again,” she exclaims while lifting her arms and quickly closing the space between us. I laugh softly when she attempts to wrap me up in her arms.

“Likewise, Amelia. You look lovely.”

She steps back but grabs my hand in hers, squeezing it tight. I frown when her eyes become glassy. Her voice shakes when she says, “Thank you for doing this. You have no idea how much she needed to do this.” Her voice breaks. “Oh, I knew her working for you would be just what she needed.”

I ignore the lump in my throat and squeeze her hand. “Don’t thank me, Amelia. I want to help her any way I can.”

“Before you, she . . . she . . . oh dear.” She trails off, her lips pursed in concentration. “I seem to have forgotten what I was going to say.”

Before I have a chance to let the weight of that fully sink in, Scarlett comes rushing toward us, her red hair flailing around her. I catch her worried eyes from over her mom’s shoulder and try to paint a reassuring smile on my face before she looks away.

“Mom,” she breathes. With a tentative hand on her mom’s shoulder, she slowly, almost nervously, meets my stare and takes in the worry I know is prominent in my expression. She cringes. “You were supposed to come get me if Adam got here while I was taking out the trash.”

Amelia gasps. “I was. I’m so sorry, my darling.”

“I haven’t been here long, Scary Spice. Your mom is good company, anyway,” I rush out, immediately hating the pain in her eyes.

There’s obviously a story here, something she hasn’t opened up to me about yet. Something bad enough to be causing her grief. I want to know what it is so I can fix it, ease her pain.

“Scary Spice?” Amelia echoes with a bright laugh. Scarlett rolls her eyes.

“Don’t start, Mom,” she says.

Her mom shrugs her off. “That is perfect, Adam.”

I wink at Scarlett. “I thought so too.”

Scarlett, clearly not in the mood to be picked on, turns Amelia around to face her. “It’s time for you to say goodbye.”

“Fine, fine, darling,” she sighs, facing me again. “Take care of my girl tonight. I will be watching the game for a glimpse of you two.”

Scarlett groans. I grin.

“Good night, Amelia,” I say and step backward down the first porch step.

Scarlett’s mother waves enthusiastically before she’s pushed inside and led down a hall, disappearing from view. A moment later, Scarlett comes back out, looking only slightly more relaxed.

I watch her lock the front door before turning around and fiddling with the strap of the bag thrown over her shoulder, avoiding looking at me, opting to stare at the wooden slats above us instead. Her mind is clearly somewhere else, and I can’t help but wonder where it’s wound up.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly.

“Yeah.”

I furrow my brows and shove my hands in my pockets to keep from reaching out to soothe her like I want to. “Then look at me. Tell me what’s going on.”

She shakes her head. “Brielle told me we were carpooling tonight. They’re waiting for us, right?”

“They are, but—”

“Please. Let’s just go,” she pleads.

I lean back on my heels and exhale. It goes against every instinct in my body to let this be, to go ahead with our plans when I know she’s hurting. But I told her before I wasn’t the guy that was going to push her, and I have to stay true to that. Even if doing so frustrates me beyond belief.

Softening my features, I nod in acceptance. “Okay, Scarlett. Let’s go.”

A brief flicker of appreciation before she’s a picture of calm and collected. The pain behind her eyes is gone, leaving them guarded. I grit my jaw at how deeply that upsets me when I know it shouldn’t.

I step down the porch stairs and wait for her to join me before we head for my car in silence. We’re so close my shoulder brushes her arm with each step, and the scent of cherry blossoms permeates the air between us. My head is full of white noise, and when I cautiously touch the back of my hand to hers and hold it there, her sharp inhale barely registers.

We don’t look at each other, but our hands stay pressed together until we reach the car.

For the second time in under a minute of play, a whistle blows, and the game pauses. Boos erupt in the arena as the referee calls a tripping penalty against a Warriors player, sending him to join his teammate in the penalty box.

With our team down two players and lacking a decent penalty kill these playoffs, the Vegas Crowns have a good chance at scoring a goal to tie the game. And with only ten minutes left in the third, frustration and anger vibrates in the air.

“That ref is a fucking idiot,” Scarlett hisses from her seat to my left. She has her elbows on her knees, scowling deeply. “Tremblay is a fucking diver if I’ve ever seen one.”

Banks grunts his agreement while I take a greedy gulp of my beer.

“Both refs have been playing with Vegas blinders on all game,” Brielle says. I peer over my shoulder to see her sitting in a similar fashion to Scarlett. Banks is more relaxed in the chair beside her, his legs spread wide enough for one to knock against Brielle’s.

“Tyler’s been insane tonight,” he states, and we all make noises of agreement.

Tyler has been insane tonight. But that’s not out of the ordinary. It’s why he gets paid the kind of money he does and wears an A on his jersey. A strong feeling of pride swells in my chest.

“Let’s see if he can keep the puck out of their zone. He’ll get my praise then,” Scarlett mutters.

My brows jump to my hairline. “This coming from the queen of the Bateman fan club?”

She turns to glare at me. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I tease.

She doesn’t answer me because the ref blows the whistle again, signalling the puck drop. Suddenly, her attention is on the players facing off at the hash marks, her body tense and foot tapping. She slips her plump bottom lip into her mouth and chews on it nervously while watching the action on the rink. I swallow hard when my eyes get stuck there, and blood rushes to my cock.

Fuck.

My eyes are hot on her face, and when she turns to glare at me, visibly annoyed, I still can’t look away. Something on my face must surprise her because before she has the chance to snap at me for staring, she’s closing her mouth and turning a subtle shade of pink.

A tightness builds in my chest as the distance between us becomes a problem. I want to grab her and put her in my lap just so I can feel her body against mine. The thought hits hard enough to visibly rattle me.

With a sharp inhale, I get up on shaky legs and head for the bar behind our box. I need something way stronger than beer right now if I’m going to make it through the rest of this game.

I yank back the heavy red curtain separating our box from the private dining room we had dinner in a couple of hours ago and step out. There’s no line at the bar, which isn’t unusual. Not during the last period of a close game.

A young guy with slicked-back blond hair is behind the bar, his back to me, eyes on the TV on the wall that’s showing the game. I catch the arm of the ref shooting into the air before an offside call against the Warriors is made. The corner of the bartender’s mouth tips up.

“Crowns fan?” I ask him as I lean my forearms on the marble bar top and tap my knuckles against it. He spins around, raising two thin blond brows at me. “Whiskey neat, please.”

He nods and collects a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from a glass shelf behind the bar. “That obvious?”

“It was either that, or you just have no idea what an offside call is. If you did, you wouldn’t be smiling.”

“Busted.” He laughs and pinches the neckline of his Warrior’s T-shirt. “Wearing this shirt makes my skin itch.” Setting a glass on the bar, he fills it with two fingers of whiskey and pushes it to me.

“Thank you.” The glass is smooth in my palm as I grab it and bring it to my lips, collecting a heavy mouthful before swallowing. My stomach warms as it settles.

“I always took you as a vodka kind of guy,” a smoky voice says behind me. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I could swear there’s a teasing tone to the words.

I set the glass back down but don’t face Scarlett when she settles beside me. Her closeness startles me, and I swallow hard.

“I’ll have the same as him, please,” she tells the bartender. I can sense the second her attention falls back on me by the sudden rise in temperature around us. “You missed Tyler’s blocked shot. Hit him on the side of his foot.”

“Is he okay?”

The bartender slides a glass toward her, and she hums. “Yeah. He was still out there when I came to find you.”

“I didn’t go far,” I say.

A pause and a slow exhale. “Why did you go in the first place?”

I tap my fingernail against my glass. Telling her that it was her that spooked me isn’t really an option right now. Even if I wasn’t her boss, it wouldn’t be appropriate. Right?

My beard is rough against my skin as I scratch my jaw. I’m so clueless when it comes to women now it’s embarrassing. The last date I went on was when Cooper was six, and it was a complete disaster.

Not that I shouldn’t have known better than to use a dating app to try and find a genuine date, because really, I should have. But at the time, it seemed like the easiest way to dip my toe back into the dating pool.

I haven’t dated since that app nightmare, and not because I’m not interested in it, but because I have Cooper to think about now. Introducing him to anyone, knowing there’s a chance that we—or specifically Cooper—could lose that person later on after a strong relationship is formed terrifies me.

Not to mention that even finding someone who is not only open to the idea of my son but also being with a man as career focused as I am has been an impossible feat.

Annoyance pinches my stomach. I used to be on the receiving end of a lot of female attention, to the point I wouldn’t spend more than a night with an empty bed if I didn’t want to. And I know I haven’t completely lost my knowledge of sexual chemistry and attraction because I feel it with Scarlett. I know I do. It’s strong, hard to ignore. But that’s not where this—whatever this is—between Scarlett and me can go. There have been no clear boundaries set, but maybe there should be.

She might be completely out of reach, but my body doesn’t seem to care. And that’s dangerous.

“I had to take a phone call,” I blurt out. My voice is strained, and from the way Scarlett scoffs, I know she doesn’t believe me.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her tipping her glass back and downing her drink. “Right. I’ll let you get back to that, then.”

I’m taken aback when I reach out for her and grab her wrist, stopping her when she tries to walk away. She swings her head in my direction, and our eyes collide. “Don’t go back yet.”

She presses her lips together, looking torn. Desperation floods my system and pushes me to get her to stay. I brush my thumb over the skin of her wrist and smile softly.

“Have another drink with me. A real drink. The other two will be fine alone.”

“Fine,” she agrees. I release a breath. “But a quick one. I don’t want to watch the final minutes of the game on a tiny screen.”

“You have my word.” With a nod, I order her another drink and finish mine off. When I push my empty glass away, her eyes catch the motion.

“You’re going to make me drink alone?”

I smirk. “Don’t be a bad influence, Scary Spice. I drove us here.”

“Banks hasn’t been drinking,” she states, cocking a brow.

“He would have my car wrapped around a tree if I let him drive. Sober or not.”

“He’s that bad?”

“He totalled his last car two weeks after driving it off the dealership lot.” I chuckle.

She chews on that for a second before saying, “Yeah, I can believe that.”

“In any case, I’m not a big drinker. Half a beer and a whiskey is good enough for me,” I admit.

Alcohol used to be a coping mechanism when I was younger and not one I would particularly recommend to anyone.

Scarlett eyes me inquisitively, like she knows there’s more to what I’m saying and wants to find out for herself what I’m hiding. It’s surprising seeing her take an interest in me like this.

“I’m not a drinker either,” she says, dropping her eyes to her glass as she swirls the amber liquid around. There’s a sadness in her voice that scrapes my insides.

I watch her openly, greedy for more information, but she clears her throat and focuses on the game on the TV ahead of us, shutting me out.

With a nervous swallow, I say, “I meant to tell you earlier, but it’s great that you’re here. Hockey is your passion; it’s not fair for you to punish yourself by avoiding it.”

For a moment, I worry if that was the entirely wrong thing to say, but when she turns to me with a small smile, I know it wasn’t. My chest swells at the beauty of it, and I become determined to see not only more of those smiles but the full-fledged ones I know will have the power to steal my breath away.