Bear Meets Girl

CHAPTER FIVE

Cella tracked her father down in the busy hallway, the meeting place for teammates and their family or guests before the game began.

“Hey, Daddy.” Decked out for the game except for her stick, skates, and helmet, Cella reached up and hugged her father.

“Hey, kid.” He hugged her, tight. “How are you feelin’?”

Cella leaned back and gazed up at her father. “I’m fine.”

“Good, good. I know it’s hard, but your focus has to be on the game. Remember that.”

“I know, Dad. My focus is always on the game.”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” He patted her shoulder and gave her what she could only term a brave smile. Then he hugged her again. “You know I love you, right? We all love you.”

What the fuck was going on? “Daddy, I know.”

“Good, good.”

Pulling away from her father and wondering when, exactly, he’d lost his mind, Cella asked, “You all set in the suite?”

“Sure. Guys are all here, too. They’re rootin’ for ya.” The “guys” were some of the best shifter players from the East Coast teams’ past. Her father’s friends now. Every few months or so during the season, they’d all come in to watch a game, bullshit about the past, and drink. There was always lots of drinking.

Maybe her father had already put away a few Guinnesses, but Cella didn’t think so. He was just acting ... weird.

“Have a good game, baby.” He kissed her forehead.

“Thanks, Daddy.”

Her father gave her one more brave smile before walking away.

Realizing she couldn’t worry about the craziness of her family right now, Cella turned and took a quick look over the crowd to make sure she wasn’t missing anyone—like an investor—whose ass she could be kissing.

Cella had no moral issues with that sort of thing. It was important sometimes to keep the team getting all the cool extras. And what was a little hand-shaking, fake smiling, happy-go-lucky bullshit spreading if it meant getting those extra soft and fluffy towels in the locker rooms or first-class trips to Hawaii or Rio?

Since there didn’t seem to be anyone tonight who needed a little Cella-attention, she decided to head back to the locker room, but then she caught sight of him.

“Malone.”

Cella barely bit back her roar and glared at Smith standing behind her. “Stop sneaking up on me, hillbilly.”

“Be more alert, Yankee.”

“So everything set?”

“Yep. MacDermot pulled a surveillance team together to work the taxidermist. She said to give ’em a couple of days. What were you just staring at?”

“That bear from earlier. MacDermot’s new partner. The cute one. He’s here.”

Smith followed Cella’s gaze. “Hair’s shorter.”

“It’s known as a haircut. Basic grooming, Smith. You should look into it.”

The She-wolf grinned. “Always so sweet on me, ain’tcha, Malone?”

Cella grabbed Smith’s arm. “Come on.”

“Where?”

“I wanna go torture the bear some more.”

Smith shook her off. “Can’t you do that on your own?”

“Would it kill you to be a girl for just five minutes?”

“What’s my pussy gotta do with anything?”

“Oh, come on!” She glanced back at the bear. “It’ll be fun.”

Cella reached for Smith, but she found nothing but air. And when she turned to look for her, the She-wolf was long gone.

“How does the bitch do that?”

Crush cleared his throat and tried again to speak in actual sentences. “Um ... it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Novikov.” Holy shit. Holy shit! He was talking to Bo Novikov. The Bo Novikov. There was only one player greater than Bo Novikov and he no longer played. But Crush had been following Novikov’s career for years and had been like a little kid when he’d found out Novikov had been picked up by the New York Carnivores. Now Crush didn’t have to worry about paying for those away trips just to get a chance to see Novikov play more than a couple of times a year.

And now ... now Crush was standing in front of the man. Talking. To him.

Holy shit! Holy shit!

“Call him Bo!” Blayne cheered. “Right, honey?”

“I don’t care,” the hybrid sighed.

“What’s wrong?” Blayne asked. “And what happened to your face?” When he didn’t answer, she accused, “You’ve been fighting with Ric again, haven’t you?”

“And there you go taking his side. You never even ask what happened.”

“Did it involve a list?”

Novikov crossed his arms over his chest. “Can I go now?”

“No!” the wolfdog snapped. “You’re going to learn to be nice to your fans if it’s the last thing I make you do. Now be nice to Crush. He’s a polar, too.”

“I’m only half polar,” Novikov reminded her.

“What you are is a mother—”

“Is he supposed to be nice to fans?” Crush, ever the detective, had to ask, barely realizing he was cutting into Blayne’s sentence.

Blayne blinked. “Huh?”

“Well, isn’t he known for not being nice to his fans? So is it fair of us as fans to ask him to be something he’s not?” Crush thought on that a moment before deciding, “No. It’s not fair.”

Looking kind of smug, Bo Novikov gazed down at Blayne.

“You can just get that look off your face, Bo Novikov!” Then Blayne stomped her foot and pointed at Crush. “And you’re not helping me, Crush! And after I got you such a nice haircut!”

“I didn’t know my hair was contingent on the approving or disapproving of your appropriate fan theory treatment.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“In Blayneland,” Novikov explained, “everyone helps everyone and there is respect and love throughout the universe.”

“Really?” Crush asked honestly. “Are there faeries and horses with wings in that universe, too?”

“Yes,” Novikov replied flatly. “There are.”

“You guys!” Blayne whined, sounding just like a cranky six-year-old.

Crush began to laugh, but it faded when Gwen returned to his side with another player. “Lou Crushek, this is my fiancé, Lock MacRyrie.”

The grizzly held his hand out and when Crush did nothing but gape at him, he went ahead and shook Crush’s hand, smiling a little.

“It’s nice to meet you, Detective.”

“You’re the Tank,” Crush finally said.

MacRyrie blinked. “Sorry?”

“That’s what everyone calls you. The Tank.”

The grizzly looked surprised. “I have a nickname?”

“You have a cool nickname,” Blayne corrected, her annoyance from mere seconds ago completely gone. “The coolest!”

“It fits,” Novikov noted, which got him everyone’s attention. “What?”

“Was that a compliment?” MacRyrie asked.

With an eye roll and a sigh, “If it must be to make you feel better.”

Again Crush started to laugh, but the sound—and happiness—died in his throat as she—she!—suddenly appeared in front of Crush. Grinning.

Why was she here? Why? And why could he not shake this feline? Was this how antelopes felt when a cat ran them down? And why was she here ruining what should be one of the greatest nights of his goddamn life?

That was it. That was it ! Never again would he ever have another Jell-O shot. In fact, no more liquor. Ever. Because clearly Crush would never be allowed to live down that one goddamn night—and he blamed the goddamn Jell-O shots!

Letting out a breath, Crush snarled, “You.”

“Baby!” she cried out just before she attacked him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Oh, baby, I’ve missed you!”

“I am not your baby.” He tried to pull her arms off him. “Away, female!”

“Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“No.”

Still wrapped around him like a spider monkey, the feline rested her chin on his chest and asked the small group, “Have you guys met the new man in my life?”

Blayne’s eyes grew wide, her smile huge, and Crush immediately knew he had to stop this.

“I am not the new ... would you get off!”

“He’s shy,” the female felt the need to explain.

“I am not shy. You’re insane.” He finally pried her arms off his body and pushed her back. “Now stop harassing ...” Crush studied her, his heart dropping. “Why ... why are you dressed like that?”

She had on a Carnivore jersey, shoulder pads under that, hockey pants, socks, and shin pads.

“Why do you think I’m dressed like this?”

“Because hell has come to earth?”

She laughed and Novikov said, “You’re such a fan, figured you’d know Bare Knuckles Ma—”

“No!” And the grizzly and the hybrid male snarled a little at his outburst, both pulling their females back from the hysterical polar. “No, no, no, no!”

The feline’s grin was wide and happy. “Come on, baby, don’t be like that.”

“No! You cannot be Bare Knuckles Malone. You cannot be. You”—and he pointed at her with an accusing finger—“cannot be the daughter of the greatest player ever. And you cannot be the most feared enforcer in the league right now. You? No!”

“I’m sensing I should be insulted by that tone.” The feline grinned. “But I’m not! Because I have such a giving and loving nature and you are just so cute. We will have such adorable cubs. And since I’m never home, my little girl”—she raised her hand barely to her waist to illustrate her child’s height—“can raise them.”

“I am not cute and I’m not having kids with you!”

“You guys, you guys.” Blayne slipped between the pair. “There’s no reason to be angry.”

“I’m not angry.” Flinging her arms out and turning in a circle like a little girl, the feline exclaimed, “I’m in love!”

“That’s it.” Crush stepped away. “I’m leaving.”

“You can’t run from our love!”

Crush had almost reached the elevators when Blayne leaped in front of him. “Don’t go, Crush.”

“I can’t stay. The game’s about to start, I need to get to my seat ... I can’t stay.” He reached around Blayne, punching the elevator button. When he leaned back, he realized that the wolfdog was staring up at him. And the more she stared, the sadder she looked.

“What? What’s wrong?”

Then she looked mad. He assumed she was mad at him, but when she grabbed his hand and walked back over to the others, it was the feline who received Blayne’s wrath.

“Why are you being mean?” Blayne demanded.

“I’m not being—”

“Bullshit! I know when a feline’s being mean, and you’re being mean. I don’t like it.”

“Now ask me if I care if you—owww! You bitch!”

Blayne had dropped Crush’s hand to latch on to the feline’s hair, digging her fingers in and twisting.

“Get off me!”

“Excuse us,” Blayne said before she stormed off down the hallway, dragging the feline with her.

Crush watched the pair disappear around a corner; then he looked at Novikov. He knew the man had the same expression Crush did, and they both started off at the same time to follow, but Gwen grabbed their arms. “Don’t get in the middle.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’re not listening to me. Do not get in the middle of this. Trust me.”

“It’s really not that big a deal,” Crush felt the need to explain. “She drives me nuts, but Blayne didn’t have to get so upset about it.”

“Blayne felt she did, so you might as well not get in the middle.” Gwen glanced at him. “Rough couple of days, Crush? Maybe a rough couple of years?”

Crush, feeling uncomfortable, asked, “What are you talking about?”

“Whatever Blayne Thorpe saw, she’s worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why? I mean, life is what it is.”

“Ooooh.” Gwen cringed. “Yeah, if Blayne asks you a similar question, I wouldn’t give that response.”

“Do not give Blayne that response,” Novikov agreed. “Otherwise, she’ll make me adopt you.”

“That would be kind of weird cause I’m older than you.”

“Is that really the only reason you can come up with of why that would be weird?”

Blayne stalked around the corner, the feline following behind, eyes rolling, feet dragging. Stopping between Crush and Gwen, Blayne waited for Malone to reach them, her foot tapping.

Once the feline stood in front of them, she said, “Now what was it you wanted me to say again?”

Blayne went for Malone’s throat, but Novikov caught her first, yanking the swinging, spitting, and screeching wolfdog away.

“Is there anyone,” Crush asked, “that you don’t irritate?”

The feline looked him over, and grinned. “Come on.”

She grabbed his hand, but Crush immediately yanked it back. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going to my seat and forget I ever met you and then I’ll decide whether to sue the makers of delicious Jell-O products or just the MacDermots for using Jell-O in a clearly despicable way.”

“You really are cute, you know?” And for once it didn’t sound like the feline was mocking. “My suggestion is to go after MacDermot and Llewellyn. The Jell-O people are probably a huge conglomerate that will have you tied up in court for years. And I need you to come with me because I’d prefer not to end up on the wrong side of Blayne Thorpe.”

“You already seem to be on the wrong side of Blayne.”

“If I was really on the wrong side of Blayne, I’d be in little consumable pieces for the hyena population. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

“Morally ... I guess not.”

“Morally, huh?”

“Should I get a dictionary so you can look up the meaning?”

Laughing, the feline grabbed his hand and started walking. “According to Blayne,” who was watching them walk by, panting hard, fangs out, “I owe you for being so mean to you. You apparently have a broken heart that needs to be mended.” She glanced back at him. “Just break up with your girlfriend or something?”

“No.”

“Well, she thinks you’re wounded and my tormenting you is beneath me.”

“So you two just met then?”

“I like how your sense of humor comes out when it’s to make fun of me.”

“You need to pick up the step, Malone,” Novikov yelled after her. “We’ve got a game to get to.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

After a few minutes of following along, Crush asked, “So where are we going anyway?”

“You’ll see.”

“If you’re just going to find another way to publicly embarrass me, can we do it at another time? Like after the game?”

“I don’t waste my time embarrassing anyone when I’ve got a game about to start.”

“And why is that?”

“Because embarrassing others is a pastime and pastimes are for after the game. Like video games or going out to clubs.”

“Can you be more cat?”

“Not even if I tried.”

She took him down a small set of stairs to a door manned by a couple of very large security guards. “Hey, guys.”

“Hey, Cella,” one said while opening the door for her.

“He’s with me. This is ...” She stopped, looked at him. “What’s your name?”

“You’re just asking me that?”

“Yes.”

“MacDermot didn’t tell you?”

“She did but”—she shrugged—“it slipped my mind.”

Knowing that if he tried to make a run for it, she’d just hunt him down, Crush decided to just get this insanity over with. “Name’s Lou Crushek.”

“I thought Blayne called you Crush.”

“My friends call me Crush, and since you’re not—”

“Crush it is then.” She yanked him inside the big room with the giant windows overlooking the rink and dragged him until they reached the plush leather seats.

“You’ll watch the game from here.”

Crush took a quick look around. When the Sports Center first opened years ago, Crush had taken what Conway still called “a sports geek tour of the place.” So he knew this room, although he and the other tourists had only been allowed a very quick walkthrough. “But ... but this is the—”

“Owner’s box. Right. And you can sit here. Right by my daddy.”

Crush gawked down at the older tiger male sitting in one of the seats, an open Guinness in his hand. Crush gawked, but he couldn’t speak. No words would come out. So, like an idiot, he just stood there. Gawking.

“Daddy,” Malone said. “This is Lou Crushek, aka Crush. He’s my new boyfriend.” The man blinked in surprise and then grinned. “Crush, honey, this is my daddy, Nice Guy Malone.”

Crush shook his head at the hand held out to him. “I think I ... I need to ...”

Surprisingly soft hands brushed hair off his face. “Oh, baby, you’ve gone all white. Which is kind of amazing considering you’re a polar.”

“He better sit down.”

Father and daughter shoved Crush into a seat.

“What’s wrong with him?” Nice Guy asked.

“He’s a fan, Daddy. I think he’s overwhelmed at meeting you.”

“Good kid,” Nice Guy said before glancing at his daughter and asking, “And he’s single, right?”

“Daddy.”

“Just making sure. Look, you go before you hear about it from Novikov. I’ll take care of the kid.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” She winked at Crush. “And I’ll see you later, handsome.”

And that was about the time that Crush completely freaked out.

Cella was at the door pulling it open when a big hand slammed against it and shoved it back, yanking her forward a bit since she still had her hand on the knob.

“You can’t leave me.”

Startled by the desperation she heard in that voice, she turned around and looked up at the cop. “Of course, I can.”

“No. You can’t leave me.”

“Look at you, already attached. But I play with the Genghis Khan of time management. I have to go.” She pulled at the door again and again it was slammed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, getting exasperated.

“You can’t leave me.”

“You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true. I’ll just go with you.”

“I can’t take you to the locker room until after the game.”

“No, but I can go to the seat I paid for.”

“The seat in the nosebleed section? That’s where Blayne said you were headed. Why would you want to go there?”

“Because I can’t stay here,” he whispered.

“Why not?” she whispered back.

He leaned in closer, and still in a whisper, “Because that’s Nice Guy Malone.”

“I know,” she again whispered back. “I recognize him from all my birthday parties and when I find him inappropriately fondling my mother. Not seeing the problem. Just talk to him.”

“Talk? Talk to him? To Nice Guy Malone?”

Good God, the man was having a panic attack.

“What am I supposed to say to Nice Guy Malone? I mean he’s ... he’s Nice Guy Malone.”

And that’s when she understood. Kind of like if she’d had the chance to sit and chat with John L. Sullivan, one of the last known heavyweight bare-knuckle champions. She’d probably be having a full-on panic attack if she’d met him—partly because the man had died in 1918, but also because he was her hero.

And her father was the hero of this uptight cop that Blayne Thorpe suddenly felt so protective of, which did nothing but make him even cuter than he already was simply because he had excellent taste.

“You have to take me out of here,” the polar begged.

“No.”

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you. I just want to make sure you don’t regret this night for the rest of your life by walking away. Besides, my dad’s a total talker. Mr. Storyteller. All Malone males are. So you won’t have to say a word.” She went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Now balls up and go talk to your lifelong hero.”

Cella shoved and her father was there to grab the polar’s arm. “Come on, kid. I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

“Introduce me?” And she heard his voice crack a little.

“Way cute.” Cella chuckled and headed out, ready to have some fun on the ice.