Crashed by Elise Faber

Chapter Five

Fanny

“Now again,but on the inside edge.”

Groans abounded.

Laughing, she rubbed her hands together gleefully, channeling her inner villain, before waving the guys off to get started on the drills. Her time with the team in group settings like this would be winding down as the Gold focused more on hockey than on exploiting fundamentals, even if skating was probably the most important fundamental out there.

Stupid hockey players thought things like stick handling and shooting were important.

Meh.

If they couldn’t skate, they couldn’t play.

At least, that’s what she liked to tell herself.

It inflated her grand sense of self and gave her a nice ego stroking at the same time. Win-win. At least for her.

Grinning, she skated up to Kaydon before he could take off with his group, indicating the boards with a tilt of her head.

He followed her over.

“You’re favoring your knee again,” she said quietly.

Caramel eyes met hers, a muscle in Kaydon’s brutally defined jaw clenched. But he didn’t say anything.

“Want to tell me why?” she asked.

His nostrils flared. “It’s fine.”

She slanted a glance over her shoulder, saw that the guys were progressing with the drill rapidly, and knew that if she wanted to keep this private and between her and Kay, then she’d need to have the discussion quickly. “It’s not fine,” she told him, “and if you don’t want me to pull rank, you’re going to tell me what’s going on with your knee.”

His eyes narrowed. His shoulders rose and fell on a breath. “I pushed it during my workout yesterday. Nothing is injured. It’s just sore.”

Fanny studied him closely. “Hit the showers. Check in with Mandy before you leave. Then come and see me the day after tomorrow. We’ll work through the sore properly.”

He opened his mouth.

“Kay,” she said, placing a hand on his—or over his glove, anyway, “you’re on the Gold, now. That means that you’re not just a player or an asset. You’re part of our family, and we take care of our family.” She patted lightly. “It won’t help anyone, least of all you, if you push your recovery so much that you can’t play. We want you with us, but we don’t want you to kill yourself getting there.”

His lips pressed flat. “Right.”

She’d heard rumors of the team he’d played with before, the drama and bullshit in the locker room, between the board and the players, the way everyone had turned on each other. Kay was new here, and she understood that he wouldn’t necessarily believe the fluffy-puppy-dog-everything-is-rainbows approach that the Gold organization took. She hadn’t at first. Until she’d legitimately seen that management cared for the players and made decisions based on their well-being and not how much they could squeeze out of them.

It would take Kaydon time to believe that.

But she wasn’t going to let him fuck up his recovery until then.

“Do I need to pull rank?” she asked archly, when he didn’t respond. “Either that or I can add some Elephants”—his most hated drill—“when you meet me.”

Finally, his eyes seemed to melt, to soften, and one side of his lush mouth tipped up. “Ethan is right. You really are a monster in a tiny, sparkly package.”

She grinned, swept a hand over the—yes, sparkly—logo on the custom shirt Brit had made for her. It went with her earrings (glittery pineapples today) and the bedazzled gloves that she wore. A woman had to take her happiness where she could find it, and sometimes that meant sparkles. Other times it meant wine and horror movies. Po-tay-toe. Po-tah-toe. She watched the guys finishing up and skating over to her one by one, knowing they could hear her. “It’s good you know my inner colors. It’ll save me the trouble of breaking your spirit later.”

Kaydon scowled, though his eyes were dancing. “Like taming a horse?”

She considered that. “Or convincing a scared little kitten to come out from beneath the couch so I can pet him.”

Silence.

Then the guys started busting up. Even Kay shook his head and smiled.

“So, Kitten,” she teased. “You going to follow my orders?”

Max nudged Coop, who grinned and nudged Blane, who started to nudge Brit, but she sidled away, hissing, “Yeah, I heard. I don’t need the elbow.”

“Heard what?” Ethan asked.

“Kitten,” Logan said, shoving back a hunk of brown hair that had slipped beneath his helmet.

Ethan’s smile was slow and sexy and predatory. “Kitten,” he agreed.

Fanny winced, glanced up at Kay. “Sorry?” Her voice pitched up on the end, making it more question than statement, and her apology was further ruined when she couldn’t stop the laughter from bubbling up her throat.

“Monster,” he repeated. But his lips were twitching, and he nudged her hip with his. “See you in two days?”

She nodded.

Kay headed for the door that led off the ice.

“Bye, Kitten,” Max called.

The guys cackled.

Fanny winced again, though she couldn’t stop her laughter again when Kaydon flipped them all off, his fingers looking like giant . . . marshmallows? No, that wasn’t right. But anyway, it looked a little strange to be receiving the bird that was wrapped up in a bulky hockey glove.

“All right, you punks,” she told them. “Because of you torturing poor Kaydon, I’m going to torture you all.” She gave them a beatific smile in response to their moaning.

“You came up with the name,” Max muttered.

“Just because we’re going to keep using it,” Coop added.

“Doesn’t mean you need to torture us,” Blane finished.

“Torture away!” Brit said.

The guys had been nodding in agreement. Until Brit.

Then they scowled. And Fanny rubbed her hands together again. “Okay, here’s my proposition. I either give you all one more drill or . . .” She deliberately trailed off, almost laughing again when they all leaned in. “Or,” she said again, even slower, “Brit takes you on a run.”

“Run!” Brit shouted.

“Skate,” everyone else yelled. Mainly because no matter how much they complained about Fanny’s “torture,” Brit taking them all on a run was the worst form of punishment they could imagine.

“Hmm.” Fanny tapped a finger to her lips. “I think I heard run.”

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

She grinned.

“All right. Fine. Umbrella. Three times on both feet”—Ethan slumped and Brit pouted—“and then our last group session of the preseason will be complete.”

Whoops went up.

“Rude,” she teased. “Maybe I need to schedule extra one-on-ones?”

Coop tugged her ponytail as he skated by. “You are small and shiny but equally as feisty.”

“And mighty,” Max added.

“And evil.” Ethan.

“That doesn’t rhyme,” Max grumbled.

“Then evil-y,” Ethan said. “Better?”

Max nodded. “Yup.”

Shaking her head, Fanny skated to the boards, blew her whistle, and then focused her attention on the guys as they moved through the drill, making note on her clipboard of a few things some of the guys had to work on. But they were looking pretty damned good.

Not to pat herself on the back.

But . . . she patted herself on the back.

This was going to be a good season. She could feel it in her sparkly, evil bones.

The guys had clearedthe ice, snagging the cones and tires she’d used during the session.

They were neater than the kids.

Or perhaps, better trained.

Or perhaps not, she realized just before she stepped off the rink, spying a small tire that had been left behind in the shuffle. Smothering a grin, she skated to the corner, scooped it up, and moved to the opposite side of the ice, where there was a storage unit for equipment.

She’d just tossed the tire inside when her nape prickled.

She looked up, and it was like some inner detector knew who it was and where he was. Where Brandon was.

By her skate bag.

Probably because he knew she would be trapped, would have to take off her skates at some point. She couldn’t exactly drive home in them now, could she? Plus, she’d fuck up her edges.

He shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable.

The feeling was mutual.

But he didn’t move away, even as she girded her loins and walked over to him. “Brandon,” she said, proud that her voice was neutral. She’d meant what she’d told him the night before. She had forgiven him long ago, but that forgiveness didn’t mean they could go back.

She couldn’t welcome him back into her life. Couldn’t risk it.

“Hey, Fan,” he said softly, his voice sliding over her skin and making her shiver.

No. That was the cold air of the rink making her shiver. Not Brandon, nor his slightly raspy, all-too-sexy voice.

“I—” She broke off, cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

He held up a manila envelope. “Just had some paperwork for Kaydon.”

Her brows drew together. “For Kay? Why?”

Brandon’s brown eyes were warm on hers. “I’m his agent.”

Surprise trickled through her, and yet she knew that it wasn’t warranted. He’d gone to school for sports management, teasing that she would be his first client. Those plans had been derailed by the discovery of his cancer returning and his surgery, but of course, he’d found his way back to it.

And to me, her mind whispered.

Swallowing hard against the panic, and maybe the slightest bit of longing that thought invoked, she smiled. “That’s great,” she said, reaching out and squeezing his arm before she could stop herself. Sparks shot up her fingers, warmth coiling in her abdomen. “I’m so happy for you. Do you work for Prestige then?” she asked, knowing they represented a good chunk of the Gold roster.

Brandon nodded. “I brought my clients over and joined with them when I moved out here.”

Speaking of which . . . why had he moved out here?

Was it for her? Or some other reason. Or—

“I didn’t,” he said quietly. “If I’d known where you were involved with the Gold, I would have come for sure. But I didn’t.”

Fanny’s lungs seized. He would have come?

“Right after Kaydon was picked up by the Gold, I ended up running into Devon Scott at a conference. He wined and dined me”—a grin—“and convinced me to move over to Prestige. Luckily, my clients all saw it as a net benefit, so I’m pretty much doing the same thing I was before, just in a nicer office and in a better climate.”

Her lips twitched. “No more snowy winters.”

“Exactly.”

Quiet descended, or at least it descended between them. The rink around them was noisy. The sound of the Zamboni cutting the ice echoing through the space, along with that of the kids who’d gathered on the opposite side, who were getting ready for practice. God, she loved this space. The noise, the smell, the cool air. Lucky for her, she supposed, considering she spent the majority of her time here, either with the guys or with her classes and clinics.

His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and she bit her lip. “I should let you go. Kaydon should be in the training suite—”

“Is he okay?” Brandon asked, concern whipping across his face.

“He’s fine.” She squeezed his hand again. “I noticed he was favoring that knee again, and he told me he just overdid it at a workout. I strong-armed”—a shrug when he glanced up at her—“or well, I strongly encouraged him to see Mandy.”

“I’d wondered why he headed off early.”

“You watched the session?”

He rocked back on his heels, studying her face, something flashing across his eyes that she couldn’t decipher. “You’re really good with them.”

She inhaled, warmth blossoming in her stomach, spreading out to her fingertips. “They’re good guys.”

A nod.

More quiet.

Then he reached for her.

And for a moment, she didn’t know what she wanted—to lean in and let him touch, to skitter back and run like her hair was on fire, to . . .

He held up a notebook.

Oh. Oh. He wasn’t reaching for her. He was . . . trying to give her something.

Right.

“My mom,” he said, and she immediately stepped back. That hurt, too. Because Brandon’s mom had been wonderful. Sweet and funny and loving. Fanny’s own parents were fine, albeit more than a little detached. She knew that they cared about her, but her parents were also very into their own lives. Her mom had a busy career, even now that she’d reached retirement age, and her dad had always been more interested in building his cars than her.

Skating and glittering skating outfits, new laces and music for routines hadn’t appealed to him.

Nor to her mom.

They’d thrown money at Fanny’s hobby, and that had been more than lots of other people had, so Fan knew she was lucky. It was just . . . she had traveled more with Sandy, her coach, than her own parents.

Until she’d gotten together with Brandon.

Then his parents had come to every competition they could, sitting beside Brandon in the stands. She’d had a support system she hadn’t ever expected to have, and she really missed Grace. And Jeff. Brandon’s dad had been a good guy, too.

She remembered one time when he’d helped Sandy track down permission to a piece of music so Fanny could use it for her long program.

Her own parents would have just told her—had just told her—to pick another song.

So the hole after losing Brandon had been big and threefold. It hadn’t felt right to keep in contact when he was trying to build a life with Angela. And, if she was being truthful, it would have been too painful to talk with them, knowing that Brandon was a subject they couldn’t broach.

Or at least, couldn’t broach without it hurting too damned much.

“My mom,” he said again, not moving toward her, but still holding up the little black book, “wrote in this. I think she meant for you to have it.”

“Brandon,” Fanny began. “I can’t. That belongs to you.” She swallowed. “You should keep it, especially—”

“I want you to take it. You should—”

“All good, Fanny?”

Jumping, she glanced over to see that Dani had walked up, suspicion drawing the lines of her face into sharp relief.

“I’m good,” she said and straightened her shoulders, lifting her chin, her tone going almost brusquely professional. “This is Brandon, my ex. It turns out he’s Kaydon’s agent and is working for Prestige Media Group.”

Dani’s brows climbed up her face. “Hi, Brandon.” Her tone was icy.

“It’s nice to meet you, Dani. I’d like to apologize for my behavior last night.” His gaze came to Fanny’s, voice gentling and eliminating all that brusque professional distance in a heartbeat. “To you, as well. I was out of line showing up like that.”

She nodded. “It’s okay.”

Dani huffed and narrowed her eyes, none of the shy woman who’d she’d been before Ethan. There was fire in her that was no longer banked, and it was fucking fabulous to see. “It’s not okay,” she snapped. “You don’t just show up being all combative. You call first, and if Fanny wants to see you, then you come.” More eye narrowing, this time accompanied by some poking in the chest—Brandon’s chest. “And you definitely leave the asshole attitude at home.”

Fanny clasped her friend’s hand, tugged her back, fighting a smile.

Because this was her shy, uncomfortable in social situations friend. This was Dani who was so damned quiet and jumpy until Ethan, until . . . herself. Because her transformation wasn’t all because of another person. It was from Dani herself. She’d fought hard to get beyond her insecurities, had embraced the wealth of strength inside her heart and soul.

Ethan had just been the whipped cream and cherry—or perhaps, the push to take that first step.

“I promise I will leave the asshole at home,” Brandon said, and though his tone was even, his eyes had mirth creeping in on their edges.

It didn’t escape Fanny’s notice that he hadn’t promised to stay away or call first.

Just to leave the asshole at home.

Hmm.

“Good.” Dani turned to Fanny. “Can I talk to you privately?”

“I—” Her gaze flicked to Brandon’s.

“Go ahead,” he said. “I need to go speak to Kay, anyway.” He sucked in a breath, released it. “I’ll . . . see you around sometime.”

He turned away, and Dani drew her to the side. “Seriously, are you okay? Why is he here, and . . .” She began peppering Fanny with questions.

Questions which she deflected.

With promises to confess all soon.

Thankfully, that was enough to satisfy her friend for the moment, so the topic turned to the charity raffle and everything that was going to go into it. There were a lot of moving parts, and it would be a good event, but it was also big and complicated, so by the time she said goodbye to Dani and sat down to take off her skates, a fair amount of time had passed.

Enough time, she realized as she unzipped her skating bag, for Brandon to have performed a little bit of mischief.

The notebook was tucked inside.

The man was nowhere to be seen.

But the mischief was better than the asshole.

And Fanny had learned to take her victories where she could find them.