Playing For Love (The York Bombers, #6) Read online

  PLAYING FOR LOVE

  A York Bombers Hockey Novel

  Book 6

  Lisa B. Kamps

  PLAYING FOR LOVE

  Copyright © 2018 by Elizabeth Belbot Kamps

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the express written permission of the author.

  The York Bombers™ is a fictional semi-professional ice hockey team, its name and logo created for the sole use of the author and covered under protection of trademark.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names, living or dead. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any individual, place, business, or event is purely coincidental.

  Photographer: CJC Photography

  http://www.cjc-photography.com

  Cover Model: Brock Grady

  https://www.instagram.com/brock_gradyy/

  Artwork and Cover Design by Jay Aheer of Simply Defined Art

  http://www.simplydefinedart.com/

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Other titles by this author

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Epilogue

  GAME MISCONDUCT preview

  WINNING HARD preview

  About the author

  Other titles by this author

  For Penny Frank.

  I'm so glad you've become part of my life!

  Other titles by this author:

  THE BALTIMORE BANNERS

  Crossing the Line, Book 1

  Game Over, Book 2

  Blue Ribbon Summer, Book 3

  Body Check, Book 4

  Break Away, Book 5

  Playmaker, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  Delay of Game, Book 6

  Shoot Out, Book 7

  The Baltimore Banners: 1st Period Trilogy

  Books 1-3 Boxed set

  The Baltimore Banners: 2nd Period Trilogy

  Books 4-6 Boxed set

  On Thin Ice, Book 8

  Coach's Challenge, A Baltimore Banners Intermission Novella

  One-Timer, Book 9

  Face Off, Book 10

  First Shot At Love, A Baltimore Banners Short Story

  Game Misconduct, Book 11

  Fighting To Score, Book 12

  Matching Penalties, Book 13

  THE YORK BOMBERS

  Playing The Game, Book 1

  Playing To Win, Book 2

  Playing For Keeps, Book 3

  Playing It Up, Book 4

  Playing It Safe, Book 5

  The York Bombers Boxed Set 1

  Books 1-3

  Playing For Love, Book 6

  Playing His Part, Book 7

  THE CHESAPEAKE BLADES

  Winning Hard, Book 1

  Loving Hard, Book 2

  Playing Hard, Book 3

  FIREHOUSE FOURTEEN

  Once Burned, Book 1

  Playing With Fire, Book 2

  Breaking Protocol, Book 3

  Into the Flames, Book 4

  Second Alarm, Book 5

  Feel The Burn, Book 6

  Coming Soon

  STAND-ALONE TITLES

  Emeralds and Gold: A Treasury of Irish Short Stories (anthology)

  Finding Dr. Right

  Time To Heal

  Dangerous Passion

  Dangerous Heat

  Illicit Affair

  Coming Soon

  Be sure to sign up for Lisa's monthly newsletter, Kamps' Korner, for exciting news, sneak peeks, exclusive content, and fun, games, and giveaways! You don’t want to miss it!

  Can't wait for the newsletter? Need to get your fix of hockey, firefighters, passion and news daily? Then please join Lisa and a great group of readers and fans at Kamps Korner on Facebook!

  Chapter One

  There wouldn't be any do-overs this time around, no matter how much Travis Bankard might wish for one.

  No chance to walk away.

  No chance to change his mind.

  No chance to just say no.

  No chance to go the hell home. Alone.

  Why the hell hadn't he just gone home? If he had just gone home, instead of hanging out with his teammates at Mystic's and listening to Ben's idiotic advice, this wouldn't be happening.

  Travis ran a hand over his face, the two-day stubble scraping his palm. He scrubbed his jaw again, wishing he could scrub away the girl's words just as easily. She stared up at him, her dark eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. Not fear of him—at least, he didn't think so. Hell, he hoped not. Travis didn't have a mean bone in his body, except when he was on the ice. That didn't count though—he played hockey for a living, he was supposed to get physical on the ice.

  But the girl in front of him didn't know that, so maybe some of that fear he saw in her eyes was directed at him. Or because of him. Or something.

  The thought didn't make much sense, but that didn't surprise him. Hell, nothing was making much sense right now. The synapses in his brain weren't firing—at all—and he had no idea what to say. He needed to say something—he knew that much. But what? What the hell did someone say when they'd been unexpectedly blindsided like this?

  He glanced behind him but the only thing there was the heavy wooden door leading into Mystic's. Several of his teammates were inside, having a few drinks to dull the ache of their painful loss of this afternoon's game. He wished Aaron Malone was in there. Aaron would know what to say.

  But Aaron had gone home right after the game, to spend time with his daughters and his girlfriend.

  Was there anyone else he could talk to? Anyone else he could ask for advice on what he should be saying in a situation like this? Their names scrolled through his mind: Zach, Nathan, Kyle. Ben.

  No, definitely not Ben. His advice is what got him into this mess in the first place.

  Harland? Maybe. Harland was a dad, he'd know what to say or do. Except Harland wasn't here, either.

  Travis was on his own.

  He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the chilly December air. It smelled like snow, damp and heavy. Gray, like the low-hanging clouds.

  Or maybe that was just his vision swimming, which made more sense since air didn't have a color.

  He pressed the fingers of one hand against his eyes and took another deep breath, then forced himself to look at the girl in front of him.

  Except she wasn't a girl—she was a woman, only a couple of months younger than he was. She was more than a few inches shorter than him, small and vulnerable. Her head was tilted back as she watched him, her gaze no longer quite meeting his. Long dark hair, thick and slig
htly wavy, framed her pale face. She was thin, almost fragile looking—an impression made even stronger from the way she kept twisting her hands together in front of her. Large brown eyes darted to his, watching him from beneath dark lashes as she chewed on her full lower lip. He remembered those lashes, the way they swept over her eyes. He remembered those lips and the way they tasted of something sweet and fruity.

  "You—" The word came out as little more than a squeak and she cleared her throat, the sound nervous. She twisted her hands together one more time than quickly jammed them into the pockets of her heavy coat. "You don't remember me, do you?"

  Her words shocked him so much that he actually took a step back. Then he shook his head and started to reach for her, let his hand drop at the last minute. Should he touch her? Would that make her feel better? Maybe he should take her small hand in his. Or maybe pat her on the shoulder.

  Or maybe he should just keep his hands to himself. Maybe she'd totally freak if he touched her. She looked like she was ready to bolt at any second as it was. Travis couldn't blame her—he felt a little like bolting himself.

  Except she was waiting for an answer, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. And the longer he took to say something, the more uncomfortable she looked.

  He cleared his own throat and nodded, maybe a little too enthusiastically. "Of course I remember you."

  A sad smile curled the corners of her mouth. "It's okay if you don't. Really. I know it was just a one-night stand."

  "But it—" Travis slammed his mouth closed before he could say wasn't. That would have been nothing more than a lie, one she would have seen right through. Of course, it was a one-night stand. Had he thought of calling her since that night well over a month ago? Yeah, he had. But he hadn't, so telling her that wouldn't help anything. She probably wouldn't believe him anyway. Could he blame her?

  "I do remember you." Travis winced as the words left his mouth. They sounded too forced, too desperate, even to his own ears. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince her.

  The expression in her eyes matched the sad little smile on her face and he knew without asking that she didn't believe him. Which sucked, because he really did remember her.

  The shy way she had come up to him that one night, right here at Mystic's.

  The way her hand had trembled just the slightest bit when she touched his arm and leaned into him.

  The soft touch of her lips against his the first time they kissed. Bashful, uncertain. Tentative.

  And everything else that came later—much later, back at his place, in his bed. The touch of her hands caressing him. The feel of her body beneath his. The soft moans and sighs that echoed in his ear as her climax washed over her. Again and again, as they lost themselves in each other.

  And he especially remembered the next morning, waking up in that same bed.

  Alone.

  Travis jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and focused on a spot just over her shoulder. "You left without saying goodbye."

  He heard her small gasp, the whisper-soft sound nearly lost in the faint strains of music coming from the bar behind him. He looked over at her, saw color fan across her pale cheeks. From the cold, or from embarrassment?

  "I—I didn't think you wanted me to stay."

  Travis shrugged, wondering if she could see the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes. He had wanted her to stay—of course, he had. But he hadn't bothered telling her that, had just thought she'd still be there, curled next to him once morning rolled around.

  Did that make him an even bigger fool? She had been right—it was supposed to be nothing more than a one-night stand. No morning cuddles, no sharing conversation over coffee. According to Ben, he shouldn't have even taken her back to his place. He should have gone to a hotel or motel. Anywhere else except his own place.

  But what the hell did he know about that kind of stuff? One-night stands were Ben's thing, not his.

  The woman in front of him was just one of the many reasons why.

  She reached up and tucked a thick strand of hair behind her delicate ear. Everything about her was delicate: the tiny curve of her ear; the slim fingers of her hand. Ever her willowy frame, currently draped in jeans that were just a little too big and an oversized hooded sweatshirt that threatened to swallow her whole.

  His gaze drifted downward, resting on the waist hidden by the thick pocket of the sweatshirt.

  Yeah, everything about her was delicate.

  Everything.

  She must have noticed the direction of his gaze because she jammed both hands into that thick pocket and took a hasty step back. "I don't expect anything from you."

  That's what she had said when she first told him the news. Not just once, but several times, like she was trying to convince him she was telling the truth. What really sucked—what left a sharp pain in his own gut—was the certainty that she was telling the truth. She really didn't want anything from him.

  "Then why tell me?" The words came out harsher than he intended. Travis considered apologizing for his tone then quickly changed his mind. Being a little harsh was probably expected, could probably even be excused in this situation.

  "I thought you had a right to know. That was all."

  Travis clenched his jaw, felt a muscle jump in his cheek and vaguely wondered why his back teeth weren't cracking under the pressure. He inhaled, forced his jaw to relax, forced himself to relax. Then he nodded, not really looking at her, not really knowing why he was nodding in the first place.

  "Do you know what you're going to do yet?"

  She shook her head, no longer looking at him. "No. Not really."

  Travis nodded again. "Will you, uh, will you let me know what you decide?"

  "Sure. Yeah. Of course." The words tumbled from her mouth so fast, he almost had trouble making sense of them. Then she was stepping off the curb and hurrying across the parking lot, her abrupt departure surprising him.

  He took one step forward then stopped. He should go after her. He wanted to go after her. But she didn't want him. She didn't want anything to do with him. Hadn't she said so herself, at least a few times?

  I don't expect anything from you.

  Travis stood on the sidewalk, watching as she drove through the parking lot. Watching as she made a right into the Sunday evening traffic and finally disappeared from sight. He stood out there a few minutes longer, until the cold air seeping through his clothes became uncomfortable. Then he turned and made his way back into Mystic's, letting the warmth of the bar wash over him.

  Only it wasn't doing any good because he still felt chilled—the kind of chill that went deep into the bones and left you weak and exhausted.

  He made his way back to their usual table in the corner and dropped into his seat. Four sets of eyes stared at him, all of them filled with curiosity. Ben Leach was the one who finally leaned across the table, pinning him with a questioning look.

  "Well? Out with it, Banky. Who was that?"

  Travis reached for the pitcher of beer and poured some into his glass, not caring if any spilled on the table. He should care, though. If he made a mess and didn't clean it up, Zach would give him hell. Or worse, he'd send Haley after him.

  Maybe that would be better. Maybe Haley would smack him upside the head hard enough to knock him unconscious. Give him a concussion. Put him in a coma.

  He took a long swallow of the beer then finally shrugged, not quite able to meet Ben's inquisitive look. "She's just someone I, uh, I saw once."

  "Yeah?" Ben laughed and sat back. "You mean someone you slept with?"

  Heat filled his face and he nodded before taking another long swallow.

  "You go, Banky. I knew you had it in you."

  Laughter erupted around the table, nothing more than good-natured teasing. Only Travis wasn't in the mood for teasing, good-natured or otherwise. He wasn't in the mood for anything, not when his head was still spinning.

  Ben leaned fo
rward again, nudging Travis's arm to get his attention. "Well? What'd she want? Did she come looking for a repeat?"

  "No. No, that wasn't it. She, uh, she just wanted to tell me something, is all."

  "Yeah? Like what?"

  Travis drained the large glass in two long swallows then refilled it. He drained the second glass as well then finally looked around at his teammates, wondering why they were frowning at him.

  Ben leaned even closer, his hand wrapping around Travis's wrist when he tried to refill his glass a third time. "Banky, what the hell? Slow down. What did she tell you?"

  "Nothing. Just, um, just that I'm going to be a dad, is all."

  Chapter Two

  "What the fuck?"

  The startled question came at him from every direction. Loud. Angry. Disbelieving. Travis didn't bother to look at any of his teammates. Looking at them would only make things worse.

  He almost laughed, swallowed it back with another gulp of beer. Laugh? How could he even think of laughing right now? There was nothing funny about this. Nothing amusing. This was...

  Travis didn't know what this was, had no idea what to think. Had no idea what to say or how to act.

  He was going to be a father.

  He reached for the pitcher of beer, tempted to just drink straight from that. Ben snagged it from his hand and pulled it away. Passed it down the table out of his reach. Fine. He'd just go to the bar and get another drink. Maybe something stronger than beer, even though he wasn't much of a drinker. He didn't care. This situation called for something stronger. A lot stronger. Maybe whiskey.

  Yeah. Maybe he should just buy everyone a round. Or three. To celebrate. Isn't that what people did when they heard news like this? Celebrate?

  Except he didn't feel like celebrating. How could he celebrate anything, when all he wanted to do was crawl under the table and hide? To pretend the last thirty minutes had never happened?

  Travis dropped his head into his hands, shoved his fingers through his hair. He was going to be a father.

  Nausea welled in his gut, crept up his throat. Bitter. Acidic. He swallowed it back, forced himself to breathe.