WILD ZONE, A Rough Riders Hockey Novel Read online

  Wild Zone

  A Rough Riders Hockey Novel

  Skye Jordan

  Joan Swan

  With a BONUS book included: RECKLESS, Renegades book one

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Also by Skye Jordan

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Pick up the whole Renegades series here:

  Copyright © 2016 by Skye Jordan

  This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locations are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in encouraging piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Purchase only authorized editions.

  A big thank you to my editor Linda Ingmanson and my proofreader Kim, who is a hockey aficionado.

  1

  This sucked worse than lightning drills. He’d known it would. But knowing it and living it were always different.

  Tate Donovan stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his dress slacks, wishing he were on the ice sprinting a succession of laps between the rink wall and the various blue and red lines until he puked.

  Around him, Tate’s teammates and their girlfriends or wives or dates had gathered at Dock 5 in downtown Washington, DC, to celebrate the engagement of Rough Riders’ captain, Beckett Cross, and his fiancé, Eden. Also spilling into the warehouse-turned-chic urban event space for the formal dinner were loads and loads of Beckett’s family and friends. Eden was estranged from her own family, but the Crosses had taken her in as one of their own, including Beckett’s six-year-old daughter, Lily—also Tate’s goddaughter.

  Lily streaked by in a flash of sparkly purple, making Tate crack his first smile all day.

  Isaac Hendrix, Rough Riders right wing, stepped up next to Tate at the bar and ordered another beer, his head swiveling to watch Lily speed past. “She hasn’t stopped running since Beckett put her down when they walked through the door.”

  Tate managed a laugh, but his chest ached from an invisible stricture known as PTSD. A unique and wicked strain of PTSD—marriage-and-wedding-related stress. But Lily took the edge off. “Man, she’s going to crash tonight.”

  “She’s always been a happy kid, but since Eden and Beckett got together, she’s had an extra spark.”

  Tate felt the blade of a knife in his gut, but he kept his fake smile in place and nodded.

  He’d always hoped he’d be well on his way to fatherhood by now. But here he was, freaking thirty-one and couldn’t drum up the interest to date anyone. At this rate, he was going to be the oldest father in his kid’s class. If he ever got around to having a kid.

  “And speaking of spark,” Hendrix continued, lifting his beer toward a seating area. “Mia and Rafe seem to be lightin’ it up every time I see them.”

  Tate glanced that direction and found his sister sitting on his best friend’s lap, her arms around his neck, her forehead against his. Mia and Rafe, not only Tate’s friend since childhood but also a teammate, had been going strong for almost two months. Tate had hated the idea at first. With time, he’d come around to the realization that they made each other ridiculously happy. And Mia’s love for Rafe had brought her to DC, closer to Tate. But that love was also very new and very strong and, for the time being, very exclusionary, reminding Tate he’d lost his two best friends. After losing his wife.

  None of which, in the big picture, was as big a deal as it felt in the moment—like a bomb ready to implode in his gut. He’d been dealing with everything fine. Until this. Until tonight. The celebration just pulled the ugliness he’d managed to bury back to the surface. And with it came all the pain, all the anger, all the disillusion.

  To snuff the fuse on that bomb, Tate took another deep swallow of liquor and changed the subject.

  “Can you believe this place?” He glanced around at the large round tables covered in white linen tablecloths dotting the unfinished cement floor. Strings of fat, bare bulbs had been hung along the exposed beams. Lush white floral arrangements with ornate light fixtures adorned every table, along with formal dinnerware. “Never imagined they could make a big old warehouse look this good.”

  “Amazing,” Hendrix said. “Hey, you doin’ okay? I know the divorce was hard on you and all.”

  Tate wanted to lie, wanted to tell everyone he was absolutely fine. That he never thought about Lisa fucking other guys in their house, in their bed, while he was on the road getting slammed around on the ice. That he never thought about what those other guys had been doing to his wife when she’d told him she’d been watching the game on television. Or when she’d been talking to Tate on the phone after a game before he fell into a hotel bed, in pain and alone, missing her. Sure as shit never took one hell of a hit to his self-confidence wondering if he fell so short in bed, he’d driven her to find satisfaction elsewhere.

  Before his mind could even veer toward the thought of whether or not he’d fucked her after arriving home right after some other guy had just left their house after fucking her…

  Oh, too late…

  He forced his attention to the family and friends around him. To all the good in his life. To all the people who’d stood by him through the ugly ordeal, and took a deep breath.

  “It’s not fun, but I can’t escape reality. People still get married. Have kids. Move on with life. And I love you guys. I want you all to be happy. I’ll find a way to deal with it.”

  Tate finished his drink. This might work tonight, but it wasn’t going to work for the long haul. And he was going to have to find a way to cope relatively soon, because he’d agreed to be Beckett’s best man, which meant Tate was going to find himself at a damned altar again. The fact that he wasn’t the one getting married didn’t matter. Just the thought made him go light-headed with anxiety.

  He set his glass on the bar. A flash of light caught his eye, and Tate looked toward the entrance. The front of the building was all glass, and as the woman wandered in and out of the lights illuminating the stairs, silver winked through the space.

  Tate didn’t need to look at the woman to know she’d be just as beautiful as all the others here tonight. He was one of only a handful of guys who hadn’t brought a d
ate, which meant there were a lot of puck bunnies in attendance.

  That thought made Tate ask the bartender for more whiskey.

  “Wonder what that’s about.” Hendrix’s comment pulled Tate’s gaze toward the entrance again. Sparkles chatted up the kid they had working security at the door, son of the Rough Riders’ owner.

  Tate scraped a cynical laugh from his throat. “Can’t she see he’s under age? Christ, these women. They’ll hit on anything with two legs that even smells remotely like money.”

  Matthew had a baby face, but at six-foot four and two hundred and twenty pounds with his father’s stony expression, even Tate knew he looked older than his sixteen years.

  “She’s damned hot,” Hendrix said. “Probably lookin’ to crash and score.”

  Tate refocused on the woman. On her light hair, pretty face, the way she filled out that dress. “Probably.”

  Matthew continued to check invitations and allow entry to guests while the woman stood to the side, bending the kid’s ear. But she didn’t look mad. In fact, she was smiling. She almost looked like she was…not flirting, exactly. More like she was teasing him.

  Tate took a sip of his refilled whiskey and scanned the warehouse known as Dock 5, where guests flooded in. He knew almost every face—teammates, coaches, trainers, Beckett’s family and friends, the team owner…

  Arguably, this location held the most important people in Tate’s life, yet he couldn’t have been lonelier. He’d known this season break would be rough—his first since he’d broken up with Lisa—but knowing it and living it were very different. Plain and simple—it sucked donkey balls.

  Another flash of light pulled his gaze back to the door, where people lined the stairs to the entrance and the woman was still bothering Matthew.

  “Poor kid,” Hendrix said. “Bro, get over there and show some of those leadership skills you’re supposed to be honing. Either kick her ass to the curb so Matt can do his job, or paint a bull’s-eye on your forehead. Maybe you could score tonight. I’d do it myself, but I asked one of the Rider Girls to be my plus one, and she’ll be here soon.”

  Tate cut a frown at Isaac. “You’re dating a cheerleader? Which one?”

  “Like you’d know the difference? The only reason you even know they exist is because they annoy the shit out of you. Oh, hey, there she is.” Hendrix straightened from the bar, slapped Tate’s shoulder, and met his gaze. “Put Matt out of his misery and think about tapping some of that. Dude, you need to score.”

  “I don’t need a punk like you telling me I need to score.”

  “Whatever you say, boss.” Hendrix walked toward the entrance, where a pretty brunette wandered in all wide-eyed at the decorated space. Tate took another sip of his whiskey and watched the Rider Girl’s face light up when she saw Hendrix. She lifted to her toes to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug, then pulled back and smiled before she kissed him.

  Heaviness collected beneath Tate’s ribs. He knew he needed some of that. A lot of that, actually. But he was caught between a rock and a hard place right now. He wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. In fact, he’d never had one. For him, sex always included a relationship. And since Lisa, Tate had an aversion to both relationships and women in general.

  One he needed to get over.

  Tate glanced around the warehouse again. Dozens of beautiful women mingled throughout the space. Many were here with a date or spouse, but many were here solo or with family. And every one of them under the age of forty—okay and even a few above—was attractive. The majority of them were beautiful.

  He searched all the women for something to interest him—their looks, their smile, something. But nothing flickered inside. He sighed and glanced toward the front door again. Sparkles was still bugging Matt. Still grinning. She had her hand on the rail, her body loose in a relaxed posture. She said something to Matt, then turned to the couple handing over their invitations, and spoke to them. Now everyone was grinning, including Matt. And with one more comment from Sparkles, they all burst out laughing.

  Curiosity stirred inside Tate.

  The couple stepped inside, and Matt continued taking invitations, but he still didn’t let Sparkles into the party. Now Tate wanted to know the story. And if she was a puck bunny, he wanted to steer her away quietly. Those women were notoriously obnoxious. They’d do just about anything to get attention, and she was working that door hard.

  Tate approached the entrance, stepping aside to let the flow of guests pass as he assessed the woman through the glass. Now, just a few yards away, he had his first good view of her. The fact that she was attractive wasn’t a surprise. Tate hadn’t realized how many gorgeous women existed in the world until he’d gone pro. Now they’d become commonplace, one was almost indistinguishable from another.

  Sparkles wasn’t as petite as she’d looked from a distance. She was on the taller side, at least five foot eight or nine. Her body was long and lean with the kind of curves that made Tate’s mind wander toward thoughts of wrapping his arms around them, feeling her up against him. The skirt of her sequined dress was short, and her tanned, toned legs went on and on, ending with matching sparkling spiked heels strapped to her feet.

  Before his mind could wander again, Tate spotted Jake Tierney strolling across the parking lot toward the steps. This would be interesting. Tierney turned every female head within a five-mile radius. He was also one of the most eligible bachelors in hockey, with one of the fattest paychecks. If Sparkles was a puck bunny, she’d lock on to him instantly. And Tate would know exactly what to do with her.

  As he waited for the two to cross paths, Tate scanned her again and realized she was holding nothing but a cell phone. No wrap. No purse. Where was she hiding her makeup? Her change of clothes for the morning after? Her condoms? Her sex toys?

  Tate offered a hello to one of the Rough Riders’ trainers and his wife while Tierney slipped past the guests in line. But at the door, instead of coming inside, he paused, eyeing Sparkles with interest. He smiled, turning on the charm that made most women swoon, and said hello. Sparkles offered a polite response, but then crossed her arms and paced to the opposite side of the small platform, staring out at the night.

  Tierney gave Matt a shrug and turned into the warehouse, stopping when he saw Tate. “Hey, what’s up?”

  Tate lifted his chin toward the entrance. “She’s been trying to get in, but Matt’s blocking her. I’m gonna find out what her story is.”

  Tierney glanced at her again, and a big smile cut across his face. “Hell, yeah. Get the whole story. That is one prime cut of USDA—”

  “Jake,” Tate said with knock-it-off-already impatience.

  Tierney chuckled. “Just sayin’. Mmm-mmm-mmm. Tasty.” He turned back to Tate, his gaze a little more serious. “Fuckin’ let that halo of yours slip for a change, Saint. Get some, would you? I know women suck sometimes, but you’ve got to take care of yourself.”

  “Shut up.” Tate hated the stupid nickname the guys had been using more and more lately.

  Jake leaned in and gave him a deadly serious “Get. Some. Tonight. Or face an intervention.”

  Before Tate could tell Tierney what to do with his order, his teammate had disappeared into the crowd.

  “Fuckin’ idiot,” Tate muttered, edging toward the door. The early July night air brushed Tate’s face and made him want to take off his suit jacket.

  “Look, I totally get where you’re coming from,” Sparkles’ voice, even and congenial, touched Tate’s ears, “and I’ve got to give you serious kudos for taking your job so seriously, but if I tell my sister I’m going to be somewhere, I’m going to be there…” She trailed off as Matt smiled at another couple, took their invitation, and welcomed them to the party, then continued with “I’m not sure how many ways I can explain this to you…”

  “And I’m not sure how many ways I can explain this to you,” Matt quipped back, more playful than brusque. “No invitation, no entry.” He gave her a shrug. “I’m sor
ry, but if I tell my dad I’m going to do something, I’m going to do it.”

  Tate had never seen this snarky side of Matt, probably because the kid was terribly respectful of authority. Tate braced for the woman’s explosion. Puck bunnies this insistent didn’t go down without a fight.

  “I don’t have an invitation, because my sister called and invited me over the phone.” Her voice remained light and sweet. No attitude. No anger. In fact, she seemed almost overly solicitous and good-natured, considering she wasn’t getting her way. “I’ll let you listen to her voice mail. She’s one of the event planners—”

  “And my mom is the DJ,” Matt quipped back, grinning. “I’ll let you listen to her latest voice mail too.”

  The woman dropped her head back and laughed. She laughed. The sound was light and fun and infectious, and Tate found himself smiling. Felt his chest loosening, his intrigue growing.

  If her sister was the event planner here, then she was also the event planner for his charity banquet in three weeks, because Tate had hired the mother-daughter team on the advice of Beckett’s bride-to-be.

  “You are a-dorable,” she told Matt, amused, “but, really, my sister is expecting me.”

  “Then she really should have left an invitation at the door.”

  The woman heaved a sigh and paced away from Matt. At the balcony railing, she looked out over the city. Her body swayed into a lazy, comfortable stance.

  For a long moment, she just stood there, and for a long moment, Tate just stared. Her dress followed every curve of her body and dipped low in the back, exposing a lot of smooth skin and the sexy curve of her spine. He couldn’t ever remember thinking of a woman’s spine as sexy. But right now, his mind was drumming up fantasies of kissing his way down that spine until it ended, then continuing on…

  Which was when Tate realized miracles did happen, because his cock was tingling with the long-lost desire to rub against soft things.