3

“Excellent. Keep it clean and don’t forget we’ve got a game tomorrow. You get five minutes to knock each other around.” Shero stepped back and motioned them toward one another. “You may begin.”

Cheers from the players that gathered around Oriana and Silver distracted Sloan for a split second. Dominik swung his fist, clipping Sloan in the jaw just hard enough to get his attention. Dark eyes narrowed, Sloan brought his fist up to protect his face and shifted sideways, snapping out a right hook at Dominik’s ribs.

Smoothly blocking, Dominik drove an uppercut into Sloan’s chin. Sloan stumbled a few steps, then returned in full force, each punch solid, but none landing anywhere that could slow Dominik in the least. The man didn’t have the technique to catch Dominik off guard. He blocked fairly well, but he was tiring himself out with each ineffective swing.

Maybe Dominik had misjudged him. He snapped a jab into Sloan’s sternum, then a left hook to Sloan’s face. Kept swinging until Sloan’s back hit the ropes. A sharp command from Shero and Dominik retreated to let Sloan catch his breath. The satisfaction in overpowering the other man was shallow. Without the rules of the ring, Sloan might have had a chance, but he was playing Dominik’s game now.

Blood pumping, his whole body vibrating with energy, Dominik watched Sloan recover and turned as Sloan circled him. He braced when Sloan lunged forward, absorbing the impact and slamming both his fists into Sloan’s sides. He shoved Sloan off and cracked him in the jaw hard enough to end the fight. Sloan fell to the mat, snarled, and bounded to his feet.

Shero blew the whistle. Time was up. He grabbed Dominik’s arm. “Good match! The enforcer takes this round.” He glanced over at Sloan. “Gloves off and shake hands. Show the men how it’s done.”

After removing his gloves, Dominik pulled out his mouthpiece. He met Sloan’s eyes, not sure how he’d take the loss. He held out his hand.

Grinning, Sloan took Dominik’s hand. His grip was solid, not a display of strength, but a genuine handshake. He even laughed as Dominik’s brow furrowed and pulled him in for a rough, backslapping hug. “If I’d wanted to win, I wouldn’t have gotten in the ring with you.”

Dominik snorted. “Fair enough.”

Sloan lowered his voice. “This isn’t the end. We’ll pretend for the guys though. If they think we’ve gotten over our shit, they’ll do the same.”

Jaw hardening, Dominik released Sloan’s hand. He forced a smile as he got out of the ring, but he couldn’t shake the impact of Sloan’s words. There was no reason for them to hang on to the past. He’d moved on. Oriana was Sloan’s now. What more did the man want?

But as Sloan moved over to the refreshment table with Oriana at his side, Dominik hesitated. His mouth was dry and he wanted to grab a bottle of Gatorade, but seeing Oriana touch Sloan’s cheek with concern in her eyes brought a bitter taste to his mouth. He inhaled slowly and went to the pile of white towels on a bench against the wall at the other side of the room.

Something cold touched his back. He cursed and spun around, almost knocking Tyler Vanek, the team’s golden boy, right on his ass.

Vanek held out the bottle of water like a peace offering. Behind him, Raif Zovko, the team’s newest star acquisition, steadied Vanek with a hand on the young man’s shoulder. Zovko was Vanek’s Dom, and one of the few players Dominik considered a friend.

So Dominik took the bottle and grinned at Vanek. “Sorry, kid. Adrenaline has me all edgy.” He uncapped the bottle, gulped half, and then wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You’re not here to fight, are you?”

“Hell no! No one I hate enough to try and punch them, and Chicklet would get pissed if I came home with my face all messed up. And Raif would do bad things to me that would be no fun before I even got home to her, so…” Vanek shrugged, then looked over at Sloan. “Did that really work for you guys? If Callahan hadn’t been there for me in the hospital, I might have considered getting in the ring with him.”

Zovko’s expression shifted from amusement to interest. “If you truly want to be beaten by Callahan, I’m sure it could be arranged, Ty.”

“Umm…no thanks.” Vanek chewed on his bottom lip. “Besides, Chicklet wouldn’t let you—”

“Would you care to make a wager on that?” Zovko smirked when Vanek quickly shook his head, then turned to Dominik. “We are here because Demyan has asked to meet me in the ring.”

“Awesome.” Dominik shook his head and looked over to where Scott Demyan, one of the trio—which included Vanek—that players, and now fans, referred to as the “trouble triplets.” Zovko had dated Demyan’s partner, Zachary Pearce, in the minors. When Zovko joined the team, many had believed he and Pearce were having an affair. The issue was resolved, but apparently Demyan wanted his pound of flesh for his troubles.

Done with his own match, Dominik had planned to go home and chill for the night, but he decided to stay and offer Zovko his support since the man had few friends on the team. Besides, several of the other pairings were worth watching. The reasons for the fights were laughable. Everything from hogging the puck to not paying the fair share on a dinner bill. But unlike Sloan and Dominik, most of the players seemed to be having fun in the ring. Men came out laughing and arranging to go out for a couple of beers.

The last fight was supposed to be Demyan and Zovko, but raised voices on the other side of the crowd cut off Coach Shero’s call to the ring. Ian White, who usually handled the fights on the ice when Dominik wasn’t out there, was staring down Hunt. Both appeared to be growling like two junkyard dogs off their chains. Hell, Dominik must have missed whatever drama had come between the two, but Shero didn’t seem surprised.

Hunt headed for the ring. “Come on, Bruiser. You think you can take me?”

White laughed and followed him. “I know it, kid. Let’s go.”

Climbing out of the ring, Shero cut them off and shook his head. “No. Matches are planned in advance. Yours wasn’t approved.”

“Come on, Coach. We’ve got shi—stuff to work out.” White looked past Hunt, a taunting smile on his lips. “If not, I’m out of here. Wanna go for a beer, Richards?”

Braxton Richards, the youngest player on the team, quickly shook his head. Hunt had taken to looking after the kid, so maybe he thought White was a bad influence? White’s interest in Richards seemed slightly off, though Dominik couldn’t quite put his finger on why. Either way, Richards clearly didn’t like the position he’d found himself in. His eyes were wide and he was pale. Poor boy.

Thankfully, Shawn Pischlar, a solid player and easygoing Dom, was right by his side. Speaking low as he flung his arm around Richards’s shoulders. Whatever he said had Richards ducking his head and laughing.

“Back off, Pisch.” Hunt changed direction and strode up to Richards’s side, looking ready to yank the rookie away from Pischlar. He didn’t seem at all comforted by the way Pischlar moved his arm and stepped back. But he appeared to have forgotten about fighting White.

The two young men walked out. White grunted something at Pischlar before trailing after them.

Pischlar went to the refreshment table to grab an apple.

“Consider this experiment a failure, Callahan.” Shero retrieved his suit jacket from a bench by the ring and shot Zovko and Demyan an apologetic look. “This may have worked for minor issues, but I am beginning to see how easily it could be taken advantage of. Boxing is excellent for conditioning, but I hope the two of you can find a peaceful resolution.”

“I see no reason why not.” Zovko turned to Demyan, holding out his hand. After a brief hesitation, Demyan shook it.

But he didn’t say anything. Simply joined the crowd leaving.

Dominik’s lips thinned as he took in the unease that had been left behind. He hated the idea that the “experiment” had been a complete waste of time. But maybe Sloan was right. Maybe, once the men saw them getting along, they’d be motivated to do the same. With the playoffs on the line, personal shit wasn’t all that important.

He approached the table where Sloan stood with Oriana, Silver, and Ford. Sloan had taken a peach from the fruit bowl. He pulled the large knife from the watermelon platter and used it to slice a small sliver of the peach.

Oriana pressed her teeth into her lush bottom lip, half her attention on her siblings, most on Sloan who licked the peach juice off the knife.

Silver didn’t appear to notice. “Landon will be between the pipes tomorrow. His leg is fine. He had a nasty bruise but no serious damage.”

“That’s good.” Oriana pressed her hand to her cheek, blushing as Sloan slid the blade carefully over the flesh of the peach.

“Oh, get a room. Damn it, Sloan, I think you’re getting Ford off.” Silver tossed her long blond hair over one shoulder and shoved her brother. “Gross.”

“Fuck off, Silver.” Ford folded his arms over his chest, but he was watching the knife as though hypnotized. “Sloan trains Cort. I’m…interested.”

“Mmm. Knife play involves a certain…finesse.” Sloan turned the peach, drawing the blade over it in a way that barely broke the skin. He’d obviously been practicing.

When he and Dominik had played with Oriana together, Sloan had kept to the mental aspect of knives in the bedroom. Dominik shouldn’t be surprised that he’d taken the play to the next level, but he hadn’t let himself think on the kinds of scenes Sloan would be doing with Oriana.

And he didn’t want to start now. Without drawing attention to himself, he moved out the door, prepared to leave. A small, soft hand touched his arm and he took a deep breath. He looked at the hand, long fingers tipped in perfect French-manicured nails, so pale against his dark skin. A large diamond in the engagement ring, not the small diamond in Oriana’s wedding ring.

He met Silver’s eyes.

She studied his face. “Maybe this should wait. Are you—?”

“I’m fine. What is it, Silver?”

“Hanes Brands and Champion have asked you to do a series of commercials. I don’t know if your manager spoke to you, since he told me he wasn’t interested because he thinks they just want a ‘token black man.’ His words.” Her pink-glossed lips thinned and she was all business. “I disagree. You’re the captain of a team about to make the playoffs. And you’re a good-looking man. I don’t appreciate your manager making issues where there are none and—”

“I’ll do it. And I’ll deal with him, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Dominik grinned and gave Silver a hug. He kissed her forehead before letting her go. He still considered her family even though he wasn’t with her sister. “He feeds on drama. Don’t let him get to you.”

“Ford told me to let him handle the man, but fuck that.” She wrinkled her nose. “Sorry, Dean’s asked me to practice speaking in a more ‘professional manner,’ but between dealing with your manager and my brother, I’m at my wits’ end.”

“I’ll let you know if I’m offended. You’re fine, Silver.” Dominik held the door open, pausing in the hall when Silver put her hand on his arm again. “Was there something else?”

“Are you okay? Really?” Silver eased the door shut. The hall was empty, which seemed to encourage her to drop the business persona and talk to him as the young woman who’d know him for years. “You won the fight, but what was the point? There’s no prize and nothing’s changed.”

“I think that was the point, little one. Not for the others, but for me and Sloan.” There was no use holding back and pretending with Silver. So he spoke plainly. “We will get through each and every game, deal with every situation in a way that’s best for the team, but at the end of the day, we aren’t friends. He will go home with your sister, and I’ve accepted that.”

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, that’s good, I guess. But…” She sighed and looked down at her hand on his arm. “Where does that leave you? You aren’t training anyone at the club. You’re not moving on.”