Charging (Gold Hockey Book 10) Read online

  Charging

  Gold Hockey #10

  Elise Faber

  CHARGING

  BY ELISE FABER

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  CHARGING

  Copyright © 2020 Elise Faber

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-92-0

  Ebook ISBN-13: 978-1-946140-91-3

  Cover Art by Jena Brignola

  Contents

  Gold Hockey Series

  Gold Cast of Characters

  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

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  Epilogue

  Baltimore Breakers

  Caged

  Gold Hockey Series

  Gold Hockey

  Also by Elise Faber

  About the Author

  Gold Hockey Series

  Blocked

  Backhand

  Boarding

  Benched

  Breakaway

  Breakout

  Checked

  Coasting

  Centered

  Charging

  Caged

  Gold Cast of Characters

  Heroes and Heroines:

  Brit Plantain (Blocked) — first female goalie in the NHL, loves boy bands

  Stefan Barie (Blocked) — captain of the Gold

  Sara Jetty (Backhand) — artist and figure skater

  Mike Stewart (Backhand) —defenseman for the Gold, romance guru

  Blane Hart (Boarding) — center for the Gold, number 22

  Mandy Shallows (Boarding) — trainer and physical therapist

  Max Montgomery (Benched) — defensemen for the Gold, giant nerd

  Angelica Shallows (Benched) — engineer at RoboTech, also a giant nerd

  Blue Anderson (Breakaway) — top forward in the league and for the Gold

  Anna Hayes (Breakaway) — Max’s former nanny, no relation to Kevin Hayes

  Rebecca Stravokraus (Breakout) — Gold publicist, makes killer brownies, known at PR-Rebecca

  Kevin Hayes (Breakout) — forward for the Gold, no relation to Anna Hayes

  Rebecca Hallbright (Checked) — nutritionist for the Gold, plethora of delicious vegan recipes, known as Nutrionist-Rebecca

  Gabe Carter (Checked) — doctor, head trainer for the Gold

  Calle Stevens (Coasting) — assistant coach for the Gold, former national team member

  Coop Armstrong (Coasting) — talented forward on the Gold, addicted to historical romance audiobooks

  Mia Caldwell (Centered) — 5th degree black belt, brings the snark

  Liam Williamson (Centered) — Gold forward finding his love for the game, charming and pushy in equal measures

  Charlotte Harris (Charging) — new Gold GM, hates losing and the game Chubby Bunny

  Logan Walker (Charging) — defensemen for the Gold, skills include: cockiness and being able to buy presents that make Charlotte squirm

  Devon Scott (Block & Tackle) — former player, current owner Prestige Media group

  Becca Scott (Block & Tackle) — Devon’s assistant

  Additional Characters:

  Bernard — head coach

  Richie — equipment manager

  Dan Plantain — Brit’s brother

  Diane Barie — Stefan’s mom

  Pierre Barie — Stefan’s dad, owner of the Gold

  Spence — former goalie, married to Monique, daughter Mirabel

  Monique — married to Spence, former model

  Mirabel — daughter of Spence and Monique

  Mitch — Sara’s boss

  Allison and Sean — Blane’s parents

  Pascal — Devon Scott’s security lead

  Roger Shallows — Mandy’s dad

  Grant and Megan — Devon’s parents

  One

  Charlotte

  “Damn,” she muttered, sitting down at her computer and slipping off her heels.

  They’d lost.

  Her first year as General Manager, and she hadn’t been able to get the job done.

  She made a show of checking her emails, of sending a few notes to their big sponsors and to the board, thanking them for their support of the team and for a good season, but in reality, all she could think was that she’d lost.

  Fuck, she hated losing.

  Had hated it from the first time she’d lost the Chubby Bunny contest when she’d been a Daisy at Girl Scout camp.

  She still hated it.

  Hell, she’d picked a career whose main focus was building an organization that could win as much as possible, that’s how much she hated losing.

  What she hated even more?

  Being the only female GM in the league and losing in the second round of the playoffs.

  God, was it too much to ask for the Cup, just one more time?

  Probably.

  She sighed. The Gold had won the previous season, and again two years before that. Two championships in four years was still a hell of a record.

  It just . . . wasn’t her record.

  “Fuck,” she muttered, shutting down her computer. She’d left the locker room long ago, after thanking the players for their hard work, letting them know she was so proud of them. It would take some time for the sting of the loss to fade, but they were a good group. They would be fine. After seeing to the team, she had stopped to see the training staff and the support team, reiterating their importance to the organization. Then she’d stayed in her office, the door open for hours, open and available for anyone who had needed a quick word.

  And there had been a lot of them.

  But that was her job. To keep all the moving pieces moving, to make sure no balls were dropped. To ensure that everyone felt valued and supported, even during the tough times.

  Though emotionally taxing, she loved her job, even on nights like tonight.

  Still, she was tired, and the revolving door of players and staff had trickled off. The arena had grown quiet, its halls empty.

  Time to go.

  Sighing, she shoved her feet back into her heels. Since that was basically akin to torture after wearing them all day, she was not thrilled when the knock came at the door, but she still called, “Come in,” while continuing to pack her bag.

  If only she’d known who was on the other side.

  Unfortunately, her superpowers didn’t extend to X-ray vision and seeing through walls—which meant when the man opened the door a
nd pushed inside her office, Charlotte didn’t have the chance to gird her loins.

  Like she’d been doing all season.

  Because—also unfortunately—she’d made the decision early on in her tenure to bring Logan Walker to the Gold. He was ferociously talented at defense. Big and strong and fast, he’d made an excellent replacement for Stefan Barie this season.

  He was also her ex.

  And just being in the same room with him had her body remembering exactly why he’d become her ex.

  Cocky smile.

  Sexy body.

  Flaming chemistry.

  But not ready to settle down.

  As one might expect, take a young Charlotte Harris, add in one cocky, sexy, scorching Logan Walker, and the result had been a broken heart.

  Not just broken. Shattered.

  The pieces scattered to the four corners of the earth.

  In case anyone was wondering, young intern meets rookie hockey player did not make for a happy ending.

  But that was fine. It was better. She’d gotten tougher and stronger, and she’d promised herself that she would never let anyone in that deeply again, never allow herself to be as vulnerable.

  “I knew you’d be like this,” he said. And fuck if that gruff voice didn’t send a shiver down her spine.

  She ignored him, continued packing her computer bag. He’d get to the point, or he wouldn’t, and she’d keep doing what she did best. Putting her head down and charging forward.

  “Always hate losing.”

  His voice was closer now, but she still didn’t look up, even though the spicy scent of his aftershave was drifting through the air, tickling her nose, making her fingers clench on her bag.

  No.

  Ignoring him and his sexy body, his sexy voice, his sexy scent, she packed a bunch of shit she didn’t need, all so she didn’t have to look at him.

  She reached for a pad of sticky notes—

  Warm, calloused hands on hers.

  “You don’t need a sixth pad,” he said, that voice curling over her shoulders, sending heat between her thighs.

  She jerked away. “You don’t know what I need,” she snapped.

  A sigh. A hip resting on her desk. “Why did you pick me up, Char?”

  Charlotte swallowed, zipped her bag closed—with the sixth pad of sticky notes, thank her very much—and forced herself to meet his gaze. “You were the best man for the position. We needed solid D. You brought it.”

  Green eyes, such a rich emerald they almost looked black, locked on hers. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it.” She picked up her bag. “I’m tired, so I’m sure you’re doubly so.” She started to round the desk but stopped, knowing she needed to be professional. Not only was she the first female GM, but she’d set a standard for herself when she’d joined the organization. “You played well this season and especially during the playoffs.”

  A nod. “Thanks.”

  That confused her. Before, his cocky would have taken over. Today, he seemed . . . modest? Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen a lot of cocky this season, at least not when it came to his game play. But it had been eight years since they’d been alone in a room together, she supposed things had to have changed.

  Not that it mattered.

  Things had changed on her front, too.

  She wasn’t the naïve little girl anymore.

  She was strong and powerful and had a whole lot of people depending on her.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” Charlotte pointed to the door. “We should be going.”

  “Your feet hurt.”

  Her brows drew together. “What?”

  Logan nodded at her feet, clad in a lovely pair of heels that, while beautiful, were also the equivalent of bear traps—and if that wasn’t the perfect metaphor for the man in front of her, she didn’t know what was.

  “Those heels hurt you.” His head tilted to the side. “Why do you wear them?”

  She scoffed. “None of your fucking business, Walker.”

  A smile—slow and hot and sliding like silk over her breasts, her stomach, between her legs. “I knew you’d say that.”

  “I—”

  He held up a box she hadn’t noticed, pushed it into her hands when she stepped back. “Open it,” he said, voice dropping and joining that silk of his smile to dip between her legs. “If you think you can handle it.”

  And then he was gone, the door closing behind him, leaving her with a heavy ass bag packed with who knew what, aching feet, and a box in her hands.

  A box given on a challenge.

  A box he knew she’d open.

  Because Charlotte Harris didn’t give in or back down. She liked that even less than she liked losing.

  So, she opened the lid.

  And instantly knew she was in trouble.

  Two

  Charlotte

  Slippers. The fucking man had given her slippers.

  Lavender and fuzzy with embroidered stars and moons all over.

  “Fucking hell,” she muttered, and for one second, she was right back there. Lying in the bed of the pickup truck that had been his first purchase when he’d made it to the big leagues, her head pillowed on his shoulder, his body surrounding her, warming her more effectively than the blankets above and below them.

  Dark skies all around. The crisp air of late fall and early winter.

  When he’d still been interested in her.

  Before she’d slept with him and he’d moved on to the next woman whom he’d cuddled close.

  In those few glorious months, they’d spent so much time together.

  She’d been an intern moving up the ranks, handpicked by the GM to learn the different facets of the team.

  He’d been the new rookie, not knowing the guys well, a bit of an outcast on an established team where most of the other players had wives and families.

  And she’d traveled with the team.

  It was unusual for an intern, but her position, and the reason she’d gotten involved with the organization in the first place, made a lot of things about her first paying gig after college unusual.

  But all that unusualness meant that she’d spent a lot of time with the players.

  A lot of time with Logan.

  With Logan sneaking down corridors and kissing in empty rooms.

  With Logan slipping into her hotel room so they could order room service and watch bad TV.

  With Logan in the back of his truck, staring up at the stars—

  Her finger brushed one of the embroidered stars. It was made of sparkly gold thread, tucked neatly near a crescent moon, and it brought those memories that had once been so safely stowed away to the forefront of her mind.

  Painful longing. Such painful longing after he’d broken things off.

  Because, God, she had loved Logan.

  She used to wish—

  “No,” she hissed, shoving the slippers back into the box and slamming on the lid. Char picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder, teetering for a second before regaining her balance. It had been a long day—cough, a long year—so she was ready to go back to her house and not wear a suit or heels.

  For at least a weekend.

  Because although there would be a short break, pretty soon, the meetings would start up again. Scouts would need to be sent out, positions would need to be filled as the normal turnover from support staff and players occurred—different job offers taking her staff, contract issues changing the roster. There would be endless marketing meetings about the direction of the team, its social media and public image, practice facilities and all the issues that came from having to coordinate what the team needed in two separate spaces, planning ahead for travel, checking in with the analytics crew, making sure the team stayed on budget.

  Luckily, she had plenty of people under her.

  Luckily, she’d interned in most of those departments and knew some of the pitfalls.

  But it was a big job.

  And she enjoyed
every part. Loved that she could put her degrees—bachelor’s in business, master’s in sports management—to good use. Loved that she’d been able to make her way from intern all the way up to GM through perseverance, hard work, and sheer dint of character.

  The team might not have won, but she’d achieved something special this year.

  And just like that Chubby Bunny contest, she was going to come back for a second chance, only the next time she’d win the whole damned thing.

  Purse in her other hand. Jacket over her arm.

  She almost left the box, but in the end, she picked it up, started walking to the door. It was as she struggled, arms thoroughly full, to turn the knob that she realized what she was doing.

  Carrying the box when her hands were already full.

  Letting Logan into her head.

  Allowing him to make her feel things she didn’t want to.

  “Ugh.”

  Despite that, she didn’t put the box down. Because she wasn’t going to lose to anything, not even gravity, dammit. No fucking way. She got that freaking knob turned and the door opened and made her way down the hall on aching feet.

  But the heels stayed on, and the slippers stayed in that damn box . . . at least until she saw the trash can.