Tacker (Arizona Vengeance #5)(42)

“You’re not imposing,” I say sternly. “Besides… I think you’ve sort of been made an honorary team member now that you’ve helped the inscrutable, assholish Tacker Hall make a comeback.”

Nora lets out a bark of a laugh followed by a snort. “Oh, God… that’s rich.”

But then her laughter dies a little, although I can still hear a bit of amusement in her tone when she says, “And Tacker?”

“Yeah?”

“We’ll talk about this some more on Tuesday, but be kind to yourself. If you’re moving forward, that’s a good thing, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

“Okay,” I say, then I make her and myself a promise I intend to keep. “I won’t.”





CHAPTER 18




Nora


I’ve never been to a professional sporting event before. Hell, past football or basketball games in high school, I’ve never even been to a sporting event.

Helen wasn’t big into sports, and I had no father figure other than Raul—who was into horses. As such, I was into horses.

The Vengeance arena is a thing of beauty. All steel and glass with cool little vending shops and restaurants around the exterior. Raul and I came early to grab some dinner. We entered the arena when the doors opened, meandering along the perimeter shops and buying a few small souvenirs. I wanted to buy a Tacker Hall jersey, but they were way too expensive to justify.

The energy inside the arena was crazy. I could feel it as it began to fill up, but when we stepped into the interior portion that would lead us down to our seats, it struck me in the center of my chest. Loud rock music plays, and laser lights strobe across the ice. The tickets Tacker gave us are extremely good seats three rows off the ice. We made our way down, Raul juggling a beer and popcorn and me with a foam hand, a pom-pom, and Diet Coke.

After we find our seats, we spend the time scanning our surroundings with huge eyes as we take in the spectacle around us. Fans with their faces painted up and most everyone wearing jerseys to support their team. Crowds gather down at the glass with hand-painted signs. Little kids wait expectantly for their favorite player to make an appearance.

And then, an announcer’s voice comes over the PA system, booming so loud and deep I can feel it rumbling in my chest. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ice… your very own… Ari-zohhhhhh-naaaahhh… Vengeance!”

I swivel my head to the left and right, trying to figure out where the team comes from. But then a gate opens, and the team skates through. They hit the ice hard and fast, ready to take down their opponents. I think this is just a warmup as they’re not wearing their helmets, but I can’t be sure. I have just the two games I watched on TV last week when Tacker was on the road to go by.

Raul nudges me in the arm. “There’s Tacker.”

I scan the ice, studying the players whizzing by in their white uniforms with neon green and navy-blue trim, the Vengeance Lion mascot emblazoned on their chests.

And I see him… Holding his stick loosely, he skates around the perimeter with long, powerful strokes of his legs. As he rounds the edge and starts coming our way, his eyes cut into the stands, right to where Raul and I sit.

I had not expected this. I mean, of course, he knows where our seats are because they’re his tickets, but I’d never expected him to acknowledge us, not in a million years.

Yet, his eyes lock with mine and he smiles, giving me a short nod. It’s a brief look, lasting less than two seconds, yet it still warms me from my head to my toes.

No man’s look should ever do that to me, especially not one I’m actively counseling. Face flushing, I take a long sip of my Diet Coke, hoping to cool these thoughts.

Tipping my head, I cast a glance at Raul to find him watching me intently. My face burns even hotter.

“Something going on between you two?” he asks gruffly, but I don’t detect a single bit of censure. Just curiosity.

“God, no,” I assure him quickly, even managing to sound slightly disgusted by the prospect.

Raul’s gaze just stays pinned on me, refusing to leave. He’s not accepting my denial.

Averting my eyes, I mutter. “Nothing’s going on.”

“But…” he presses, knowing me all too well.

With a sigh, I focus on the man I admire most in the world. “But… I do like him. I feel a connection to him that goes beyond what I should be feeling as his counselor.”

“Ethically, you can’t go there,” he says gently, a reminder I don’t need.

“I know. I wouldn’t.” I take a small sip of my Diet Coke through the straw.

“But you should,” Raul firmly states.

I’m so shocked by his statement that I suck soda right into my lungs. A massive coughing fit ensues. Shifting his beer from his left to his right hand, he starts clapping me on the back.

When I get it under control, I bring wild eyes to him. “How can you even say that? It’s highly inappropriate, not to mention unethical, as you pointed out. Moreover, I could never risk his mental health that way. I have power and sway over him. He trusts me to have a care for his emotional well-being. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong.”

Raul inclines his head, attention cutting out to the players skating around. “My bad. Forget I mentioned it.”