ny Man of Mine:

Isn’t Ninety Percent Testosterone

Sam stood in the tunnel of the Joe Louis Arena and waited to hit the ice. He hated playing in Detroit. Hated the stinking octopus.

He stood behind Logan Dumont and in front of Blake Conte. Captain Walker Brooks hit the ice first amidst a wall of booing Red Wing fans. Sam had always found jeering crowds amusing. He fed off all that passion, and no one was more passionate about a sport than hockey fans. When it was his turn to step onto the ice, he stuck his glove under one arm and skated across the ice, waving like he was a conquering hero. He looked up at the filled seats and laughed. He might hate playing at the Joe Louis, but he loved playing hockey. He’d been on the road for over a week and was exhausted and jet lagged, but the second the puck dropped, that all went away. Adrenaline pounded through his veins and rushed across his skin. He dominated behind the blue line, using his body to agitate and intimidate. He closed firing lanes and spent four minutes in the sin bin for cross-checking and hooking. The latter was complete bullshit. It wasn’t his fault that Zetterberg got tangled up in Sam’s stick. He should go back to Sweden and learn how to skate like a big boy.

Pansy ass.

The coaches sometime bitched about stupid penalties, but they all knew that was just the way Sam worked. It was the cost of doing business, and when the Chinooks won, like they did that night against the Red Wings, no one bitched. He drew his paycheck—and these days it was a big one, with lots of zeros—for hitting hard, shutting down goal-scoring opportunities, and making plays for the wingmen. He had one of the hardest slap shots in the league and one of the hardest right hooks. He liked to think he used both judiciously. Of course, that wasn’t always true. Most of the time he started shit to intimidate and make his presence known. To make an opponent hesitate. To make a mistake, but sometimes he just started shit for the sake of starting shit. Sometimes he went toe-to-toe because he liked it.

It wasn’t as if he fought as much as Andre; but, as Mark Bressler repeatedly pointed out, Andre was the team enforcer, and fighting was his main job.

After the Detroit game, Sam and the rest of the Chinooks boarded the team jet and flew home. He spent a week in Seattle before heading out for Phoenix, Nashville, and Pittsburgh. While he’d been in town, he split his time between work, Conner, and a couple of female friends. But when he boarded the jet and headed toward Phoenix, it wasn’t the friends he thought about. By the time he touched down in Pittsburgh a week later, it wasn’t female companionship he missed. He missed his son even though he’d talked to him several times on the phone. In the past, he’d always called Conner when he was on the road. Always missed him and made the effort, but this time he felt a bigger tug. Spending more time with him made him miss Conner’s silly knock-knock jokes and his drawings. He missed his questions about anything and everything, and he missed his little hugs.

That night, the game against the Penguins started out badly and went straight to hell. Everything just felt off, starting with the drop of the first hinky puck. Pittsburgh dominated down the middle, and number eighty-seven, Sidney Crosby, was on fire. The kid from Nova Scotia scored a goal and an assist off bouncing pucks from Sam’s stick. He’d been so pissed off, he’d retaliated and sat out a double minor in the penalty box. During his stint in the sin bin, the Penguins scored on a five on four and won four to three.

That night, Sam boarded the jet, turned his iPod to shuffle, and stuck in his earphones. He just wanted to forget about that night’s game. He didn’t want to think about bouncing pucks and bad penalties. He really didn’t want to think about anything. His life was easier that way.

But he’d been thinking about his sister, Ella, the past week or so. More than usual. Maybe because he was making an effort to spend more time with Conner. Taking on more of the responsibility for his son. The weight of that responsibility scared the hell out of him. It wasn’t a new weight. Just one he hadn’t carried in a long time.

After the death of his father, he’d become the man of the family. Responsible for his mother and sister, Ella. Not financially, not back then, but responsible. He’d taken his job seriously, or at least as seriously as a kid could. His mother had been a strong, competent woman. Still was, but Ella… Ella had been lost without her dad. Lost and empty, and Sam had filled the void for her. He’d looked out for her and made sure nothing bad ever happened. When he could, he’d take her to fun places. During the summer, her shiny blond ponytail was never out of his peripheral vision. And during the school year, he’d made sure she did her homework and hung out with the right kinds of kids.

At nineteen, he’d been picked up in the first round of drafts and moved nearly five hundred miles away to Edmonton. He’d visited home as much as he could, and he talked to her almost every day. When she’d turned sixteen, he’d bought her a car, and when she graduated from high school, he took her to Cancún to celebrate. That same summer, he was traded to the Maple Leafs, and Ella moved with him to Toronto. She attended York University and graduated with a bachelor’s degree in education. He’d been so proud of her. She was beautiful and smart and funny, and her future was wide open.

Then she met Ivan, and she changed. Not long after the two began dating, she became withdrawn and sullen and secretive. The first time he saw a bruise on her face, he caught up with Ivan at his construction job. He knocked the little shit on his ass, planted his size-fourteen shoe on the guy’s chest, and told him he’d kill him if he ever saw another bruise on Ella. As a result of his interference, he saw less and less of his sister. But after a year and a half of the roller-coaster ride that was Ella and Ivan’s relationship, she finally left him. Sam moved her back home to Regina, and she lived in a small apartment not far from their mother. Sam was relieved and ecstatic. Ella got reacquainted with old friends and gradually came back to herself. The last time he’d seen her, the old, happy, full-of-life Ella shone from her big blue eyes.

He’d been at home in Toronto when he got the call that changed his life forever. It was June 13, and he’d just finished a round of golf with some of the guys and was sitting at his dining-room table, eating a peameal sandwich and chips that he’d picked up on the way home. He’d been halfway through his lunch when his mother had called with the news that Ella had been killed. That Ivan had traveled across Canada to find her, and when she wouldn’t get back together with him, he’d shot her, then himself. Beautiful, smart Ella was dead with a bullet in her head. And one of the tragedies of it all, but certainly not the biggest, was that Ivan was dead, too, because Sam would have dearly loved to kill him.

His sister was dead, and he hadn’t been able to help her. He hadn’t been there when she’d needed him most. He’d been the man of the family, but he’d failed to keep his sister safe.

The first few years after Ella’s death were a nightmare. A blur of excessive partying and self-destruction. During that low point, the only time his life came into focus, the only time it made any sort of sense, was on the ice. Fighting it out. Working his guilt out on whoever dared to skate across his personal piece of real estate. Off the ice, he’d backed away from anything that resembled taking on the responsibility for anyone but himself. He could only take care of Sam, and sometimes, he royally fucked that up.

He’d hooked up with Autumn on the anniversary of Ella’s death. A real low point. A point where he’d felt the huge hole his sister had left behind. Nothing had filled that hole, but for those few days in Vegas, he’d given it one hell of a try. He’d binged on booze and sex. He didn’t recall a whole lot about that time, but he did know that for a few short days, he hadn’t felt so goddamn empty. He’d filled up with a redheaded girl with dark green eyes. There’d been something about her, something that had made him pursue her like she could save him from himself. Then he’d woken up married, hungover, and sober for the first time since arriving in Nevada.

These days, he no longer felt the need to fill the void with booze and random women. The void was still there. Nothing could ever replace a sister. She would always be the missing part of his family, but he was no longer so self-destructive. The women in his life weren’t random. No more rink bunnies and hockey groupies, but neither were they long-term. He always kept that part of his life separate from his life with his son. At least he thought he had until Conner mentioned that photograph of him pouring beer on bikini models. Conner was old enough to be affected by Sam’s life. Old enough to know his dad had time for other people but not for him.

He’d always felt Conner was safer with Autumn. That she would do a lot better job of taking care of him than Sam would. That was probably still true, but Conner needed him, too. Not some guy he saw in sports clips and on occasional weekends. His son needed him to step up.

The jet engines slowed as it prepared to descend into Seattle. It was about 3:00 A.M. Saturday morning, and Sam looked out at the lights below. He planned to sleep for about the next ten hours, then some of the guys were going to meet downtown to judge a Halloween contest. When he’d talked to Conner earlier, he’d learned that his son had decided to dress up as a hockey player. A Chinook hockey player like his dad. He wouldn’t mind seeing Conner wearing a sweater with Sam’s number on it, but Halloween wasn’t his holiday, and Autumn was a real stickler about holiday visitation. Normally, he might just risk showing up and incurring the wrath of Autumn, but after the night he’d dropped Conner off home after the game, they’d been getting along. Although getting along might be a bit of an overstatement. The few times he’d dropped Conner off instead of relying on Nat to do it for him, they were civil, and he hadn’t felt the urge to cover his nuts. He figured that as long as he didn’t bring Conner home late without calling, or try and muscle her out of her holiday, he was probably safe from her foot in his crotch.

He’d see Conner the day after Halloween. Maybe take him to that arcade he liked so much. Spending more time with his son was important to him, but getting more serious about his son’s life didn’t mean he had to give up other things on his free nights. Things like hanging out in a bar filled with slutty Snow Whites and naughty nurses.

“Vince?”

“Yeah?”

Through the dark Halloween night, Autumn watched Conner run between the flickering lights of jack-o’-lanterns and knock on the door of a neighbor a few blocks from their house. A candy bag in one hand, a Chinooks’ jersey over his coat. “Do you think I’m man-repellent?”

“What?” Vince looked down at her. “What’s that?”

“A few weeks ago, Shiloh said I act like I’ve sprayed myself with man repellant?”

Conner ran toward them, the black eye she’d drawn on him a little smeared, but his red scar still stuck to his cheek. “I got some Nerds.”

Goody. Straight sugar. They moved to the next house, and Vince said, “Don’t pay attention to Shiloh. She’s one of those girls who isn’t really serious about anything. She’s not like you.”

“What does that mean?” Conner ran up toward another door decorated with a spider.

“It means you’re a mother and a businesswoman. You have a lot going on and a lot going for you.”

“Yes, but I’d like to think men find me attractive. That I’m more than a mother and a businesswoman.”

He hooked his arm round her neck. “You’re a beautiful woman, and if you wanted a man in your life, you’d have one.”

She and Vince had always been close, even when he’d been away, but he was also her brother and would lie to spare her feelings. “You really think so?”

“Yeah, but don’t hang out in bars to meet men. That didn’t work out so well the last time you tried it.”

Autumn laughed. “True.” They rounded a corner and, from half a block away, she saw a red trunk parked next to Vince’s Harley in her driveway

“Dad came.” Conner switched his candy bag from one hand to the other.

“Yeah.” Vince dropped his arm to his side.

It wasn’t Sam’s day. Why was he there? “Don’t run,” she called out, as Conner took off down the sidewalk. He ran beneath a pool of light from the streetlamp, then cut across the yard filled with happy scarecrows and smiling jack-o’-lanterns.

Beside her, Vince muttered something she couldn’t quite hear. Which was probably for the best, then he asked, “What does that idiot want?”

“I don’t know. I thought he was out of town.” Within the shadows of her house, Sam rose from the bottom step of her porch, and Conner disappeared into his dark wool coat. So typical of him just to assume he could show up without calling.

“Has he suddenly decided to be father of the year?”

“Something like that, but it won’t last.” She shook her head, and her ponytail brushed the shoulders of her navy peacoat. The sound of Vince’s bootheels was heavy and ominous as the two of them closed the distance to Sam. “Promise me you won’t start anything.”

A stitch on his leather bomber’s jacket popped as if he was flexing his muscles like the Incredible Hulk. Vince was a kind, loving brother and a good uncle. He was protective, but he had a few anger issues. He could also hold a grudge longer than anyone she knew. Even her. While Autumn had moved on from her bitter feelings for Sam, Vince had not and probably never would. Even though their mother had been very religious, “Forgive and forget” was a foreign concept for the Haven kids. Especially for Vince, and while Autumn had moved on, she couldn’t say she’d forgiven Sam. Not that Sam had ever asked for her forgiveness. Never said he was sorry, and she’d never forget. That was impossible. Too much to ask. It was more like she’d just let go of it all and didn’t care.

As she and Vince walked up the driveway, the tension between Sam and her brother pinched the back of her bare neck, and her ponytail felt too tight. “Behave,” she said under her breath. She stopped in front of Sam and looked up into his face, light from the house spilled across his forehead, the slight crook in his nose and across half his lips. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

“I am.”

Obviously. “I didn’t know you were coming over.”

“I didn’t either until about half an hour ago.” His chin jerked up a little. “Vince.”

“Sam.”

“I need to talk to you a minute,” Sam said as he stared down Vince.

“Me?”

“No. Your brother.”

She was afraid of that. She grabbed Vince’s arm. “Don’t hit him.”

Vince pried her fingers from his jacket. “I won’t hit him first.”

Sam chuckled. “You wouldn’t get the chance to hit me second, frogman.” He walked past them to the end of the driveway and stopped beneath the deep inky shadow of an old oak.

Vince laughed, too, but it wasn’t funny. Vince had been trained to kill, but Autumn had seen Sam knock people out. People bigger than Vince. “Promise?”

He headed across the driveway, his “No,” trailed after him.

“What’s a frogman?”

She glanced down at Conner’s shiny blond head. She should probably take him into the house, but she didn’t think either man would throw a punch in front of Conner. While they hated each other, they loved Conner more. At least she hoped so. “I think it’s a Navy SEAL.”

“Oh. Is Dad going to hit Uncle Vince?”

“Of course not.” At least she hoped not. “They were just joking around.”

“What are they talking about?”

She strained to hear what they were saying, even leaning forward a little, but only a low murmuring timbre reached her ears. “Man stuff.”

“What’s ‘man stuff’?”

Like she knew? “Cars.”

“Uncle Vince doesn’t have a car. He has a motorcycle and a truck. But his truck isn’t as big as Dad’s.”

From the little she could see, it looked like Sam’s hands were on his hips, and Vince still had his arms crossed.

Again she heard Sam chuckle, then he walked from the inky darkness and across the driveway toward her. “You got a Reese’s in that candy bag?” he asked Conner.

“Maybe ten or twenty!”

“Good. You can give your old dad one.”

“I got lots of candy. Come in and see.”

Sam looked over at Autumn. “Do you mind?”

Like it mattered. She shook her head and watched Vince move from the shadow toward her. “Give your uncle a hug good-bye,” she told Conner.

“Okay.” Already hopped up on Halloween candy, Conner ran to Vince and wrapped his arms around his waist. “Bye, Uncle Vince.”

“See ya, Nugget. Give me knuckles.”

Conner held up his clinched fist, then quickly pulled it back. “Too slow, Joe.” He ran back to Sam, took his hand, and pulled him up the steps. Autumn waited until they disappeared inside before she asked, “What was that all about?”

“We came to an understanding.”

“What understanding? What did he say?”

Vince swung a leg over the Harley and righted the bike. “Never mind.”

“Vince! What understanding?”

He sighed. “He told me he was going to be around more, so I better get used to seeing him.”

“And?”

“Nothing.” The motorcycle rumbled to life, filling the night with dual exhaust and putting an end to the conversation. He backed out of the drive and took off, leaving Autumn to stare after him. There was more to it than “nothing.” She knew Vince too well to believe him.

She let out a breath and headed up the steps to the front door, decorated with a friendly ghost. She was tired from trick-or-treating for the past three hours and hoped that Sam didn’t plan on staying long. She was meeting two prospective brides in the morning and needed to be sharp. She opened the door and headed up the steps as Conner told his latest knock-knock joke. Sam laughed like it was the height of hilarity.

It wasn’t.

Conner sat next to Sam on the mint green couch, his coat thrown on the table. Father and son’s blond heads were close together as they hovered over the bag of candy sitting between them. The big number sixteen on Conner’s youth jersey was not only Sam’s number; apparently it had also belonged to someone named Bobby Clarke. “Bobby had a hard shot,” Conner had informed her a few weeks ago. “But Dad’s is harder. He won three times for the hardest shot.”

“Nice shiner,” Sam complimented Conner’s black eye.

“It’s like yours. Last season.”

“I don’t have a scar on my cheek.”

“I know. You probably will, though.”

Autumn shrugged out of her coat and moved into the dining room. “Don’t make yourself sick on all that candy.”

Conner pretended not to hear her. “You can have a Kit-Kat, Dad.”

“I like Dots. I used to stick all the different colors on my teeth and chase Ella around.”

“Who’s Ella?”

“My sister. I told you about her.”

“Oh yeah. She died.”

Autumn hung her coat on a chair and moved back into the living room. She was used to having a man in the house. Vince was over all the time, but Sam brought a different energy with him. It wasn’t as aggressive or defensive as in the past, but it wasn’t altogether comfortable either. It was too much. Too much rugged testosterone radiating from her sofa and filling the room.

“You better let me have those Dots so your teeth don’t rot,” he said, poking around in the bag. “Maybe some of those M&M’s, too. There might be some green ones in there, and I know how much you hate anything that reminds you of veggies.”

The last thing Sam LeClaire needed was green M&Ms.

“You can have them all.”

Sam glanced at Autumn, then returned his eyes to the bag. “Thanks, but I—” His head whipped up, and he stared at her as if she’d suddenly turned into an alien. His brows shot up his forehead, and the corners of his blue eyes pinched. An evil alien.

She looked behind her, saw nothing, then returned her gaze to his. “What?”

He pointed at her white Jersey. “What the hell are you wearing?”

“A hockey jersey.” She looked down and pointed at the penguin on the front. “Hockey is our Halloween theme this year.”

His voice was quiet. Deadly. “It’s Pittsburgh.”

“I like it. The penguin has little skates on his feet.” She looked back up. “It’s cute.”

“It’s gay.”

“Sam. Language.”

“Jerseys aren’t supposed to be cute.” He frowned and pointed an accusing finger at her. “You’re wearing Crosby’s number.”

She looked at the 87 on her sleeve. “Who?”

“Jesus. The bastard just scored on me with a hinky puck. He should have been embarrassed instead of skating around like a prom queen.”

Whatever that meant. She pointed at Conner, who was hanging on Sam’s every word. “Language, please.”

Conner shook his head. “I told her, Dad.”

Autumn gasped. “Told me what?”

“To wear Dad’s number, like me.”

Yeah. Like that would happen. “I like this jersey.”

Sam sat back against the couch and folded his arms across his thin beige sweater. “Penguins don’t wear skates.”

She pointed to Conner’s jersey. “Fish don’t swat pucks with their tails, either.”

Sam opened a box of Dots and popped a few into his mouth. He watched her as he chewed, then said, “Crosby’s a whiny little bit—girl.”

She shrugged. “He’s cute.”

“Are you serious?”

She actually didn’t really know what Crosby looked like, but Sam looked annoyed. Which, she admitted, amused her. “Yes. I don’t want my guy to be ugly.”

“Your guy? You pick a guy’s number because you think he’s cute?”

No. “Yeah.” Just like women picked Sam’s number because he was hot, but she’d never tell him that. Not that he didn’t know it already. “Why else?”

“Why else?” He stood and dropped the empty box on the coffee table. “How about points? How about number of years in the NHL? How about taking a hit like a man. How about not crying like a girl? How about the mother of my child showing a little support and not wearing a Pittsburgh sweater?”

He looked serious, and she started to laugh.

He put his hands on his hips. “What’s so funny?”

She slid a palm over her stomach. “You.” She continued to laugh. She couldn’t help it. “You’re ridiculous.” Conner gasped as if she’d committed blasphemy.

He motioned with his hand. “Take it off.”

“Right.” Like he could come into her house and order her around. Not going to happen.

Sam moved around the coffee table toward her. “Are you going to take it off?”

She shook her head and took a step back. “No.”

“Then you leave me no choice here.” He stalked her into the dining room, towering over her. “I’m going to have to take it off you.” The corners of his lips twitched like he was joking, but his eyes were all about getting his way.

“You can’t.”

“Yeah, I can. I take off women’s shirts all the time.”

“That’s not something to brag about.”

“Not bragging. I’m just gifted.” He held up three fingers, then lowered them one at a time.

“You’re gifted all right.” She didn’t wait for the final finger before she turned on her heels and ran. His hand on the back of her jersey stopped her and slammed her back against the hard wall of his chest. “Sam!”

“Come help me, Conner,” he called out, and wrapped one big arm around her ribs just beneath her breasts.

“No, Conner!”

The little traitor ran into the kitchen and looked up at his dad. “What do you want me to do?”

“Hold her undershirt down so it doesn’t come off with the jersey.”

“Stop,” she protested through a laugh. “Conner, go to bed! I mean it.”

“No way.” He reached his little hands beneath the jersey and grabbed the bottom of the long-sleeved thermal shirt creeping up her stomach.

“I’m your mom. You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“We can do this easy,” Sam said into the top of her head. “Or we can go hard. You choose.”

She tried to squirm out of his arms, but it was useless. “I’m keeping my Pittsburgh jersey. It cost me over two hundred bucks.” Outmuscled and outmanned, the jersey was whipped over her head. For a brief second, it caught on her ponytail, then she found herself in a tug-of-war with her son. “Let go.”

“Hold—her—Dad,” Conner managed between peals of wild laughter and grunts of raw effort.

With both arms around her, Sam held her even tighter. “Take it and hide it somewhere,” he told Conner.

“You’re in big trouble,” she warned her son. “No more cartoons for you.”

In response, he tugged so hard his face turned red. She rose onto the balls of her feet and used her foot in his little tummy for leverage, but he ripped the jersey from her fingers. He tumbled across the kitchen floor, then took off. “Don’t let her go till I hide it, Dad.”

“She’s not going anywhere.” His arms tightened even more, and she suddenly became very aware of him pressed against her back and behind. Suddenly became aware of being surrounded by a heavy man blanket, throwing off waves of heat. She stilled as the heat of him seeped through her pores. Two of his fingers brushed her bare waist where her shirt had risen.

Other than the males in her own family or the occasional handshake, the last man who had touched her was the man touching her now. Yes, she felt the heat and pure male grit of Sam. Just like all those years ago in Vegas. What she didn’t feel this time was the jump in her pulse.

“Let go, Sam.”