Ice Hard

by Tracy Goodwin

  Camille’s dad lives within ten miles of the restaurant in a modest split-level with a detached garage. Low and behold, he’s in said garage, waxing his car. When I approach, he stops what he’s doing, holding a buffer. No wax. So, he likes to spend time with his classic car. I can relate.

  “Hello, sir.” I reach out to shake his hand, only this time he doesn’t accept it. Instead, he walks to a workbench and tosses me the baseball. At least there’s no glass left in it.

  He then carries a piece of paper over. “It’s a receipt for my windshield. I figured you’d come sooner or later.”

  I cluck my tongue. “Am I sooner or later?”

  “Definitely sooner. Now, why do I feel like my windshield isn’t the only thing on your mind?” Cami’s dad tosses the buffer on the workbench and wipes his hands on his overalls. Dressed like this, he isn’t as imposing as when I first met him. Maybe it’s the circumstances.

  “Camille doesn’t know I’m here and I’d like to keep it that way if that’s okay with you.” I’m respectful, and take great pains to sound polite.

  Mr. Benetti opens the door to his Eldorado, nodding to the passenger seat. “Get in.”

  The windows are down, and the interior is mint, just like Camille described. I read the odometer. Twenty-eight thousand miles. “She is a beauty.”

  “You like cars?” Coming from Mr. Benetti, it sounds like a test.

  “Yes, sir. I restore classics in my spare time.” I deliberately leave out the rest, about charities and keeping the rough ones. I won’t impress Camille’s dad. It isn’t even a possibility.

  Running his fingers over the steering wheel, Mr. Benetti admits something. “This is a 2002. Everyone thinks I cherish it because it’s the last year they were made.”

  “What’s the real reason?” There’s no bullshit between us. I like that.

  Stroking his chin, Camille’s dad answers in a whisper. “I took Cami’s mom on our first date in an Eldorado, though a different year. This car, this 2002, was the last car we bought together. I remember seeing it on the lot. She wanted it more than I did—said it represented all the memories. Past, present, future.”

  One heartbeat passes, then another. “I’m sorry for your loss.” It’s the only response I can think of.

  “I miss her. I also miss the young woman my daughter was when her mom died.” Mr. Benetti turns to me. “Cami took the brunt of everyone’s grief. It wasn’t fair. She never complained, but she got the short end of the stick.”

  “My dad once told me that life isn’t fair.” I remember that conversation like it was yesterday. Me confronting my dad about cheating on my mom. I said it wasn’t fair to her. My dad’s retort was that life’s not fair. His callous response still makes me cringe.

  “Camille has lost a great deal.” He’s still studying me. Testing me. How much has she told me?

  I’m quick to respond. “She told me about her ex, about the baby, about all she lost.”

  Mr. Benetti smiles at me. It makes me wonder if I have something in my teeth. “You’re the one. Let me rephrase that: you’re the only boyfriend she’s confided in.”

  “It’s an honor.” This conversation is keeping me humble. And this man isn’t as bad as I thought.

  “She was carefree once. Cami was the optimist. She believed anything was possible. Until…”

  “Until she didn’t.” I finish for him. “She’s been through a lot.”

  He nods. “Camille sacrificed everything for her family. For me, for her sister and brothers. She’s a good girl. Too good. She deserves better.”

  “And you think firing her from the family business is going to help her find better?” I cock my brows. It sounds even more ridiculous out loud.

  Camille’s dad seems to think so, too. “I thought it was a solid idea at the time.”

  “I’ve seen her trust and want a future. With me. That little family meeting blew my relationship with your daughter to hell.” I realize my slip too late. “No offense.”

  “Son, if I was offended by the word hell, I’d have some serious issues. Well, more serious.” He chuckles. “I want Camille to be happy. I want her free of regret.”

  “She’s happy at the restaurant—or would be if you’d let her do what she wants with it. Camille has some great ideas.” It’s the truth. No need to bullshit Mr. Benetti. I doubt he’d buy it anyway.

  “Call me Tony. Please. I think this conversation brings us past formalities, don’t you?”

  I nod. “She’s leaving. For Florida.” The admission is hard to make, difficult to say past the lump in my throat. Camille hasn’t spoken to me since we last kissed. She’s reading my texts and responding, but won’t take my calls. I miss her voice. That’s why I still call. To hear her on her voicemail, and with the hope that she’ll pick up, that this time will be different.

  “Cami told me about her new job. I wanted her to find happiness. I didn’t know she had found it…here with you.” His words weigh heavy with regret.

  Shrugging, I scratch my beard. “I think her leaving was more about Beth’s betrayal, and Matty’s. She had accepted that you were going to sell the restaurant and that her future was in flux. That she and I could have overcome. But between Beth’s meltdown, Matt’s complacency, and you firing her, nasty memories were triggered. She doesn’t think she’s good enough for me. Thinks I’m sacrificing something to be with her.”

  “Damn Pete. The son of a bitch told her he’d never adopt.”

  Pete? “I thought you had issues with a non-blood relation. She thinks she failed you.”

  “Failed me? No. It’s the reverse. I failed her. I don’t have the best communication with my children.” He frowns. “You may have noticed that at Mike’s house.”

  Understatement of the century. “Congrats on that.” Fucking Pete Harper.

  “The engagement, or…how would you say it in the NHL—fucking everything up?”

  I shrug. “Both.”

  “Camille believes you’d be sacrificing to be with her. How do you feel?” He stares at me, his jaw clenched tight. The insight I have into his daughter is jarring him, that’s obvious.

  “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told your daughter: I don’t care if she can have kids or not. We can adopt. It doesn’t matter to me. All I want is her. She refuses to believe me—or she’s afraid to believe me.” I match his stare with one of my own. “Camille doesn’t think she’s good enough and that didn’t come from me.”

  Mr. Benetti’s sharp intake of breath is loud. “I messed this up. My wife would have known better. You knew better.”

  I do a double take. “I don’t quite understand.”

  “You’re my offer to buy the restaurant.”

  This time, I’m caught off balance. “It was supposed to be anonymous.”

  “It was. You just confirmed my suspicion.” Mr. Benetti claps me on the shoulder. “I’m accepting your offer. You and my daughter may do anything you wish to it with my blessing.”

  “There is no me and Camille. She’s done.” An intense sorrow washes over me at my admission. God damn it, why is it so hard for me to accept the obvious?

  “But you’re not done with her.” Mr. Benett—Tony—turns to me. “You love her. And she loves you. I can tell. So make my daughter happy. Be the one person who doesn’t disappoint her.”

  As if it were that easy. “I have been. It wasn’t enough.”

  “She’s hurt, but she’s not destroyed, Nick. You can still reach her.”

  I wish I could. “I’ve tried. She’s not talking to me, at least not in person. I can’t chase her to Florida. At least not now. Besides, I can’t get through to her if she isn’t speaking to me.”

  “You’re resourceful. I think you can figure it out, Nick. I’ll make sure Beth eats a big helping of humble pie—”

  “Bet
h needs to eat the whole fucking pie—shit. I said that aloud to the father of the woman I love.”

  Tony laughs. “I like you. That’s good, you know. Especially if I’m going to be helping you get through to my intelligent but stubborn daughter.”

  “Wait. Helping me?”

  “Of course. Add me to your contacts. We’ve got some work ahead of us. And you’ve got to win that damn cup. New York has been on a drought for far too long and Pete Harper needs his ass kicked.” Surprise! Tony is actually funny. “Are you sure you want a future with my daughter?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

  He offers me his hand. “Let’s shake on it. You’ve got a deal.”

  Win the cup. Win Camille’s trust.

  I’m not sure which will be the most difficult. It really doesn’t matter. Bring it.

  I’m winning the cup and the girl, not necessarily in that order.

  Chapter 22

  Camille

  Sitting in one of the quietest Manhattan hotel bars that I’ve ever been to, I study the layout while flipping through my tablet. Doing research and getting ideas. Turns out a corporate job isn’t my professional passion. It’s restaurant management. So, I interviewed some more and decided that I would open my own restaurant. I’ve got the capital, with some thanks to Mike, and a loan. Scouting locations has become my thing lately. And I’m now in the city that never sleeps.

  My phone rings, it’s Nick. His messages, each one—each and every night, are saved on my cell. I replay them throughout the day. Then I wait for him to call, hoping he hasn’t given up, yet too terrified to pick up my damn phone.

  Tonight’s the exception. “Hi.”

  A loud thud, then a muffled sound greet me. More shuffling, then: “Hi, Camille. I didn’t think you’d answer. I’m glad you did…answer that is.”

  “I wanted to thank you for your voicemails. I listen to them each night.” Much more often, but I omit that part. Because I’m not sure what I’m doing, and I don’t want to string Nick along. I’m met with thick silence until I blurt out, “I miss you.”

  Nick sighs. “I miss you, too. So much.”

  The sound of his voice melts the fears. I’m good enough for him. I know it. I also know he’ll never cheat on me. Still, I don’t want him to sacrifice what Chris has. “Nick, I want to rewind the clock. More than you know. I’m just afraid that one day you’ll resent me for it.”

  “Never.” His tone is strong and confident. “Camille, I wish you could get out of your head and realize that I’m not going to regret one moment with you. Not a one. Not ever.”

  I’m close to caving. So close…

  “Where are you?” I ask. I’ve tried not to keep up with their schedule, especially when I’m out of town. There’s always a hope I’ll run into him that way, and I seem to live on that hope now.

  “Turn around.”

  I do, and there he is. Standing behind me with a grin, but not a confident grin. Dropping my cell on the table, I bridge the distance between us and crush him against me in a hug. To say I missed him is such an understatement. Seeing him makes me realize that now.

  Nick kisses my neck, though his touch is tentative, as if he’s not certain what to do. Which is because of me.

  “Camille, your dad told me where you are. I needed to see you.” He pulls away from me, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. Nick is rocking a button-down shirt that matches his eyes, and I wonder if he’s going on a date. The thought makes me queasy.

  Pointing to the table, I ask, “Do you have time to sit with me?”

  “Sure.” A waiter comes to our table and Nick orders a bourbon, while I order a vodka and tonic. I think I’ll some liquid courage to digest his news.

  Once the waiter leaves, Nick asks how I am.

  “I’m doing well. I’ve come to some realizations, like the fact that I don’t want to do corporate America. I’ve decided I want to stay in restaurant management. Mike’s helping me secure a new place and I’ll start over.” Nick smiles at my news, but it never reaches his tense jaw and serious gaze. “I’m also talking to Stella about my insecurities. Who would have thought my new stepmom would be a retired therapist? Oh, Dad and Stella eloped.”

  Nick isn’t surprised by this news. “You know about their elopement?” I ask.

  Nodding, Nick adds, “I’ve kept in touch with your dad.”

  “What?” I laugh. “How is that possible?”

  “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. I—I bought Benetti’s.” Nick taps his finger on the glass tabletop.

  Our waiter sets our glasses on bar napkins, and I manage to thank him while processing Nick’s admission. “You’re the buyer of Benetti’s?”

  “I made my offer before you and I hit pause…that is what we’ve done right? You haven’t spoken to me since, so I’m not sure.”

  Running my finger over the rim of my glass, I study Nick. His expression has hardened, and I can’t blame him. “I made a mess of us. It’s because I considered myself damaged, thought you’d be sacrificing to be with me. It’s something I’ve struggled with since the miscarriage, and I’ve tried to ignore it. Until I broke us—then I had to face it. I had to deal with it, and I did. I miss you, but I don’t know if it’s too late or if I’ve already lost you. Or if you’ve changed your mind. You made no promises you can’t take back. You’re entitled to change your mind.”

  “So are you.” His fingers still tap the tabletop. “Have you changed your mind?”

  I take a sip of my drink. Nick’s fingertips drum above the faint music playing in the bar. Another couple enters and sits a table away from us. I’m grateful for the privacy. “I don’t believe in sabotaging us to save you. You’re an adult. I do fear you’d regret it—that you know. I’ve done enough work on myself to realize I’m not damaged, and that’s a major realization. I don’t need a savior, and I’m not unworthy of your love. If you still love me…”

  My words linger, and he doesn’t jump to reassure me. “I’d like to start over. If you’d like.”

  “Is it because I bought the restaurant for you?”

  “No. God, no…I mean, it was sweet of you, but I wouldn’t come back to you because of that.” No, I’d never use Nick like that. “I’d purchase it from you.”

  The tapping stops, and Nick takes a swig of his bourbon for the first time. “What if I don’t want to start over but want to continue what we shared because it’s worth saving? I don’t want to erase my love for you, or any moments we shared. I want to build upon them. I want to be your partner, Camille. I want us to be equals. I want to be co-owners of Benetti’s or whatever the hell we want to call it. I want an us, yet you keep pushing me away.”

  “I just meant that I wouldn’t want you to think the restaurant, or your gesture in buying it, is the reason I changed my mind.” Reaching for his free hand, I grip it tightly. “I will never forget what we are, what we have, Nick. I don’t want to.”

  “You still haven’t told me what you want to do.” Nick’s hand twitches beneath mine.

  A larger, raucous group enters the bar and I call the waiter over, sign my bar tab, and bring Nick up to my room. Not for sex…to talk. Privately. Just us.

  “Come here.” I shove the curtains aside. The view is of the sidewalk and another building, nothing special. But I point to the flag flying outside the hotel entrance across from us. It’s a team flag—the Nighthawks logo. “See that? You are everywhere.”

  “The team is—”

  “No. You are.” I flatten my palm against his beard. “Tell me what’s happening with you.” We sit on the queen bed and talk about Nick. About how the team is doing, about their upcoming games, and their playoff berth. Through it all, I touch him. His chin, his jawline, his cheek. Then I ask about what documentaries have been keeping him company.

  He mention
s one that aired on the History Channel about the Britannia, which I saw. Surprise emanates from his gaze.

  “I’ve been watching the History Channel a lot, to be closer to you.” It’s an admission I’m not afraid to make.

  Reaching for my arm, Nick turns my palm upward and kisses it and my wrist. His mouth lingers for an inexhaustible amount of time, until the room grows darker, illuminated by the lights from the building next door.

  “Where do we go from here?” His voice is gruff with emotion.

  “You continue to win playoff games, and I’ll call you starting tonight.” I cup his chin in my hands. “I’ll get stronger, and I will come to you. Then it’s your choice. Do you want me?”

  “And if I do?”

  If. My heart skips a beat. He’s rethinking us. And I deserve this for what I’ve put him through. “Then we’re partners. Completely. Please wait for me.”

  Nick leans into me and claims my lips, my tongue, with his. His kisses are deep, are heartfelt, are meaningful. When he pulls away at last, he whispers. “You’re on the clock, Camille. I won’t wait forever.”

  I know it. As he leaves my room, I know I’ve got to get my shit together. I want to be whole for Nick, no scars to hide behind. No, I want to come to him as his partner, a survivor, with no baggage.

  That’s what I’ll do.

  Chapter 23

  Camille

  The TV blares from my living room. An arena full of cheering Nighthawk fans and the two announcers who are giving a play-by-play of the game. “Sally, please. I said no hockey. I can’t watch—”

  “Nick George skates to the goal. Here comes Pete Harper trying to—oh, it’s a failed attempt at a body check. Nick George holds onto the puck.”

  Another announcer exclaims, “Nick George is on fire tonight! Goal Nighthawks.”

  My eyes are fixed on the large screen attached to our wall. Nick. He skates with the ferocity of a polar vortex. Seriously, he’s in the zone and owns that ice. He isn’t working in the background tonight. He’s front and center. The camera zooms in and Nick’s eyes are narrowed, focused like lasers at one of his opponents. “Shit! He’s going after Pete.”