Chasing Stanley

by Martin, Deirdre

  “I know, it sounds nuts. But Marcus can read animals’ thoughts. They talk to him. And Stan told Marcus he hated that kibble. He hates those liver treats, too. But he likes the little doggie bagels you get him.”

  “Okay, um, Delilah?” Jason rubbed his forehead as if warding off a headache. “I’m not really sure I’m up to having a conversation like this right now. Could we just unwind?”

  “Sure. But promise me you’ll at least try the diet.”

  “I promise. Now you come here.” Jason drew Delilah to him. “Two things.”

  “Mmm?” said Delilah, leaning against him. He looked tired; there were faint circles beneath his eyes and the first hints of stubble on his chin.

  “Thing number one,” said Jason, kissing the top of her head. “Can I stay the night?”

  Delilah flushed with pleasure. “Of course.” She hadn’t made any assumptions on that front. She was afraid if she did and he wanted to go back to his own place with Stan, she would feel slighted. His wanting to stay spoke volumes.

  “Thing two: what are you doing Wednesday night?”

  “Nothing that I know of,” Delilah answered slowly.

  “Great. I want you to come to my game, and afterward we’ll grab a drink with some of my friends.”

  “Oh.” Delilah’s pulse began fluttering. “That sounds . . . fun.”

  “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

  “I know, it’s just I’m not really good with people, you know? I mean groups of people. I—”

  Jason silenced her with a kiss. He smiled at her playfully as he pulled away. “I’ll ask all of them to wear dog collars. How about that?”

  “That’s not funny.”

  “There’s nothing to be scared of, Delilah. It’s just one drink.”

  “Okay.” Delilah knew his expectation wasn’t unreasonable. This is what couples did. They met the people in each other’s lives. So what if the only people in her life at present were two bat shit crazy parents and a frustrated dancer slash dog psychic? That didn’t mean his friends were screw-balls. In fact, they were probably refreshingly normal; so normal they’d think she was a screwball. She’d give anything not to have do this, but she knew it wasn’t right. There was a possible out, though. “I don’t know anything about hockey.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  Was he getting tired of saying that? Of having to hold her hand and reassure her before she splintered into a million irrational pieces? Delilah checked his face; he didn’t seem particularly bothered.

  “Just tell me when and where, then,” Delilah heard herself say in a voice shockingly convincing. Her arms were beginning to itch. She was worried she was about to break out in hives. But she wanted to make Jason happy, and so she agreed to attend the game.

  Walking down the street with Brandi, who kept referring to herself as Delilah’s “stepmom,” Delilah tried to think of creative ways she could exact her pound of flesh from her father. He’d been haunting her for weeks to go shopping with Brandi, hammering home the point that it was important that “you girls get to know each other better.”

  So here she was, helping Brandi carry her many packages after an exhausting morning of traipsing from store to store. They’d shopped the East Side. They’d shopped the West Side. They had even ventured into the crowded hell that was midtown. Brandi bought lingerie, a number of tight sweaters with plunging necklines, five pairs of shoes, and a pair of fur-lined handcuffs that Delilah preferred not to think about. Delilah bought a new leash for Shiloh.

  “Oh, this has been so much fun!” Brandi squeaked.

  Delilah imagined dogs for miles around covering their ears and howling. Delilah herself longed to howl. From boredom.

  “This is a darling little neighborhood,” Brandi continued. “But aren’t you nervous living in the city?”

  “Why would I be?”

  “It’s so dangerous. You could be mugged or raped or murdered or run over or kidnapped or pushed under a subway train or—”

  “Gotcha.” The shoe-laden bag on Delilah’s shoulder began slipping, and she paused to hoist it back up. “Those things can happen on Long Island, too, you know.”

  “But it’s more likely to happen here,” Brandi insisted. “I haven’t seen one spalon,” she noted with disdain.

  “Nope. We don’t have dinerants, either. Yet somehow we survive.”

  They had just rounded the corner of Delilah’s street when they ran into Eric.

  “Hello, Delilah,” he said smoothly. Delilah noticed right away the way Eric sized Brandi up, his eyes lingering on her impressive chest and tiny tush. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” He flashed a smile that could charm the spots off a leopard.

  “Eric, I want you to meet my father’s fiancée, Brandi. Brandi, this is my friend Eric.”

  Eric gave a small bow. “Enchanted, I’m sure.”

  “So gallant.” Brandi turned to Delilah, impressed. “Isn’t he gallant?”

  “Very gallant,” Delilah agreed flatly, glaring at Eric. Her shoulder was beginning to throb. She dropped the bag of shoes to the sidewalk.

  “I bet you’re a model,” Eric said to Brandi.

  “I am!” Brandi grew excited. “Maybe you’ve seen me? On the Mattress Maven commercials? I’m the girl who rolls around on the bed in an angel costume and says, ‘Oooohh, this bed is heaven.’ ”

  Eric’s gaze again traveled her body. “I think I’ve seen that, yes.”

  “We have to get going,” Delilah said coldly.

  “What’s the big rush?” Eric asked, winking at Brandi as if the two shared a secret. Brandi covered her mouth with her hand, giggling girlishly. “Can you guess what I do for a living?” he asked Brandi.

  Brandi fluttered her eyelashes. “You’re a model, too?”

  “I’m sure I could have been,” Eric boasted. “But no, I’m a professional hockey player.”

  Brandi was awed. “You are?”

  “For New Jersey.” He seemed to remember Delilah was there. “I’m playing Jason tonight.”

  “I know. I’m going to the game.”

  “Really.” Eric seemed intrigued. “Well, you’ll have to let me know what you think.”

  Brandi sighed. “I would love to go to a hockey game sometime.” She clutched Delilah’s hand. “Maybe I could go with you? Tonight?”

  “You’re having dinner with my father tonight, remember?” Delilah pointed out frostily.

  Brandi dropped her hand. “Oh. Right.”

  “There’s still lots of games left in the season,” Eric assured her. “I can get you free tickets any time. Just say the word.”

  “I would looove that,” Brandi purred.

  Eric smiled slyly. “I thought you might. Do you have a pen and paper? We can exchange numbers, and maybe I can arrange for you to come to a game sometime.”

  While Brandi fumbled in her new Fendi bag, Delilah couldn’t decide whether to kiss Eric or kill him.

  Brandi found a scrap of paper and scribbled on it, handing it to Eric.

  “That’s my home number and at the spalon.”

  Eric’s nose crinkled in confusion. “The—”

  “Don’t ask,” said Delilah.

  “Thank you,” Eric said to Brandi, slipping the info into a back pocket of his jeans.

  “Don’t you have to be somewhere?” Delilah asked him pointedly. “Resting for tonight’s game, maybe?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do.” He leaned over to kiss Delilah’s cheek. “Good to see you, Delilah.” His gaze fastened onto Brandi. “A very, very great pleasure to meet you, Brandi.”

  “You, too,” Brandi said breathlessly, watching him as he walked away. Once he was out of sight, she turned back to Delilah. “Wow.”

  “Wow what?”

  “He’s so, like, hot.”

  “And you’re so, like, engaged to marry my father.”

  “I know,” Brandi sniffed. “But a girl can still look.”

  “Looking’s fine,” Delil
ah agreed. “But don’t touch. Because if you hurt my father—”

  “I would never hurt my Sy Guy,” Brandi insisted. She actually looked insulted, which Delilah took as a good sign. “Never, ever, ever.”

  Delilah hoisted the bag of shoes back onto her shoulder. “Glad to hear it.”

  “Goddamn, Eric’s on fire tonight.”

  Jason grunted in response to Thad Meyers’s comment, watching as Eric broke up another cross-ice pass, thwarting a Blades rush. The first period was nearly over, and Eric was playing like a man possessed. The two hadn’t yet met on the ice, but given how Ty liked to switch lines to generate sparks, Jason had no doubt they would.

  He had seen Delilah briefly in the Green Room before the game. She seemed overwhelmed. She smiled and nodded politely to everyone he introduced her to, but she looked petrified. He saw to it she was seated with Barry Fontaine’s wife, Kelly, and hoped it would work out.

  “Mitchell, get out there for Webster!” Ty barked.

  Tully Webster came sailing back to sit on the bench as Jason jumped over the boards and headed up the Blades’ left wing. Eric was on the ice. The Blades dumped the puck into the Jersey corner. Jason went to dig it out. He and Eric got there at the same time. “I hear Delilah’s here,” Eric panted, scrambling furiously for the puck that Jason was trying to keep away from him by kicking it along the boards. “Wait until she sees what a pussy you really are.”

  “Bite me,” Jason replied, snapping the puck into the slot where center Duncan Connors deflected it just wide. The crowd groaned.

  In the middle of the second, it was still deadlocked 0-0. Jason nailed Eric in the corner with a hard check. “Who’s a pussy now?” Jason breathed in his ear. “At least I’ve got a girlfriend.”

  They froze the puck, and New York won the subsequent face-off. A slap shot by Duncan Connors from the point caromed off the goal post, sending it to Jason near the half boards. As he went to one-time it, he was knocked off balance by a spear in his side. It was Eric.

  “You’re stupid as shit,” Eric taunted as he picked up the puck and sent it sailing to center ice. Furious, Jason smashed his brother’s helmeted head into the boards. The whistle blew.

  “Number Fifteen, New York, two minutes for roughing!” the ref called.

  Jason’s mouth fell open. “What are you, shitting me?” he yelled. “He speared me!”

  The ref glared at him. Jason took the hint and skated to the penalty box. He wondered what Delilah was making of all this, if she was even cognizant that he and Eric were battling.

  After the Blades killed off his penalty, Jason skated to the bench, where his team captain stood glaring at him. “Ignore your fucking brother,” Michael commanded. “He’s trying to get in your head.”

  Back on the ice, he and Eric met up along the boards near New York’s blue line. “Delilah offered to blow me on the way back from her mom’s,” Eric jeered, tipping the back of Jason’s helmet up so that the front was covering his eyes. Ignore it, Jason told himself as he headed back to the bench. But his fury grew.

  The Blades scored on a power play at the end of the second and took a 1-0 lead into the dressing room. Jersey, led by Eric, came out for the third on fire. But despite carrying the play, they couldn’t score on David Hewson. Midway through the period, the Blades scored on a counterattack to make it 2-0 with about twelve minutes left.

  When there were eight minutes to go, Ty barked for Jason’s line to get back out on the ice for a face-off at center ice. The Blades got control and dumped the puck deep. Jason raced in after it. His stick had barely made contact when Eric cross-checked him from behind into the boards.

  “Delilah says you suck in bed,” said Eric as the ref blew his whistle.

  “Fuck you!” Jason howled, hooking his brother between the legs with his stick so he couldn’t skate away. Before the linesmen could get between them, the two brothers started circling one another, dropping their gloves. “You upset I can get it up and you can’t? Delilah says—”

  Bam! Bam! Jason punched Eric with two quick right jabs before Eric could finish his taunt. Panting, he went to hit Eric again, shocked by how exhausted he suddenly felt. Eric grabbed his jersey and connected with a short left to the chin. They both grabbed at each other’s shoulder pads, each determined to thwart another blow from the other. Jason glanced down; there was blood on the ice. Good, Jason thought. I nailed him. The crowd was roaring. Jason felt like a gladiator in the ring.

  “I can’t wait to find out how sweet she tastes,” Eric murmured in Jason’s ear.

  Jason roared and, rearing up, threw Eric to the ice and jumped on top of him. At that moment, the two linesmen jumped in and pulled them apart. Jason could hear the sound of hockey sticks being banged against the boards as both teams’ players “voiced” their support.

  “Good go, boys. Now both of you get the fuck off the ice,” one of the refs scolded. The crowd cheered as Jason pushed the linesman off him and stormed off the ice to the locker room. It wasn’t until he was inside that he realized some of the blood was his.

  CHAPTER 14

  “You’re sitting next game.”

  Jason lowered the ice pack he’d been holding to his stitches and stared at Ty, who had just invited him to step into his office. Since all his teammates had been patting him on the back for not taking any shit from Eric, Jason assumed Ty was about to do the same.

  “Sit down, Jason.”

  He did as Ty asked, working hard not to look dumbfounded. He’d played his guts out, and when push came to shove, proved no one could get away with cheap-shotting him, not even his brother. So why was he being punished?

  “You played pretty well tonight,” Ty started, throwing a Nerf basketball into the small hoop set up in the corner.

  “Thank you.”

  “But I could have used you the rest of the third period.”

  Jason didn’t know what to say. They’d won, hadn’t they? What difference did it make?

  “What you did tonight was dangerous,” Ty continued.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “You made it personal. This is a team, remember? But you let your brother play you like a cheap violin.”

  Jason slumped, defeated. Ty was right: Eric had intentionally gotten up his nose in the hopes he’d lose his cool, and he’d succeeded. It was so obvious that Jason was mortified.

  “I don’t care if your brother killed your pet pony or is fucking your girlfriend. When you’re on the ice, only one thing matters: doing what we have to to win. What you did actually set us back. It fractured people’s concentration.”

  Jason squirmed with frustration. “I was taught not to take any crap.”

  “And that’s admirable. But unless you get the okay from me, keep your gloves on.”

  “I see your point,” Jason grumbled, “but I don’t get why you’re benching me next game.”

  “Because I’m a prick,” Ty answered glibly, shooting another hoop and scoring. “You buy that?”

  “No.”

  “Then you tell me why.”

  Jason frowned. He was getting tired of answering Ty’s rhetorical questions.

  “You want to teach me a lesson,” he recited, bored.

  “Bingo.” Jason tensed as Ty bounced the Nerf ball off his head. “I want you to sit on the bench, and watch your teammates play, and see how they all put the team first.”

  Jason couldn’t hold his tongue any longer. “He speared me, Coach!”

  “And if he wasn’t your brother, then maybe—maybe—you could have made a case for going after him. But he knows you, Jason.” Ty spun the Nerf ball on his index finger. “He knows what buttons to push, and you played right into it. You think that’s good?”

  “No,” Jason muttered.

  “I’ve told you before: you’re a good hockey player, Mitchell. You might even be a winner. But until you curb your impulsiveness, neither of us is ever going to know for sure, are we?”

  “ C ’ mon, let’s get the he
ll out of here.”

  Jason’s gruffness surprised Delilah. She’d done as he’d instructed, waiting patiently for him in the Green Room after the game. She was still trying to process the game itself; having never seen one before, she’d been amazed at how fast the action was. She could barely keep up, but she felt stupid asking Kelly Fontaine, or any of the other hockey wives/girlfriends, what was going on. They all seemed to know, cheering certain calls in unison and booing others. It felt like they were speaking a foreign language.

  They’d been cordial to her before the game. She was pretty sure she hadn’t sounded like a complete idiot when they asked her what she did for a living. People immediately wanted advice about their own pets, and Delilah was always glad to help, because it saved her having to talk about herself.

  Her eyes had been glued to Jason every time he was on the ice. She couldn’t believe the speed at which he was able to skate. It must feel like flying.

  Delilah also couldn’t believe how tough he was. Every time he hit someone or was hit by someone else, her heart would stop. Rationally, she knew it was part of the game, but emotionally, it was hard to watch.

  The way he and Eric had gone after each other was particularly upsetting, the more so because the surrounding crowd seemed to enjoy the fact they were beating the hell out of each other! Delilah didn’t get it. When neither appeared for the final half of the third period, she worried. She was relieved when Jason finally appeared in the Green Room, though the stitches in his chin did give her a little jolt.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. She moved to touch his face, but Jason jerked his head away.

  “I’m fine.”

  “The game was fun to watch,” she offered lamely.

  Jason snorted. “I bet.”

  “Kelly Fontaine seemed nice,” Delilah continued. Jason shrugged like he didn’t care.

  Bewildered, Delilah grabbed her coat. “Where are we going?” she asked in what she hoped was a cheerful voice.

  “Home.”

  “But I thought—”

  “I changed my mind. I’m tired, and you’d probably just sit there and not say a word anyway, so what’s the point? Let’s just go home.”