Game On

by Kelly Jamieson

  “Lark thought you were.”

  “Yeah, she tried to tell me that too.” My eye roll actually hurt. I jumped up to grab a bottle of water from the fridge and cracked it open.

  When I sat down again, Dad said, “You’ve always been talented. Athletic. Cocky.”

  One corner of my mouth lifted. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “It used to worry us that you never failed at anything.”

  “I don’t like failing.”

  “Nobody does,” he said dryly. “But I think you hate it more than most people. You always tended to avoid things you weren’t good at, so you wouldn’t risk failing. But you can’t go through life without ever falling down. Failure isn’t the opposite of success—it’s part of success.”

  I frowned.

  “We always wondered if that was why you never really had relationships with girls. Except for Ashley.”

  We all hated to talk about Ashley and what had happened back then. “Well, that whole experience taught me that relationships are way too much trouble.”

  “Yep,” Dad agreed. “Relationships are a fuck of a lot of trouble.”

  I gave him a sharp glance. “Dad. What are you saying? You and Mom…?”

  “We’re fine,” he said. “But it hasn’t always been easy. We’ve had to work at our marriage. If you want a relationship to work, you have to learn to listen. You have to let go of control sometimes. You have to make yourself vulnerable, and be honest…even when you’re afraid.”

  I thought about Olivia telling me she loved me. How vulnerable she must have felt, being that open and honest. How afraid she must have been.

  And I rejected her love.

  Pain shafted through my chest, and I bowed my head.

  “And you’re wrong about it not being worthwhile—if it’s with the right person. Ashley wasn’t the right person.” He shook his head. “She…well, I’m sure she cared about you, but she had some mental health issues. You know that now.”

  “Yeah.” I hadn’t understood that at eighteen years old. I’d just felt guilty about letting her down.

  “I know we made a lot of things too easy for you. Maybe we should have let you fall down more often. It’s a wonder you actually learned how to walk, with three big sisters always carrying you around or putting you in a stroller. You didn’t learn to talk until you were two years old because you didn’t have to. You just pointed at what you wanted and someone gave it to you.”

  The corners of my mouth quirked.

  “Yeah, relationships are trouble,” he continued. “They take work. Compromise. Honesty. Trust.” After a beat of silence, he added, “And I think relationships are one of those things you think you’re not good at, so you avoid them.”

  My mouth dropped open. I turned my head and narrowed my eyes at Dad.

  “So you don’t fail,” he added.

  “That’s not true,” I objected. But my face heated and my underarms prickled.

  “If you find the right person, it’s worth the effort. It’s worth everything.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Think about it, buddy.” He’d called me that nickname my whole life. “G’night.”

  Magnum followed me to my bedroom, and I shut the door. He jumped up onto the bed and stared at me with a big, expectant smile. “Yeah, don’t think you can sleep with me like you did with Olivia.” I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it onto the chair. “That’s not happening.”

  Actually, having him on the bed would be kind of nice. Then I wouldn’t feel so fucking alone. So I let him stay.

  Chapter 21

  Olivia

  As if it wasn’t bad enough that I’d fallen for a man who didn’t love me back, the Aces were not playing well.

  After Cam and I broke up, I hadn’t even wanted to watch the next game, but Noah and Paisley showed up at my place with popcorn and beer. It had been painful to watch. Cam had made some bad plays, and I knew he must be feeling shitty about it. He hated losing.

  Ha.

  I went to Paisley’s place for the third game. As the second period started and Minneapolis scored again (making it three–nothing) I observed something interesting…Noah and Paisley were holding hands.

  “What is that?” I demanded, pointing.

  They looked at me, then back to each other.

  “Uh…” Paisley stretched her mouth into a smile. “We’ve been, uh, seeing each other.”

  My jaw went slack. “Since when?”

  “Well, we went out for the first time on an actual date last weekend. Friday night…you went to the game.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” I sat up straight and leaned forward. Thinking about this, it didn’t surprise me. There’d been a couple of little things I’d wondered about.

  “Because you and Cam broke up.” Paisley glanced at Noah. “You were all brokenhearted, and it didn’t seem right to tell you…”

  My throat thickened. “But I’d be happy for you! I am happy for you.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, and the way her smile warmed and softened as she looked back at Noah told me so much. I gave her a look with an arched eyebrow and pursed lips that was intended to say, Wait till I get you alone and hear all about this.

  She grinned.

  About halfway through the second period, I actually had to leave. I couldn’t bear it.

  “Are we making you uncomfortable?” Paisley whispered to me at the door.

  “No! It’s the game. It’s not you at all. Seriously, this is awesome. You’re going to tell me everything over brunch tomorrow.”

  “Okay.”

  Of course I checked the score on my phone app when I got home and literally teared up seeing they’d lost again.

  I remembered how much Cam wanted to win. How they felt this year was their best shot at the Cup, with the best group and the best chemistry they’d ever had. And it looked like those dreams were being smashed to pieces, just like goalie Brent Stoyko’s stick when he’d slammed it against the net after the last Minneapolis goal had gone in.

  I sat on the edge of my bed, my heart throbbing, my arms and legs heavy, my head bowed.

  This was more than just being sad because the team I cheered for was losing. I was hurting for Cam. I wanted him to win. I wanted his dreams to come true. And I felt helpless to do anything about it.

  I didn’t want to, but I had to tell my family that we weren’t seeing each other anymore, starting with Alexis, over lunch the next week.

  “Oh dear,” Alexis said. “That didn’t last long.”

  I couldn’t respond to that, my eyes stinging, and then Alexis shocked me by saying, “Wait. Are you that upset?”

  I shook my head; my throat constricted.

  “You are.” And even more astonishing, Alexis slid her chair over and wrapped her arms around me in a hug. “I’m sorry, Liv.”

  As if I could stop the tears then. My big sister was comforting me. “I love him,” I choked out.

  “What happened?”

  I told her the story as I poked at my salad, not really interested in eating it. I’d lost five pounds in the last week, which was the only good thing about all this. It was also amazing, considering the chocolate binge I’d gone on.

  “I’m sorry, Liv. So sorry you’re hurting.”

  I eyed Alexis. “I would have expected you to…” I trailed off.

  She arched a perfect eyebrow. “What?”

  “I would have expected you to say someone like him would never have been really interested in me. That you weren’t surprised he doesn’t love me.”

  She gazed back at me, her face neutral except for the corners of her mouth which tightened. “I didn’t think that,” she finally said quietly. �
�I thought it was awesome that you’d met such a great guy and you both seemed really into each other.”

  “Really?” I drew in a shaky breath.

  “Really.”

  I swallowed and nodded. “Thanks.”

  I had a hard time not thinking about Cam, all the time. At the office when I was working on grant proposals or reviewing new marketing partnership ideas, or seeing our posters with his smiling image on them everywhere. Walking down the street when I’d see the municipal decoration on a sign and I’d remember showing that to Cam. At home, alone, wishing even Magnum was there, hoping he was okay.

  I was almost afraid to watch game four, because if they lost tonight, their season would be over. It was going to kill me. But I had to watch. Tonight, I was watching alone.

  Cam

  I walked down the tunnel and stepped in front of the players’ bench.

  It was two hours before game time. The arena was empty, every seat perfect, towels draped over the backs of them for fans to wave. Only a few light banks were on. The ice gleamed smooth and perfect, and the deep, high corners of the building faded into darkness. Silence pressed in on me.

  I closed my eyes and gripped the dasher board, standing in my shorts and long-sleeved T-shirt.

  Game four.

  We’d lost game three the night before last, putting us in a deep, deep hole.

  If we didn’t win tonight, our season was over.

  How could all our hopes have come to this? We’d played so fucking well all year. We knew how good we were; we knew we could beat anyone. We knew we could win.

  What was stopping us?

  I drew air into my lungs and held it, then slowly let it out. I tipped my head back to peer up into the rafters.

  This wasn’t my home arena, but I’d played in so many different buildings over the years, any arena was home.

  I’d come here early tonight to do this. To absorb the feel of the building before everyone else got here. To do some thinking in a place that, to me, was almost like a church. Okay, a place of worship. People joked about hockey being a religion. Here I could clear my mind and really focus.

  I’d been thinking about the things my dad had said, maybe some hard truths that I didn’t really want to think about.

  I’d never really had problems in my life big enough to distract me from my game. I knew I was a lucky bastard in some ways. I’d made it this far in my hockey career without any major injuries. My parents were alive and well, the rest of my family too, even all four grandparents. Nobody’d had cancer or lost a child…well, my sister Carly did have a miscarriage once, and that had been really sad. But I’d always gotten what I wanted—from the time I was born and my parents and sisters played with me and waited on me and gave me whatever I wanted. I’d wanted to play bantam hockey, and I’d made it. I’d wanted to play major junior hockey, and I’d been drafted by the Tigers. I’d wanted to play in the NHL, and I’d done that too.

  Now I wanted the Stanley Cup, and if hardship made you stronger…maybe I wasn’t strong enough to win it.

  Was I afraid to actually try hard…in case we didn’t win?

  That was fucked up.

  I closed my eyes on a wave of nausea. And had I lost Olivia because I wasn’t willing to try to have a relationship? Because…what if I failed?

  My gut contracted painfully.

  Maybe I wasn’t good enough to win the ultimate hockey prize.

  Maybe I wasn’t good enough for someone to love.

  Or maybe I just didn’t try hard enough.

  Relationships are trouble. They take work. Compromise. Honesty. Trust.

  Honesty.

  I hadn’t been honest with Olivia. Or with the guys about that stupid bet. Or…with myself.

  Which was probably the hardest thing of all.

  I remembered her talking to me about history…the only thing that guarantees we won’t live our dreams is if we give up on them before we even try.

  I’d lost her because I was such a stupid idiot, too afraid to lose a goddamn bet to realize…I’d truly lost the bet. Because I’d fallen in love.

  Jesus.

  My heart knocked against my ribs, and my mouth went dry. My chest felt like a band was tightening around it. I pushed away from the boards and paced along the bench, staring out at the smooth, white ice. I rubbed my sternum, where a nasty, painful ache had developed. My eyelids felt hot and scratchy, my lungs burning as I drew air into them. I scrubbed a hand over my eyes, my arms feeling like they weighed a hundred pounds.

  She loved me. And I’d hurt her, because I was so stupid and afraid. I’d screwed up. I wouldn’t ask for a second chance, because I didn’t deserve it, and I didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. She’d been hurt, and I didn’t blame her. I’d been a dick. What could I do about this?

  I could apologize. Admit my mistake. And I might as well complete the lesson in humility by admitting my feelings to her, even though it was probably too late.

  When it came to a lot of things, I was cocky for a reason. I was confident in my athletic skills. I was confident in my ability to charm a woman, to please her in bed. But when it came to relationships…Dad was right. I wasn’t confident. I was so afraid I couldn’t do it that I didn’t even try. I reveled in my “player” status, acting the cocky charmer role, seeing different women every week, hiding the real me—the me who was afraid. Afraid of letting someone down, like I did Ashley.

  So it served me right to be schooled in failure. To realize I was in love with someone after I’d screwed up and hurt her. And it served me goddamn right to have to wash a bunch of sweaty shorts for the rest of the year.

  Even if I couldn’t be with Olivia—oh fuck, my chest constricted so tight at that I couldn’t get air in—I’d be a better man because of it.

  I wasn’t really sure of that. But I’d try.

  I could start being a better man tonight. I’d give this game everything I had. If we lost…I’d learn from it.

  Tonight I had a hockey game to win. Tomorrow we flew home.

  * * *

  —

  My hands were sweaty as I walked down the hall to Olivia’s condo.

  I’d managed to gain entrance to the building without calling up, but I didn’t even know if she was home. She could still be at work, or at the gym, or out…hell, she could be out with another guy.

  I swallowed and wiped a hand on my jeans as I paused outside her door. Hopefully she wouldn’t call the cops on me for showing up in her building unannounced. I inhaled a deep breath and let it out, lifted my hand, and knocked.

  And waited.

  Fuck. She wasn’t here.

  Then…I heard a sound. And the lock clicked. The door opened.

  Her beautiful face peered around the door. “Cam? What’s going on?”

  “Hi. I need to talk to you. Just for a few minutes. If you have time.” My gut clenched rock hard.

  She eyed me, then opened the door and stepped aside.

  I hoisted the big bag I carried, and her gaze dropped to it.

  Her eyebrows pulled together as I tossed it on the floor of her foyer. “What is that?”

  I tugged the drawstring of the fabric bag and opened it. I held it wide and showed her.

  “Jesus!” Her nose wrinkled, and she flinched back. “What is that stench?”

  “Eau de hockey player.”

  After a stunned beat, she huffed out a laugh. “What?”

  “It’s compression shorts from the last two games. From Bomber, Pilker, Rico, and Chaser.”

  She blinked big eyes at me; her lips parted. “Uuuhh…”

  “That was the bet. Remember?”

  “Yes.” She still had a confused notch between her eyebrows. “Um…could you close that bag?”r />
  “Oh yeah.” I tightened the drawstring, but the odor lingered in the air. I waved a hand. “Sorry about that. I have to wash these for the rest of the year.”

  “Okay. And you brought them to show me…why?”

  “Because I lost the bet.” I held her gaze steadily.

  “No, you didn’t.” Her forehead creased. “You told them you didn’t fall in love.”

  Jesus, she was usually faster on the uptake than this. Or maybe she was torturing me. Sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. “No, Liv. I lost the bet.”

  Her eyes narrowed, then slowly widened. “Oh.”

  Chapter 22

  Cam

  I pulled in a shuddery breath. Dad was right; this was scary shit. “It took me longer than two months to realize it—well, only a few days more, really—but I’m a man of honor, so I admitted to the guys that I fell in love with you. So…I lost the bet.”

  Her mouth trembled, and she clasped her hands together in front of her. “I…I…”

  “It’s okay.” I held up a hand. “You told me you didn’t want to see me again, and like I said, I’m a man of honor even though sometimes I’m a thoughtless prick, but I know when a girl says no it means no, so I’m not going to pester you or harass you. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am.”

  Her eyes got all shiny, and she pressed her index finger beneath her nose.

  “Don’t cry.”

  “I’m not. It’s the smell…could you put that bag out in the hall?”

  I had to chuckle as I opened the door and hurled the bag out and closed the door again. I turned back to her. “I told you before, from the moment I met you, I wanted to see you again. And again. And…again.” I maintained the eye contact, and it wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be to say these things. “I told myself it was because I wanted to win the bet, but the truth was…I was falling for you. Hard. And fast. Even when I told you about the bet and we both agreed we didn’t want a serious relationship…I was falling for you. And when I told the guys I’d won the bet…it didn’t feel right. It felt shitty, actually. But I still didn’t realize it. And I’m sorry about that too. Sorry that I’m a dumbass.”