Coaches kept telling me to relax, to stop squeezing my stick, to let the game come to me. The harder I tried to do any of those things, though, the more I did the opposite. It was a vicious cycle, never ending. I’d spent a year and a half trying to figure out how to get out of this funk.
But tonight, after a week of trying to force myself into my former offensive ways, I was finally able to go back to doing the parts of the game I could actually still do. I could skate. I could check. I could block shots. I could hit. I hoped my linemates would score, but I had come into tonight’s game knowing that the pressure would finally be off me in terms of that.
The pressure was only gone until halfway through the first period, when Luddy skated off the ice with his eyes squinted together. He looked a little green, like he might puke at any moment. He headed straight down the tunnel with a trainer, not even bothering to stop to talk with the coaches before he disappeared.
Maybe his concussion hadn’t completely healed, then. The hit he’d taken just before coming off the ice hadn’t been that bad. Just a little rub-out along the boards. No contact to the head. Nothing to cause new brain trauma.
Or he might have some sort of a stomach bug. That was a possibility, as well.
I didn’t have much more time to wonder what was going on with Luddy because the head coach, Scotty Thomas, shouted my name. When I turned to look at him, he said, “You’re going back to the top line with RJ and Eller. Jonny, you’ll be taking the right wing with Hank and Webs.”
I nodded my acknowledgment, my stomach already roiling at the thought that I’d be expected to score again when I’d almost been free of those expectations, and turned back to the ice. Zee, Soupy, and Babs were heading over the boards to take the next draw, but Zee stopped and looked at me.
“Just play your game,” he said, his eyes boring into me. “Don’t try to be Luddy out there.” Then he skated off and won the face-off against Henrik Zetterberg of the Red Wings.
Play my game. Right. That’s what I’d been trying to do for a year and a half, and I hadn’t gotten anywhere with it. But he had a point about not trying to fill Luddy’s shoes. I could never be him. He was a sniper. He lurked around the net, waiting for a pass to hit his stick so he could get off a quick wrister and beat the goalie with the speed of his release. That had never been my game. I was the kind of winger who would cycle and move the puck, looking for a seam. My slap shot had always been more lethal than my wrist shot, so I was more dangerous from a distance than in close.
Not that anyone would consider me dangerous these days.
Zee’s line did a great job of making crisp passes to each other, getting smoothly into the offensive zone. Zee shot the puck on net from the half-wall, and Soupy jammed away at the rebound, trying to poke it through the goaltender’s five-hole.
Somehow, Nicklas Kronwall, the Wings’ top defenseman, got the puck free and shot it out of the zone. Our D corralled it and held on to it in the neutral zone, waiting for our forwards to clear so we could go back in without being offside.
This time Babs took the puck in and cycled it down low. The forwards started passing from one guy to the next to the next. They couldn’t get any more shots on the net, but they were seriously wearing the Wings down. One at a time, our guys came off for a change, and Scotty shouted for my line to replace them.
When Babs got to the bench, I jumped over the boards and skated into the offensive zone as fast as I could. Zee passed me the puck on his way off to change. It hit my stick right on the tape. I didn’t have a good angle, and I knew nothing I shot at the net would go in anyway, so I passed it back to our D at the point and moved into a better position. The guy trying to cover me couldn’t keep up; Zee and the boys had exhausted them already. The puck made it over to RJ, who had come out to replace Zee, and RJ didn’t even hold on to it for a second. He cocked his stick back and faked a slap shot, instead redirecting it so it was heading straight for me.
I had a great angle. No one would be able to move into my shooting lane to block the shot in time. If I could elevate it and shoot glove side, I doubted the goalie could catch up to it.
But that meant I had to shoot. I couldn’t pass and hope someone else would.
I brought my stick back. I swung it forward, dropping down to get more torque on my stick. Contact with the puck. It flew toward the net, rising as it traveled.
Top shelf.
Red light.
Goal horn.
I’d finally scored a fucking goal.
“The boys all say you must be my good luck charm,” Liam said. “I’m inclined to agree with them.”
I didn’t know about all that.
We were walking through the main concourse at the Moda Center after the game. He’d come to get me once he’d finished showering and talking to the media, and now we were headed to the parking garage so we could leave.
He’d put his hand on the small of my back when we’d left the owner’s box, using it to gently guide me through the building. That slight contact brought him close enough that I could smell the earthy, spicy cologne he’d put on after showering. Close enough that I could feel the heat still radiating from his body after all that physical activity. I liked the sensation, his warmth wrapping around me like a blanket. Even with my sweater, I’d been cold the whole night. I had already decided that the next time I came to one of his games, I was absolutely going to steal Maddie and Katie’s idea and bring a throw blanket with me.
We walked past a group of fans that was still lingering, even though the game had ended quite a while ago. The fans were all dressed in purple-and-silver jerseys, and they’d obviously been drinking judging by their loud voices and unsteady gaits.
They must have recognized Liam, because all of a sudden one of them shouted out, “Kally! Nice fucking hattie!”
“You can stay as long as you want if you keep scoring like that!” another added.
There were more shouts, and a few of the men started following after us. Liam pulled me a little closer to his side, which I was glad for, but he slowed and turned around, walking us backward while we faced the rowdy fans.
“Hope you all enjoyed yourselves tonight,” he said calmly. I was anything but calm. The same way I didn’t know how to deal with angry people, I really didn’t know how to deal with drunk people. They made me nervous.
“We did, thanks to you,” the one closest to us said. He was slurring his words a little. “Fucking hat trick. Way to bust out of a fucking slump.”
“Yeah.” Liam smiled at them. “Listen, how are you guys getting home?”
“Ronnie’s our designated driver,” the guy said, pointing at another man who couldn’t walk straight and was barely remaining upright. Ronnie might be the most wasted of them all.
Liam stopped. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took out a few bills—fifties, it looked like. He handed them over to the fans. “Do me a favor. Take a cab and come back for your car in the morning, okay? Just everyone stay safe so we can all keep having a good time.”
They took the bills and spent a few more minutes telling him how awesome he was. One of them called for a cab. Then Liam told them good night, and we started heading toward his car again.
“That was really nice of you,” I said when he opened the door for me.
“Being nice didn’t have anything to do with it.” He closed the door and headed around to the driver’s side.
He was wrong about that. I didn’t doubt that thinking about the drunk driver who’d killed Liv was an instigating factor in what he’d done, but it wasn’t the only thing involved. Not by a mile. Liam had a good heart.
He started the car and backed out of his spot. “Do you want to go to dinner with everyone else, or would you rather just go home?”
“Would you be upset if I said go home?”
The faintest smile stole over his face. “I was hoping you’d say that, actually. I like being alone with you.”
I let myself breathe after that, and a
warm tingle crept through my veins. He was definitely flirting with me again, and I liked it more than I should.
I’d enjoyed talking to Maddie and Katie, and I had liked talking to some of the other women during the game, too. But I had been feeling overwhelmed by the time he’d come to collect me. It was too many new people, too many things going on at once. I needed a little peace and quiet after a night like that.
Liam didn’t seem to need to fill the space between us with a bunch of mindless chatter. I appreciated that more than he could ever know. I loved talking to people, but I wanted it to mean something when we did. Empty words just left me feeling hollow and tired.
After he got onto the Steel Bridge, he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel so he could hold it with only his left hand, and with his right, he reached over to take my hand. I let him, allowing his warmth to seep into my bones and spread all the way down to my toes. A little sigh escaped my lips, and his eyes flashed over to meet mine for just a moment before he focused on the road ahead of him.
“Why do you think I’m good luck?” I asked after a few minutes of comfortable silence.
“I scored as many goals tonight as I have since Liv died. The only thing that changed for me is you.”
He let the words lay between us, and they trickled into my soul just like his warmth had worked itself into my body. He made it sound so simple, as though it was merely a fact that I should accept. But I didn’t have a whole lot of faith in things like luck and chance. I was more inclined to put my stock in things like hard work and doing the right thing. I’d had nothing to do with him scoring in the game.
We didn’t talk the rest of the way to his condo. When we got there, he started unloading things from the refrigerator. “Hungry?” he asked.
“Starving.” I really needed to pay more attention during the day tomorrow and eat at a normal hour. I’d had the sandwich he’d made for me in the car on our way to the game, and I’d snacked from the buffet in the owner’s box while we were there, but I still hadn’t gotten to where I felt like I’d caught up with my hunger.
That was something I’d learned early on in my days of living out of my car. No matter how many other things I had to give up, I had to make sure I kept enough money that I could scrounge up a meal here and there. Hunger and I didn’t get along well. Clothes and other possessions? They weren’t so important. Not important enough to let the gnawing ache of an empty belly gain any traction.
Liam grinned and set to work making us some turkey sandwiches. I took out a bag of baby spinach and a few other things and started putting together a salad. It only took us a few minutes. Then he carried everything over to the table, and we sat down to eat.
He loaded some salad into a bowl and put a sandwich on his plate. “Tomorrow, I have to go to practice in the morning, and I’ve got an appointment at three in the afternoon. Can I take you out to lunch, and then we’ll go get you a cell phone? I should have time before my meeting.”
I still didn’t think it made sense for him to provide me with a phone, but after how worried he’d been this afternoon, I decided not to argue. I didn’t want to make him worry unnecessarily. I nodded. “I might go for a walk in the morning, but I promise not to go too far and I’ll be back in time for lunch.”
“And you’ll wear shoes?”
I met his gaze. His dark brown eyes were smiling at me, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling in return. “And I’ll wear shoes.”
“Good.” He took a bite and chewed, but his eyes never left me, and his smile wouldn’t go away. I liked seeing him smile. He was a handsome man even when he was brooding, but when he was happy it was like a piece of his soul was shining through his eyes and piercing me with his goodness.
“Are you telling everyone I’m your girlfriend?” I asked. His eyebrows shot up in question, and I immediately regretted asking. “It’s just that some of the players’ wives seem to think I’m your girlfriend. They all knew who I was already, and I just wondered if they were drawing their own conclusions or if there’s a reason they thought that.”
“I haven’t told anyone that you’re my girlfriend.”
“Okay.” I picked up my sandwich to busy myself so hopefully I wouldn’t put my foot in my mouth again.
“I’m not sure I’m ready to have a girlfriend,” Liam said, as though he needed to explain things further. “If I was ready, I’d want her to be you…but I don’t know if I’m the right man for you.”
“Why wouldn’t you be the right man for me?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Because I’m scared that if you spend too much time with me, I’ll dim your light.”
Liam worked his jaw, and his Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and I wanted to do anything I could to alleviate the anguish so evident in every tensed muscle in his body. I reached across the table and put my hand over his. He flinched, but I picked his hand up and put our palms against each other, stretching my fingers up as high as they would go even though they didn’t come close to matching the length of his.
He shook his head and tried to pull his hand away, but I used my other hand to hold his wrist in place.
“Look,” I said, and I waited until his gaze fell on our joined hands. “Your hand is big enough it completely hides mine from that side, but my hand hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still there, the same as it always was, no matter how big yours is.”
He shook his head, clearly not following.
“You’re worried about dimming my light, but it doesn’t matter how dark you are. My light is still going to shine as bright as it ever has. And maybe after a while it’ll start to look a little brighter on your side.”
He curled his fingers down, threading them through mine.
I mimicked him and smiled. “Besides,” I said. “I don’t think you’re anywhere near as dark as you seem to think.”
“Does all of this mean you want to be my girlfriend?”
Goose bumps broke out on my skin, starting where our hands were connected and spreading to every inch of my body. A shiver raced along my spine, and I found myself craving more of the small amount of contact we had.
“Maybe,” I said quietly.
Was that a good maybe, one that meant she liked the thought of potentially becoming my girlfriend, or was it a bad maybe that meant she was just trying to put me off that line of questioning? I couldn’t ever really tell what was going on inside Noelle’s head, which I found both intriguing and infuriating. She could always seem to tell what I was thinking and feeling, whether I told her or not; she just knew. But I was always trying to figure her out.
As things stood, whether I knew what she felt about anything or not, I couldn’t stop myself from thinking about her. From wanting to spend time with her. My fear of dulling her shine was still very much a reality, despite her assurances that I was incapable of doing any such thing, but I had an even greater reason for wishing I wasn’t so attracted to her. Ridiculous or not, I couldn’t help but feel as if starting a new relationship right now would be unfair to Liv. It made me feel as though I was being unfaithful to her and her memory.
For now, with all of that swirling through my mind, it might be better to just change the subject to something safer than talk of Noelle being my girlfriend. Something entirely unrelated to any potential relationship that may or may not form between us.
“I feel like I don’t really know much about you yet,” I said, trying to keep my thoughts from going places I didn’t want to go. “Tell me about your family.”
That light inside her, the one that drew me in like a beacon in the night, sparked to life. She smiled, and it was such a beautiful sight that it stole my breath.
“I have two younger brothers,” she said, her melodic voice soothing my nerves like a balm. “Ethan and Christopher. Ethan is a junior at Stanford. Pre-med. And Chris is a freshman at Yale this year. He hasn’t declared a major yet, but I have a feeling he’s going to go into mechanical engineering or something similar.”
> I already loved hearing her talk about her family. She got all animated, her eyes sparkling, and her arms and hands moved to emphasize her points. You could really tell how proud she was of them, how much she loved them. “And your parents?” I asked when she paused to take a bite.
“My parents were the best parents ever. No one could have asked for better parents than we had.”
Were. Not are.
Yet she was still smiling.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right.” Noelle picked up a paper towel and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “They died almost five years ago. I was a sophomore at the University of Washington, and they were coming to pick me up for Thanksgiving. Traffic was really bad and it was taking them forever, so they stopped at a convenience store to use the bathroom and get a snack. A man had a gun and was trying to rob the store. Dad was always trying to do the right thing, but that day he did the stupid thing. The robber shot and killed both my parents, and he injured the clerk, too, before he ran out of bullets and took off with the thirty-two dollars he got from the cash register.”
She had fresh tears in her eyes, but she managed to tell me all of that without breaking down and sobbing. In fact, she was still smiling even with the tears pressing to come free. My heart hurt for her so badly that I was having a hard time not crying, but she was holding herself together. I couldn’t figure out how she was doing that.
“My brothers were in high school. They were staying at a friend’s house for the day, waiting for Mom and Dad to come home with me. Instead, I got a call that our parents had been killed. I packed up and dropped out of school so I could go home and take care of my brothers.”
“That’s awful,” I croaked out, my own grief tangling with the sympathy I felt for Noelle. She’d only been nineteen or twenty years old, and all of a sudden she was thrust into the role of parent to two teenaged boys with no one to help her through it.
“It was. Awful things happen every day, though, to people who don’t deserve it.” She shrugged her shoulders, shaking her head just a bit. “I can’t let myself focus on the bad stuff. It’s too easy to get dragged down and stuck in the muck and mire that can make us forget to live. I focus on the good.”
Light the Lamp Page 7
