“So, about your doctor visit,” he said after a moment. “I have a list. Questions. Have you made an appointment yet?”
“Thursday. They managed to work me in after I begged. I wanted to do it while Daddy is still in the hospital. I don’t want to have to deal with him finding out until I’m ready.”
Cam didn’t respond right away, and when he did, he merely said, “Yeah.” That was odd, the way he had to think about that for so long. “I’ll text you my questions after we hang up.”
“I’m sure I can come up with enough questions on my own,” I argued.
“Maybe. But I still want answers to the questions I have. Are you going alone?”
“Dana’s coming with me.”
“Good. I don’t want you to be alone.”
The way he said it made me tingle all over, the way I so often did when he looked at me. “How do you do it?” I said, only realizing after the fact that I’d spoken aloud.
“How do I do what?”
Fuck. “How do you make me feel like that?”
“Like what?”
I pressed my eyes closed, as though he could see the mortification on my face as I answered him. “Like my whole body is filled with these racing electrical currents.”
“The same way you make me feel like I finally have the answer to what my life is supposed to be about. The same way I get hard just from the scent of your hair or the sound of your voice or the sight of your shoes. The same way I forget how to speak or breathe or function as a human being when you walk into a room.”
My tingles weren’t just tingles anymore. They were lightning bolts, striking all over my body repeatedly. My breath caught in my throat.
“Sara?”
“Yeah?”
“It’s going to be torture, not being able to hold you tonight.”
It would be torture to not be held.
“SO HOW LONG were you planning to keep it a secret from me?” Daddy asked. My whole body tensed in response.
I placed the last of the clothes I’d brought for him in the drawer and closed it. “Keep what a secret?” There were only a couple of things he could be talking about, and only Cam and Dana knew any of them. Dana had just learned, and she and Cam had both promised me they wouldn’t say anything to anyone.
I intended to tell Laura and Rachel tomorrow, and probably Katie, too, since she went everywhere with Laura these days. We were going to get together for dinner after Rachel got off work, and I was going to fill them in on everything, including the doctor’s appointment I would have that afternoon. Those three didn’t know anything yet, though.
So who else would have told my father anything that could be considered a secret? I wasn’t, generally, a secretive person. Especially not where my dad was concerned. I tried to push down my anger, at least until I had a justified reason to be angry. At least until I knew who to be mad at and why.
The hospital had just moved my father into a private room, and they’d told me I could bring some more of his stuff from home—his own clothes to wear instead of the hospital gown, some books, his laptop—and I was helping him to get settled in before the game tonight.
Yeah, that’s right. The game.
He’d gone behind my back and somehow finagled himself a room that had all the sports channels so he wouldn’t have to miss it or any of the pre-game and postgame commentary. That was how we were going to spend our time together tonight—watching the boys. I understood his desire to watch it and see how they did, but I wasn’t so sure it was the best thing for his recovery. At least we were still in the hospital for this first game or two, though. If things didn’t go well in the game, if he got too worked up over anything and caused himself more problems with his heart, there really wasn’t a better place we could be. And maybe then, the doctors would forbid him from watching any more.
A girl could hope, at least.
“Jonny came to see me yesterday before the team left,” Daddy answered, and a massive knot formed in my throat.
Cam had lied to me, then. I don’t know why that should hurt as much as it did, but I felt completely betrayed. Not to mention blindsided.
“Did he?” I impressed myself with my ability to keep my voice smooth and calm. That was no small feat, considering all the emotions roiling underneath the surface. I went over to the sink to organize Daddy’s toiletries and to give myself an excuse to not look at him while we talked. I didn’t want my face or my behavior to give anything away beyond what Cam had apparently already revealed.
“He told me about the two of you. That you’re a couple.”
Were we a couple? Could we be one already, just after one night of sex? I supposed that was what Cam wanted us to be. Maybe I did, too. Or maybe I had until he’d gone behind my back and talked to my father when he’d promised me he wouldn’t. I wasn’t so sure I could still want that after this turn of events.
At least he had only told that and not anything about the baby. Or I hoped he hadn’t told Daddy about the baby.
I set out his toothbrush and toothpaste. Almost immediately, I decided I didn’t like where they were and it would make more sense to move them to the left side of the counter since his razor and shaving cream were on the right, so I flipped them around. Yes, I was just trying to kill time and avoid looking at my father. Sue me for being chicken shit.
“You don’t have anything to say about it?” Daddy said.
“I didn’t think you needed to know yet is all. It’s still really new. I don’t know where it’s going yet, so I didn’t think there was any reason to upset you.”
“Several months is really new? You’ve been seeing a guy that long and you don’t know where it’s headed?”
Months? What the fuck kind of lies had Cam told him? And what might be the far more important question, why? Until I had answers, it was probably best to just go along with the lies as best I could. That would be a hell of a lot easier to do if I had had some sort of warning, though.
I turned around so I could face my father. “I just didn’t want to upset you, Daddy.”
“Why would I be upset to know that you’re dating a good man?”
“Because Cam’s one of your players.” Just as the son of a bitch who my mother had run off with had been. That made me no better than her. It made me just like her, actually, and left me hating myself for what it would do to my father.
“Yeah, he is. Which means I know him. I know what kind of man he is.” He curled the fingers of his hand in toward his palm, urging me to come sit by his bed. “You know I want you to be with someone. To have a life of your own and not have everything so tied up with me.”
“I know you don’t want me to be alone if anything happens to you.” I took his hand as I sat, letting mine be swallowed up in his. “But I don’t intend to let anything happen to you, so—”
“It’s more than just that. I want you to be happy, baby girl. I want you to really live. That’s why I’ve been trying to get you to go out more. I should have tried harder to convince you to go off to college, you know. To start your own life. I shouldn’t have ever hired you as my assistant.”
I hated hearing him talk like this. I could have—and would have—gone to college if I’d thought it was right for me. But I hadn’t. I’d stayed with my father because he was all I had. Or at least all I had that mattered. “I don’t think I can be happy if I don’t have you.”
“There’s no reason you can’t have me and a relationship, too.” He reached across his chest with his other hand and grimaced against the pain of the movement, but he didn’t let it stop him from touching the side of my face. It was too soon after open heart surgery for him to be pushing himself in that way. “I want you to love.”
“I do. I love you.”
“We both know that’s not what I mean. Do you love Jonny?”
I shook my head, but what came out of my mouth was, “I don’t know.”
The corners of Daddy’s lips quirked up. “Do you not know because you don’t
want to love him, or do you just really not know yet?”
“I just don’t know.” I shrugged, but I knew there was more that I wasn’t saying. He was right. I didn’t want to love Cam.
For a thousand, million reasons.
“Okay.” He brought his hand back down to his side and leaned back into his pillows, his other hand still holding mine tightly. “Promise me something, though, Sara.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“Promise me that you won’t fight it. If you wouldn’t fight against it, if you would let him love you, I wouldn’t have to worry about you so much.”
“You don’t have to worry about me.”
“Bullshit. You’re my daughter. Worrying about your kids is one of the primary aspects of a parent’s job.” He let go of my hand and adjusted the bed so he could lie down a little flatter. “But one of the best parts is when you know there’s someone else to share the load. Jonny wants to share the load. He wants to be there when I can’t be.”
I had to turn my head away so he wouldn’t see that I was fighting back tears. What the hell did Cam say to my father to make Daddy think all this? What was he trying to do?
“Sara?”
“I don’t know how to not fight it,” I said.
“Don’t I know it,” he muttered. “You fight everything. Maybe that’s why I think Jonny will be good for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because he’s as stubborn as a fucking mule and maybe the most determined man I know.” He sighed. “I think I’m going to take a nap before the game. Are you going to watch it with me?”
“Yeah, I figured I would.” I had told Dana that I wouldn’t be back at her place tonight until after it was over. Being here with him while he watched would help me to relax because I’d be able to see his reaction for myself.
“Why don’t you go get some dinner and come back after?”
I nodded and got up, leaning over him to kiss him on the forehead. “Get your rest.” Then I headed out to the parking lot.
If I thought he’d answer, I would call Cam right that very instant and give him a piece of my mind. He was probably on the team bus from the hotel to the arena right now, though, or maybe they were already in the locker room getting ready for the game. It would have to wait until later. This was important time with the boys.
Maybe that was for the best, anyway, not being able to call him and cuss him out right in the heat of the moment. It’d give me plenty of time to come up with all the things I wanted to say to him.
HALFWAY THROUGH THE game, there still hadn’t been too much carryover from the nastiness that took place in that last game of the regular season. A couple of late hits, which the refs had called almost immediately, a few slashes, and a hooking call.
The officials were doing their best to keep a tight clamp on things, it seemed—making sure that nothing boiled over like it had only a few days ago. That was probably the most intelligent thing they could do since tonight’s game was only the first of the seven-game series. If they lost control now, it would be an all-out war.
Up until that point in the game, there also hadn’t been much scoring.
With over eight minutes to go in the second period, the score was tied at one. Vancouver had struck first, getting a power play goal past Nicky near the end of the first period. Less than a minute into the second, Babs got that one back with what might have been the prettiest goal of his young career, which was saying something. The kid was going to score, and score often, for a long time to come.
He’d just come over the boards on a line change and was hovering right by center ice when one of the Canucks D had tried to chip the puck past him into the zone. Babs got his stick out in just the right spot, and then he was off to the races.
Maybe it was just because I was watching from the press box and not down on ice level with the boys, but I don’t think I’d ever seen Babs move so fast. He skirted around the defenseman he’d stolen the puck from, split right between two other Canucks who tried to block his progress—they crashed into each other, and he got through them unscathed—dropped the puck between his legs and passed it to himself, and somehow elevated it on a nasty backhand shot. The goaltender didn’t have a chance.
The boys and I—those of us stuck up in the press box, that is—whooped and hollered, not that Babs and the guys on the ice could hear. It didn’t matter. That was our team. Whether we were playing tonight or not, those guys down there were our friends, and in some cases, like family.
Jens was sitting up there with me, as were Stéphane Montfort and Aaron Ludwiczak. Monty was still recovering from a broken arm, but he’d started skating again almost a week ago. They might even clear him to play before the next game. And Luddy had suffered from a couple of concussions this season. We didn’t know when he’d get back in, especially since he’d tried to come back too early the last time.
Those three guys were out due to injury, unlike me and my suspension.
We had one more guy keeping us company, too—Kyle O’Roarke, better known to the team as Chunk. I honestly didn’t know how he’d come by that nickname, but it had stuck, and he’d probably carry it for the rest of his career. He was the one healthy scratch out of the bunch of us, and based on the way the boys on the ice were playing, unless someone else came out with an injury, Chunk would probably still be in the press box for the next game, too.
Since Babs had scored, it had been a chip-and-chase sort of game: dump the puck into the zone; try to get control of it; get off for a line change before you overstay your shift. That was true for both teams, for whatever reason. Neither wanted to take too many chances in case the other team capitalized on it. That was no way to succeed, though. That was fear, plain and simple. Playing afraid was no way to play hockey, especially in a game that mattered as much as this one did. Both teams were playing to not lose, not playing to win.
It was understandable, to an extent, especially for our guys. An awful lot of them had never been in the playoffs before. This was a whole new brand of pressure, and it was going to take a little time to adjust. I just hoped they didn’t take too long to make that adjustment or else our season would be over a lot sooner than any of us wanted it to be.
The refs blew their whistles, halting the game, because the puck got knocked over the glass and out of play. Some guy in the lower bowl leaped up and caught it, sloshing the beer in his other hand all over the row of fans below him.
“Fucking waste of a good beer,” Jens muttered beside me, and the other guys murmured their agreement.
The officials got a new puck and signaled for the coaches to decide which players they wanted on the ice. Since we were the visiting team, Hammer and Bergy had to make that decision before the Canucks did. They sent Zee, Soupy, and Babs over the boards for the forwards, Burnzie and Peter Nylund for the defense. That prompted Vancouver to send out their checking line since Babs, in particular, was one of the only guys on the Storm who had been noticeable in this game.
It didn’t seem as if it was going to matter who went out there, though. Once again, after the puck hit the ice, it was back to dump and chase, dump and chase, dump and chase.
Those final eight minutes of the period ticked by in tedious fashion with the tension in the press box only growing. The longer it went on like this, the more it would favor the home team. They were going to wear our guys down and then, finally, pounce.
As soon as the horn sounded, signaling the end of the second period, I got up and excused myself from the other guys so I could go down to the locker room. Not that I had a clue what I was going to say. But someone or something needed to knock some sense into the boys. Playing to not lose was a recipe for losing.
The guys had already gone into the room and the doors were closed, but the guard outside recognized me and let me in.
Almost complete silence met me when I walked inside. A couple of the guys looked up, but most of them were just trying to suck in air so they’d be ready for the
third.
Zee was re-taping his stick. Soupy was taking his skate off to send away with Drywall Tierney, the head equipment manager, for repairs. Babs had his head back against his stall, his eyes closed. Webs and Burnzie were both talking to the trainers, getting some minor injuries dealt with. Nicky had even put some fucking headphones on and was in his own little world, oblivious to everything around him. He was a fucking goalie, though, so whatever. I couldn’t hold that against him. He needed to stay sharp, focused—whatever was required to keep him there, he should do. Kally was the only guy in the room who met my eyes and nodded. He’d been in the league for a long time. He sure as fuck felt happening what I felt; I could see it in the set of his jaw.
Yeah, they were getting ready for the third, all right. Ready for more of the same. Ready for a fucking beating. Ready to get their asses handed to them on a silver fucking platter.
Bergy caught my eye and raised a brow. I knew that expression. So, you’re here. What the fuck are you going to do now? That’s what he was saying to me with that look.
Good question.
I put my hands in my pockets and looked down at the center of the room—the spot where, if we were in our home locker room, the Storm logo would be. I could picture it in my mind’s eye, and I knew the rest of the boys could see it, too. We’d looked at that same logo countless times.
“I went to see Scotty yesterday, before we left,” I said.
The silence in the room grew much louder as every single guy looked up at me. I heard the door open again, and Jim Sutter slipped into the room. He just nodded at me, too, as Bergy had done.
I figured I’d better keep going. “Pretty sure he’s watching tonight in the hospital. This isn’t the kind of hockey he had us playing all year. This isn’t our game. Scotty had us playing a speed game, five guys working together in all three zones. Controlling the pace. Taking some fucking chances so that we happened to the game instead of the game happening to us.” I shifted my feet because it was fucking uncomfortable having the guys hang on my every word like that. It didn’t sit well with me. “I don’t know how proud he’d be right now. And I don’t know about you boys, but I’d rather play the game he expected us to play and lose than play like this kind of shit, whether we won or lost.”
Delay of Game Page 12
