Hockey Holidays

by Toni Aleo

  Kitty explained what the doctor said.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that, dear. I’m sure you two can work something out.”

  “You don’t know Harry. He’s so proud. He wants to be the breadwinner, the man, you know?”

  “Oh, yes, I do. Your father’s the same way. Still, if he can’t do that, then you two must find something else.”

  “If he keeps playing, he might get hurt again. Worse this time,” Kitty said, biting her lip.

  “Let me think, talk to your father. I’ll call you back tonight.”

  “Okay.”

  Kitty hit the shower and got dressed. The gallery didn’t open until noon, but she had a ton of things to do. Harry’d be coming down and they’d be together. This trip, she’d go to his game. She needed to see him in action. After all, it might be his last time. She shivered at the thought, picked up her briefcase and headed for the street.

  As she walked, she stopped to watch Macy’s eye-catching Christmas window displays. Christmas shopping! That would brighten her mood. This year, she’d be buying Harry gifts with her own money, bucks she’d made at the gallery. A smile spread across her face. Maybe it was time Harry got used to her carrying more of the load.

  The store boasted garlands with shiny silver and blue balls, Christmas trees decorated in gold and red ornaments, or Christmas plaid. Each department showcased a different tree color combination. Kitty made a note to buy a tree and two wreaths for the house in West Hartford. She’d make the purchase online and have the decorations shipped.

  She stopped first in menswear. Harry needed new shirts. Maybe flannel this year. If he didn’t have to dress in suits and ties anymore, he didn’t need more dress shirts. The image of her tall man in a plaid flannel shirt gave her gooseflesh. Her fingers tingled as she imagined pressing them against his chest, strong under the soft cotton.

  Perhaps there would be some perks to his not playing hockey? For example, days spent in bed, talking about what he should do next. A shiver ran up her spine, bringing heat to other places.

  “Can I help you?” asked a salesman.

  “Yes. Flannel shirts, extra-large?”

  “Right this way.”

  Kitty perused the selection.

  “I’ll take the red plaid. He has dark hair and eyes.”

  “Good choice. Black Watch goes with all coloring,” the salesman said.

  “Oh, yes. I like that one. I’ll take it, too.”

  “Wrap as a gift?”

  “Please. Christmas paper?”

  “Of course. Anything else?”

  “Bathrobes?”

  “Right his way.”

  Kitty hummed Jingle Bells as she followed the man. If she couldn’t fix what was wrong with Harry, at least she could buy him gifts to let him know she’d been thinking of him. Love swelled in her heart as she made her way through the store, racking up a bill of more than five hundred dollars. Nothing was too good for her man.

  The salesman took the items and sent them to be shipped. They’d arrive before Kitty. Perfect. She sighed. This Christmas had to be special. Who knew where they’d be next year?

  Chapter Two

  The way his sweat glands worked overtime, you’d think he faced the last game in the Stanley Cup playoffs. Deke had faked his way through morning skate, again. Not that he’d fooled the trainers or his coach. He noticed their narrowed eyes following him as he sprinted across the ice. After half an hour, he huffed and puffed, bent over in a corner to catch his breath.

  He couldn’t continue to stall or say he needed a few more weeks. The Huskies were losing. They needed Deke in top form now.

  “You’re starting in D.C.,” Coach had said a week ago.

  It was do or die time. Deke stocked up on inhalers and prayers. Harry “Deke” Edwards was all about pro hockey. He figured with Kitty’s success with her gallery, she’d probably dump him if he got put out to pasture. He’d have nothing. The thought kicked up his heart rate.

  He packed with care, bringing his new aftershave, Secret Desire. His secret desire had nothing to do with sex. Every night he prayed his windpipe would stretch by fifteen percent. Still, the cologne smelled great. Kitty’d notice he’d switched brands.

  Kitty! His mind turned to his luscious wife. God, he could hardly wait to get her alone. He needed sex, love, and laughter—and she’d supply all three. He sat back in his comfortable seat on the private Husky jet and closed his eyes. Sleep would wipe away his concerns, as long as he didn’t have that nightmare. Fuck. If that horrible dream returned while he was asleep in the air, he’d be humiliated. Still, exhaustion prevailed, and his eyes drifted shut.

  Next thing he knew, the plane touched down. They boarded a bus to the posh hotel in Washington, down the block from the Capital One Arena. The men piled out. Deke texted the address to Kitty and lugged his small duffle into the lobby. His phone dinged as he rode the elevator up to the fifth floor. His wife would be there in half an hour.

  On the road, the team met for dinner, then they had the evening to themselves. The married players with spouses bunking in didn’t have to attend. They were on their own. In his room, Deke dumped his bag on a stand, grabbed the hotel’s menu and stretched out on the bed.

  Steak, prime rib, baked stuffed shrimp—the selections made his mouth water. After making love, they could head downstairs for a great meal, then spend the rest of the evening in bed. Deke wouldn’t tell Kitty about his trip to the lawyer’s office. She’d find out soon enough. He wanted as much time with her as he could get before her love turned to hate. Isn’t that what happened during divorce? Didn’t couples who once couldn’t get enough of each other wish they had a license to kill? He’d read about it on the Internet. He’d never hate Kitty, no matter what she did. Someday, she’d understand he did it for her.

  Tomorrow’s game was do or die. He had to perform. Maybe not up to his old standard, but close. The team counted on him. Deke drew out the five inhalers he’d packed. He kissed each one.

  “Make it happen,” he said, before stuffing them away so Kitty wouldn’t see.

  Not telling her about his breathing problem or his conversation with the doctor meant she’d still love him, think of him as her hero. How could he admit that he wasn’t the man he used to be? Sure, she’d profess her love anyway, and all that shit, but their relationship would never be the same. Deke wouldn’t be the invincible guy she’d married, the man who could defeat any forward, solve any problem, and keep her screaming in the sack.

  She hadn’t signed up to be hitched to a thirty-three-year-old has-been. He had to come across on the ice. He showered, shaved, slapped on Secret Desire, and checked his watch. A knock on the door brought a smile to his face. Right on time! He opened it, and his wife stepped in. She wore a stunning, forest green, wrap-around wool coat.

  She leaned back against the door and slowly pulled on the sash. The garment fell away, revealing her slender body clad only in thigh-high black stockings, black bikini panties, and a lace teddy.

  “Ho, ho, ho, Harry. Merry Christmas.”

  He laughed and pulled her into his arms.

  Lying next to his wife, he asked, “It’s seven. Dinner?”

  “Just a few more minutes?”

  She snuggled her naked self into his body, snaking her arms around his middle, resting her cheek on his hairy chest. She took a deep breath. His masculine scent mixed with that new cologne pleased her. She kissed his chest. “That was great.”

  “You’re amazing, Kitty. I swear you have the heart of a hooker.”

  “A hooker?” She bolted upright.

  “I didn’t mean it that way. I meant that you know how to please a guy, to do it right.”

  “Oh?” She cocked an eyebrow at him. “And what do you know about how a hooker has sex?”

  His face reddened. “I was young. Only once. The guys. You know. Initiation, sort of.”

  “Oh, I see. Better have been before you met me.”’

  “Before? Oh, way before,
waaayy before! Trust me. Once we got together, who’d need a hooker?”

  Her frown deepened. “Well, thanks a lot!” She jumped out of bed and opened her suitcase.

  Harry followed her. “No, no. I didn’t mean it like that. I meant that you’re so amazing in the sack, who could ever want or need anyone else?”

  She stopped, turned, and glared at him.

  “You know I always put my foot in it. I’m sorry. I just meant that you’re an incredible lover. So responsive. That’s all. Please, Kitty.” He reached for her hand.

  She allowed him to ease her back to bed.

  “Where were we?” he asked, lying down and lifting her with his massive hands to nestle beside him.

  She snuggled closer, listening to his heart. The beat was as strong as ever. Her fingertips pressed slightly into his muscles. Why can’t his lungs be stronger, his windpipe stretch back to normal? She sighed. He must have a reason for not telling her the truth, so she kept her knowledge to herself.

  “Hungry?” he asked, plucking the menu off the nightstand.

  Only for you. “Sure.”

  “The restaurant here looks pretty good. Wanna try it?”

  “Okay. Quick meal, then back here?”

  “Of course. We’re just getting started,” he replied.

  “Hmm. Just the appetizer. We have the main course yet to come,” she said.

  “It’s been a while.”

  “Too long. Last one dressed is a rotten egg,” she said, leaping out of bed and attacking her small suitcase.

  “Last one dressed, gives first blow job,” he countered.

  She bent over laughing. Harry chuckled and raced into his clothes, finishing first. He backed her onto the bed.

  “Or we could have food sent up,” he said, his voice low.

  “We could,” she replied, pulling his head down, meeting his lips with hers. Harry pushed up on the bed, looming over her.

  “I love you, Harry,” she whispered, her eyes wet.

  “I love you back. What’s the matter?” His brows knitted, his lips compressed into a frown.

  “Nothing. Just tears of joy. Happy to be with you,” she lied.

  He cocked an eyebrow. He’d often called her a bad liar, and he’d been right. But she had to keep up the pretense, as long as he did, anyway.

  He captured her legs between his and lowered his mouth to her breast. “I’m having my first course right here.”

  Kitty giggled, slipping her arms around his neck. Harry sat up.

  “Okay, okay. That’ll have to wait. Let’s eat.” He pushed up off the bed and offered her his hand. She took it and dressed quickly. It didn’t matter what she wore, because as soon as the meal was over, she’d be taking it off.

  When they were decent, they walked hand-in-hand down the hall to the elevator. In the dining room, Harry slipped a twenty to the maître d’ and requested a secluded table. They settled in, ordered shrimp cocktail, prime rib for Harry and crab cakes for Kitty.

  He laced their fingers. “This is a big game. The Wolverines are better this year.”

  “Are you starting?”

  “Yep. Coach said I looked good enough to give it a go. We’ll see.”

  Her heart leaped into her throat. This was Harry’s trial. Tomorrow’s game would tell the tale. Her nerves kicked up. She’d have to keep him occupied, give him something besides the game to think about. Kitty smiled to herself. Easy, peasy—in the bedroom, the man was putty in her hands.

  Stuck for a reply, Kitty cast a grateful glance at the waiter, who arrived with their food. She threw out a bit about the gallery and a new exhibit she planned for spring. Anything to distract him and avoid fessing up that she knew the truth about his condition.

  As they finished up dessert, Kitty slipped her foot out of her pump and ran it up and down Harry’s shin. His head snapped up. He stared straight at her.

  “Startin’ something?” he asked. A slight redness crept up his neck.

  “Maybe instead of coffee?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  Harry shot her a grin and motioned for the waiter. “Check, please.”

  Suiting up in the locker room, Deke put his “lucky” inhaler in his pocket. After he dressed, he took four puffs, twice the recommended dosage. He didn’t give a shit about side effects, he needed his air passages open all the way.

  He took a deep breath but didn’t notice any difference. He threw the inhaler against the wall, breaking the plastic holder.

  “Fuckin’ thing! No damn good.”

  “Easy, Deke. Easy,” Buzzy said.

  After he dumped the broken device in the garbage and folded a new one into his hand, he headed for the rink with his teammates. Would this be his last time? He glanced across the ice at the Wolverines. Young, restless, and ready to beat the balls off the Huskies. Pumped to keep those bastards away from the goal, Deke smiled as the adrenaline flowed. He itched to smash a forward into the boards.

  “Ready?” Coach Timmons asked him.

  He nodded. The knitted eyebrows on Timmons’ face relaxed a bit. He patted Deke on the shoulder. Skating out on the ice for the national anthem, he made eye contact with Kitty. God, he wished she hadn’t come. He did everything he could to talk her out of it. If he was going down in flames, did it have to be in front of the woman he loved? Shit. He took his position.

  The whistle blew. The Huskies won the face-off. Deke backed up, keeping alert. The puck was Buzz’s. He zoomed up the ice, heading for the Wolverine goal. Checked, he managed to get a quick pass off to another forward before the Wolverine shoved him into the boards.

  The slippery little puck zigzagged back and forth between both teams, never staying in either team’s possession long enough to get knocked across a goal line. Evenly matched, the Wolverines and Huskies scrambled for control. When necessary, Deke dropped back and got his stick on the puck twice, sending it zooming to a forward.

  By the third period, with no score, both teams snorted in frustration. Energy mixed with testosterone, thickening the air. Deke narrowed his eyes as two Wolverine forwards stared at him and whispered. Shit, they pegged him as the weak link. He’d been able to cover, with help from his teammates, but with his breath short, he’d never survive double-teaming.

  The two men made a mad dash at the goal. Deke took off skating past the crease. They came full force and plowed into him, knocking him down. He jumped up and took off after them.

  “Hey, Grandma, can’t catch me.”

  “Pussy!”

  Deke saw red and charged. His lungs screamed, but when they sped past him, he pushed ahead, racing for the puck. Gulping air and gasping for breath, he slowed but kept moving. They breezed by, taunting him. His legs leaden, he reached for the puck but missed. Still, Deke chased his tormentors. Then it happened. Everything went black. He dropped on the ice in a dead faint.

  He opened his eyes to stare into the worried blues of Sonny, who held an oxygen mask to his nose. As he lay there, air returned to his lungs. The scoreboard showed a goal for the Wolverines. Those assholes had put one in the net before he passed out.

  “That’s it, Deke. You’re out,” the trainer said.

  “Says who?”

  “Coach, that’s who.”

  Buzzy offered a hand and as Deke rose, a cheer went up from the crowd. One glance at the stands and he saw Kitty on her feet. This was it. He was through, finished. Taken out forever by a slapshot to the neck three months ago.

  Tears stung at the backs of his eyes. He hit the locker room and fired the other four inhalers against the wall, finding little satisfaction in the sound of shattering plastic. Done. Finished. Put out to pasture. Has-been. There must be fifty words for what he’d become—none of them good.

  The trainer returned with more oxygen, but Deke waved him away. Deke? Deke no more, just plain old Harry now. He plopped down on a bench and disrobed. The doctor’s words rang in his ears.

  “You don’t grow back part of your windpipe, Harry. It won’t stretch back t
o its former size, either. It’s just not happening.”

  Harry put his pads and skates in his locker. Sonny approached.

  “Coach wants to see you after the game.”

  Harry nodded. He took a shower and dressed in street clothes before returning to the team box. Once he donned his suit and tie, he could no longer warm the bench. Pain seared through him as he watched another defenseman allow a second goal for D.C. The final whistle blew. Wolverines two, Huskies zero.

  Humiliation burned in his chest, but he had to face his teammates. He entered the locker room last.

  “Hey, how you doin’?” Buzzy asked.

  The rest of the team echoed his concern. They stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to Harry.

  “I’m okay. Okay for life. But not for hockey.”

  “That was a fluke though, right?” the team captain asked.

  Harry shook his head. “No. I wish.”

  “But you’ve been working out with us?”

  “Yeah. And gasping for breath for fifteen minutes after each session. Nope. The surgeon had to take fifteen percent of my windpipe out to save my life. I’ll never have the stamina I once had. Hockey is over for me.”

  A chorus of boos and sympathetic comments warmed him. Coach stuck his head in and motioned to Harry. He nodded. Here it comes—the axe. The hallway leading to the coach seemed like a ten-mile trek.

  “Come in, Deke,” Coach Timmons said, motioning to a chair.

  Harry eased down.

  “We gave you every chance to come back, even though the doctor said it wasn’t likely you’d be able to play like you used to. He said your speed would be off. But we wanted to try, give you a shot. Today proved the doctor right. You’re off the roster, Deke. I’m sorry, but I have no choice. We’ve talked about where else we could use you. We can offer you a job as a scout, if you want to stay with the club. Of course, we’ll buy out your contract, then put you on as an employee. Think about it. Talk it over with your wife.”

  Coach Timmons stood up.

  “Thanks, Coach,” Harry said, rising.

  They shook hands and Harry left the barn. Did it take him an hour to hit the parking lot? Or did it only seem like walking underwater? Shock slowed everything. Tears pricked at the backs of his eyes, but he blinked them away. What would he say to Kitty, waiting in the car?