"Fuck!" Harland tightened his hands around the stick as the puck careened past him. He forced himself to stay still, to not start swinging the stick in a childish fit. Why the hell had he thought about that? Now, of all times? He was trying to forget.
How could he forget, when that was the whole reason for his downward spiral?
"What the hell was that all about? You tensed up so bad, I could see it all the way over here."
"Nothing. It's—nothing." Harland shook his head, took off across the ice. Maybe if he did some laps, got rid of some of the tension…
Stopped fucking thinking about his mother. Why should he be thinking about her, when he barely remembered her? He'd been five when she just took off. He remembered her leaning over, giving him an absent pat on the cheek. Not a kiss, a fucking pat, like he was fucking dog or something. The scent of stale cigarettes and sweet red wine clung to her loose clothes, stuck in her platinum streaked hair. He remembered the sight of a faint bruise on her cheek, the slightly vacant expression in her glassy eyes.
She told him she had to leave. Told him she couldn't stay, couldn't take him with her no matter how much he cried. She didn't say goodbye, didn't try to console his tears. Just that quick pat on the cheek and a hollow 'I'll see you later'.
Only later never came.
And fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why? Why was he thinking about this? Now, of all times. He didn't need to be thinking about it, didn't want to remember it.
Except he never forgot.
He took another lap around the ice, gaining speed. Ignoring the whistle that signaled the end of practice, ignoring the looks he was getting from his teammates. Aaron, Zach, Jason, Tyler. All of them.
Fuck them. What did they know? He wanted it too much. He was too tense. He was cursed. He was jinxed.
He was all of the above.
He whirled past blurred faces, ignoring all of them as an odd calm closed over him.
He was all of the above.
One more lap, slower this time. The blurred faces became clearer as he passed them. Still watching him. He could see some of the expressions now, knew that they probably thought he'd completely lost his mind, that he'd come completely unhinged.
Except one. No, not one. Two.
One face wore nothing but a bright smile, wide honey-colored eyes dancing with delight. The other face wore an expression of concern, of worry, of silent understanding.
How the hell could she understand, when she didn't know? When nobody knew.
He was all of the above. He was his past. His present. But Courtney and Noah—they were his future. The only future that counted.
He slid to a stop, bent over with his stick across his knees and tried to catch his breath. He threw the stick across the ice, tossed his gloves to the ground. Reached up and undid the strap to his helmet, pushed it off his head and let it drop behind him. His stride was strong, purposeful, as he made his way to the door, unlatched it, stepped out onto the rubber flooring.
He could feel eyes on him, knew several of his teammates were watching. Probably the coaches, too. Fuck it. He didn't care. What were they going to do? Nothing worse than what he'd done to himself, what he'd allowed to happen.
He kept walking, his eyes focused on Courtney, only Courtney. She watched him, wariness crossing her face. Her arm tightened around Noah and she took a step back, bumped into a short woman who pushed her forward. Her friend. Harland didn't care, just kept advancing on her until he was less than a foot away.
Courtney tilted her head back, looking up at him with wide eyes. But she didn't try to step away again. And he saw it, in her eyes. Knew that she was expecting…something.
Harland cleared his throat, his voice strong and clear when he spoke. "My mother was a drunk. A convenient punching bag for my bully of a father."
"Harland—"
"She smelled like cigarettes and sweet wine. That's why I don't like red wine. Never have. She left when I was five. Patted me on the cheek, told me she'd see me later. Except she never did. She never came back."
Courtney blinked, reached out for him. He caught her hand, held it in his own. "Harland, you don't have to do this now. Not here."
"Yes, I do. I don't care who hears. The only things I care about are you and Noah." He squeezed her hand, tried to smile when she threaded her fingers with his. He took another deep breath, worried he wouldn't be able to find the words.
"I kept telling myself that if I was good enough, that if I could make the pros, then she'd come back. I convinced myself that nothing would stop me—because at some point growing up, I had convinced myself that she really would come back. Stupid, but there it is."
She squeezed his hand, gently encouraging him. Supporting him.
"I hired a private investigator. It took him a while, but he found her. Last year. And he contacted her, told her I was looking for her. She, uh—" He cleared his throat, couldn't understand why his vision was swimming. "She told him she wasn't interested. That she, uh, didn't want to see me. Didn't want me to contact her again."
"Oh God, Harland. I'm sorry. So sorry."
"After that, I just…stopped caring. Being the best didn't matter. It didn't matter if I screwed up or failed because succeeding didn't matter. Nothing mattered—until I came back here again and saw you. And Noah. Finding you again let me know that things do matter. Life matters."
Courtney's grip on his hand tightened, a reassuring connection that he needed more than he realized. She stepped forward and he pulled her into a hug, holding her close. Never wanting to let go. He dropped a kiss against her cheek, brushed his lips by her ear.
"I love you Courtney. I always have, from that first day I saw you on your porch, holding your doll and crying. I've never stopped loving you."
She pulled back, cupped his cheek with her hand. "I love you Harland. Now more than ever. I don't know what it's like not to love you and I don't want to know. Ever."
He tried to laugh but the sound came out strangled, hoarse. "Good, because I'm not going to let you. You're mine, Courtney. You and Noah. Always." He pressed a kiss against her lips, a quick one, no less powerful for its gentleness. Then he dropped a kiss on the top of Noah's head.
He looked down, saw Noah's face scrunch up as his tiny hand pushed against his chest. Then Noah peered up at him and grabbed his own nose and shook his head.
Harland blinked. Blinked again as a smile spread across his own face. The laughter built inside him, growing, expanding until it escaped in a clear strong sound, full of life, carrying away the dark weight he'd been wearing like an iron cloak. Courtney joined in, her own laughter light and musical as they stared at their son, watching as he told them, in no uncertain terms, that Daddy stinks.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Harland swallowed back the disappointment in his gut as he looked at the giant screen suspended above center ice. They were halfway through the third period, up by two. But for him, the game was all but over.
Four minutes. That was all he'd been on the ice for this entire game. Four fucking minutes. Fuck, probably not even that long. He resisted the urge to glance behind him, to look at Coach Torresi. If he did, he might end up begging.
No, he wouldn't actually do that. He might want to but he wouldn't. He knew that this might happen, thought he had prepared himself for it.
He'd thought wrong.
He tightened his hands around the stick, twirled it back and forth. Left, right, back to the left. His foot kept bouncing, up and down, like he was keeping time to the fast beat of a song only he could hear. Nervous energy. A lot of it.
He took a deep breath, resigning himself, telling himself he'd get used to this. Maybe, if he said it enough, he really would. He just wished that he'd been able to talk Courtney out of coming tonight. That's what made this whole thing worse: Courtney and Noah were in the stands, a few rows behind him, watching.
Or rather, not watching. At least, not watching him.
A shrill whistle split the air and Harland lo
oked up, tried to clear his head and focus on what was happening on the ice. Play had been stopped in the offensive zone and there was some pushing and shoving going on. Travis Bankard skated back to the bench, a hand over his mouth, blood dripping from between his fingers. Coach Torresi leaned across the boards, pointing at the ref with the wad of rolled papers in his hands.
"You're not going to call that? Really? Look at him! That was high-sticking!" Coach shook his head, stepped back when one of the other coaches grabbed his arm to calm him down. Then he looked at Harland, those cold green eyes pinning him in place. Harland held his breath, waiting, trying not to hope.
"Day-glo."
"Sir?"
"You got that fucking monkey off your back now?"
Harland swallowed, nodded, knew his face was turning ten different shades of red. Yeah, he'd had an audience this morning. So what? He'd still do it again. "Yeah. Yes sir."
"We'll see. Now get your fucking ass out there and prove it."
Harland jumped the boards before Coach had finished talking, afraid he might change his mind. He hurried over, got into position. Aaron glanced over at him, gave him a quick nod.
The puck dropped and Aaron fought for possession, got the edge of it and passed it behind him, shooting it between his legs toward Jason. Harland hustled backward, closer to the net, getting into position.
Not thinking, not feeling. Just trusting. Calling on instincts without questioning them.
Jason passed it back to Aaron. He skated in but didn't have a clear shot. Harland watched as he pulled the stick back, was sure he'd take the shot anyway. A spot cleared in front of Harland and he moved in, ready for the rebound just in case.
Except Aaron didn't take the shot. His head jerked up, his gaze landing squarely on Harland a split second before passing the puck to him.
For a brief, horrifying second, Harland almost froze. Was convinced he would freeze, miss the puck, miss the shot. He pushed the fear away in the space of a rapid heartbeat.
No!
The puck hit the blade of his stick. He cradled it, smooth and gentle. Spun, got the edge of his blade under the puck, and sent it flying.
He froze, held his breath, watched as the puck soared through the air with a slowness that was agonizing.
Please. Please. Please.
He heard the soft whoosh, saw the net shift as the puck hit the back of it. Saw the red flight flashing and heard the roar of the horn.
It went in! Holy fuck, it went in!
He stood there for a brief second, wondering if maybe he imagined it. No, it was real. He'd scored. He'd finally fuckling scored.
He jumped up, raised his stick in the air, then spun in a jubilant circle, screaming as Aaron and Jason raced over to him to celebrate. He'd done it. He'd finally done it!
He headed back to the bench, saw Coach nod at him, telling him to stay out there. Harland stopped, knowing he probably looked like an ass with the broad smile on his face. He didn't care.
He looked up, his eyes scanning the seats behind the bench. His gaze found Courtney almost immediately. She was still standing, a smile almost as big as his on her face. His other half. His salvation. His soulmate.
Noah stood beside her, jumping up and down, clapping his little hands. Did his son really understand what had just happened, or was he just celebrating because everyone else was? After all, he wasn't quite three yet, hadn't really been properly introduced to hockey.
Yet.
It didn't matter, that would be changing soon enough. Noah was his father's son, after all.
Courtney. Noah. His life. All he needed.
Harland nodded in their direction, then pulled one hand from his glove. He raised his arm, his hand palm out, his middle and ring fingers bent, the other fingers spread wide.
I love you.
Epilogue
Three years later
The seat belt jerked against Harland's shoulder. He reached for the dash, the console, anything he could grip, and shot a glare toward Jason. "Holy shit, would you slow the fuck down?"
"You just told me to speed up." Jason took the next corner, the wheels screeching against pavement. He grinned and cast a sideways glance at Harland. "You might want to change your shirt at least. We're not too far."
And risk doing a header through the windshield? Harland almost said no then changed his mind and unclipped the seat belt. "Just slow down enough so you don't get us killed."
"Relax. Everything will be fine." Jason took another corner, slamming Harland into the door.
Fine? Yeah, easy for him to say. But Harland just reached for the hem of the damp shirt, pulled it over his head and tossed it to the back seat. Grabbed the clean one from his bag and shrugged into it.
"It's inside out."
"Do I look like a give a fuck?"
"Guess not." One more turn, this one harder than before, and they were pulling into the main entrance. Jason hit the brakes, palmed the wheel to turn into the parking lot.
"No! Just drop me off at the front. You can park later."
"Whatever you say."
Harland didn't miss the laughter in Jason's voice, knew he was laughing at him. He wasn't overreacting, was he? No, no way. He glanced down, saw the way his hands were shaking.
Okay, so maybe he was just a little nervous.
Jason slid to a stop at the front entrance. Harland grabbed his wallet off the dash and jumped out of the car, almost forgetting to shut the door until Jason called out to him. He spun around, slammed it, then took off at a run.
The receptionist at the lobby desk eyed him with an expression of amusement as he checked in, handed her his license and who knew what else that tumbled from his wallet. Did she have to be so damn slow? And he really wished she would stop smiling at him.
She finally returned his license—and everything else that had fallen from his wallet—along with a small plastic card. She was saying something, giving him instructions, but he didn't stop to listen, just took everything from her and hurried through the doors she was pointing at.
Calm down. Calm down.
How could he calm down? He couldn't. He hadn't been calm since receiving the phone call at practice a short while ago.
He pushed his way around an elderly couple, barely managing to mutter an apology, then raced along the hallway to the elevators. And Christ, why were they so fucking slow? Didn't they know this was an emergency?
Okay, maybe not an emergency but still—he was in a hurry. He'd never forgive himself if he missed this. Hell, Courtney wouldn't forgive him.
He got off at the third floor, turned left and raced to the double doors, tried pulling on them.
Locked.
Why the hell were they locked?
He noticed a card reader to the side of the doors, glanced at the plastic card the receptionist had given. That must have been what she was telling him—
He swiped the card, heard an electronic beep, grabbed the handle and pulled. Then he hurried down another hallway, his eyes searching for someone who looked like they knew what was going on. There, a nurse's station.
"I'm here. Where is she?"
Both nurses turned to look at him, the amusement on their faces similar to what he'd seen on the receptionist's downstairs. Why did everyone seem to find him so damn funny? This wasn't funny, not even close.
"Your name sir?"
Name. Name. Of course, they'd need his name. "Courtney. I mean, Harland. Day. My wife—she's supposed to be back here?"
The nurses exchanged a look he didn't even try to understand. The older one stood, her dark eyes raking him from head to toe, then nodded over her shoulder. "She's back in delivery. You can follow me. I, uh, I could probably find a pair of scrubs. If you'd like."
Harland almost ran her over, had to slide to a stop to avoid just doing that. "Scrubs?"
"Yes. At least the bottoms. You, uh, might be more comfortable."
What the hell was she talking about? Comfortable?
She smiled again a
nd very pointedly lowered her gaze. Harland frowned, finally looked down to see what the hell was wrong.
His pants. How the fuck could he forget his fucking pants? He was standing there in the middle of the hallway, in the middle of labor and delivery, wearing nothing but an inside-out t-shirt, unlaced athletic shoes, oversized hockey socks…and compression shorts over his jockstrap.
He blinked, couldn't quite meet the woman's eyes as heat filled his face. "Uh, yeah. That might be a good idea."
#
"I wish I could have seen that."
"It wasn't funny."
"That's all the nurses have been talking about. You made quite an impression on them." Courtney watched as a deep flush filled Harland's face. He narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. No, he was totally absorbed in the small bundle sleeping in his arms.
Charlene Joanna Day. Not even a full day old and she already had her father wrapped around her finger.
And her older brother, as well.
Courtney glanced down at Noah, ran a hand along his back as he snuggled against her, sleeping.
Her family. Together. Just as it should be.
"She's so beautiful." Harland raised his head, his gaze soft and tender as it met hers. "Just like her mother."
Warmth spread through Courtney at the love so clear in her husband's eyes, at the love washing over her. It had always been this way, from the first day they met.
No, that wasn't quite true. It was better. And it would keep getting better, every single day.
She reached out and took Harland's hands, threaded her fingers with his and squeezed. Could he feel it, the love she had for him? Yes, he could. Just like she could feel his love for her.
Never ending. Forever and ever.
Just the way it should be.
###
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[York Bombers 01.0] Playing the Game Page 18
