Second Round (Vancouver Vice Hockey Book 3)

by Melanie Ting

  I set up my easel on the deck. First a charcoal sketch on the big canvas and then I blocked in some big squares of colour. Freeing myself from replicating exactly what was in a photograph or still life was incredibly freeing. I was painting my vision of life—an enhanced reality where the colours were more vivid and elements were freely added and subtracted.

  The glorious flow state emerged where I was losing all sense of time. Yet this flow state was different. Now, I wasn’t escaping from my problems, I was painting for the sheer pleasure of painting. It was sensual, tactile, relaxing. At times my mind drifted back to Friday night. Was that what post-divorce sex was going to be like? Because pre-marriage sex had been wracked with worries: Am I going to get pregnant? Is he going to think I’m a slut? Are my breasts too small? Is he the one? Am I doing this right?

  But Friday night had only been about sex. I wanted it as much as Leo did, and he had been incredible. Whenever I shifted, the soreness between my legs reminded me of every naughty thing we had done. It was ridiculous, but I felt like a pirate—lawless, swashbuckling, daring. Not the boring hockey mom anymore.

  Finally the loud gurgling of my stomach signalled how much time had passed. I checked my watch and found I had an hour until the kids were home. Exactly the right time to clean up my painting stuff, eat, shower, and be ready for their return.

  I stood back and looked at the painting. It wasn’t done yet, but it was going to be good. The bright colours gave it an energy and movement that drew you inside. I exhaled happily. I had stumbled into my theme for the show: painting all the scenes I’d miss when I left my home.

  Brent and the kids exploded into the house and for once I was exactly where I wanted to be: on the living room couch, reading a book with a cup of tea beside me.

  “Mom!” Tristan threw himself into my lap. “I missed you.”

  I kissed the top of his head. He had the sharp scent of ripe boy. Brent was pretty lax about showers after hockey. But I didn’t care, I hugged him tightly. “Missed you so much. Did you have a good weekend?”

  “Yup. We ate at Boston Pizza tonight.” No matter how many incredible things he did since I last saw him, Tristan would only remember the last one. He stayed perched on my lap and peered at the crumbs on my empty plate. “Are there chocolate chip cookies?” Tristan could have worked on a C.S.I. team, as long as the C stood for cookie.

  “Yup. I baked some yesterday. They’re in the cookie jar.”

  Hannah leaned for a hug too. “Hi Mom.”

  “Welcome back, darling. Minx is in the laundry basket in your room,” I said before she could ask. “I think she’s hinting that you should put away your clothes.”

  “That’s silly. She’s hinting that I should leave my clothes in there because it makes a comfy bed.”

  I laughed. “You’re too quick for me. Do you have homework?”

  “Nope. I did it all during Tristan’s game. Dad let me stay home alone.”

  What? That was a first, and I had a brief panic attack imagining all the things that could have gone wrong. At least Brent had the decency to look embarrassed. He explained, “She’s twelve now. Hannah told me she’s taking the babysitting course, so I’m pretty sure she can stay home by herself.”

  The initial flare of anger died down as quickly as it came. “You’re probably right, Brent. But this is the kind of thing that we should discuss first.”

  Hannah tried not to smile. She had been bugging me to leave her and Tristan home alone, but I’d been resisting. She was exactly the type of smart kid to take advantage of different standards in different households. She told me a little more about their weekend, including a mention of dinner at Margaret’s place, and then drifted off to her room.

  Brent sat in the armchair across from me. “Now, I know you’re going to chew me out, so can I just say that it was Hannah’s idea.”

  “Oh, you’re throwing your daughter under the bus?” I laughed, and he visibly relaxed.

  He laughed. “You sound like a hockey player or something. So you’re not mad?”

  No, I was too busy blushing. Who knew that semen contained vocabulary boosters? I blew out my breath and tried to act like a grown-ass woman.

  “All I’m saying is we still need to agree on these things, just like when we were together. If you’re letting her stay by herself and I’m saying she’s too young, that will end up confusing Hannah. This isn’t a huge deal; we could clear it up with a quick phone call. But something big, like dating, we’d need to talk about.”

  Damn. Back on that subject and I was blushing. I reached for my tea and hoped that Brent wouldn’t notice. But even if he did, it wasn’t like he could tell I’d had sex.

  Luckily, the idea of a teenaged boy getting near his precious daughter completely distracted him. “Dating? She’s not talking about dating yet, is she?”

  “Shhh. She’ll hear you.” I shook my head. “No, not yet. I only mentioned it as the example of something important.” Or possibly because I was dating. Woo hoo.

  “Phew. Thanks. I thought I was going to get roasted here.” Brent leaned back in his chair and peered at me. “There’s something different about you. Did you cut your hair or something?”

  “No. I’m the same.” Don’t blush, don’t blush, don’t blush. This was ridiculous. But obviously relying on Mr. Vibrator was not the same was having actual sex.

  “The place looks great. You’ve done a good job here.”

  “Yeah, it was surprising how much useless stuff was lying around.”

  I’d been in a very unsentimental mood while I decluttered and gotten rid of many things that reminded me of Brent and our happier times. “There are four boxes of yours in the basement. Maybe you could take them with you now?”

  “Sure, I’ll get to them.” He wandered around the house, doing the “inspection” he’d promised, but there wasn’t a word of criticism. My hard work was paying off.

  He stopped in the middle of the living room.

  “Hey, Jakes—” Whatever was coming was going to be big because he had used his pet name for me. “I’m sorry but I don’t think your paintings are really, uh, enhancing, the value of the house.”

  That felt like a slap across the face. “What? I thought you liked my art.” He always told me how cheerful my art was and how he could never do anything like that.

  “Look, they’re great, like funky or whatever the word is, but when we’re selling a multi-million dollar home, the art should be classic, refined, and more, uh, neutral.”

  Sometimes it was hard to imagine that Brent could still find new ways to hurt me, but obviously he could. My mouth pinched in a straight line, which had the advantage of keeping me quiet. Undoubtedly Margaret’s home was full of classic, refined art. I picked up my plate and cup and headed to the kitchen so he couldn’t see my face.

  “Fine. I’ll have everything ready by the end of the week. Have your realtor contact me, and we’ll set up a time.” Maybe I could rent art or something. Because when I had my own place, all the art was going to be vibrant, alive, and “funky.”

  “And Brent, since staging the place costs money, I assume we’ll be splitting the bill.”

  “Yeah, that sounds fair. I know you’ll keep things reasonable.”

  “Of course.” I’d give him refined and neutral up the wazoo.

  15

  The Future

  Leo

  I knew that Bob Pankowski was getting released from the hospital this week, so I figured I should drop by and see him one last time. It was bound to be unpleasant, but it was the right thing to do.

  I got to Vancouver General Hospital and waited at the bottom of the elevator bank. Prominent dispensers encouraged everyone to sanitize their hands, so I did that and moved closer to two young women who were talking angrily. Hospitals were full of emotion and much of it was on display in the hallways and waiting rooms.

  “I don’t see why it’s my responsibility,” the taller woman declared. “Lucy, why can’t you take hi
m?”

  “Because I’ve got Grady, and Mom comes over to babysit every week. He’s not going to want to be in the same room as she is.”

  “Maybe he could babysit....”

  They both snorted at that idea. The elevator opened and we all got in. They continued talking in low tones.

  “After the way he treated us, he’s lucky we’re even talking to him.”

  “Come on, it’s not that bad. He was there in the beginning.”

  Lucy snorted. “Only because Mom was covering for him. Did he ever make one of our events? He missed all my birthdays, and he barely made it for Christmas.”

  “You sound like a child. Have you been saving up your grievances all these years? Dad can’t live alone now.”

  “He has insurance. He can move into an assisted living place or something.”

  The elevator dinged, and we all got out on the tenth floor. The two women stayed near the elevators and continued to argue. I made my way to Panner’s room.

  “Oh. It’s you,” he said unenthusiastically. I was surprised to see two of the players in the room: Marty Devonshire and Rico Aleppo. They rose as soon as I entered.

  “Hey, Coach,” they said to me in unison.

  Lepper turned back to the bed. “Er, well, Coach Panner, I guess we’ll be going now. Take care of yourself.”

  Devo stood and patted the older man on the shoulder. “My grandfather had a heart attack, and he was back to work on the farm in a couple of months.”

  “Thanks, doctor. I’ll keep that in mind,” Bob replied sarcastically. Then he softened a little. “Good of you two to come by.”

  The two of them left. I sat down in one of the still-warm chairs.

  “Have a lot of the players been coming to see you?” I asked.

  “Naw, and that’s the way I prefer it. If you’re friends with those guys, you can’t coach ’em.”

  “Well, we’ve been on the road,” I explained. I should have reminded more of the guys to stop by. Too late now. There were reasons why some guys were revered and others were not.

  Bob scowled at me. “Have you got the team on a winning streak?”

  “Are you allowed to talk about hockey now?”

  He sniffed. “I’m leaving the hospital soon, so I better be able to handle a little hockey talk. Besides, how can you avoid hearing about hockey?” He motioned to the TV, which was tuned to a muted sports channel.

  “We lost our games to Texas and San Antonio,” I replied. A coaching change wasn’t going to make a difference in a few weeks. The new season was when you could really measure what effects I was having.

  The expression on his face showed me that he already knew exactly how the team had been doing.

  “Not as easy as you thought, eh, Hot Shot?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Nope. So, I understand you’re getting released from the hospital soon. What are your plans?”

  “Well, I’ve got to take it easy for now. But once I’m healthy again, we’ll see. I’ve been talking to management about what’s next.”

  Amanda had been advocating for Bob to get a role in the team’s organization. The likeliest spot would be scouting or some position he could work on his own. Frankly, nobody on the team wanted anything to do with him, but she was insistent that the Vice should look after everyone in “the family.”

  The two women from the elevator walked in. Their eyes swept over me, but they didn’t recognize me as the witness to their heated discussion.

  “Hey, Dad,” the taller one said. “How are you feeling today?”

  “Better. Ready to get out of here,” he grumbled. “Leo, these are my daughters, Lucy and Claire.”

  I nodded at them. Maybe Bob was still on painkillers, but the tension in the room was obvious even to an outsider like me. I’d distanced myself from Bob, from his crappy coaching practices and his unfortunate medical situation. But now all I felt was pity. His daughters might be willing to do their duty and look after him temporarily, but nobody in the world really cared about him. Did he know that?

  I left the hospital feeling unsettled. I pulled out my phone, and there was a reminder about a date with Jackie. She didn’t have the kids tonight, and she had offered to cook me dinner. That was an offer I wasn’t going to turn down.

  I called her. “Hey, I’m heading over now. Sorry, I’m a little late.”

  “No problem. I heard there’s an accident on the Second Narrows Bridge. You might want to change your route.”

  “I’m not at the rink. I’m at the hospital, so I’ll take the Lions’ Gate anyway.”

  “Oh, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, just visiting our former coach.”

  “Okay. Well, I’ll see you when I see you.” I liked Jackie’s casualness. Although she got unnecessarily nervous about certain things—like sex—in general, she was pretty relaxed.

  As I drove to Jackie’s place, I tried to roll away the low-grade tension in my shoulders. Seeing Pankowski and his daughters had triggered something in me, something dark and distracting. It was important to stay focused on things I could control. When Sophie and I split up, it had been the worst time in my career. I made unnecessary mistakes because I spent too much time wondering and worrying. What was important was staying focused on the now—not the past or the future.

  I knocked on the door, and it flew open. Jackie stood there, smiling up at me, and I was stunned by a sense of nostalgia for something I didn’t even know I was missing.

  Once again, I was walking into my house after school to the smell of fresh, baked bread. With six kids and only one income, my mother was always looking for ways to save money. She never bought packaged foods and baked six loaves of bread at one crack. I’d rush into the kitchen and sniff the warm loaves cooling on racks. Our snack on bread days would be a thick slice with butter. But nobody baked bread anymore.

  “Hey, Jackie.” I kissed her on both cheeks.

  “It’s great to see you again.” Jackie looked great—as usual—in her dark jeans and fitted shirt. I put my arm around her, and we followed the good smells into the kitchen.

  “Are you baking bread?” I asked.

  “Oh no, there wasn’t time for that. It’s only biscuits.”

  She sounded apologetic, so I reassured her. “Homemade biscuits sound great. The smell of them reminded me of my mom’s bread.”

  “Mmmm, I know. I’m a total carb fiend. I can smell fresh bread from miles away.” She motioned me to the kitchen counter. “You’re earlier than I expected, so give me a few more minutes and then I can relax too.” She poured me a cold beer without even asking.

  I looked around. Jackie’s house resembled the set of a family sitcom with beautiful furnishings, a scattering of toys, and even a fat cat snoozing on the family room couch. A place where all problems got solved in thirty minutes.

  She finished stirring something on the stove and smiled at me across the counter. “You had a tough day?”

  “Yeah. How did you know?”

  “I could hear it in your voice.” She put a plate of crackers, carrots, and dip in front of me. “Did you want to talk about it?”

  I shook my head. “I’d rather focus on the beautiful woman in front of me and the good dinner I’m about to eat.”

  Jackie flushed, as she did whenever I complimented her. “I’m afraid it’s going to be another fifteen or twenty minutes until we eat.” She bent over to look inside the oven. The sight of her curving ass in dark jeans gave me an idea of how to shake that unsettled feeling before it grew.

  In two steps, I was behind Jackie and turned her around to face me. “That sounds like just enough time….”

  I kissed her hard. Her eyes widened in surprise, but her mouth was warm and yielding. My tongue thrust inside and met hers in a messy choreography. I kissed her cheek wetly, then muttered, “Want you bad.”

  “Now, Leo?” she breathed.

  “Sure. It’s okay, right? No kids, no interruptions?”

  Jackie nodded, her lips parted.
I had smeared her lipstick, and I reached out to wipe the excess off the corner of her mouth. She turned her head and captured my finger with her mouth, sucking on it hard. What a naughty cock-hardener she was.

  “You’re so hot,” I told her, as I unbuckled her leather belt and unzipped her jeans. I pulled them down, and she wriggled out of them. Then I picked her up and carried her over to the kitchen table. I swept off the papers with one hand and then laid Jackie onto the tabletop. I unbuttoned her shirt and opened it. She was lying before me in a lacy bra and panties.

  I pulled off her panties and tossed them aside. I was propelled by this urgent need to be inside Jackie and wash away every other thought in my mind. I reached between her legs to caress her soft folds, and Jackie breathed loudly. She was moist, but not really wet enough for the hard fucking she was about to get. And I was too impatient for regular foreplay.

  “One second.” I patted Jackie on the tummy, and she relaxed back onto the table. I reached for my jacket and got out the condom in my wallet. As I headed back to her, I spotted a dark bottle on the kitchen counter and grabbed it.

  “Turn over,” I told her and Jackie obediently flipped. I pushed up her shirt so her ass was fully visible. Then I poured a stream of olive oil on her and began to massage her ass cheeks and between her legs as well. Soon she was slick and glistening.

  I pushed an oiled finger inside her pussy.

  “Unnnh,” she moaned. I began an in-and-out motion, appreciating the big reaction I was getting. Jackie wriggled her ass and made sexy grunts each time I pushed further into her.

  I stopped, took off my pants and put on the condom on. I pulled Jackie to the edge of the table, spread her legs wide, and then eased my cock into her. The feeling of being inside Jackie was so good. I grasped one shiny ass cheek in each hand and fucked her with a steady rhythm. In and out. In and out. Not a single thought in my head except how fucking incredible this felt.

  “Leo, ohhhh...” Jackie moaned, pushing her arms out and throwing her head back. Her feet were barely touching the ground and each thrust lifted her body off the table.