Ryder zipped up his jacket and prepared to leave, holding his rising ire in check. Yeah, dealing with Kristoff and his constant irrational demands and temper was easy. “Nothing easy about college. I graduated with honors, by the way. Not that you were around to see it.”
“You only finished school because you didn’t make it in hockey. You had the talent, just not the drive. You were lazy. You were so fucking lazy you put popcorn in your pancakes so they’d turn over by themselves.”
Ryder fisted his hands to keep from reaching for his father and wringing his scrawny neck. How dare he? “At least I didn’t kill anybody,” Ryder muttered. He wanted to start screaming for the satisfaction of railing at him. More than that, he wanted to get the hell away from him and starting World War III wouldn’t allow for escape.
“You fucking little shit,” Walter spat, rising from his chair. He seemed to wheeze with the effort. Even at his full height, Ryder towered over him. “That fitter took those bolts off himself, not me. It was his own fault. Didn’t know enough to check that the line was depressurized.”
“You were the foreman. It was your job to check. You were drunk.” Ryder couldn’t help himself and shot the verbal barb straight for his father’s heart.
Direct hit.
“I was not!” Walter fumed. “Yeah, I’d had drinks that day, but I wasn’t drunk when it happened.”
“Of course not. You’re what’s called a functioning alcoholic. Lucky they weren’t random testing that day. It would take a five-gallon pail of booze to even show on you, but you were impaired just the same. A man is dead because of you.”
Walter stepped back, blinking. “You think I don’t regret it? I’ve spent eight years paying for it. You can’t know what it was like, seeing that flange explode off the end of that pipe. A cannonball at point-blank range couldn’t have done more damage. Crushed him like a walnut.” He drew in a rasping breath. “You weren’t there.”
“Neither was your local, were they?” Ryder finished. “You were so pro-union until then. Where were they when you needed them? They hung you out to dry to save their lily-white asses. Don’t lecture me about my choices or my drive. I did just fine without the trades, without the unions. Without you.” Ryder moved to the door. “Don’t wreck anything while I’m gone,” he said over his shoulder, slamming the door behind him as he exited. No way would he share his good news about the Riot with that asshole. With any luck, his unwanted house guest would be gone before Thanksgiving. And for that, he’d give thanks.
***
“Where are those bid sheets?” Hannah called to the back office.
“Just printing them off now,” Eloise answered. Hannah surveyed the display of donated items she’d arranged in a back section of the restaurant and nodded in satisfaction. The community had been very generous. Everything from game tickets to ski packages to power tools. If the bidding was fierce, they’d net a good profit next Friday night, and all of it would go to kids’ hockey programs around the city. Though she had only a passing interest in hockey, she felt proud of what they’d accomplished and the good it would do in the community. And Cole would be over the moon. He coached some of the youth during the offseason at the Rochester Community Center’s indoor rink. She dusted her hands on her jeans and strode into the office.
“Here they are,” El said, handing her a neat stack of sheets still warm from her desktop printer.
“Great.” She took the papers and smiled at Eloise. “I think we’re ready.”
Eloise returned the smile. “You’ve done a great job helping organize this event. I couldn’t have pulled it off without you. You make a great manager. Maybe you ought to think about a degree in hospitality or event management.”
Hannah took an exaggerated breath in and brushed her fingernails on her inflated chest. “I’m just trying to be helpful. Earn my keep, you know. Make the old man proud.”
Eloise pushed back from her desk, which wasn’t a far distance since she couldn’t sit as close to it as usual with her swollen belly. “You’ve earned more than your keep. I’m so grateful that you’re here. You surprise me, Hanna-bee. I’d never have thought you had so much strength in you. You’ve been my rock.”
Hannah leaned down to give Eloise a one-armed hug. “I thought that’s what husbands were supposed to be, but I’m glad to help.” She patted her sister’s shoulder. “It must be hard being married to a guy who isn’t around much. I don’t think I could handle being a hockey wife. When I get married, I want a guy who worships the ground I walk on. One who rushes home from the office every night just to be near me and breathe the same air.”
Eloise looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “Have you been reading those paperback romances again?” she asked. “Love doesn’t go by the book, just so you know. It can hide, it can run away, masquerade as something else and then one day sneak up on you when you’re not looking.”
“Is that how it happened for you?”
El grinned and looked away for a moment, her eyes distant. “It plays games too. Like rock-paper-scissors.”
“What?” Hannah said, confused.
Eloise re-focused on her. “My point is, when love finds you, your brain will hand over the reins to your heart. You’ll stop analyzing and throw that list of qualifications out the window. You won’t care if he’s an athlete or an ant farmer. It’ll just work. You mark my words, Hanna-bee, it will hit you in the solar plexus just like a wrecking ball.”
***
The man with the puck accelerated toward him with a full head of steam. Ryder faced him while skating backward, staying with him until the right moment, eyes on the team logo in the center of his chest, not on the puck. It wasn’t important. The puck had only two destinations once Ryder made his move. The tiny black disc would land either on his own stick or one of his teammates. Either way, the skater would give it up and lose the shot opportunity.
He swept his stick in front of him, to knock the puck away from his opponent. The man tried to cut around him but was too close. Ryder nailed him as he tried to pass, the puck bobbling loose as he went down hard on the ice. His linemate scooped up the rubber and sent it swiftly back to the neutral zone in a precision pass to their speedy forward hopeful, Thibault. Ryder heard the thundering of sticks pounding the boards outside the bench, acknowledging his timely hit but didn’t stop to bask in the accolades. He followed Thibault and the other forwards into the attacking zone, taking his position at the blue line.
A hard shot from the point rebounded loudly off the pads of Shredder Politski, starting goalie and future hall of famer, the noise like a sonic boom. The puck rifled back into play, the forwards scrambling to get a stick on it. Without a clear lane, they dug it loose and fired it back to the defense opposite Ryder. His d-partner quickly passed it across, and he wound up his slapshot like a coil spring as he watched it sail toward him. He unleashed the one-timer with everything he had.
Shouts echoed in the cavern of ice as the puck streaked under the crossbar and popped Shredder’s water bottle into the air.
Sniped.
Before Ryder had time to celly, McTaggart’s whistle called the entire team to the bench, signaling the end of their inter-squad scrimmage. He couldn’t have asked for a better capper to his last on-ice session before the final cut and hoped it would be enough to edge out the competition.
“Great work today, guys,” Shane said. “I appreciate the extra time you’ve all given in between regular games to support this novelty tryout initiative. All the other participating teams will have also narrowed their candidate lists to two players. The coaching staff and executives will deliberate over the Thanksgiving holiday and will be contacting both players with a decision and de-briefing on Monday. The successful candidate will see some ice time in our December home games, and contract offerings, if any, will be issued on New Year’s Day.”
The players rumbled and tapped their sticks on the ice in applause. “Remember, the contract is only extended at the discretion of the club
management, and all selected players are eligible for trade to another participating team should they be requested,” Shane continued. “So, happy holidays, and don’t forget that our very own Mr. Fiorino is hosting a fundraiser next week at his restaurant in support of youth hockey. Hope to see you all there. Now, let’s have a round of applause for Martin and Thibault. May the best man win,” Shane finished, a broad smile on his rugged, tanned face.
The Riot’s standard cheer rose into the chilled air as they congratulated the potential new players. Ryder watched his competition step off the ice and through the gate. Tiny Thibault, they’d begun to call him. What was the story on this guy? No one had even seen him in the dressing room. He was fast but small – hardly the type to bolster the Riot’s physical ice presence. Cole skated up next to him as the team exited the rink. “How do you feel?” he asked. “Ready for this?”
Ryder pulled off his helmet and gave him a knowing stare. “I’ve been ready for this my whole life. The league just wasn’t ready for me.”
Cole tapped him on the back. “You left it all on the ice, bro. Can’t ask any more than that.”
“Just hope they’re looking for size and a killer shot from the point, and not Speedy Gonzales.”
Cole spread his arms wide in a grandiose gesture. “They’ve got me. Why would they need another forward? What they need is more protection. For me.”
“Ego, much?” Ryder snickered.
***
He wasn’t much of a cook, but he did his best to make a Thanksgiving dinner out of a roasted chicken from the local deli and a trip to the supermarket for potatoes and greens. Better to put up with Walter’s company in the privacy of his home than worry about him causing a spectacle in some cheesy buffet lineup filled with pressed turkey and Stove Top Stuffing. At least this way Ryder could control the quality of food he was putting in his body. He had to remain in top condition for what he hoped lay ahead.
Walter shifted his sitting position and turned his face from the football on TV long enough to complain. “Are we at least having wine with this feast you’re preparing?”
Ryder rammed the potato masher into the pot full of boiled spuds. Addictions died hard. “Yup. The finest de-alcoholized, organic Merlot money can buy.”
“Fuck, boy. Are you trying to kill me?”
Don’t give me any ideas, old man. “No. Trying to keep you alive long enough so that you can die somewhere else besides my living room.”
A long silence hung in the air before Walter spoke. “Careful what you wish for. I’ll be gone soon enough.”
Ryder almost felt sorry for what he said. Almost. “Does that mean you’ve found a place to live?”
“It means I’ve found a place to die.”
Ryder stopped punishing his potatoes. “What are you talking about? If you’d just dry out and get your shit together. Stop acting like a martyr.”
Walter hoisted himself from the big armchair and shuffled over to the kitchen. “Let me help you with all this,” he said, taking the platter of chicken and the salad bowl to the table in the dining nook. “There’s a reason I was sent to Rochester FMC. It’s a medical facility for inmates, didn’t you know?”
Ryder followed with the bowl of mashed potatoes. “Looks like you didn’t take advantage of the substance abuse program.”
Walter looked at his son with a gentleness in his eyes that took Ryder by surprise. This time he did regret his words.
“You know why I started drinking. After I lost your mother.”
“We all lost mother. You, me, Braden, and Colt. We didn’t drown our sorrows in a bottle, and your drinking career started way before that. The day mom died was just your break-out role.”
Walter grimaced and looked away. “Yeah. Well, it wasn’t the booze they were treating me for. It’s mesothelioma. Late onset. Job related.” Then he actually smiled. “You’re in luck. Today you can give thanks that your old man’s going to kick the proverbial bucket soon.”
Chapter Six
Theresa Fiorino certainly knew how to make an entrance. She stood nearly five-ten in heels, and her fur stole with its matching hat evoked a nineteen forties retro elegance. Her jet black hair with streaks of gray lay perfectly coifed beneath the fur-trimmed chapeau, and her wide brown eyes set above her regal hooked nose took in every detail of the interior of Casa Fiorino before coming to rest on Eloise. She spoke one word.
“Bella.”
Cole smiled. “You like it? Wait ‘til you see the kitchen!”
Theresa smiled at her firstborn as he stood next to El. “Yes, darling, it’s magnifico, but I was talking about your beautiful wife,” she said in the raspy, contralto voice that Cole had perfectly mimicked in the past. She reached a gloved hand to touch Eloise’s rounded belly. “Your stunning wife and my equally stunning grandson. You look wonderful, my dear. I’m so happy for the two of you.”
El shot Cole a look. It seemed all his predictions of a male baby had rubbed off on everyone. Hannah chuckled and tried to hide her smile.
“Thank you, Theresa. I’m so glad you’re able to share Thanksgiving with us.”
“You look ready for a dog sled race, Mom,” Cole said, gesturing to the furry apparel. “It’s not that cold yet.” He moved to help her with her coat. “I know people describe Minnesota as the worst kind of frozen polar ice cap, but it’s really not that much different than back home.”
Theresa’s smile reached every corner of her classic features, adding a merry crinkle around her eyes. “Can we do that? A dog sled race? Sounds exciting!”
Cole laughed. “My mom the thrill seeker,” he joked. “What would dad say?”
“Why do you think he’s not here?” Theresa chuckled. “He’s turning into a regular fuddy-duddy.”
Hannah liked the woman immediately. She could see the vivacious and mischievous girl behind the striking, mature exterior. Her gaze fell on Hannah. “And who is this golden angel?” she asked with eyes twinkling. “An actress? No, no. A super model!”
“This is my youngest sister, Hannah,” El supplied. “You met her at our wedding, I’m sure. She was one of my bridesmaids.”
“Hi,” Hannah said, blushing slightly. “I probably looked a little different then.”
“I must have been blinded by happiness to not have noticed you,” Theresa said, offering her hand. “How are you, my dear? Are you living here in Rochester now?”
“Fine, thank you. I’m just out here to help Eloise until the baby comes.” And hopefully forever. Hannah couldn’t believe how much she loved Rochester and how well she fit into the tight-knit community.
“How nice. I’m so glad Eloise is being forced not to overdo it.” She turned to Cole. “I hope you’ve not changed any of my recipes, Coleman Arthur Fiorino. Your grandmother will be cursing you from the grave if you have. And you remember your Nonna. You would never want to be the recipient of one of her… curses.”
“I wouldn’t dare change anything, but you’ll have to be the judge, Mom. Come meet our chef.”
The trio continued on their tour of the restaurant while Hannah returned to the long table she’d been setting for the occasion. The kitchen in Eloise’s condo wasn’t big enough to handle a family dinner party, so they’d opted to have the big Thanksgiving smorgasbord here. Cole and El had been looking for a house to buy in suburban Rochester for some time, but inventory for high-end houses was low, and the right one just hadn’t come on the market. After the baby came and everything went back to some semblance of normal, Cole said he might start looking at acreage lots for a new build.
She’d spent a day and a half festooning Casa Fiorino’s dining room with holiday swags, wreaths, and poinsettias, and thought it looked exquisite – really festive. As she arranged the napkins in one of the fancy folds she’d learned, it struck her that she’d been in Rochester nearly three weeks now. Though she was happy to help her sister, what had she accomplished other than becoming an efficient restaurant worker, sisterly protector, and general gofer? When
the baby arrived, space at the condo would be tighter than ever, and Gerry and Linda were planning to come visit over Christmas too. She felt a pang of guilt that she’d not even sent in her re-application for grad school yet, as she’d promised them she would.
Parents. The arrival of Theresa Fiorino changed the picture somewhat. Clearly a take-charge kind of person, Hannah could tell she would have El’s every need attended to. Perhaps Hannah wasn’t required anymore. But even if it were true, El would be too kind to tell her so. Secretly, Hannah thought El wanted her to stay and loved having her around. And she loved being around.
As she laid the last piece of silverware in its place setting, she made a decision. She would re-submit her grad school application online, with a few tweaks highlighting her new skill set. Tonight.
***
Ryder’s nerves thrummed like live electrical wires as he neared the coach’s office. This was it. The final cut. As promised, both players would receive a debriefing meeting with the coach, where they’d discuss their strengths and weaknesses, and how their skills did or did not fit the team. Whatever the commentary, only the outcome mattered to Ryder. It meant everything. At this point, his last chance, he didn’t give a shit about improving on his well-known weaknesses. He knocked on the door.
“Come in.” McTaggart rose from his desk as Ryder entered. “Good morning, Ryder. How was your weekend?”
Ryder shrugged, trying to basically forget the events of the last few days. “Just another few numbers on the calendar, that’s all. Thanks for asking.”
“Well, sit down. We have a few things to talk about.” Ryder sat and stared at the older man, trying to gauge the outcome before hearing the words. If this didn’t go his way, he wanted to be able to mask his disappointment, so he didn’t look like a whipped puppy when the abolishment of his hopes came crashing down around him like an imploded Las Vegas casino. “You nervous?”
“What gave you that impression,” Ryder said with a strained laugh.
The Rebound: A Rochester Riot Sports Romance Page 5
