Flinging my arms wide, I embraced my sacred space. My feminine touches, my useless pretty things, my pastel walls and squishy couches. Not that Dante’s place was bad. It was a handsome apartment—expensive, sound, and attractive—but it was all him. The last few days had been so draining that I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my own space, surrounded by my own things, and take a nice long nap.
“Not today,” I told myself firmly. “You have work to do.”
Dante and I had stayed up till the wee hours of the morning, talking about his career between cuddles and caresses. I’d enjoyed hearing him talk about his passion. It had given me a new idea for my article, one which I was eager to put to paper.
“No notes today. All in my head,” I murmured, glancing at the stack of legal pads which usually held the bones of my articles.
I sucked in a deep breath and cracked my knuckles, rolling my shoulders and tossing my hair back. Laser focus on.
The Making of a Legend
Thirty years ago, a little boy played in an abandoned parking lot with a thrift-store hockey stick and a flattened coke can. Too little to join his brothers in their sports, he took to entertaining himself, mimicking what he saw on his dad’s garage TV every hockey season. Through struggles in school, first loves, first heartbreaks, and his very first sports car, this boy’s first love and greatest passion remained: hockey. His name was Dante Drake.
Nearly ten years later, another little boy, Joel Palmer, was given the chance of a lifetime. His father, best friends with some of the biggest names in the game, built him his own miniature rink in their backyard. Every day, he would take the boy out to teach him how to play. This boy worked hard, until he was confident in showing off for his dad’s friends. He fell in love with the game and spent all of his spare time improving.
Dante worked hard, raking leaves and mowing lawns, cleaning houses, and babysitting. His parents never stopped encouraging him, but they were strapped for cash with three other children to care for. He persevered, however, and joined a children’s league when he was twelve years old. It was a struggle for him at first; he had never been on ice skates before, and his tin can practice was nothing like playing with a real puck on the ice. One night he went home, disheartened and discouraged, intent on telling his dad that he was going to quit.
His parents were talking when he came home. His mother was crying. Young and frightened, Dante stopped to listen. He heard his mother lament the lack of opportunities her children had, curing herself and the world for being so hard to move through. He heard his father telling her sternly that their kids were strong, smart, and talented; if the opportunities wouldn’t come, they would make their own. He held Dante up as an example. Of course, Dante couldn’t quit after that. He would never break his mother’s heart if he could help it.
At the same age, Joel was beginning to feel the pressure. His father constantly talked about how he would make the big leagues and make them all rich. Though his family had never been poor, Joel’s dad was always on the lookout for the next big thing, his next big break. Joel didn’t want to be his father’s golden goose, and said as much. In spite of his father’s insistence and frequent rages, Joel abandoned the game for two full years.
When Joel was in seventh grade, his father barely survived a heart attack. When his father was in surgery, Joel overheard his mother talking with her sister, telling her that she didn’t know what they were going to do if he didn’t pull through. That very night, Joel refroze his homemade rink and began practicing again, swearing to himself that his mother would never have to worry for her future ever again. He joined the youth league and instantly became the star of the county; by the end of the year, he had caught the nation’s attention.
Dante threw himself into his training and made his parents proud. He put himself through college on a hockey scholarship, and found himself a manager before graduation. Within a few years, he was signed to the Portland Harriers, in a moment which has been permanently immortalized on his mother’s living room wall. He made it—through the sweat of his brow and by the skin of his teeth, as his father would say—and he is rightfully proud of his accomplishment.
Joel literally skated through the children’s league and college hockey. His next stumbling block was during his sophomore year of college, when both his parents were seriously injured in a car accident. Joel moved home for two years until his sister graduated and was free to take over, by which point Joel was barely able to get back on the college team; one more setback likely would have been the nail in the coffin of his career.
That final setback came in the form of yet another heart attack. This one was not so merciful, and his father passed away. Joel was prepared to drop out of college to care for his mother, forfeiting his hockey career before it began, and it was only the generosity of Mick Alder, co-owner of the Harriers and his father’s best friend, which kept him where he was. Alder took care of Joel’s mother financially, and offered Joel’s sister an annual stipend to attend to their mother’s day-to-day needs, thus enabling Joel to finish his college career and become available for the major league. On the day of Joel’s graduation, Alder signed him to the Harriers.
You may think that these two star players from such different backgrounds would never find common ground. Dante will admit that it was difficult for him to accept Joel at first; he perceived him to be spoiled, from a privileged background—a child who had everything handed to him. Joel found Dante to be rough and frequently unreasonable. Through a great deal of hard work and intentional team playing, the two of them finally found their footing.
“I want him to struggle. The only way to actualize your potential is through struggle and hard work. Joel has the potential to become a legend in his own right, and as his mentor and team leader, it’s my job to make sure he gets there.” – Dante Drake.
“I’m ready. I want to know everything he knows, and then I want to learn more. And I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m ready. I want to be the next Harriers legend. Not a replacement, but a worthy successor.” – Joel Palmer.
Yes, Joel, we believe you are. And better yet, Dante believes you are. Keep an eye on the Harriers, dear readers; you’ll be witness to the making of a new legend.
The final article came easier than any of my previous attempts. Dante and Joel had both given me permission to tell their stories, which I was infinitely grateful for. Without that, I wouldn’t have been able to put it together, to show how similar their lives had been in spite of their backgrounds. I hoped they would read it that way.
With six hours left until my deadline, I sent the article to Jimmy.
“Now what?” I asked myself, staring at my computer. That familiar panic jumped in my chest. “I have nothing in my work queue!”
My energy switched into high gear and I cycled through all of my emails, job boards, and open submissions. Within three hours, I had compiled a month’s worth of work, and had begun to brainstorm article ideas.
Just when I was confident enough to pitch a bid, an email popped up in my inbox. It was Jim from the Crier, and my stomach flopped instantly. He had responded too quickly. Was the article terrible? Would I need to start from scratch, with my notes and scrapped attempts? I hissed a breath through my teeth as I opened the email.
Ms. Ramos,
Excellent work! This is exactly the sort of feature we were hoping for. In fact, we would like to see more of these. The background of the stars, hard work stories, humanization of legends. To that end, we would like to extend an offer to you.
Attached is a contract for you to look over. Take your time, and feel free to have a lawyer comb through it at our expense. If you find the terms to your liking, please have a signed, notarized copy sent to the office at your convenience.
Jim DeLeary
My heart pounded as I opened up the attached contract. I scanned through it quickly until I found the meat of it, and then my jaw dropped. I stared until black spots flickered around my peripheral vision, then I g
asped for the breath I had forgotten to take.
A weekly column, in my name. More money than I had ever had in my account at once, every single month.
“Who needs a lawyer? I’m taking this.”
My instinct was to sign immediately, but the responsible adult in my head wasn’t having it. I called up my friend Jenny, who drafted legal documents for a living.
“Holy cow,” she whistled when I told her the details of the contract. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Right? Which is why I desperately need you to look over this to make sure they aren’t screwing me in the fine print.”
“Yeah, absolutely. I’m free for the next hour; can you come by the office?”
“I’ll be right there. Oh, and you can bill the Crier for your time, apparently.”
“Nice,” she said happily. “I might take a couple hours and go over this real carefully.”
I laughed as I hung up, printed the contract, and made for the door. I felt like I was holding a dream in my hand. It was silly to be so careful with a stack of papers, but I couldn’t help it. This was everything I’d ever wanted from my career, and possibly more. I had seen my big break and taken it.
Chapter 25
“I don’t see anything out of the ordinary,” Jenny said after looking through the contract a second time. “It’s pretty standard. Essentially, all it says is that you will write four articles a month for the paper, for the salary that they listed, plus employee benefits.
“You are to come in to the office once a month for a staff meeting; otherwise, you can work via email. Anything you write for the paper—or anything that you come up with while researching an article for the paper—belongs to the paper. All other brain babies are yours to keep.”
“Simple enough,” I replied. “Anything else I should know?”
“The contract is only good for a year, so you will probably be renegotiating at the end of that year—mark your calendar. Other than that, don’t commit plagiarism or libel, uphold the journalistic integrity of the Crier, and short of death or illness, don’t bail on the paper before your contract is up,” Jenny explained.
“Oh, also, they say you can take a vacation whenever you like as long as you write your articles in advance and show up to the staff meetings before and after said vacation,” she added.
“Very nice,” I said appreciatively. “All right, I’m taking it. Do you have a notary around here?”
Jenny did. The contract was signed, notarized, and in Jim DeLeary’s hands before the end of the day. I was still in shock about the whole thing, and I was itching to share the good news.
Who better to share it with than Dante?
“Hi! I want to go out and celebrate tonight. Care to join me?”
“What are we celebrating?” he asked suggestively.
“My upward trajectory in the world,” I laughed. “The paper picked me up. I am now officially a columnist for The Portland Crier.”
Dante whooped, and I grinned. He was as happy for me as I was for myself, which was a new kind of rush.
Dante brought all sorts of new things to my life, I realized. The dinners, the dancing, the fact that he was a life-long jock, not to mention a celebrity.
Dating him was like visiting a different country where everything was extraordinary and comfortable all at once. I couldn’t wait to see where this connection would lead me.
Chapter 26
Six Months Later
The last game of the season was much more exciting than the first. Watching all of the players work in perfect unison was absolutely glorious, and my VIP seat gave me the up-close and personal view I never would have wanted when this whole thing began.
It was a tight game; the crowd roared, the competition was fierce, and my two favorite jocks were playing like never before. The atmosphere warmed my blood better than coffee these days, and I didn’t even notice the cold anymore.
Joel hit the winning goal, ripping me to my feet in an ecstatic scream. With that one shot, he’d officially matched Dante’s scores for the season, bringing them to a solid tie. The teams did their good-sportsmanship show, then Dante broke away from the pack to skate over to me.
Sweeping his helmet off of his head, Dante shook out his curls, leaned over the wall, and kissed me soundly. Joel swooped past, cheering for us even as the crowd cheered for him. I smiled against my boyfriend’s mouth, the whole of my being consumed with bliss.
“Congratulations,” I told him as I pulled back to gaze into his glittering eyes.
“Couldn’t have done it without you, babe,” he said, kissing me again. “Thai Palace, one hour.”
“I thought that was just for the team,” I said, nuzzling his cold nose with mine.
“You made the team, darlin’. You’re coming.”
“Yes, dear,” I said, rolling my eyes.
Dante pulled a face at me, pretending like he was going to jump over the wall.
I laughed and pushed him away, making him glide backwards across the ice. He blew me a kiss and followed his team into the locker rooms.
A happy sigh escaped me. My own column, a star athlete for a boyfriend…the past six months would mark a win on the calendar of my life. I was floating on clouds as I moved through the crowd and out the door into the unseasonably warm April afternoon.
I kept the windows down and the music up as I wound lazily through the city streets, taking the scenic route to Thai Palace. Dante would be a while, and I didn’t feel like hanging out in the parking lot by myself. I drove around a park I didn’t recognize and followed the curving avenue as it kissed the river bank and curved back to guide wandering eyes to a towering hotel.
Something about the way it glittered made me pull over, just to take it all in.
It was built like a modern-day castle, all marble and glass with dizzying spires and wrought iron balconies which wrapped around the whole of the building. A glass enclosure behind it hinted at an indoor pool, and cherry blossoms floated on the breeze, framing the hotel in romance and lazy springtime dreams.
I could have written a million stories in that moment, fanciful fictions filled with princesses and knights, princes and paupers. I’d never considered fiction before that moment, but something about the picture tickled my creative brain awake.
“Oh, shoot,” I muttered as I glanced at my watch.
I had spent too long lost in my own fantasies. I pulled back into the empty road and made a beeline for the restaurant, less than a mile away in a completely different world. Bits of paper took the place of cherry blossoms on the breeze, and Thai Palace’s busted sign was the only thing that glittered.
That didn’t matter, though, because there was something much more exciting there. Just as I pulled in, the convoy pulled up behind me, led by Dante’s sleek convertible. I could hear his music before I could see his face, priming my affection for his attention.
As I closed my door, he scooped me into a massive bear hug. Laughter bubbled out of me in a spiral as he spun me around, making me feel like one of those princesses I had dreamed up only minutes before.
“You make one hell of a Prince Charming,” I murmured against his hair.
“You know it,” he said, tilting his grinning face up to press his lips to mine.
The world around us faded away as he teased me with his tongue, flicking it in and out, never letting me tangle with it. A frustrated groan propelled my own tongue forward, cornering him. He chuckled into my mouth and surrendered, giving me what I wanted.
Whoops and hollers from the team didn’t even cut through my enraptured haze. We slow danced to the music of the spring breeze in the busy parking lot.
“Hey, we’re splitting this bill,” Joel’s voice interrupted. “Get your butts in here before I get stuck with the whole thing.”
Dante and I separated with twin smiles, and he set me down gently. He wrapped his massive arm around my shoulder, then Joel sidled up beside me and planted a friendly kiss on my cheek.
“M
y boys,” I sighed happily. “Never would I have predicted this.”
“Tell me about it—if you’d told me a year ago that Joel and I would be friends after chasing the same woman, I would have laughed at you.”
“Us chase her? I’m pretty sure you have that backwards,” Joel said with a wicked grin.
“Let’s call it mutual chasing,” I said, amused.
“You chased me until I caught you,” Dante pointed out, grinning.
“My grandma used to say that all the time,” I laughed. “Her one regret was that she never had an ill-advised passionate affair.”
“I think you made up for that,” Joel said wryly.
I couldn’t deny it, so I just stuck my tongue out at him. He made to bite it, but stopped short under Dante’s glare. Joel smiled apologetically over my head, and I rolled my eyes.
“You two just can’t stop, can you?” I asked.
“Stop what?” Dante asked innocently.
“The competition,” I said. “You kind of won, Dante.”
“Not yet, I haven’t,” Dante said pensively.
I cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, but he just shook his head at me and kissed my hand. I knew better than to press him by now.
Dante was a man of timing; whatever he had to say would surface eventually.
The whole team was seated and waiting for us when we walked in. They filled the little room in the back, surrounded by pictures of their team in general, and Dante specifically. I noticed an empty frame on the wall in a spot which had definitely been empty the last time I had come here. I wondered if the team had brought Jack another picture for his collection.
High-energy conversation quickly distracted me, followed by piles and piles of food. The team had apparently ordered the entire menu, and intended for everyone to eat family-style.
It was comfortable, despite the fact that I was sorely outnumbered by massive, high-spirited men. It gave me the little-sister feeling that I hadn’t had since my group of guy friends in high school, and I found myself slipping into a pleasantly vague nostalgia.
His Eternal Flame Page 68
