On the Fly

by Catherine Gayle

  “Really?”

  It killed me to hear the doubt in her voice. It was like she was so used to being deprived that she felt guilty for a little splurge. Rachel had to be doing okay now, if she was able to pay the rent in our building, but there was no denying that she drove an old beater and her clothes when I first met her were nowhere close to the quality she wore these days. It was hard for me to imagine a life like they must have been living because I’d never wanted for anything. Dad had spent sixteen seasons playing in the NHL, and he’d been making a good living in real estate ever since his retirement. Dana and I weren’t spoiled as children, but we’d never gone without either.

  “Really,” I answered. “Whichever one you want. My treat.”

  Rachel started to object but stopped when I gave a brief shake of my head.

  Maddie’s eyebrows scrunched together in thought, but a small smile was working its way to her mouth. “Any of them?” she asked after a minute.

  “Yep. Pick what you want.”

  She nodded and finally stepped away from her mother. She didn’t go over to the pink and lavender rack, but instead headed for the replica jerseys—the ones that looked exactly like what we wore on the ice. One by one, she looked them over, studying the names and numbers printed on the back.

  She had to be looking for one of Babs’s number nineteen jerseys. I was about to help her find it when she asked, “What number is yours, Mr. Soupy?”

  That shocked me about as well as anything could have. “Eleven,” I said once I found my voice again. I looked over at Rachel, but she just shrugged. I put the lavender one I’d been holding back where I’d found it.

  A minute later, Maddie had found a home jersey with my number in her size.

  “You’re sure that’s what you want?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Then she gave me a real smile. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome, Maddie.” I got a little choked up, and I wasn’t really sure what to do with that. Nodding, I took the jersey from her and headed for the register.

  Before I could get there, a loud crash came from the opposite side of the store. I turned to find Babs and Tuck in the middle of a cascade of stuffed animals pouring down on them from above.

  Tuck’s cheeks turned as red as Rachel’s did whenever I embarrassed her. He had one stuffed animal in his hands, a goalie mask on his head with a Portland Storm baseball cap on top of it, a jersey slung over his arm, and a kid-sized hockey stick tucked under his chin. It looked like a weapon, the way he was holding it. Babs instantly started trying to help the Fan Shop employees pick up the mess.

  “Oops!” Tuck shouted.

  Oops didn’t even begin to cover it.

  Brenden Campbell was somehow worming his way into my life, and I didn’t have the first clue how to stop him. I didn’t even know if I wanted to stop him anymore.

  He spent the whole Winterhawks game talking to me—explaining what was going on out on the ice, why certain things were allowed but others weren’t, helping me to understand what each player’s responsibilities were—all the while flirting with me outrageously.

  He kept leaning over and whispering things in my ear, like, “You should wear green like this more often. It makes your eyes dark and sexy;” or, “Every time you blush, I try to think of more ways to make you blush.”

  During the second intermission, he stretched his arm around my shoulders and pulled me in toward him, and I almost sighed as his warmth wrapped around me. At least until I remembered I was supposed to be keeping some distance between us. The physical distance wasn’t the issue—it was emotional distance I needed, and I was quickly losing that battle.

  Jamie entertained Tuck and Maddie throughout the game, making sure they were never bored. Not to mention making sure they were otherwise occupied so that Brenden could continue to flirt with me. I wasn’t quite sure if it was something they’d worked out in advance, or if it was just because Jamie liked my kids. Either way, Brenden didn’t seem to mind.

  A couple of times he looked like he was going to kiss me again. And I wanted him to. No matter what I did, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting him. That could only lead to trouble, though.

  But then again, Maddie seemed to be okay with him. She’d surprised me with wanting his name and number on her jersey. It probably shouldn’t have taken me aback the way it did. She was always thinking of everyone but herself.

  By the time the two of them had taken us home, I was a mess of nerves and indecision. “Inside, you two!” I ordered my kids. “Straight to the bathtub.”

  They scurried inside, Tuck still giggling even through his yawns.

  “’Night, Rach,” Jamie said just before he opened the door across the hall and disappeared through it, leaving me alone with Brenden and a metric ton of electrical pulses charging the air between us.

  I shifted my purse strap and inched back closer to my door. He only followed me with his eyes, but that was more than enough. His gaze could melt steel.

  “Thank you,” I finally got out. “For taking us to the game. And dinner.”

  He took a step to the side and leaned against the wall at an angle. “Thank you for letting me.”

  With his close proximity, the scent of his cologne crossed the divide between us and tickled my nostrils. That same scent had hit me at various intervals throughout the night, each time acting like a lure to draw me closer. I forced myself to swallow. “It was really nice of you. And Jamie, too.”

  “I didn’t ask you to come with us to be nice.”

  I knew that all too well. Hearing him say it only made my pulse more frantic.

  “I like being with you, Rachel.”

  I liked being with him, too. I liked it more than I ought to, and that scared me—because what if whatever I felt for him was clouding my judgment? How could I protect my kids that way? They deserved better.

  But they deserved to have a good man—maybe even good men—in their lives.

  I was just confusing myself—trying too hard to protect them from every danger, when I couldn’t even see what the real danger was anymore. “I don’t think—”

  Brenden’s finger pressed down over the center of my lips. “Don’t say it.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what I had been about to say, let alone what he assumed it to be.

  The tip of his finger scalded me, like a brand burning into the flesh of my lips. “Okay,” I mouthed against the pressure of his touch.

  The corners of his lips curled upward just a bit. “I like spending time with all of you. Tuck and Maddie, too. But I know you don’t trust me.”

  I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to fully trust him, even though some part of me wanted to. Actually, the bit that wanted to trust him was growing by the day, seemingly against my will. I was losing the battle.

  Not that I had any idea who was winning it.

  He moved his hand and tucked a stray curl behind my ear, the gentle touch of his fingertip trailing against the sensitive skin back there. I shivered.

  “I want to kiss you again,” he said.

  My lips parted to let a sharp breath stab my lungs. In anticipation? Or was it more in shock? Either way, it didn’t matter.

  “I’m not going to, though. Kiss you. Not until you trust me.”

  Before I could process it, he straightened up, backed away from the wall, and crossed over to his door. “Good night, Rachel.”

  I had to take a few minutes to myself out in the hall to compose myself before going inside to deal with my kids.

  The next afternoon, while my mind was still reeling from those moments out in the hall, Jim Sutter and the entire team left for a road trip. They were gone for over a week, which was way too much time to let my mind wander about Brenden.

  Their absence made for a lot of quiet time in the office, which made it much easier for Martha to teach me what I needed to know to function in my new position. After only a couple of days, I realized that even without Jim coming in, there would be more than e
nough work to keep us busy every day.

  Other team executives would stop by and deliver items for him, which we then had to examine and determine whether he needed them immediately or if they could wait for his return. At least a couple of times a day, he would call in with tasks for us to complete, and it wasn’t at all unusual to receive emails with more work he needed done. On top of all that, his phone rang frequently, requiring us to take messages or direct the caller to his cell phone.

  Before long, I had started to feel a lot more comfortable and confident in my ability to meet the demands of my position. Martha was essential in that, helping me to create my own system of organization, similar to hers but still my own.

  Friday morning, after the Storm’s first game on the road, Martha came into the office with a frown on her face and a crease between her brows. “Did you watch last night?” she asked me.

  I nodded. After going to the Winterhawks game with Brenden and Jamie, it had been easier to watch and understand what was happening on television. I had some new questions for him now, too—but they’d have to wait until the team returned.

  “It was an ugly one, but you know that,” Martha said, her lips pursing together. She took off her coat and hung it and her purse on the rack behind her desk. “Ericsson flew with the team to Washington last night, but the doctors have ruled him out for a while with a concussion, so we have to arrange transportation to get him home.”

  “Does that happen often?” I asked. One of the Tampa Bay Lightning players had run straight into Ericsson, knocking him out cold in the process. They’d had to bring in paramedics to take him off the ice on a stretcher. I was thankful that it had happened when the kids were doing their homework, so they couldn’t see. It was scary enough for me to watch.

  “Running the goaltender over? Or concussions?”

  “Either, I guess,” I said with a shrug. “And arranging to transport injured players.”

  “Keep watching the games, and you’ll get a better feel for it.” Martha booted up her computer and took a seat. “Plus, it gives you a heads-up about what you’ll be walking into the next day. But no, goalies don’t get run over too often because the rules protect them from it. Concussions happen more often than we’d like, but it’s a contact sport so there’s only so much you can do to protect the players. Same with injuries that require transportation home in the middle of a road trip. You just can’t predict these things, but we have to be ready for them when they happen. So…I want you to handle that, okay?”

  I nodded. “What should we do first?”

  “Pull up the player information file for him and then make a call down to Lynn Barnes. She’s the team’s travel agent. Have her book a flight and arrange for a car to take him from the team hotel to the airport. Once you have all the details, call Ericsson on his cell and give him the information he’ll need.”

  I hadn’t met Ericsson. I hadn’t met many of the guys on the team yet, other than the ones who’d been at Eric Zellinger’s house when the kids and I went for dinner that one night. Each time I did meet or talk to a player on the phone, though, it seemed awkward. I was the GM’s assistant, but there was also the relationship I had with Brenden, whatever that was turning out to be. I wasn’t quite sure how to keep it all separate, or if I even needed to try.

  None of that mattered at the moment. I had a job to do. I put in the call to Lynn and got Ericsson’s transportation arranged, and then I dialed his cell number.

  “Hello?” he answered after the second ring. His file said he was from Sweden, but he didn’t sound like he had an accent. But then again, it could be hard to tell just from a single word.

  “Hi, Mr. Ericsson.”

  “Nicky,” he replied.

  I didn’t even really hear what he was saying, though. I tried to just push through with what I was calling him for. “Mr. Ericsson, this is Rachel Shaw, Jim Sutter’s assistant. I’ve got travel arrangements for you.”

  He laughed, a deep, rich sound followed by a groan. “Sorry. Laughing makes my head hurt. Everything makes my head hurt right now.” He still didn’t sound like he had an accent. It made me curious how long he’d been in the country because he sounded thoroughly American. “You can call me Nicky,” he repeated. “But you’re Soupy’s Rachel, right? You have to be with that southern accent.”

  “I…” I didn’t have a clue how to respond to that. To my knowledge, I wasn’t Soupy’s—Brenden’s—anything. He’d kissed me once, and he’d told me he wanted to kiss me again, but that didn’t come close to making me his girlfriend. I could feel my cheeks heating, and the look Martha gave me confirmed that I was blushing like crazy. She hitched a brow and grinned, as though she knew why I was blushing.

  “You have travel arrangements, you said?” Nicky prodded when I remained silent for a little too long.

  “Yeah, right.” I rattled off the details of his flight and the car that would take him to the airport and waited while he repeated them back to me. He had everything right, so I asked if he needed anything else.

  “Just your cell number.”

  My jaw dropped but not a sound came out of my mouth.

  “For Soupy,” he added. “He wants to call you.”

  “I can’t… I don’t…”

  My gaze shot over to Martha, and I couldn’t miss the laugh she was unsuccessfully attempting to smother.

  Nicky didn’t give up. “He’s a good guy. Give him a chance. Give me your number.”

  Before I thought better of it, I was rattling off the digits.

  “Got it,” he said. “I’ll see you at the Christmas party if I don’t meet you before then.”

  Then we hung up.

  “Campbell’s persistent,” Martha said with a laugh. “He’s asked me for your number twice already since the team left. I told him I couldn’t give it without your permission.”

  The heat in my face doubled. “I shouldn’t have given it to him. I don’t want to encourage him.”

  “Why not? You could do a lot worse, you know. Jim’s known Campbell’s family for decades.” She pushed a stack of correspondence aside, took her glasses off, and settled them on top of her hair. “I don’t know who hurt your kids or what they did, but I can tell you this: that man’s not going to hurt them. Not after what happened to his sister.”

  I was curious what she meant about Brenden’s sister, but it felt intrusive to ask. It didn’t matter, though. “I don’t think it’s really appropriate for me to have a relationship with one of the players. Is it?”

  “I don’t see why not,” Martha said. “He’s a man. You’re a woman. He’s not your boss or anything.”

  “Hmm.” I’d really been hoping she would tell me to steer clear, to run the other direction—not encourage me to let it happen.

  Later in the afternoon, just before we were going to call it a day and head home, a tall man with longish blond hair and sunglasses on came around the corner from the stairs. He had a bouquet of white and yellow daisies in his hands.

  Martha glanced up at him, but her focus was still primarily on her computer monitor. “I know those aren’t for me, Ericsson.”

  Now I had a face—a very handsome face—to put with the name. The goaltender’s mask he wore when he played obscured his face almost entirely, and then all the paramedics and trainers who’d surrounded him on the ice had made it impossible for the cameras to focus in on his features.

  “Next time,” he promised smoothly. He bent over when he arrived at her desk and planted a loud smack on her cheek, reaching for a cookie before he pulled away. “These are for Soupy’s girl.”

  “I’m not Soupy’s girl.” My face had to be redder than my hair.

  “Okay,” he said without skipping a beat. “He still wants you to have them.”

  I took the flowers.

  Maddie helped me arrange them in a glass when we got home. I hadn’t bothered to buy any vases yet. Who would be buying me flowers, after all?

  We put them in the center of the table so
we could look at them during dinner and if we were lucky, Pumpkin wouldn’t eat them. I didn’t think daisies were poisonous for cats, so even if he did it shouldn’t hurt him.

  “They’re from Mr. Soupy?” Maddie asked.

  “Yes.”

  “That was nice of him,” she said.

  “I like Mr. Soupy,” Tuck put in. “He’s nice. But Mr. Jamie is more fun.”

  I laughed. Tuck’s response hadn’t surprised me in the least, since Tuck and Jamie were practically inseparable. “What do you think of him, Maddie?” I asked after a minute. I knew she had to be at least somewhat comfortable with him or she never would have asked for a jersey with his number on it.

  She held her fork still over her plate for a few moments, thinking hard before she answered. “He’s nice. I like that he takes care of you. You take care of me and Tuck, so someone should take care of you, too.”

  I had to force back startled tears.

  That night, a little while after I got the kids to bed, my phone rang. It was an unfamiliar number, but I knew it had to be Brenden. I was tempted to let it ring, to avoid answering it and let the voice mail pick it up, but after the fourth ring I hit the answer button.

  “Hello?”

  “Did Nicky bring you the flowers?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” I didn’t know why I’d lost the ability to breathe from nothing more than hearing his voice. “You really shouldn’t have, though.”

  “Why not? I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”

  “Because I haven’t decided to trust you yet.”

  “You trust me enough to give Nicky your number.”

  “I’m not sure why I did that.”

  “I can live with that. I don’t understand why I can’t stop thinking about you, either, but I can’t. I don’t want to stop thinking about you.”

  Warm flutters raced through my limbs. “Why do you want to date me?”

  “Because I can’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss you again, but a real kiss. Not just a little peck like I gave you before.”