On the Fly

by Catherine Gayle

  I collapsed against him, putting both hands on his shoulder to keep myself upright and resting my head on them until I could catch my breath again. He reached for his bag on the nightstand, and a moment later he came out with a condom.

  Brenden opened the wrapper and set it on the nightstand. He unrolled the condom over his erection. Then his hands were at my waist, his fingers dipping beneath the band of my panties. “Can I take these off?”

  I nodded, and he tugged them down my thighs as gently and reverently as he’d ever done anything. When they were at my knees, I lay down on my back so he could tug them the rest of the way.

  “Red hair everywhere,” he murmured, his fingers teasing my curls. “Freckles everywhere. You’re like a dream.”

  I assumed he would move on top of me again now, but he held out his hand for mine and helped me to my knees. He slid back until the headboard and pillows were supporting him and bent his legs slightly.

  “Come here,” he said.

  I didn’t fully understand until he put both his hands at my waist and lifted me over him, then lowered me so I was straddling his hips. “Like this?” I asked.

  “Like this.”

  With his hand between us, he guided himself into my opening. I dropped down slowly until he was fully inside me. When I rocked my hips, he kissed me. He caressed my breasts with his hands, and then I understood why he would want to make love to me in such an odd position.

  We could both kiss and touch and explore, and we did, rocking together until I climaxed again—harder this time—and he put me on my back. He kept kissing me while he thrust into me, sweet even in his increased urgency, until he came with a shout that he muffled against the pillows.

  He stopped holding his weight off me after he came, and I wrapped my arms around him to hold him close. After a few minutes, he rolled over and pulled me with him. I lay my head on his shoulder, letting my hand trace patterns on his chest while we waited for our breathing and pulses to slow.

  Eventually we got out of bed to clean up, but when we returned he put both arms around me and held me tight. I fell asleep feeling more loved than I ever had in my life.

  When Thursday morning rolled around and we had to return to the real world instead living in of this idyllic fantasy one we’d spent three days in, Brenden, Jamie, and I all went in together. Jamie was eager to get back on the ice after several days off, and Brenden had an appointment with Dr. Mitchell to talk more about his ankle.

  Jim beat me into the office. His door was open, and he was going through a stack of files at his desk, occasionally taking a sip from his coffee cup. “Morning,” he called out when he saw me at my desk. “How’s Maddie’s head?”

  “She’s having some headaches and light sensitivity, a little dizziness. We’re taking things a day at a time.”

  “That’s all you can do with a concussion.” He moved the top file to a new stack and opened the next one. “Doc is supposed to send Brenden up to see me when he’s done down there. Send him in when he gets here, and then call down to let Scotty know that he’s arrived.”

  “Of course,” I said, forcing myself to speak as normally as I could despite the fact that I felt like I was choking on my own tongue. I wasn’t privy to what went on during Jim’s meetings with his players, usually. They tended to close the doors, and I would only find out bits and pieces afterward—usually when I helped deal with the paperwork aspects related to whatever was discussed.

  But a meeting between Brenden, the head coach, and the general manager? After that last game, and with the way Brenden had been so worried over the holiday, I doubted it would be good.

  I busied myself with my work, answering emails and phone calls and dealing with memos and mail that came through. Martha had cut back to only half days for the end of her employment, only coming in for a few hours a day to help me in case something came up that I hadn’t already learned how to handle. She wasn’t in yet, so that was one less distraction than I would normally have, one less thing to help me keep my mind from racing to all sorts of possibilities that I didn’t want to consider.

  The longer I had to wait, the more anxious I got. If he would just hurry and get this meeting over with, even if I didn’t know what happened in there, at least I would know it was done.

  The team’s practice ended, and there was still no sign of Brenden. Cam Johnson came up and asked for a few minutes with Jim. He went in and was gone again, and I still hadn’t seen any sign that Brenden would be here soon.

  Nicky Ericsson stopped by my desk for a few minutes to ask me how Maddie was doing, too. He gave me a pair of kid-sized sunglasses with extra-dark lenses to take home to her. “They helped me when I was dealing with light sensitivity,” he said. “Without them, I couldn’t look at a sheet of ice.”

  “Thanks, Nicky. I’ll have her try them.” I put them in my purse, and after a few more minutes of small talk, he left.

  It was almost time for my lunch break by the time Brenden came around the corner from the direction of the elevator. I tried to smile, but I was so nervous for him that I doubted it was very convincing. He came behind my desk and kissed me on the forehead.

  “Jim said to go on in,” I said.

  “Okay. Stop worrying.” He gave me a heated look that made me remember last night.

  I blushed like crazy, thankful that no one was here to see it but him. I nodded, and he went in. I picked up my phone and dialed the extension for Scotty’s office. “Jim’s ready for you,” I told him when he picked up.

  “We’ll be right there.”

  We’ll, he’d said. Not I’ll. That only served to increase my anxiety.

  Two minutes after I hung up the phone, Scotty and his two assistant coaches were heading my way. They each nodded at me as they passed my desk and went inside. Daniel Hamm closed the door behind them.

  Martha arrived not long after that, and so I left for lunch. I couldn’t enjoy my meal, and I felt nauseated after I ate, so I wished I hadn’t even bothered. Not until I knew how Brenden’s meeting had gone.

  But they were still in there with the door closed when I returned.

  Martha caught my eye and winked at me. “Jim had me order lunch for them. This could be a long one.”

  I didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign.

  “Doc tells me the contusion happened when we all thought—when Bieksa slashed you.” Jim took off his glasses and folded in the earpieces, setting them next to the computer monitor on his desk. “But he says you sprained your ankle before that last game.”

  I felt the heat of their stares, Jim and all the coaches, burning through me. This wasn’t the time to hide from the truth, though. I had to be as transparent and honest as I could be if I was going to dig my way out of the hole I’d buried myself in. Hiding things was what had gotten me here.

  I nodded. “Yeah, I hurt it in the game against LA when I crashed into the boards. I didn’t tell Eddie or any of the medical staff about it because I didn’t want to have to sit. I tried to hide it from Scotty and the coaches, tried to keep the boys from realizing I was hurt again. I thought it wasn’t too bad and I could play through it, but I made it worse during the Christmas party, and then it got a lot worse during the Canucks game.”

  “Fuck me,” Scotty said. “If you’d just told someone what had happened, you could have sat out a week—a week with the Christmas break, for fuck’s sake—and then you would have been back in. But now Doc says you’re going to be out for several weeks, and I’ve got to find someone to put on a line with Zee who can fucking play with him.”

  “We’ve already been trying to find someone to fit with the two of you all season,” Bergy said. He was always a lot calmer than Scotty, other than when Zee needed a good kick in the balls. Somehow Bergy could always push all the right buttons with Zee to get him going. With the rest of us, though? He was as calm as a lake on a wind-free day. “Gags isn’t really working out there. Now Zee needs two wingers, at least for a while.”

  Hamm
er looked down at a clipboard and made a few notes on the top page, scratching things out and writing over them. “We can move Babs back down with him to spread the scoring around some, but who can we put with Sarge and Pasha if we take Babs away from them? Hank didn’t look good up there in practice today, and Pepe would be lost.”

  To play well with Sarge, you didn’t need to be the best offensive player. You just had to have really good hockey instincts and be able to read what Sarge was doing. Not everyone was cut out for it, but if you could figure out his thought process, he made you a better player.

  “I’ll have to see who’s playing well in Seattle and bring someone in,” Jim said.

  “I need someone who can play in the top six,” Scotty said. “Another checking-line forward isn’t going to do me any good trying to keep this team in playoff positioning.”

  “Bring in Luddy,” I said. Aaron Ludwiczak had just joined the Seattle Storm this season after spending a few years playing college hockey. I’d played on a line with him when I was there earlier this season. “He and I worked well together during my conditioning assignment. He can read off anyone. You could put him with Sarge or with Zee, so you’d have more options.” I doubted Luddy would be staying in the AHL very long, considering the hockey smarts he had and his ability to get to the front of the net. It didn’t matter that he was a little undersized. He used what advantages he had, and his size didn’t matter anymore.

  Jim hummed and jotted some notes on a legal pad in front of him. “Let’s talk more about you now, Brenden.”

  This was the part I’d known was coming—the part I’d been dreading. I nodded for him to go on.

  “I brought you into this organization because I’ve followed your career for years. I’d seen some of your dad’s spark, and anyone who watches you for even a single shift can see your determination.” Jim leaned back in his chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. “When you came up last season, you showed us more of that at this level. That’s the reason I offered you the contract I did over the summer. But while you’ve shown bits and pieces of that spark this season, for the most part it’s not there. Your play has been uneven and disjointed, even though I believe we’ve put you in a position to succeed. What’s going on?”

  Here goes nothing. “Ever since I first turned pro, I’ve been fighting to prove I could hack it. That I belong. There were always such high expectations put on me because of who my dad is that I felt like I had to live up to them, but then I fight so hard for it that I end up doing something stupid.”

  Scotty snorted, but I had been expecting some reaction or another from him.

  I tried not to let it get to me. “I have a bad habit of pushing too hard to prove myself, even if maybe I don’t need to. But it’s always at the back of my mind that I’m one boneheaded play from ending up back in the minors. Because I’m thinking like that, I tend to make the boneheaded play instead of the right one. Sometimes it screws the team. Other times it just screws me because I get hurt again.”

  “You know I don’t expect you to be your dad, right?” Jim said. “None of us do. Maybe some fans out there have unrealistic expectations, but all I want is for you to play the game that we know you can play.”

  “I know that.” There was some part of me that had always known I’d never be the player Dad was, but I still tried to emulate him. Dana was more like him. She had his foot speed and soft hands, the sort of high-end playmaking skill he’d been known for. I had worked hard for years to be more like him, but the only thing I really took from his game was an ability to snipe a few goals. I was the guy coaches would put with the players like Dad—guys like Zee—because they created offense and I capitalized on it. I was a finisher.

  I couldn’t finish if I wasn’t even out there, though.

  “Look,” I said, “I know I haven’t lived up to expectations this season. Not yours, not the coaches’, not the team’s, and definitely not my own. But I realize what the problem is, and I think I can fix it.”

  “You think you can fix it?” Scotty said. “What if that’s not good enough? What if I don’t want to let you try?”

  I was about to answer, but Jim interrupted me. “What do you think the solution is, Brenden?”

  “I have to stop trying so hard to prove myself. I just have to play my game and trust it’s good enough because it’s what got me here in the first place.”

  “That’s all I want from you,” Jim said.

  Scotty scowled at me like he always seemed to do lately. “It’s what I want, too, but I don’t fully believe I’ll get it. We’re right in the thick of the playoff chase right now. That’s not thanks to you. That’s in spite of you.”

  “I want to help,” I said. “I know I can help. Once my ankle has healed, I know what I need to do, and I can do it. If you’ll let me.”

  Rachel knocked on Jim’s door. He smiled at her through the window and waved her in, and she opened the door to let the caterer in with the lunch he’d ordered for us all. I caught her eye. She still looked worried. I wished she would stop worrying, but there wasn’t a whole lot I could do about that other than convince Scotty and Jim I could do what I said I could.

  The caterer finished setting everything up on the table and left. Rachel asked, “Do you need anything else right now, Jim?” She was already pulling the door closed behind her, clearly expecting him to say no.

  “Actually, yes. There is one thing,” he said, prompting her to freeze where she stood. “You’re getting to know Brenden pretty well, aren’t you?”

  Her eyes blinked in surprise. She definitely hadn’t been expecting that one. Hell, I hadn’t, either, and I doubted any of the coaches had been.

  “I’m starting to, yes, sir,” she said. “At least I think so.”

  “How likely do you think it would be for him to reach a goal he’s set for himself, even if it’s not an easy goal to reach?”

  Rachel thought about it for a second, but then she gave a shy smile, her eyes fluttering over to me for just a second before going back to Jim. The beginning traces of another blush were pinking up her cheeks. “If it’s something he really wants, then I doubt there’s much that could stop him from getting it.”

  “Even if it’s something in himself that’s getting in the way?”

  “Yes, even if it’s something in himself getting in the way,” she said. “He’ll make whatever changes he has to make until he gets to where he wants to go.”

  “Thanks, Rachel. I just have one more question.” Jim crossed his arms over his chest, his eyebrows coming together in a line. “What makes you so sure of that?”

  This time, she really blushed—one of those blushes I liked to think she reserved for me—and refused to look at me. “Because he got me to go out with him. If you’ll excuse me,” she said as she backed out of the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

  I had to stifle a laugh. It hadn’t mattered when I’d met her that I hadn’t known a damn thing about her—as soon as she’d told me she didn’t date, I’d set out to change that. Now she was my girl, and she hadn’t been able to stop me from making that happen.

  And she loved me. They didn’t need to know that, but I knew it. That was all that mattered.

  “What’s that supposed to prove?” Hammer asked.

  “It doesn’t prove anything,” Jim said. “But it confirms my own thoughts. That Brenden picked up on that part of his dad’s personality—an utter fixation on whatever he’s set out to do—and that’s good enough for me. Let’s eat and talk about what we’ll all expect from each other while Brenden works this out.”

  We spent the better part of the next two hours doing exactly that. By the end of our meeting, I knew that once I got cleared to play again, I wasn’t going to be traded or waived to go play in the minors—at least not right away. The trade deadline wasn’t until early March, though, so there was plenty of time for me to prove I could do what I had claimed I could do. Likewise, there was more than enough time for me to fail to
do what they needed me to do. I’d have to earn my ice time. Scotty wasn’t going to just hand it to me. I’d play on a lower line until I’d proven I deserved to move up the lineup.

  And if I was going to play here past the trade deadline this season, or if I wanted to have any hope of earning a new contract with the Storm, I was going to have to earn that, as well.

  Jim wanted to keep me around, but Scotty wanted to see me go. I had to convince Scotty it was worth giving me more time with the Storm, and the only way I was going to do that was by stopping myself from trying to convince him.

  Talk about a clusterfuck.

  By the time five o’clock rolled around, I’d gotten a lot of work done that normally I would have needed Martha’s help for. But I’d done it all without her assistance. I’d put through the paperwork to list Brenden on injured reserve, retroactive to the game against Vancouver when he’d been hurt so badly. I’d sent everything in to recall Aaron Ludwiczak from Seattle and arranged for his travel. He would be coming in tonight, so he’d be ready for the game-day skate in the morning and could play in the game tomorrow night.

  I still didn’t know what had happened in that meeting, though. All I knew was that at least for now, Brenden wasn’t going anywhere. If he was on the injured reserve, they couldn’t send him down to the AHL, and it would be extremely unlikely that he’d be traded. When he’d left Jim’s office, he’d stopped at my desk for a quick kiss and told me he’d pick me up after work, but then he’d left. Jim hadn’t told me anything, of course. That was between him and Brenden, and if Brenden wanted me to know, Brenden would have to be the one to tell me.

  At least I’d had those transactions to file with the league. That had kept me busy enough all afternoon that I hadn’t been able to obsess and worry, and they’d given me a small dose of peace of mind.

  Jim winked at me when he came out of his office to head home for the day. “Did you get through it okay?”