When five minutes had passed, I recognized something but didn't mention it, wanting to see if Jen would notice. Moments later, she said, "Tess, do you smell that?"
"Like... sweat socks in the microwave?"
She blinked. "How do you know what that smells like?"
"It's a guess. Actually, it's more like mildew soup."
She covered her mouth, pretending to throw up. "You're revolting. What is it? Herd of dead wildebeest in a pool of elephant sweat?"
"Interesting image, but no. That's old stinky hockey equipment getting freshly sweated in. Warmed up old sweat. You should smell the dressing room after a game."
"It's bad enough up here. How do they stand it in the bench?"
I shrugged. "They're guys. They're probably proud of their stench. Their stench in the bench."
She rolled her eyes and we laughed, then she hugged me. "Nice to hear you laughing."
I hugged her back. "Nice to do it."
The opponents scored first, then Magnus tied it up. With two minutes left, the opponents scored again. So close to the players, more than just their smell wafted upward. I could feel their desire to win pulsing through them and my heart pounded in response.
Forrest had been playing with a strange intensity all night, slamming other players into the boards with a fury I'd never seen from him. His drive, however, hadn't translated into a goal, and we badly needed one. He badly needed one. No goals for him since before Denver.
With thirty seconds to go, Corey slashed his stick across an opponent's leg in anger over a hard but legal collision, putting himself in the penalty box for the rest of the game. The crowd booed the referee who'd made the call, but I booed Corey, and Jen fumed, "So stupid to leave us one man down."
Forrest and Magnus hit the ice for the last time and I sent energy and hope out after them. The puck headed toward our goal but our defense managed to get it out to Magnus. He guided it back down the ice, avoiding the opposition with skill and grace, while Forrest plowed through with the same bull-in-an-art-gallery style he'd been using all night and made it to the other end before Magnus.
Ten seconds left. Magnus made a neat dodge around a hovering opponent and passed the puck back to Forrest, who smacked it hard toward the net.
At least, he tried.
Under the force of his shot, the blade snapped off his stick, leaving the puck and shards of hockey stick littering the ice. Magnus threw himself forward but the buzzer sounded to end the game.
*****
Corey's voice, and an unwelcome hint of his cologne, drifted in through the open massage room door. "Too bad you hit it too hard, Gump. Could have been a goal."
"These things happen." Forrest matched Corey's mock-sympathetic tone. "Like being shorthanded in the last minute. Too bad, huh?"
Corey didn't respond, and a surge of pride in Forrest for besting him made me smile at Magnus as he walked in and closed the door behind him.
He didn't smile back. "I have a problem."
"What did you hurt this time?"
He sat on the massage table and pulled off his t-shirt. "Nothing."
I stepped behind him and set to work on his unusually tense shoulder. "What's wrong, then?"
After a long pause, he said, "That stick didn't break."
"But we all saw it."
He turned to face me. "It was made to break."
Despite the still overwhelming heat from the broken thermostat, an icy spider crawled down my back. "Someone sabotaged it?"
He nodded.
"You're sure?"
"I picked up the pieces. It was cut partway through, I think, so when he took that big shot it broke."
I pulled up the stool and sat facing him. "Who would do that?" Even as I said it, I knew. "Corey."
"Why him?"
I briefly listed the events since Forrest had joined the team, the missing shampoo and child-sized jock strap and shoe in the toilet. "And his puck disappearing. Corey hates Forrest."
He sighed. I'd never thought he looked his full thirty-six years before, but he did now. "It could be. I don't know. I have to do something."
"Go to Filmore. Or Jones."
He shook his head. "Then it gets all official. If I can handle it among the guys, it's better for everyone."
I wasn't convinced, but he knew the system better than I did. "How can I help?"
He smiled and squeezed my shoulder. "I knew I should tell you. I'm holding a team meeting after tomorrow morning's practice, but I don't want Forrest there. They'll be more likely to talk without him. Now, you have your swim meet tomorrow at ten, right?"
I nodded. Last chance to qualify for this year's championship. No pressure.
"Could you pretend it was moved to nine? Then you could skip my massage and give Forrest a short one right after practice, and I could talk to the team while he's in here."
After the smell coming off the bench that night, did I want to touch Forrest after practice? But I couldn't let someone sabotage him. "Of course."
Magnus smiled. I finished his massage and he left, holding the door for Forrest.
"You okay?"
I nodded. "You?"
He gave me one decisive nod. "Sucks, but it happens."
"Yeah." I held my face and voice steady. He obviously hadn't considered sabotage, and I didn't want to suggest it.
He jerked his head toward the door. "Did you hear Corey?"
"Oh, yeah. Like everyone was supposed to." I shook my head. "Charming."
He rolled his eyes and pulled off his shirt and pants. Over the last few sessions I'd grown more used to his body again, but the first sight of his naked limbs and the scarred beauty of his chest still sent hunger rippling through me.
I worked in a peaceful silence, and eventually he said, his voice drowsy, "That's good enough. You've got your meet tomorrow, you should rest."
"Oh, that reminds me." I hated lying to him, but I had to. "They changed the start time, so I need to be there at nine."
"Okay. Want to skip tomorrow?"
"No, Magnus already cancelled his, so I'll do yours right after practice and then take off."
He sat up. "You don't have to."
"I do." I busied myself putting away my oils, not wanting to make either of us uncomfortable. "I owe you after today."
"You don't owe me a thing."
He put his hand on my arm, and I turned to face him, my heart beating faster at the intensity in his voice and eyes.
"Tess, I'm just glad I could help a little."
"More than a little."
Our eyes locked. Then we both broke the connection at once.
Chapter Twenty-One
Early, as I'd intended to be, I sat watching the end of practice, happy to see Forrest no longer wore the red jersey that had been a symbol of his injured status. If nothing else, I'd accomplished that.
Magnus skated over, glancing back to make sure Forrest wasn't nearby. "So you'll keep him with you, right?"
I nodded. "And you're sure you're okay missing yours?"
He rolled his shoulder experimentally. "It's a bit tight, but I'll be fine. This is more important."
I smiled. "You're a great captain."
He flushed and looked down. "I try."
"You succeed."
He shifted from foot to foot, his blush intensifying, then took a breath to speak just as the players began to leave the ice. Instead of saying whatever he'd been thinking, he joined them, calling, "Good luck today," as he went.
Forrest started past me, but I caught his arm. "Ready?"
He blinked. "Now? I need a shower."
"After. I have to get going."
He shrugged, and we walked down the tunnel into the still overheated massage room, where he struggled out of his skates, jersey, and hockey pants. I prepared my oils and tried not to sneak peeks as he removed the protective padding he wore beneath his clothes. It felt like he was truly stripping himself bare, laying himself defenseless in front of me.
As it t
urned out, I was the defenseless one. When I touched his body, warm and sweaty as it had been in Denver, memories of our lovemaking stormed through me. Fortunately, he didn't reek like the team had the night before, but the tang of fresh sweat hung in the air and I had to fight the urge to touch his skin with my tongue.
I'd covered his upper body with the blanket before we'd started, but he'd pushed it down to his hips. With the room so warm, he didn't need it.
I did, though: seeing so much of him just increased my desire. The hunger thundering through me made it hard to concentrate, but realizing how good, in a clinical sense, his leg felt beneath my probing fingers helped me regain control.
I cleared my throat. "I think your leg's pretty much healed."
"It feels fine now when I skate."
"Then let's focus on your neck and shoulders."
He started to roll over but I said, "On your back is perfect, actually," and moved to stand behind his head. My focus deepened as I felt the surface tension giving way to older and more ingrained knots and lumps, and I lost track of time, lost track of everything but Forrest.
When the door opened, I looked up, startled, and Magnus's expression startled me even more. Not just surprise, but confusion, and something deeper I couldn't recognize. What he'd seen bothered him. But why?
Forrest yawned and propped himself up on his elbows, and Magnus closed the door then said, "Not working on the leg today?"
Was that his problem? "I did, but it doesn't need much more."
"But my shoulders are a mess so she's working on them now." Seeming to wake up suddenly, he sat up and turned to Magnus. "I thought you cancelled."
Magnus sighed. "It's about last night, Forrest. Your stick. Someone cut it."
Forrest blinked. "You're sure?"
"Positive."
Forrest stared down at his hands. My heart ached for him. Sabotaged by a teammate.
After a few moments he raised his head. "What do we do now?" The neutral tone again. Now that I knew it hid his emotions, I hated it even more.
Magnus either didn't notice or it didn't bother him. "I just talked to the team. Nobody's admitting to it, but at least they know I know."
Forrest started to nod then turned to me instead. "Hang on. What time is your meet?"
He'd definitely woken up. I'd lied once, for good reason, but I wouldn't do it again. "Ten." I held his gaze. "No, it didn't get changed. Magnus wanted to talk to them without you there." I wouldn't let myself apologize, even though I wanted to. This wasn't at all like Marika pretending she liked hockey. I had no need to apologize.
He studied me, then gave me a curt nod and said to Magnus, "What's your plan?"
"The guy knows he got caught. I'm thinking he won't do it again."
"Wait and see?" Forrest's voice was so neutral I couldn't tell if he agreed, although I couldn't see how he would.
Magnus glanced at me as if hoping I'd take over then said, "That's what I think."
"Me too," Forrest said.
Shocked, I looked from one to the other, my hands turning palm upward. "What about Filmore? Jones? Mike, even? It's time to get the big guns involved."
Both guys began at once. "I told you--"
We had to laugh, but I said, "Yeah, you did, but now it's serious. I mean, we didn't tie the game because of that stick."
Magnus nodded. Forrest did too, but with a smile so warm it lit up his face and set my heart ablaze. "Thanks for assuming I'd have scored."
I couldn't help grinning. "Well, wouldn't you?"
He winked, and I laughed.
Magnus cleared his throat. "I really think it'll be okay now."
I sighed, happiness fading, and turned to Forrest. "You're sure?" It didn't seem like enough. True, Magnus was well-respected by the players, but the saboteur had planned ahead, and one conversation wouldn't stop him.
Forrest nodded, his eyes still glowing with the remnants of his bright smile. Had my belief in him touched him that deeply?
"Okay." I shrugged. "I hope you're right."
Magnus opened the door. "Good luck, Tess. See you tomorrow."
"I have time to work on you. My meet's not until ten, after all."
He shook his head, his smile rivaling Forrest's for warmth. "Relax before your race." And he was gone.
"How're you feeling?"
"Nervous."
Forrest frowned, then his face cleared. "Oh, about the swim. I meant yesterday."
"It's like your mom said, I just need thicker skin." My laugh held no humor. "This career'll toughen me up in no time. I'll end up thicker than... than Corey's cologne and Filmore's eyebrows put together."
"Tess."
The emotion in his voice, a mix of frustration and amusement and more than a hint of tenderness, made my heart beat faster. "What?"
He cleared his throat. "I was going to say, I want to see you swim."
"You could come today," I offered, then felt embarrassed. Way to pressure him.
"I would, but it's my stepdad's birthday. When's the next one?"
"The championships, in December. If I qualify today."
"When you qualify, can I watch you there?"
"Of course."
*****
I watched the swimmers in the heat before mine finish their eight lengths of butterfly. Nervousness fluttered through me, but the good kind, full of energy I could use. I hadn't swum the full distance since my disastrous last race, but I felt ready.
The other swimmers left the water and I moved to stand behind my starting block. Forrest's words, "when you qualify", echoed in my mind, and his certainty filled me. I could do it. I would do it.
A long whistle blast rang through the pool area and my nervousness faded away as if summoned to the sound. I climbed onto the starting block and stood still, waiting.
"Swimmers, take your marks."
I stepped to the front edge of the block and bent over, curling my toes and fingertips around the edge to help launch me into the water, then held my position until a piercing beep sounded beneath the starting blocks. The race was on.
From the moment I came up from my dive and took my first stroke, I knew I was on too. My arms flowed above and below the water, the body wave that powers butterfly rippled through me in perfect rhythm, and my legs picked up the ripples and turned them into driving kicks. My mind was clear, calm as still water, and time seemed to slow. No rush, no pressure, just me and the water and the stroke I loved.
I didn't feel any fatigue until the end of the fourth length, and even then it was manageable. I pushed on through it, drawing strength from the countless hours I'd spent swimming, knowing every stroke, every kick, every breath drew me closer to what I wanted.
The fatigue regrouped with a vengeance on the last length, and for the first time fear slithered through me. This hurts, it hissed, trying to weaken me. Finishing will hurt more.
Yes, it would, and it did. But I would not quit. Could not. Not this close. I kept breathing and swam even harder, using the pain and fear to drive me instead of letting them hold me back.
Only a few strokes left now, and I swam with everything in me and a little I hadn't known I had. When my hands hit the wall, such great joy flooded me that my eyes, and in moments my goggles, filled with tears.
Panting, I pulled off the goggles and rubbed my eyes. Even if I hadn't qualified, I hadn't held anything back, and that thrilled me. But, oh, how I wanted to qualify.
I squeezed my eyes shut and raised my face to the scoreboard, then let my eyes open. It took a second for the glowing red numbers to register, then I flopped back into the water, grinning so hard my face hurt.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I sent Forrest and Jen text messages announcing my success then permitted myself a long soak in the whirlpool, trying to keep my mind focused on nothing but the bubbles bouncing against my skin. When I'd had enough, I showered and dressed and headed to the parking lot.
Knew you would. Can't wait to see champs. Not sure what nasty Harold
weighs, so got 150lbs chocolate. Take day off. REST!
I leaned against the car, the first snowflakes of the season drifting around me, and smiled at my phone.
150 probably enough. Unless I have to share. :) No rest for wicked! Enjoy b-day party.
My response sent, I threw my bag into the trunk and headed home. Would he really watch me at the championships? My parents had gone to my childhood meets but I'd never had an audience as an adult. It'd be weird having Forrest there. Weird, but wonderful.
That pretty much summed up our relationship too. What was going on with us? We definitely weren't just therapist and client any more, but we weren't together either. Sometimes I thought he wanted us together, but then he pulled away again.
I pictured his smile when I'd said we'd have tied the game if his stick hadn't broken, and knew I wanted us together. He was complicated and still hurting and difficult at times, but I liked him. A lot.
At home, I stood at my art table. I'd always intended to make a piece commemorating qualifying for the championships. I'd wondered if I'd ever get to do it, but now I could.
Except.
I'd have to sell it if I made it. I simply didn't have time to make something for myself. I owed Jayne my usual three pieces, plus a replacement for the starfish lemmings now atop my TV, and I'd have to scramble to make four pieces never mind a fifth. The swim one would be purely for my enjoyment, and I couldn't afford that luxury.
I spread the current project out on the table. Jayne had emailed me the most detailed instructions yet, based on a dream she'd had, but the piece made no sense. A flower garden with a single cabbage almost but not entirely hidden from view? What was the point?
Maybe I could just play with the swimming one for an hour and then get back to work.
That wouldn't satisfy me, though. What I really wanted was to lose myself in the piece, live in its world for hours. Watching the clock to know when to stop would ruin the fun. Sighing, I bent my head to my work, studying my sketches and adding each plant exactly as I'd planned.
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 45
