Still without conscious thought, I set one man on each side of her, facing away. Guarding her. They wouldn't be enough to protect her, though, not with all the little figures trying to hurt her. No matter how much they wanted to help her, they couldn't be enough to save her.
It was complete. I knew it with every cell in my body. I smiled at it.
Then I put my head down on the desk beside it and cried.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A press interview had made Magnus slightly late for his pre-game massage Saturday, so Forrest's started late too. We were both in good moods, Forrest from scoring two goals at the previous night's away game and me from delight with the glowing heart piece and satisfaction with the progress of my final show-bound miniature, and we were more relaxed with each other than we'd been in a long time.
When we finished, Forrest hurried off to get ready and I tidied the room. I normally reached my seat in the arena before the players headed for the ice, but this time they flowed out of the dressing room as I closed the massage room door behind me, so I pressed my back to the wall so they could get by.
Corey stalked past without a glance, which suited me fine, but the next guy grinned at me and held up his hand for a high five. I happily obliged, and the following players high-fived me too. Magnus, naturally, hugged me, earning us good-hearted whistles from the nearby players.
Forrest, the last one in line, turned to face me directly and bowed his head. I knew from watching his past games with him what he wanted, so I went up on my toes and bumped my head against his helmet, careful not to hit my unprotected skull too hard. We laughed, and he moved on, taking a few quick shuffling steps to catch up to the others.
I looked after him and saw something dangling from his right skate blade. I thought it was probably just debris from the dressing room floor, and sure enough it fell off with his next step. Keeping my eyes on the object so I wouldn't lose it, I walked over to be sure it was nothing.
A torn scrap of clear hockey tape.
I frowned at it, feeling like it should mean something to me. It wasn't balled up, like it would have been if someone had discarded it in the dressing room and Forrest had stepped on it on the way out. It was smooth, and just the width of a skate blade.
Tape. On a blade. No traction. Corey.
Ice water replaced the fluid in my spine and I screamed Forrest's name, but he didn't turn back, the crowd's roar far louder than anything I could manage.
The last guys lining the tunnel to high-five the starting players looked at me in surprise as I plowed through shouting at Forrest. I couldn't get anywhere near him, though; the other players had closed in to move toward the bench.
Corey took a few running steps and jumped onto the ice to the cheers of the fans, then Magnus went out to even louder cheers. Forrest would be next.
The crowd worsened as I reached the end of the tunnel, players and media and who knows who else blocking my path.
"And number eighty-five, at right wing," the announcer began.
I looked around, desperate, and snatched a blue water bottle from a reporter's hand. Ignoring his protest, I flung it at Forrest, aiming for his well-padded upper back.
My panic gave me more strength than I'd expected, though, and the solid plastic bottle sailed over Forrest's head to crash onto the ice in front of him.
The robbed reporter grabbed my arm with one hand and waved at the closest security guard, my friend from the first day, with the other. "What the hell--"
Forrest turned around, startled.
Relief weakened my knees, which loosened even more at the blazing fury of his expression when he realized the reporter held me.
He stormed toward us, and I shouted, "Slow down!", afraid the tape could hurt him even off the ice. If anything, he sped up, ripping off his gloves as he came. The reporter, no doubt recognizing the universal signal of a hockey player ready to fight, released me and melted into the crowd.
Forrest reached me, confusion replacing his anger. "Are you okay? What's wrong?"
"Your skate," I gasped, and held up the tape. "This was on your blade."
His face turned as cold and blank as the ice he'd nearly stepped onto. "You're sure?"
I shook my head. "But I think so. Right skate."
He gripped my shoulder for balance and pulled up his right foot. We stared at the bottom of his skate, and the tape covering nearly the entire blade. He checked his other skate, and I stared at its completely taped blade, hardly able to breathe.
Magnus and Corey left the ice, both looking puzzled, and the announcer said, "Give us a second, folks, something's going on."
"Problem?" Magnus said.
"Skates have tape on them. Clear."
Forrest and Magnus locked eyes, and I saw Magnus realize what he meant. His face paled. "I'll find out what happened."
Forrest held his gaze for a moment, ignoring Corey, then turned and started down the tunnel, drawing me along with him.
Magnus shouted to the rest of the players, "Dressing room. Now."
They clumped along behind us, muttering to each other, clearly confused, but Forrest didn't look back. When we reached the massage room, he pulled me inside and stripped off his skates and helmet. "Wait here, I'll get Fred."
My legs shaking harder as the truth of it began to sink in, I collapsed onto the couch. Forrest left, returning with the equipment manager. Even with our door closed, I could hear Magnus and Jones and Mike raging at the guys, demanding an explanation.
"Fred?" I said when he'd inspected both skates and removed all the tape.
His expression gave me the answer, but I asked anyhow. "Could it be an accident?"
He shook his head once, decisively. "Impossible. Deliberate, no question."
I bit my lip and nodded, and Fred left. Forrest closed the door behind him, and we looked at each other. His eyes held the same shock and horror I felt churning my stomach. Without words, I went to him, and he met me halfway. I clung to his waist, needing to both give and get comfort, and he wrapped his arms fiercely around me and buried his face in my neck.
Hugging him in all his equipment felt like snuggling a knight in full armor, but relief made it the best hug I'd ever had. I squeezed him harder, pressing my cheek to the chest protector beneath his jersey, and we stood in silence, holding each other safe against the world.
A sharp knock at the door made me release him and try to pull back. He held on for another second, his arms tightening convulsively around me, then stepped away as someone tried the doorknob.
"Let me in," Magnus called. I did; I hadn't realized Forrest had locked it when Fred left.
Magnus looked briefly suspicious, then his role as captain took over and he focused on Forrest. "Nobody admits to knowing anything." He shook his head in furious disgust. I'd never seen him so passionate, and it looked good on him. "Jones says we'll make sure nobody's alone in the dressing room. I don't know what else to do."
"It'll be okay. Thanks for trying."
I looked back and forth between them in shock. "It'll be okay? Do you hear yourselves? Someone's trying to hurt you, Forrest, don't you get it?"
He turned to me, eyes flashing, but I saw the fear behind the fury and it caught at my heart. "What else can we do?"
I didn't know, but there had to be something.
"Most of the guys offered to watch your stuff," Magnus said, "but..."
Forrest finished the sentence, painfully neutrally. "But how do I know who to trust?"
Magnus nodded. Forrest extended his hand, and something eased in Magnus's face. They shook hands firmly, and Magnus said, "We'll think of something. Ready to go out?"
"One minute. Thanks."
Magnus nodded again and left.
I realized what I'd seen. "You didn't think it was Magnus, did you?"
Forrest turned away and began inspecting his skates, checking every last inch. "No. But I wanted him to know that. And anyhow, nobody did it. It was an accident."
"But Fred
said it wasn't."
"He was wrong."
So definite. Could he believe that? How? "Talk to me, I don't understand."
"Nothing to say." He still had his back to me. "Look, go watch the game. And don't worry about seeing me after. I'll be fine."
All the life had left his voice. I'd lost him, he'd disappeared somewhere inside. "Forrest."
"Go."
I hesitated then laid my hand across his neck, feeling its tension. "Don't shut me out."
"I'm not. Just go."
With no other options, I left, and he shut the door behind me.
When I'd reached my fifth-row seat, I saw him arriving at the players' bench. Several guys clapped him on the back and said things I couldn't hear, and he responded to each with a tight smile and a few words. My heart ached for him, but I couldn't get in. He'd closed down.
Magnus, by contrast, had exploded. Playing with an intensity I'd never seen before, he tore up and down the ice, urging his team onward with hoarse shouts and body checking more opponents in one game than I'd seen him hit the whole time I'd been with the Hogs.
The entire team shared Magnus's fire. Jones and Mike stood together, arms folded, anger radiating from them, and every player drove himself to the limit on every shift. Even Corey seemed furious, and while I was convinced he'd taped the blades I couldn't help wondering when I saw him attacking with nearly Magnus's determination.
The team's aggression earned them a quick lead and a lot of penalties. It also earned them the opponents' outrage at what they no doubt saw as unnecessary violence, especially when Forrest's goalie friend Jeff slammed his hugely padded body into an opponent and sent him spinning across the ice. The other four opponents threw themselves at Jeff, and the Hogs dove into the fray to defend their goalie. The crowd roared its delight at the fighting, magnifying the Hogs' wildness until the energy in the building was unbearable.
Nothing touched Forrest, though. He was checked into the boards on several occasions, and I winced each time, but he just got up and kept skating, not seeming to notice his teammates avenging each attack by hitting whoever had hit him. He was on the ice physically but mentally and emotionally he'd vanished. After ten minutes, he'd done nothing but skate around, and Jones said something and jerked his head toward the tunnel. Forrest nodded and left the bench.
I sat, lost in indecision. He'd told me he didn't need me after the game, but I couldn't stand the thought of him down there alone. If only I'd had Jen for advice, but she was at her grandparents' anniversary party and had warned me she'd have her phone off.
Corey rammed an opponent into the boards, and moments later received a retaliating hit that left him sprawled on the ice. He got to his feet in a few seconds, but he did it without help. None of the Hogs went to his side. They stood deliberately on the other side of the rink watching him struggle to rise, and when the game restarted they did nothing to avenge him. I'd never seen the team not take care of its own, and I didn't understand.
I didn't care, though. The man I cared about was the one in the dressing room alone.
The security guard, my friend from the first day, stood blocking the tunnel entrance like always. Unlike always, he didn't step aside for me.
"I'm sorry," he said, unable to look me in the eye. "I can't let you in."
"I've got my card here." I fumbled for my identification.
He shook his head. "It's not that. He doesn't want to see you."
Someone was checked into the boards behind me with an almighty crash, and that player couldn't have been more shocked and winded than I was. I tried to question the guard, but all I could manage was, "Just me?"
His eyes held such sympathy I knew before he spoke. "He said, 'Keep Tess out.'"
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Post-game, I walked to the tunnel, afraid the security guard would again refuse me entrance. He was considering it, but Magnus called, "Tess, get over here," and the guard, his eyes on the floor, allowed me to pass.
Magnus stood leaning against the wall, his black t-shirt and jeans hugging his newly showered body like thousands of Toronto women dreamed of doing. He looked delicious.
"How's Forrest?"
He shook his head. "You saw how he played. He's not handling it well. Maybe he'll talk to you, because he's sure not talking to us."
"He won't. He said before he didn't want a massage after the game."
I tried not to let my sadness into my tone, but even so, Magnus's sudden brightening surprised me. "A bunch of us are going to Light to celebrate the win. I was going to wait until you were done with Forrest and convince you to come along, but now we can go with the others. If you want to."
I wavered. I hadn't been out much the last few weeks, and watching burly hockey players at a dance club promised to be amusing. But how would Forrest feel? "I guess he's not going?"
Magnus shrugged. "I'm asking him when he comes out, but I doubt it."
I wanted to hold Forrest in my lap like he'd held me, make him feel safe enough to let go and tell me how he felt, but he'd already shut me out. I didn't see that changing, but when he left the dressing room I'd ask once more. If he still refused me, I'd go out with Magnus and the guys.
The guys. "Do the other guys know you asked me? They might not want me around."
He grinned. "Tim and Jeff were the first to say I should, and the rest agreed."
"Really?" I'd tried to connect with the team, but I hadn't been sure I'd succeeded.
"So, will you?"
"What about your massage?"
"Tomorrow." He winked. "Or promise to dance with me and I'll let you rub my shoulder."
I laughed, surprised. "Oh, you'll let me, will you?"
"Don't you feel honored?"
I rolled my eyes, and he laughed.
Forrest left the dressing room. His face was blank as fresh ice but his eyes held such pain I took an involuntary step toward him, my need to help him so strong my chest burned with it.
He looked away. "Why are you here?"
His dead tone shocked me silent, but Magnus said, "We're waiting for the others and then we're all going to Light." He put a hand on Forrest's shoulder. "You should come too, man."
Magnus's awkward compassion touched me, and I knew Forrest would ordinarily have been thrilled to be invited.
"Not in the mood." He added, "Have fun," as if it choked him and headed down the hall.
Magnus shook his head sadly, and I went after Forrest, catching his arm at the exit.
"Please, Forrest. I can't stand seeing you like this."
He faced me, his eyes like those of an animal caught in a trap.
My heart pounded even before I recognized the look he'd had when he'd left me in the hotel room. Desperate to ease his pain, I tried to put my arms around him.
He jerked away and fled, again leaving me behind.
I stood stunned, then returned to Magnus as the noise level behind the dressing room door indicated the guys were ready to leave. Not wanting to be alone with my thoughts, and clearly not able to help Forrest, I went with them.
At first I was the only female, but over time more joined the group, girls the drunker players referred to as "puck bunnies". When I headed to the washroom after an hour or so, one of them followed me.
"You're so lucky working with Forrest," she gushed, redoing her long black ponytail while I washed my hands. "Touching him all the time. Must be fun."
Depends on the day. "It's my job."
Our eyes met in the mirror. "I only got to touch him once," she said, her tone far too meaningful, "but it was great."
A nausea unrelated to the two drinks Magnus had bought me chewed at my stomach. Forrest had slept with her?
"Really," I said, trying to copy Forrest's most neutral tone.
She looked offended. "Don't believe me? It's true. Second night of training camp." She gave a mock shudder. "God, he was amazing in bed. So cool, almost cold, but so good."
At first, he'd been cold and distant with me to
o, but once he'd opened up about Marika he'd been hot enough to melt a thousand ice rinks. And I'd loved it.
"Wouldn't take his shirt off, though," she mused, "and I never did find out why." She turned to me, eyes sharpening as much as they could with how much I'd seen her drink. "But he does for you, right? What's the deal? Weird tattoo or something?"
I frowned. "Why would he take off his shirt when I work on his leg?" I'd never share his secret with this girl, regardless of what he'd done with her.
She shrugged. "Just thought he might. Oh, well, no point worrying about one guy with all those other ones to play with." She giggled and walked unsteadily away.
I ran cold water over my hands until they were numb, then dried them and cupped my face in both hands to cool myself down.
He'd slept with her. She was dreadful and he'd slept with her. She couldn't have cared less about him and he'd slept with her. But at least he hadn't shown her his scar, hadn't told her about Marika. I wouldn't have been able to bear it if she'd known.
I returned to Magnus's side and whispered, "How about that dance?" into his ear.
He grinned and pulled me onto the floor. The song was fast but he held me close anyhow, ignoring the other players' teasing catcalls.
"Having fun?"
I shivered at his breath against my ear. Why couldn't it be Magnus? It would be so much easier to care for him than for Forrest. He was sweet too, and far less prickly and difficult. I looked up at him, not sure where to start.
"Tess," he murmured, and drew me closer.
I shut my eyes and let myself fall into him, willed myself to want him.
His arms tightened around me.
"You guys have all seen Forrest, right? Seen his scar?"
He loosened his grip on me. "Yeah. Why?"
"That girl, she said she was..." I swallowed. "With him and he wouldn't take off his shirt."
He sighed, blue eyes warm but a bit unfocused from the beers he'd had. "I saw her go after you and I was afraid she'd say something. When Forrest first got here he was, well, he was kind of wild, I guess. Different girl every night. Until he got hurt, that is."
Toronto Collection Volume 1 (Toronto Series #1-5) Page 49
