Between a Jock and a Hard Place

by Mona Ingram

  He looked startled, angry perhaps. “Nonsense. I don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. There’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, so don’t go blaming yourself.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to stick together now.”

  She nodded tearfully and watched them drive away. No matter what he said, she still felt guilty.

  * * *

  Cam woke up the next afternoon while their parents were taking a walk in the hospital corridors. He saw Claire and smiled. Then he pointed to the water glass and she held the straw to his lips.

  “Just a couple of sips,” she said, when he tried to take more. “I asked the nurse and she was quite adamant about that.” She grinned at him. “I think she has a crush on you by the way.”

  He turned his head and winced in pain. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” he said hoarsely.

  “Do you remember what happened?” She held her breath. Please don’t let him have lost his memory.

  “Oh, yeah. It was a late hit.” He tried moving again. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”

  “They’re right outside. I’ll go get them.”

  She found them opposite the nurses’ station, speaking with the doctor.

  “...that will be my recommendation,” he was saying, then looked up at her approach. “Hello, Miss Collins. I was telling your parents that Cameron has suffered a concussion and that I’ll be wanting to keep a close eye on him for the next couple of months.”

  She saw the disappointment in her father’s eyes.

  “But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” she asked.

  “I believe so. Eventually. But even minor concussions are serious injuries. Not only in their own right, but because of the cumulative effects in the event of another concussion. We call it second-impact syndrome.” He looked at her father. “I’ve already consulted with the team doctor, and we both agree. Cameron won’t be playing hockey for the rest of the season.”

  Claire’s father started to walk away and the doctor called after him. “Look at it this way, Mr. Collins. Your son is one of the lucky ones.”

  “Oh my gosh. I forgot. I came out to tell you he’s awake.”

  They all walked briskly down the hall. The doctor gave Cam a cursory examination, and then straightened up. “You’re a lucky young man, Cameron. You’ve had a minor concussion, but as far as we can tell, there’s no long-term damage.”

  Cam looked from the doctor to his father. “When can I go back?”

  Donald Collins cleared his throat. “Well, son, that’s up to the Coach, but you might have to sit out the rest of the season.”

  Some of the sparkle went out of Cam’s eyes but he soon recovered. “I kind of expected that, to tell you the truth. They’re being so much more careful these days.”

  Claire watched her twin absorb the news. She knew him well enough to know that he was devastated, but trying to hide it for his father’s sake. It was difficult to take solace from the fact that he’d probably come back next year - especially since he’d been leading his team in points. A setback like this could cost him his dream of playing in the NHL. Was it any wonder she’d turned away from hockey? At least in tennis they didn’t try to injure one another.

  * * *

  “Zoey?” Claire called her friend the next morning.

  “Claire! I heard about Cam, but didn’t want to bother you until later. How is he?”

  “He’ll recover, but it looks like he’ll be out for the rest of the year.”

  “It’s just not right. Don’t get me started.”

  “I hear you. Listen, Zo. Are you still looking for someone to write a few blogs?”

  “Well, we were thinking of making it more of a permanent thing. Why? Did you find someone?”

  “I was thinking about me.”

  “But you told me you don’t have anything to say.”

  “I didn’t the last time we talked, but I do now.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “I’d like to write about violence in hockey, and how it’s getting out of hand.” She paused. “It would be controversial, if nothing else. I mean, everyone has an opinion on the subject.”

  “That’s for sure. A blog like that would have everyone split right down the middle.” Claire could hear the enthusiasm building in her friend’s voice. “I think it’s a great idea. Are you okay with making it anonymous?”

  “For sure. As a matter of fact, I’d like anonymity written into any agreement we make. For example, if I write about Cam’s situation, I’d like to do it in the third person. You know, as if I don’t even know him. It would be much more effective that way.” She had a sudden idea. “I could use the thread of Cam’s story to tie the columns together. Not every column would be about him of course, but I could report on his progress now and then. It could make the issues seem more personal to the reader.”

  Zoey laughed. “You sound like a blogger already. Are you sure you haven’t done anything like this before?”

  “Oh, I’m quite sure. I have no idea how I’ll find the time, but I’d like to do it.”

  “Hey, look on the bright side. There’ll be some extra money for that trip you’d like to take.”

  “Call me crazy, but I hadn’t even thought about the money aspect.”

  “You’re crazy all right. Listen, I’ll talk to the editor and get back to you.”

  Chapter Three

  The week that followed passed in a blur. Between visiting Cam, work, and meeting with the newspaper about the blog, Claire could scarcely remember what day it was. She’d hammered out a loose agreement on the blogs, aiming for one per week.

  She sat down at her computer and stared at the screen. She’d heard of writers not being able to come up with anything, but her problem was the opposite. Every spare minute of the past few days had been spent researching and those facts combined with Cam’s story made it difficult to choose where to start.

  It was important that she get her facts right because the newspaper had surprised her, informing her that if there was as much interest in the blog as they anticipated, they might hire someone to write from the opposing side.

  “That’s all I need,” she muttered to herself. “Some macho idiot whose idea of a good time is going to a fight to see if a hockey game will break out.” But she acknowledged that a well crafted opposing view would bring more attention to the issue.

  Her opening salvo was critical. She may not be an experienced writer, but she knew that she had to grab the reader’s attention with her first sentence. With a groan of frustration she got up and walked to the window. The sun had burned off the morning mist and the ocean glittered with reflected sunshine. Maybe what she needed was a walk to clear her head. Just a short walk along the seawall and then she’d come back inspired and make a fresh start.

  It was sunny but cool. She pulled on a turtle neck sweater, a pair of sweats and a fleece jacket. Her oldest, most comfortable walkers completed the outfit.

  It seemed as though half the population of the West End had decided on a walk, but that didn’t surprise her. Vancouverites knew enough to take advantage of days like this. Who knew when the next one would come around? The constant hum of traffic faded into the background as she made her way along the seawall, past the yacht basin. The distinctive tang of ocean air filled her lungs as she stopped to look at the sailboats. Seagulls swirled overhead, their cries blending with the clink of rigging against metal masts. Zoey would be on her case right now for checking out the boats instead of the men jogging past. She glanced out of the corner of her eye. Especially that one. She couldn’t see his face very well, hidden as it was by a hoodie, but he was tall, broad-shouldered, and moved like an athlete.

  Forget it, she told herself as he jogged past. I’m not interested in him or any other man.

  So why had her heart started fluttering at the sight of him?

  You’re pathetic, she told herself and pushed away from the railing to continue her walk.

  She didn’t see it comin
g...literally. One moment she was walking along, trying to focus on the blog and the next she was sprawled on the pavement.

  The biker stopped, but remained on his bike. “Hey, you should watch where you’re going,” he said angrily.

  “Me? Look who’s talking. You’re not supposed to be riding a bike along here.” She pulled herself up into a sitting position. “There are bike lanes for people like you.”

  “Get a life, bitch.” He pushed off and rode away.

  Claire shook her head in disbelief. “Stupid ass,” she muttered.

  “May I offer you a hand, or would that make me a stupid ass too?”

  She looked up to see the man in the black hoodie. He had his hand out but it was his face she was drawn to. How could someone be so appealing when their nose had obviously been broken? His smile was dazzling. “Come on” he said, wiggling his fingers. “At least let me help you up.”

  She placed her hand in his and heat surged through her body, engulfing her like a tidal wave. The sensation was so overpowering, she didn’t even notice the pain in her ankle. That is, until she put her weight on it and almost collapsed. He caught her in his arms and looked down into her eyes, his expression a mixture of surprise and concern.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, still holding her.

  Claire wanted to tell him that if he kissed her, she was pretty sure the pain would disappear. Instead, she pulled back and put her weight on her good foot. “I must have fallen on it” she said, somewhat breathlessly, “but it’s not all that bad.” She looked back toward her apartment building; she could see a slice of it between the other buildings. “I can put my weight on it if I try.”

  “Let me take you home,” he said, supporting her easily. “My car is over there in the parking lot.”

  She frowned. “Isn’t that a private lot?”

  He grinned. “Yes. Lucky for us, huh?” He kept an arm around her waist and they made their way to his SUV, where he fussed over her, settling her in the passenger seat.

  He’d pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt and when he walked in front of the vehicle, the sun caught his hair. So black it was almost blue, it covered his head in curls and her fingers tensed as she imagined herself touching it. He looked up as though he knew she’d been studying him and their gazes met though the windshield. Rough stubble covered his cheeks, and his eyes, which she’d originally thought were black, were a dark blue. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone with eyes that colour.

  He got into the vehicle and turned to her. “Do you have to go right home?”

  “No, I thought I’d go dancing.” The words were out before she could stop them. What was the matter with her?

  He didn’t seem to mind. “Sorry,” he said with a wry smile. “I’m not much of a dancer. But if your ankle really isn’t too bad I thought maybe we could go for a coffee.” He looked into her eyes and her stomach did a little flip. “Or a tea, perhaps. We could drive up to Prospect Point and grab something then continue around the park.”

  Was he crazy to think she’d go off with him? She couldn’t possibly.

  “Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”

  He smiled and pulled out. Traffic through the park was busy as usual and they were swept along. A few minutes later he pulled into the parking lot at Prospect Point. “What can I get you?” he asked.

  “A tea, I think. Two milk, no sugar. And something to nibble on if they have anything small. Chocolate chip cookie or something like that.” She dug in her purse. “I’d like to pay, if you don’t mind.”

  He gave her an odd look. “No way.”

  She gave in gracefully. “Shall I limp over to one of those tables?”

  He glanced at the outdoor tables. “I’d rather stop farther along. There are a couple of picnic tables overlooking the water.” He lifted his shoulders. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

  “I guess that’s okay.” She studied him as he made his way to the counter. The line-up moved quickly, and she noticed him chatting to several people as he waited. He came back bearing a cardboard tray with two cups and a couple of snacks.

  “No cookies, I’m afraid. But I got you a Rice Krispie square and a package of Twinkies.” He handed her the tray.

  “My favourites,” she said. “Do I have to share?”

  “Not really” he said, “although I am rather partial to Twinkies and there are two in the package.”

  Claire fell silent as they drove around the knob of land that was Stanley Park. His actions were vaguely reminiscent of Harrison’s. He’d never wanted to go where there were crowds of people. In retrospect, she’d realized that he hadn’t wanted to be seen by anyone who knew his wife.

  “Penny for your thoughts.”

  Startled out of her reverie, she turned to face him. She couldn’t ask him point blank...could she?

  “I was just wondering if you’re married.” Might as well get it over with.

  “Me?” A horrified look came over him. “Definitely not!”

  The reply was so emphatic it had to be the truth. She smiled to herself. “I apologize for asking such a personal question, but when you said you didn’t want to stay at Prospect Point it reminded me of someone.” She lowered her head. “Wow, I’ve really dug myself a hole, haven’t I?”

  She could feel him looking at her but he remained silent.

  “It’s just that I was going out with someone for quite a while before I realized he was married. He never wanted to go anywhere he might run into people.”

  He nodded, absorbing this information. “I can see how that would make you cautious, but no, I can assure you I’m not married.” He pulled off into a small parking lot. “See that picnic table over there?” He pointed to a table sheltered by trees, but with a view of the ocean. “Do you think you can make it that far? I’ll carry the drinks over and come back for you.” He didn’t wait for her reply but took the tray from her and walked it over to the table.

  “Okay now, we’ll take this part nice and easy.” He helped her from the vehicle and they made their way to the table. “Sit sideways and put your leg up on the bench,” he commanded. “I want to take a look at that ankle.”

  Claire was mortified by the condition of her old shoes, but she raised her leg.

  “Can’t see much,” he muttered. “Do you mind if I pull down your sock?”

  His hands were gentle as he prodded around her ankle. “Sore?”

  “A bit, but not as bad as it was.”

  He pulled up her sock and his hand lingered for a moment. “Do you have to stand up when you work?”

  “No, I’m a graphic designer. I work from home.”

  His eyes lit up. “My kid sister’s a graphic designer. She works for a magazine in Toronto.” He sat down opposite her. “By the way, my name is John.” He popped the lid on his tea and took a sip, watching her over the rim.

  “I’m Claire.”

  He’d positioned her so that she looked out over the ocean. Container ships dotted the horizon. “I don’t know what it is about the ocean, but I love it.”

  “Me, too.” He turned and looked out, then turned back to her. “I grew up in Saskatchewan, so living out here is a real treat.”

  “The way you were talking with all those people at the coffee place I thought maybe you’d grown up around here.”

  He retreated into himself for a moment and then shrugged. “Just chit chat. Passing the time of day.”

  There was something about the way he spoke, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. “Here,” she said, pushing the Twinkies across the table. “You have the Twinkies and I’ll have the Rice Krispie square. That is unless you’d like to share.”

  His eyes danced. “Sharing’s good.”

  She tore the sticky treat in half and accepted one of the Twinkies. “So, John. What made you move from Saskatchewan to Vancouver?”

  “Work.” He popped the whole Twinkie into his mouth.

  “What kind of work?”

  He swallowed, and
washed it down with a gulp of tea. “I sell sporting equipment.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Yeah, except for all the travel.”

  “So you travel a lot?” She stopped abruptly. “You know, I’m beginning to sound like I’m at one of those speed dating things.”

  “Is that what this is?” He raised an eyebrow in challenge. “A date?”

  “No, not at all.” Now she was getting flustered. “Listen, I’m not usually this nosy, trust me. Do you think I could blame it on the ankle?”

  There was that smile again. “You could try.” He raised his cup and took a smaller sip this time. “How about you? Are you from around here?”

  “Oh yeah. I’m a Vancouver girl. Grew up in West Vancouver.”

  “Family?”

  “I have a twin brother.” Her thoughts turned to Cam, who had come home from hospital yesterday. He’d agreed to spend a week with their parents but she knew he wouldn’t last much longer than that. He’d been living on his own too long and was set in his bachelor ways.

  “A twin. Wow. Is it true what they say? Do you like the same things?”

  She thought for a moment before replying. “We have the same quirky sense of humour, and we’re both a little stubborn, but I don’t share his main passion.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Hockey.”

  He pulled back as though personally offended. “You don’t like hockey?”

  “You see?” She edged forward on the bench. “That’s exactly what I’ve been up against my whole life. My brother was skating as soon as he could walk and my Dad was one of those hockey parents who supported him every inch of the way. He loves the sport. It’s the main topic of conversation in our house all year round.”

  She was coming dangerously close to spilling the beans about Cam, and his injury. But she couldn’t risk anyone connecting her with the blog...not if she was to maintain her anonymity.

  “So you hate the game? Do you ever watch?”

  “I didn’t say I hate it. I’m just up to here with it.” She tapped herself under the chin. “Although I have been known to go to sports bars once in a while. With my girlfriend and her fiancé, not on my own.” She paused. “But even then, I don’t watch. Do you ever go to sports bars?”