Between a Jock and a Hard Place

by Mona Ingram

  “Come on, guys, give me a break” he said, when they asked him for a comment on the Canucks’ chances of winning the Stanley Cup. “You’ve got your picture, isn’t that enough?”

  He drove to Melody’s place in silence; she was wise enough not to say anything. He pulled up in front of her condo and turned to her. “Why did you do that?”

  “Do what?” She reached out and twined her fingers in the hair at the back of his neck.

  He shook his head. “Don’t do that.”

  She pulled back, lips in a pout.

  “You called them, didn’t you!”

  Tears welled up in her baby blues. “I’m sorry Jack, but I thought a little publicity might help me to get the part.”

  He wasn’t fooled by the fake tears. “You know how I hate to be ambushed. I would have helped you if you’d only asked.”

  “Would you?” She leaned forward so that he could get an eyeful of her cleavage. “Will you?”

  He felt a stirring in his groin, but it wasn’t enough to change his mind.

  “Of course I would have, but not now.” He was being harsh; he knew it, but any trust that might have developed between them had evaporated. “I wish you luck with your acting career, but it’s over between us. You used me and I can’t forgive something like that.”

  “But Jack...”

  “No, Melody. If anyone asks, you can say that you broke up with me. I won’t be making any comment.”

  “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?”

  He looked at her, suddenly sad. “Half an hour ago I was the guy who could to help you get the part...remember?” He got out and walked around to her side, opened the door. “Goodbye, Melody.”

  She got out and stood on the grassy verge, looking up at him. In the glow of the streetlight, her hair stood out around her head like golden floss and for a moment he wavered. “Who is she, Jack?” She was talking in her normal voice. “You’ve met someone else, haven’t you.” It was more of a statement than a question.

  “No, Melody” he lied. But his heart beat a little faster at her words. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Jack.”

  Chapter Five

  Who are you kidding, Jack Logan? His conscience attacked him as he drove back over the Granville Street Bridge. You used that as an excuse to break up with her.

  “Maybe” he muttered aloud. “Okay, I did. But it was going to happen soon anyway.” That much was true, but it didn’t make him feel better. He considered sending her some flowers by way of an apology, but that would only backfire. She’d think he wanted to start up again, and he definitely didn’t want that. In spite of the residual anger about the way she’d used his celebrity to promote her career, he felt much lighter...a clear sign that he’d been right to break it off.

  The tall apartment buildings overlooking English Bay glittered against the night sky. Was it only this morning that he’d driven through the West End, taking Claire back to her apartment? He smiled to himself. Now there was someone who deserved flowers. He checked his rear view mirror and changed lanes just in time to hit the off-ramp. He didn’t know her last name, but he could find out. She’d pressed the buzzer for 803; all he had to do was check beside the button for her last name. The timing of their meeting could have been better; the Canucks were half way through the quarterfinals and were flying out in the morning, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to know her name.

  * * *

  “Yes, Mr. Logan, what can we do for you this morning?”

  Jack called his regular florist first thing in the morning. The flight was at eleven and time was tight. “I’d like some flowers delivered, please.” He’d been so eager to call that he hadn’t given any thought to what type of flowers, or what to put on the card.

  “What would you like in the bouquet?”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know.” He paused. “Something that says ‘I’m thinking of you’, without coming on too strong.”

  “Do you have any colour preference?”

  What was this, a fashion show? “No, I’ll leave that up to you.”

  “All right, Mr. Logan. I have some very nice myosotis in. It would go nicely with some pink gerbera and some baby’s breath. Perhaps a few white freesia. That would make a casual statement.”

  “Myo... what is that?”

  “It’s forget-me-not. You don’t often see it in floral arrangements, but it’s lovely and airy.”

  “Okay.” He recited Claire’s name, address and phone number. She’d been in the phone book.

  “And what would you like on the card?”

  “Just say ‘Thinking of you’ and sign it John.”

  “Did you say ‘John’?”

  “That’s right.”

  The florist had been in business long enough not to question. “Right. I’ll take care of it myself.”

  “Thank you.” Jack disconnected and stared at his phone for a moment. He’d entered Claire’s number last night, and he scrolled to it, wondering if he had time to call her. He’d love to hear her voice again. And then he saw the time on the display; he’d better get to the airport. He grabbed his laptop bag and his suitcase and left.

  * * *

  “Did you see it?” Zoey wasted no time. “It’s on the net today.”

  It took Claire a moment to figure out what her friend was talking about. “Oh, the blog?”

  “Yes, the blog. And there are hundreds of comments already.”

  “Do I dare look?”

  “I think you’re going to have to for the sake of continuity. You might want to respond to some of the disagreeable ones.”

  “Are there many of those?”

  “It’s about what we expected. Fifty-fifty.”

  “Well, you did warn me. Oh wait, Zoey, there’s someone buzzing me.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. Gotta run. Talk to you later, okay?”

  Claire closed the phone and went to the intercom. “Yes?”

  “Delivery for Miss Collins.”

  Puzzled, Claire let him in. She should have asked who it was. She peered through the eye hole in the door and watched the delivery man walk down the hall, holding a bouquet. Who would be sending her flowers?

  A tingle of anticipation raised the hair on the back of her neck. Could it possibly be him?

  Don’t be silly, she told herself and opened the door before he could knock.

  “Miss Collins?” he said, and she nodded. “These are for you.”

  The scent of freesia perfumed the air and she inhaled it greedily. “Sorry,” she said. “Just a minute.” She ran back into her apartment, grabbed a bill from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you.” She stuck her nose in the bouquet again. “Thank you so much.”

  She was afraid to open the card. What if they weren’t from him? What if they were from Zoey, congratulating her on the first blog?” She fussed around, unwrapping the flowers and finding a vase and then finally there was nothing left to do but open the card.

  Thinking of you, John. She almost cried with relief. For some strange reason she wasn’t surprised that he’d gone to the trouble of finding out her name. She hadn’t imagined it...there had been something between them. That intangible spark that was so difficult to describe when it happened. It had been there from the moment they touched, and it was still there, no matter where he was. She could feel it running through her body and she wondered how long she’d have to wait until she saw him again. It couldn’t be soon enough.

  * * *

  “Hey, Jack. I thought that guy from the Phoenix was a friend of yours.” The Canucks were in the air en route to California. Lars tapped the screen of his notebook.

  Jack frowned. Had his friend run pictures of him and Melody?

  “They’ve got a new feature,” the Swedish forward continued. “A blog about hockey violence. We should start a pool on how long they take to mention you.”

  “Thanks a lot.” He knew the Swede was joking, but he was tired of people assuming that just bec
ause he was big, he played dirty hockey. The opposite was closer to the truth. He’d learned long ago that he could use his size and strength to take the opponent off the puck without risking serious injury.

  He turned back to his notebook and finished reading the story about the success of the new hockey rink in his home town of Little Coulee. He’d financed the project and quietly joined with several of the town businessmen who were delighted to take credit for making it happen. In Jack’s day they’d prayed for weather cold enough to freeze the slough on the outskirts of town so they could get up a game. He smiled at the memory. It hadn’t hurt them a bit. As a matter of fact, clearing the ice had hastened his physical development and made him the ‘big’ guy on the team.

  He switched over to the Phoenix site and read the blog. Randy had been right. It was obvious from the outset that this wasn’t the work of a professional writer. But that’s what made it so compelling; the story was told from the heart. As he got further into the story, he recognized that the blogger was talking about the young player who had been recently injured...the same one he’d mentioned to Claire. Small world.

  “Good story,” he said to no one in particular, and read it over again. He decided then and there to blog from the other side. Someone had to write the opposing point of view; it might as well be him. Besides, he had a notion that he could do it without too much animosity developing between the duelling bloggers. He could start slowly, by explaining how the system works...for anyone who hadn’t figured it out for themselves. The way he did for Claire. He could do that, couldn’t he? He started to type.

  * * *

  “Hi Claire. Call me back, okay? There have been...”

  Claire heard Zoey’s voice and grabbed the phone. She’d just come back from a walk. Okay, so she’d been hoping to run into John, but she needed the fresh air, too. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

  “Hi, I’m here.”

  “Hey. Just wanted to touch base with you again. The hits and comments are piling up on the blog and Randy tells me they definitely have someone who’s going to blog on the opposing side.”

  “Who is it, do you know?”

  “I tried to get it out of him, but he wouldn’t budge.” She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “But something tells me it’s a person close to the game. Maybe even someone in the Canucks organization.”

  “That should make it interesting.” Claire fingered one of the soft freesia petals. “Guess what I got this morning?”

  “I can’t even guess.”

  “A bouquet of flowers from John.”

  “I’m impressed. Are they nice? What does the card say?”

  “Or course they’re nice. The card just says ‘Thinking of you’.

  “And you’ve been out walking along the seawall hoping to bump into him again, haven’t you?”

  “Are you making fun of me?”

  “That would be a yes. And no, I’m not making fun of you. I just don’t want you to hibernate at home waiting for him to call, the way you did with Harrison.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s the spirit. Now go and read the comments on the blog and call me back when you’re finished.”

  * * *

  “It’s not so bad” she said, some time later. “As a matter of fact it’s quite mild.”

  “That’s what I thought, but I think he’s testing the waters, as it were.”

  Claire nodded to herself. “You know what’s funny? This blog sounds like John. Those were some of the things he said to me the other day.”

  “Did I hear you correctly? You were talking to someone about hockey?”

  She could imagine the look on her friend’s face. “It’s been known to happen, you know. Actually, we were talking about our family and I mentioned that Cam plays hockey and we went on from there.”

  “Did you tell him about Cam’s concussion?”

  Claire thought back. “No. I wanted to, but I didn’t want him to connect it to the blog.”

  “Whew! So what happens next with the blog?”

  Claire glanced at the screen. “As Emeril would say, I think it’s time to kick it up a notch. It’s not due until next week, right?”

  “Right.”

  “It’ll be ready.”

  She disconnected and stood up to stretch, but the phone rang again almost immediately. She was laughing when she picked it up.

  “Who do I hear from more than you?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice sent shivers of delight down her spine. “How are you, Claire?”

  “John?” She sat down again. “Hi.” She couldn’t think straight.

  “Did you get the flowers?”

  “Oh. Yes. Thanks, they’re lovely.” What was the matter with her? She gave herself a mental slap. “Where are you?”

  “I’m in California.”

  “Oh.” She tried unsuccessfully to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “How’s the weather down there?”

  “It’s hot. I wish I was back in Vancouver right now.”

  Me too.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to meet again when I come back. I thought perhaps we could start over again and make it a real date this time.”

  Her pulse went into overdrive. “I’d like that.”

  “Terrific. Let’s meet on Monday at noon in the same spot we met the first time.”

  “On the seawall?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay...” she said slowly. “Will there be jogging involved?”

  He laughed. “No, but dress casually. Oh, and pray for good weather.”

  She was beginning to enjoy this. “You’re not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

  “Not a chance. Is it a date?”

  “It’s a date. See you then.”

  * * *

  “You’re coming to Sunday dinner, of course.”

  Claire gritted her teeth. If only her mother would ask her once in a while instead of ordering her. But Cam was still there, and she wanted to see him.

  “Thanks, Mom. I’d like that.”

  Cam greeted her with a brotherly hug. “I’ve got to get out of here,” he murmured in her ear. “Talk to you later.”

  She gave him a squeeze and looked into his eyes. They were still dull with residual pain, but she understood his need to get back to his own place.

  Over dinner the talk turned to hockey.

  “Did you watch the game last night?” her father asked.

  “No, Dad. I was busy.” Doing her nails and giving herself a facial, but she didn’t have to tell him that.

  “Too bad. The Canucks won the quarterfinals.” He looked at Cam. “But we knew they would.”

  “Yeah. Jack Logan scored the winning goal. It was a beautiful one-timer from the point.”

  Claire tried to look interested. “So what happens next?”

  “Well, they’ll get some extra time off and then they go on to the Western Conference Finals.”

  Cam laughed. “You don’t really care about this, do you?”

  She chose her words carefully. “I always enjoy watching you play, Cam. But I have to admit that the fighting and the bad checks, like what happened to you, turn me off.”

  “Hey.” Her father nudged her twin. “Tell Claire about that article in the paper.” He turned to his daughter. “It’s on the internet and everything.”

  Cam rolled his eyes then turned to his father. “It’s called a blog, Dad.”

  Don Collins laughed. “Whatever. Tell her, Cam.”

  “Someone blogged in that West End newspaper about my accident.”

  “Damn right. And someone else responded to it already.” He looked up as Claire’s mother cleared the dinner plates. “The newspaper editor said to watch for more columns.”

  “Did they use your name?” asked Claire.

  “No” he said with a frown, “but it was fairly clear they were talking about me.” He tilted his head. “Doesn’t that friend of yours work at the Phoenix?�
��

  “Zoey? Yes, she’s Production Manager.”

  He nodded. “Clever of them to start blogging about hockey right in the playoff season.”

  “Zoey says they know their stuff.”

  “It’ll be interesting to see where it goes.” Their father pushed away from the table. “Going to help Mother load the dishwasher.”

  Cam and Claire knew not to get in between their parents when they loaded the dishwasher. They had been arguing about how to do it ever since they could remember; now it gave them a chance to talk.

  Cam spoke in a low voice. “I told them I’m going back to my place tomorrow. You would have thought I’d said I was going to the moon, the way they reacted.”

  “They care about you, Cam.” She laid a hand on his arm. “Although I know it must be stifling, staying here.”

  “No kidding. Listen, I told them that we’d already spoken and that you agreed to drive me to the hospital for my MRIs. The doctor doesn’t want me to drive for a while yet.”

  “Are you still getting dizzy spells?” This was worrying.

  “Yeah, but it will eventually go away. Last night watching the hockey game I was having a hard time keeping things in focus. I didn’t tell Dad, though.”

  “Of course I’ll take you for your MRIs. I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. I can do your shopping and stuff like that if you want me to.”

  “No, don’t worry about that. There’s a market a couple of blocks away and the exercise will do me good. It’s just the trip to the hospital I need help with ‘cause I shouldn’t be driving. I have an appointment on Tuesday morning.”

  “Come on, you two. Coffee and dessert in the living room.” Another tradition. Claire gave Cam’s arm a quick squeeze and got up.

  Chapter Six

  It rained overnight, but the skies were blue on Monday and butterflies had taken up residence in Claire’s stomach. She couldn’t remember when she’d looked forward to a date this much...even though she didn’t know what to expect. She dressed simply, choosing tight fitting black slacks tucked into black knee-high boots. An emerald green turtle neck was topped with a supple leather jacket in a rich tan colour. Small gold earrings were her only jewellery and she pirouetted in front of the mirror, admiring the effect.