Steele

by Bennett, Sawyer

  “Is he home yet?” she asks, popping up from the couch. She grabs my hand to pull me off with her.

  “No clue,” I reply, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her in for a hug. “But I’m going to go sit on his porch step until he comes home.”

  “Now that’s romantic.” Lucy laughs as she squeezes me tight. “If he doesn’t get home until like midnight, he’ll be blown away by that gesture alone.”

  God, I hope he’s not gone that long.

  Because I need to hurry up and get him to accept my apology, then get him to come back home.

  CHAPTER 19

  Steele

  I glance around The Sneaky Saguaro—quickly so as not to make eye contact with anyone—and take another sip of my beer. We’ve had several moments of blessed peace where the fans have decided to leave us alone to eat and drink our beers.

  We’re on the second floor at a high-top round table, Bishop to my left and Tacker on my right. We’d met with Coach at the arena, sitting in the team meeting room where the big drop-down screen rolls out from the ceiling. We watched clips of game video—not of other teams—but the Vengeance first line playing together. I can’t even imagine the hard work the AV guy who works for the team put into this, selecting the best footage pieces to showcase the various plays Tacker, as the center, Bishop, as the right-winger, and Dax, as the left-winger, had mastered over last year and the start of this one. Coach sat in the first row, Bishop, Tacker, and me behind him. He used a remote control to slow the action to highlight something about a play he wanted me to take note of, and sometimes, he used a red laser pointer focused on the screen.

  And take notes I did. Pages in a notebook I’d brought along with me. Bishop and Tacker offered commentary, then we suited up in practice gear and hit the ice.

  Honestly, it was a bit magical. Watching the films had helped. Having Tacker and Bishop explain how they communicate on the ice had, too. The rest was just my fifteen years in the league, along with the muscle memory that comes from playing on a fluid line.

  Tomorrow morning, we’ll meet at the arena again, this time adding our defensemen, Erik and Aaron, to the mix. We’ll then go head-to-head with a practice squad.

  I’ll be ready for the game Wednesday.

  That gives me little happiness right now. I should be exhilarated I’m on the first line playing with the two best players on the team. It’s a big honor to move up to the first, and while I’m confident Dax will recover and most likely take back his spot at some point, I’ll have the opportunity to battle for it. Opportunities like this usually motivate me like nothing else. The chance to be a key player in pushing victory is what juices up any professional athlete.

  But the truth is… I’m not excited by any of it.

  That’s because of not only the fight I had with Ella today, but also the fact she sent me a text about half an hour ago that has me filled with dread.

  Where are you? she had inquired.

  The shortness of her words put me on the defensive. I had simply written back: Sneaky Saguaro with Bishop and Tacker.

  I’m not sure if it inferred anything to her. Maybe I wanted to show her that I wouldn’t be at home moping over what happened between us. Perhaps I wanted to show her I could go on, despite her tearing my fucking heart out again.

  Her text back was immediate. We need to talk.

  And because I was feeling like more of an ass than ever and I’m fairly sure the talk she wants to have probably includes her decision to part ways, I replied: I’ll call you tomorrow.

  I waited to see what she would say and when nothing came through, I set my phone down. I didn’t feel settled at all, and now I’ll obsess about what she wants to talk about.

  So I sit here, listening to Bishop and Tacker talking game strategies while trying to pay attention, but my mind slips back to my argument with Ella today. I push my food around on my plate, deciding I don’t want any more as my stomach feels like there’s a lead ball in it.

  “Okay, dude,” Tacker says, and my gaze moves from my phone to him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

  “What do you mean?” I reply casually, taking a sip of my beer. I look down at my carne asada, only half-finished, and push it away from me.

  “You should be riding high on what a great time we had on the ice this afternoon,” Tacker replies with a pointed look. “That was an amazing session, and we all know it… With you on our line, we’re going to kill the Cold Fury on Wednesday.”

  The smile I manage is halfhearted. “You bet.”

  “Is something wrong with you and Ella?” Bishop asks, motioning to a passing waitress for another beer by holding up his empty.

  She stops at our table. “Anyone else want another?”

  Tacker and I both nod.

  When she leaves, I purposely don’t answer Bishop’s question, but he won’t let it go. “Again, I repeat, is anything wrong with you and Ella?”

  I raise an eyebrow, being purposely obtuse. “Why do you ask?”

  “Because I know what it’s like when things go to shit in a relationship, and I can recognize it,” Bishop replies smoothly. “So spill it, dude. What’s the problem because, last I could tell, things were going good with you and Ella?”

  “They were,” I admit a little too glumly, which means I’m not committed to telling these two guys that my marriage is in the pits again. If I say it out loud, it must be true.

  But my eye catches on something across the room, and I stare in shock at Ella winding her way through tables. Her eyes are pinned on me, and she’s walking like a woman on a mission.

  Inherently, I know nothing good is going to come of this. I straighten on my stool, bracing for the bad news.

  Bishop and Tacker notice my attention, and both turn to see Ella.

  “Uh-oh,” Tacker mutters sympathetically.

  Ella reaches the table and despite the churning within me, I still have to take that one moment I always do when I first see her to appreciate how beautiful she is. She has on a pair of skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder shirt. Her hair is up in a messy knot on top of her head, and her face is devoid of makeup. Not sure if anyone else notices, but there are red rings under her eyes, which tells me she’s been crying. I resist the urge to hop off the stool and pull her into my arms, especially since, at this point, I’m not sure if I’d get a return hug or a knee to the nuts.

  Ella inclines her head at Bishop and Tacker, giving a curt. “Hi, guys. Sorry to intrude.”

  “No problem,” Bishop replies easily.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, causing her attention to swing my way. Might as well just cut to the chase.

  “Stalking you, of course,” she replies in a flat tone. “It cuts both ways, right?”

  I can’t decide if she’s mad I once stalked her on a date with David, or if she’s being funny, but there doesn’t seem to be any humor in her eyes.

  “Why?” I press. If she’s going to give me bad news, she just needs to get the fuck on with it.

  Her eyes flash with ire, hands going to her hips, and she practically snarls. “Because I’ve been sitting on your front porch for two hours, and my ass is hurting. I got tired of waiting for you to come home, so I stalked you here.”

  “And, that’s our cue to go,” Tacker says, starting to rise from his stool.

  Ella whips toward him. “Don’t. You guys stay. Jim is coming with me.”

  “I am?” I query, just to be a smart ass.

  Her eyes snap to mine, she growls, and I pop up off the stool. She faces Bishop and Tacker once more. “My apologies for stealing him away. If you don’t mind covering his bill, we’ll catch you next time.”

  “Got it covered, Ella,” Bishop assures her. By his grin—and a matching one by Tacker—I can tell they are highly amused.

  Makes me want to punch both because this is my future here—or lack thereof—and they don’t seem to understand the potential peril I’m facing.

  Nice friends.

&nb
sp; Ella’s hand shoots out to grab mine. With a hard yank, I’m coming off the stool, barely managing to nab my phone. At that moment, the waitress returns with our beers, and I give mine a last longing look because I’m thinking getting drunk might be preferable to following Ella out of here for a talk.

  Ella leads the way, and I follow like a petulant child who just got busted for being somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. I can feel the anger vibrating off her, and I start to rev myself up for another fight. She might think she’s in control, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to take something I don’t deserve.

  Once outside the restaurant, I expect her to lead us to her car or mine. Instead, she moves around the side of the building—practically near the back—where it’s shadowed and free of any people.

  Ella releases my hand and opens her mouth. I stiffen for the rant, but then she snaps it shut again. She seems unsure of herself now, eyes roaming around the parking lot, looking anywhere but at me.

  “Ella,” I clip out to get her attention. “What are you doing here?”

  She jolts, eyes slamming into mine. I watch as she inhales deeply through her nose and lets it out her mouth. “You see, there are times in our life where we sometimes fall prey to extreme emotion. It can cause past feelings to well up. Judgments can be clouded. That’s not to say those emotions aren’t legitimate, but—”

  “Oh my God,” a female voice squeals, and I shift to see three women hurrying our way. “It’s Steele!”

  Groaning, I peek at Ella to see frustration on her face that her rant has been interrupted, then turn to face the women. Clearly drunk fans. They’re all tottering my way.

  “Can we get a picture, Steele?” one asks.

  “And can you sign my boob?” another inquires.

  Ella rolls her eyes and takes a few steps back to lean against the building, having that patient quiet about her whenever fans accost me. Over the years, she has accepted this was part of the job, although I know she’s adamantly opposed to me signing boobs, and I’ve never done that once in my career.

  “Actually, ladies, I’m having a private talk with my wife, so—”

  “It’s fine, Jim,” Ella says softly. “Let them take some pictures.”

  With no enthusiasm whatsoever, I manage to get between them, bend to their level, and let one of the ladies snap some selfies.

  I draw back, and the one who asked for her breast signed grins sheepishly at Ella. “Sorry about the boob thing.”

  “No worries,” Ella replies easily, and I realize… it’s just one of a million reasons I love her. Because she doesn’t get bothered by those things as they don’t impact me, her, or our bond. “Hope you ladies aren’t driving.”

  “We’re waiting on Lyft,” one says before they sway across the parking lot.

  I watch them before turning back to my wife. “You were saying?”

  “Right,” she says, pushing off the wall. “As I said, we can’t turn a deaf ear to the legitimacy of those negative emotions that rise, because to do so would invalidate—”

  “For fucks’ sake, Ella,” I growl, completely frustrated by everything. “Will you just get to the point? I assume you want to talk because you’ve decided on what you want. So do you want me to quit hockey?”

  She appears genuinely surprised by my question. “God, no! Never. It’s your passion and what makes you happy. I’d never take that away from you.”

  My heart sinks a little because, in my mind, it would guarantee I’d get my wife and family back.

  “Then you want to get divorced?” I ask in a low, rough voice, my gaze moving away from her but staring at nothing in particular.

  “Most definitely not that,” she replies. That has my head turning back so fast that I about get whiplash.

  “Then what do you want?” I ask hesitantly, a spark of hope taking root deep within me.

  Ella takes a step forward, close enough for her to put a hand on my chest. Her head tips back, expression contrite, and she says, “I want to apologize to you. I was completely out of line with what I said today. I let a bunch of ugly feelings well up, and I took it out on you when I knew rationally that you canceling our date was beyond your control.”

  It’s everything I wanted to hear, but I think there’s more. “Okay.”

  She takes another deep breath. “The reason I was so upset was the night was supposed to be special.”

  “I remember,” I reply with a smirk. “You said you’d have me howling.”

  A slight grin plays at her mouth, but she shakes her head. “Not that. I was going to ask you to officially come home. For good. So let’s put this marriage back together and recommit to one another.”

  I go dizzy because I was not expecting that. My hand closes over the one she still has on my chest, and I bend closer. “Are you serious?”

  “I sat on your hard porch for two hours to tell you this,” she says tartly. “I stalked you here. Of course, I’m serious.”

  I frown. “That’s not what I was expecting.”

  “I know, and that makes me feel even more awful. I had hoped that maybe you’d understand I was just overly emotional. And I hope you realize I love you now more than ever. I’m worried that because you didn’t know those things that perhaps you might not be in a position to accept my offer to come home. I mean, I thought it was all about me opening up to trust you again, but maybe now you need to decide if you trust me. Because when I say I want you to move back, Jim, it’s forever. This is it for us. There’s no separating again and we’ll be committing to each other—new vows so to speak—that we’re not ever going to let ourselves get lost again. But if you need time—”

  My mouth slams down on hers, cutting off any further suggestions she might make that more time is needed to decide.

  I’m decided.

  I’m fucking going back home tonight, and I’m not leaving again.

  Ella groans with relief, her arms wrapping tight around me. I walk her back into the side of the building, then kiss her even harder.

  We make out like two teenagers, putting words aside. It’s only when I feel Ella’s hips wiggling against mine and realize we are getting a little too hot for public viewing that I pull back.

  “I’m coming home with you tonight, Ella,” I say. “I trust in our love. I trust in our bond. I know that neither of us is ever going to accept less than what we have right at this moment.”

  “And do you accept my apology?” she asks, eyes filled with worry.

  “I accept everything about you, just as you do me,” I assure her. “I love you, Ella. For all the days of our past together, and all the days of our future. I will never fail you again.”

  “Nor I you,” she assures me. “I love you, Jim. Never more so than this moment, and I’ll love you even more tomorrow.”

  My hands go to her face, and I pull her in for a soft, gentle kiss of promise. When I release her, I take her hand. “Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Steele

  Five days later…

  As we walk out of the building, Lucy is on my right… crying.

  Ella is on my left… crying.

  My arms are around both their shoulders as I steer them across the parking lot toward my Range Rover. We just relinquished Brody back to the service dog organization, so he can go on to do amazing feats for someone special.

  I had anticipated Lucy and Ella being a bit heartbroken, but I had not expected how attached I’d gotten to the damn dog. Still, I maintain the lump in my throat is from watching my girls cry, not from watching the volunteer carry Brody away from us.

  But we knew it would be emotional. We talked about it last night at dinner, trying as a family to buck ourselves up. It worked… a little.

  We walked into the building with Lucy holding Brody, and we left devastated.

  “We are never fostering again,” Ella declares with a sniffle. “That was way too hard.”

  “He was such a good puppy,” Lucy reminisces. “The best. Suc
h a smart boy.”

  “Easy to potty train,” I say, my favorite thing about him.

  “The sweetest cuddler,” Ella murmurs.

  “But he did like to chew,” I point out. “He ruined the legs on the couch and the foyer table.”

  “And my headboard,” Lucy adds.

  “He ate the heel off one of my favorite shoes,” Ella says, her voice not so fond anymore.

  “I’m glad he’s gone,” I say fervently.

  “He was an awful dog,” Ella validates.

  “The worst,” Lucy chirps. “We should just stick to turtles or fish.”

  And we all bust out laughing. I pull them into me for a hard hug, then let them go as we resume walking toward the car.

  “I’ll miss him.” Lucy sighs as we reach the car.

  Ella and I don’t say anything, but we agree with her wholeheartedly. He was a solid member of our family, if only for a couple weeks.

  Once we’re inside and all buckled up, I glance over my shoulder at Lucy in the backseat and then to Ella. “Where to now?”

  Ella seems to ponder by tapping her finger against her chin. A peek in the rearview mirror at Lucy gets me a shrug back.

  “I know,” Ella exclaims, holding her index finger up as if struck by the most amazing revelation. “How about we get a new dog?”

  “Really?” Lucy whispers from the back seat, and the shrieks, “Really?”

  Wincing, I swivel toward her. “Really. Your mom and I have been stalking the local shelters, and there’s one that has a few options.”

  “Puppies?” she inquires because she wants a puppy, although she wants it to be a rescue for sure.

  “They have a litter,” I assure her.

  “Then let’s go,” she exclaims, bouncing in her seat. “Hurry… let’s go.”

  I glance at Ella, who smirks. I hold my hand out, and she places her palm in mine for a short squeeze.

  Life is good.

  ♦

  It’s been an exhausting day, and I leave for an East Coast trip tomorrow. I’ll be gone four days, and I’m dreading it because I just got settled back into my home with my family, and I simply don’t want to leave them. It makes me wonder if I should consider retirement at the end of the year.