Tacker

by Sawyer Bennett

  Nora chuckles, the sound reassuring. I can hear in her amusement that what I’m feeling is actually normal. She even says so. “Tacker, that’s good news. It means you’re not only healing, but you’re also constantly assessing your feelings. You’re very aware of the way you used to feel and how different that is from the way you’re feeling now. It’s probably a little weird for you, I’m sure, but please don’t worry about it.”

  “You’re sure?” I ask dubiously.

  She asks a question instead. “Why don’t you deserve happiness, Tacker? Shouldn’t everyone?”

  “I guess,” I mutter, scrubbing my hand through my hair. I roll back so I’m leaning against the wall again. “But is there a time period on mourning? Something that’s acceptable I should be striving for? I mean, timing wise, is it normal for me to go from utter despair a mere three weeks ago to…”

  Words once again drift away.

  “Happiness?” she guesses. “Joy in life? Understanding of your feelings?”

  “It’s a lot to try to understand.”

  She’s quiet for a moment, as she often is when we’re in session. Nora likes to process things, and it’s not unusual for her to take a moment to collect her thoughts.

  Finally, she says, “Helen took me from Drenica after the massacre, and I latched onto her. I mean… I fell in love with her right away. Do you think that means I forgot my family?”

  “Of course not,” I exclaim, horrified she’d even ask me such a thing.

  “Do you think by loving Helen that I loved my family any less?”

  “No,” I reply, understanding her point.

  Still, she throws one more. “Even though I loved Helen, and I was so grateful to her for giving me a new chance at life, do you think I was done with my sadness and grieving?”

  “I highly doubt it.” How could any child get over something like that quickly?

  “Grief and healing are individual,” she says. “There’s no time period. No book that lays out the rules. I’ve known some people who need years to process loss in a healthy manner while others merely take a few months. But if you are stuck worrying about what others think, then you’re in the wrong headspace. You only have to worry about what you think.”

  “I’m not worried about what others think,” I assure her. “I guess I just wanted to make sure that this journey… this new path I’m navigating… I’m doing it right, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, Tacker… you’re doing it right.”

  That’s all I need. The surety in her words, her conviction and faith in me.

  Exactly what I needed.

  “Okay. Thanks, Nora,” I murmur, pushing off from the wall. “I appreciate it.”

  “See you at the ranch on Tuesday, right?” she asks. We’d scheduled my next counseling session for that morning, then I’m off to a team meeting before our game that evening.

  “I’ll be there,” I assure her. “And you and Raul are still coming to the game that night, right?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she says with a laugh.

  “Both of you are coming out with the team after,” I state.

  “We wouldn’t want to impose.”

  “You’re not imposing,” I say sternly. “Besides… I think you’ve sort of been made an honorary team member now that you’ve helped the inscrutable, assholish Tacker Hall make a comeback.”

  Nora lets out a bark of a laugh followed by a snort. “Oh, God… that’s rich.”

  But then her laughter dies a little, although I can still hear a bit of amusement in her tone when she says, “And Tacker?”

  “Yeah?”

  “We’ll talk about this some more on Tuesday, but be kind to yourself. If you’re moving forward, that’s a good thing, so don’t beat yourself up about it.”

  “Okay,” I say, then I make her and myself a promise I intend to keep. “I won’t.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Nora

  I’ve never been to a professional sporting event before. Hell, past football or basketball games in high school, I’ve never even been to a sporting event.

  Helen wasn’t big into sports, and I had no father figure other than Raul—who was into horses. As such, I was into horses.

  The Vengeance arena is a thing of beauty. All steel and glass with cool little vending shops and restaurants around the exterior. Raul and I came early to grab some dinner. We entered the arena when the doors opened, meandering along the perimeter shops and buying a few small souvenirs. I wanted to buy a Tacker Hall jersey, but they were way too expensive to justify.

  The energy inside the arena was crazy. I could feel it as it began to fill up, but when we stepped into the interior portion that would lead us down to our seats, it struck me in the center of my chest. Loud rock music plays, and laser lights strobe across the ice. The tickets Tacker gave us are extremely good seats three rows off the ice. We made our way down, Raul juggling a beer and popcorn and me with a foam hand, a pom-pom, and Diet Coke.

  After we find our seats, we spend the time scanning our surroundings with huge eyes as we take in the spectacle around us. Fans with their faces painted up and most everyone wearing jerseys to support their team. Crowds gather down at the glass with hand-painted signs. Little kids wait expectantly for their favorite player to make an appearance.

  And then, an announcer’s voice comes over the PA system, booming so loud and deep I can feel it rumbling in my chest. “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome to the ice… your very own… Ari-zohhhhhh-naaaahhh… Vengeance!”

  I swivel my head to the left and right, trying to figure out where the team comes from. But then a gate opens, and the team skates through. They hit the ice hard and fast, ready to take down their opponents. I think this is just a warmup as they’re not wearing their helmets, but I can’t be sure. I have just the two games I watched on TV last week when Tacker was on the road to go by.

  Raul nudges me in the arm. “There’s Tacker.”

  I scan the ice, studying the players whizzing by in their white uniforms with neon green and navy-blue trim, the Vengeance Lion mascot emblazoned on their chests.

  And I see him… Holding his stick loosely, he skates around the perimeter with long, powerful strokes of his legs. As he rounds the edge and starts coming our way, his eyes cut into the stands, right to where Raul and I sit.

  I had not expected this. I mean, of course, he knows where our seats are because they’re his tickets, but I’d never expected him to acknowledge us, not in a million years.

  Yet, his eyes lock with mine and he smiles, giving me a short nod. It’s a brief look, lasting less than two seconds, yet it still warms me from my head to my toes.

  No man’s look should ever do that to me, especially not one I’m actively counseling. Face flushing, I take a long sip of my Diet Coke, hoping to cool these thoughts.

  Tipping my head, I cast a glance at Raul to find him watching me intently. My face burns even hotter.

  “Something going on between you two?” he asks gruffly, but I don’t detect a single bit of censure. Just curiosity.

  “God, no,” I assure him quickly, even managing to sound slightly disgusted by the prospect.

  Raul’s gaze just stays pinned on me, refusing to leave. He’s not accepting my denial.

  Averting my eyes, I mutter. “Nothing’s going on.”

  “But…” he presses, knowing me all too well.

  With a sigh, I focus on the man I admire most in the world. “But… I do like him. I feel a connection to him that goes beyond what I should be feeling as his counselor.”

  “Ethically, you can’t go there,” he says gently, a reminder I don’t need.

  “I know. I wouldn’t.” I take a small sip of my Diet Coke through the straw.

  “But you should,” Raul firmly states.

  I’m so shocked by his statement that I suck soda right into my lungs. A massive coughing fit ensues. Shifting his beer from his left to his right hand, he starts clapping me on the back.
<
br />   When I get it under control, I bring wild eyes to him. “How can you even say that? It’s highly inappropriate, not to mention unethical, as you pointed out. Moreover, I could never risk his mental health that way. I have power and sway over him. He trusts me to have a care for his emotional well-being. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong.”

  Raul inclines his head, attention cutting out to the players skating around. “My bad. Forget I mentioned it.”

  “I will,” I snap, then immediately feel bad about it. My gaze moves out to the ice, easily finding Tacker as they set up for some sort of warmup drill. “It’s not something you have to worry about.”

  Raul jerks, swiveling in his seat to face me. “I don’t worry about it. I would never worry about you doing anything that would harm one of your clients. You have too good a soul for that, Nora.”

  Air rushes out of my lungs, my face crumbling into a mask of apology that I would even have to defend myself to a man who has my back no matter what.

  “All I’m saying,” he continues as if I truly hadn’t said a word about my ethical duties, “is that if you have a real connection to him that transcends the counseling relationship, you shouldn’t ignore it.”

  I open my mouth to say something, but he holds up a hand to silence me.

  “Whatever you decide to do,” he says softly, putting that hand on my shoulder to squeeze. “Whatever might or might not happen… I trust you to always do right.”

  I stare at Raul, not sure what to say to that, but before I can even work through how to respond, a woman comes up beside Raul’s chair on the end of the aisle. She’s dressed in a blank pantsuit, holding a clipboard, with a wireless headset on.

  “Excuse me,” she says in a crisp English accent. “Mr. Vargas and Miss Wayne?”

  “Si,” Raul answers.

  At the same time, I say, “Yes.”

  “I’m Alicia… one of the concierge staff. I understand you two are VIP guests of Mr. Hall, correct?”

  Raul and I exchange a look. Not sure we’re exactly VIP, but Tacker did give us his tickets.

  She continues without waiting for us to confirm. “After the game, I am going to come and get you. Mr. Hall has arranged for me to give you a tour of the facility while he attends the post-game meeting and showers. I’ll then take you to the family room where you can wait for him.”

  “Oh, okay,” I say dumbly, thinking it was an incredibly nice gesture for Tacker to make.

  “Also,” she says with a smile. “Mr. Hall has arranged for you to move to the owner’s suite if you so desire. He got passes from Mr. Carlson today. Food and beverages are served there as well. However, Mr. Hall did want me to pass on that he personally believes these seats are better. He says it’s more exciting to watch the game close to the ice. Personally, I have to agree with him.”

  Raul and I consider each other. When I lift an eyebrow, he shrugs.

  I give the woman a smile. “I think we’ll stay here. Thank you, though.”

  She beams. “Good choice. Now, unless there’s anything else I can get for you right now, I will just meet you back here after the game.”

  We offer our thanks as she turns to leave.

  “Damn… we’re VIP guests,” Raul says out of the side of his mouth, chest slightly puffed out. He holds his beer up in a silent salute to Tacker, who is concentrating on warmup drills. “Gracias, amigo.”

  Laughing, I take another sip of my Diet Coke.

  Alicia gave us a really cool tour of the arena after the game, which included pretty much everything but the locker room where the guys were showering and dressing. She’d left us in the family room, which I thought was a completely cool and neat concept. It’s where close friends and relatives could congregate both before and after the game, mostly for social camaraderie as their season ticket seats are often spread out around the arena. There were gourmet hor d’oeuvres as well as an open bar, all paid for by Dominik Carlson. I had been getting the sense from my own interactions with the team’s owner, as well as tidbits Tacker told me, that this guy goes above and beyond what other owners do for their teams.

  In the family room, I see Blue, Brooke, and Regan congregating together, so we make our way over to the familiar faces.

  Their smiles are bright and welcoming, and hugs are doled out as well. Since the team had visited the farm week before last, I’ve stayed in contact with Blue. She even brought Billy out to the ranch one more time. She had also texted me to ask if there were other volunteer opportunities she could do. In fact, she’d been out this past Sunday helping Raul and me fortify some fencing. The girl looks like a California supermodel, but she’s not afraid to get her hands dirty or do hard work, which I appreciate.

  “Where’s Pepper?” I ask the girls, noting she’s the only one of the first-line women missing.

  “Home with Charlie,” Brooke provides.

  Tacker had told me all about Legend’s daughter, Charlie, who had literally appeared on his doorstep last December when the birth mom—who had kept her pregnancy secret from Legend—decided to abandon the baby. Legend had stepped up to the plate big time, and Pepper joined him in helping to raise her.

  “So are you two coming out with us tonight?” Blue asks.

  “Have to be honest,” Raul says, shooting me a tired smirk. “I’m sort of beat after the excitement of that game.”

  It was exciting indeed. It went into overtime, and the Vengeance won after an exciting breakaway goal by Rafe Simmons. He’s the young guy who took Tacker’s place on the first line when he’d been suspended. By all accounts, he seems to still be making a profound impact on the team.

  I give Raul a sympathetic look before telling Blue, “I think we’ll pass on going out. We have a hefty drive back to the ranch.”

  Hopefully, I manage to say this while keeping the disappointment out of my voice. I’d actually been looking forward to hanging with Tacker and the team as my social life has pretty much sucked the last few years after I’d started the ranch. Owning my own business is nothing but eighty-hour workweeks, which tends to destroy friendships over time because I never seem to have time to do stuff. Tacker’s invitation just hit me in the right spot, particularly after I met so many of the team and their families when they came to help out on the ranch. Raul had said I was becoming part of a new community, and I genuinely liked the feeling that produced.

  “You cannot pass on going out with us,” Tacker’s deep voice drawls from behind me. I whirl to see him dressed in a dark blue suit that fits him impeccably. Dumbfounded, I can’t seem to recall what I’d just been thinking about.

  “I’m way too old and tired to hang with you young bucks,” Raul responds, but then he suggests, “But if you wanted to give Nora a lift, there’s no reason she can’t go out and have a good time with all of you.”

  God bless Raul’s heart. He knows I want to go out with them, and he’s pushing me to do so.

  “I don’t need someone to give me a lift,” I tell the group quickly. “I can get an Uber or something to drive me out.”

  “Nonsense,” Tacker replies breezily. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  I’m not sure anyone else catches it, but I do—the slight smirk on Raul’s face. I can tell he was angling for that all along. Had been hoping Tacker would be the one to take me home tonight.

  Not that it means anything to me.

  Because it doesn’t.

  It’s just a friendly offer. That’s all.

  CHAPTER 19

  Nora

  The waitress comes to our table, her tray stacked with beers. While the food is really good at The Sneaky Saguaro, most people come for the hundred and twenty-seven varieties of beer on tap.

  I’m just a good old-fashioned Bud Light girl, so when first asked what I wanted to drink, that’s what I said. Erik felt this was just poor form all around, so he proceeded to educate me on the different types of beers, urging me to try a wheat hefeweizen. It was delish, so I stuck with that.

  And… I may have had
one too many. I enjoy a cold beer or two at the end of the day on occasion, but I’ve had four tonight and I’m pretty buzzed. Still, I’m having a great time, without a doubt confirming what I’d expected.

  The people on the Arizona Vengeance are just fucking awesome.

  Everyone has made me feel like I’m part of the team. We all hit The Sneaky Saguaro to a raucous cheer from the patrons when the team walked in en masse. People swarmed some of the players for pictures and autographs while I noticed many seemed utterly surprised Tacker is there. Even more shocking was the time he took with the fans. I enjoyed watching him interact with them. Granted, he wasn’t the most at ease and he didn’t engage in a lot of conversation, but he did put on a genuine smile each time a camera came out.

  I call that amazing progress.

  The owner of the restaurant has taken to setting up a private area for the team on the second floor. There’s a huge, two-story cement saguaro that extends up from the first floor and through the middle section of the restaurant to the second. The second floor is a large rectangular section built around the statue, and one whole side was roped off for the Vengeance.

  The waitress hands me another beer, which I had not ordered. Tacker must see the expression on my face because he leans in, “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want to.”

  “I’m in a dilemma,” I say honestly.

  He cocks his head, placing an elbow on the table. We’ve been at a tall table, the stools having been pushed aside a while ago along with a lot of the regular tables. Once the kitchen closes at eleven, apparently the country music gets cranked, the tables get shoved to the wall, and dancing commences. Tacker has stayed by my side the entire night, but various members of the team and their guests have moved in and out to join our conversation. My throat is actually a little sore from talking and my head equally so from laughing so much.

  “What’s the dilemma?” he asks.

  “Well, I am enjoying this beer,” I say solemnly. “But I’m also worried about the hangover effect tomorrow. I feel like I’m at the point now that if I were to decline this and drink water, I’d be able to clean the stalls out tomorrow without a terrible headache or much gagging.”