Must Love Dogs...and Hockey

by Kelly Jamieson

  We stop for something to eat, piling our shopping bags beneath the table as we devour tacos. It’s getting late in the afternoon and with the overcast sky, the little white lights strung with the garlands of greenery twinkle in the low light. It’s so festive and pretty it makes me sigh with pleasure. Also, I love buying gifts for people, and this year I can buy things without the stress of feeling totally broke. I’m making small payments on my debts, so I am guilt free and enjoying picking out just the right things.

  “I want to get something for Easton,” I tell Carlin. “But I haven’t come across the right thing. What do you get a guy who can go out and buy an Aston Martin?”

  She makes a face. “Yikes. Right?”

  I sigh. “I can’t spend much money. But I’ll keep looking.”

  “So does this mean you two are serious?”

  I pause. “I don’t know. We shouldn’t be. We both agreed we didn’t want a relationship. And yet…”

  “It’s a relationship.”

  “It feels like it,” I agree softly.

  That night he told me about the bus crash changed things for me. I felt so devastated for him, for what he’d been through, and I realized how much I’m starting to care about him. Which is, a lot.

  “Are you happy?”

  “So happy.” It’s true. He makes me so happy. Annoyed and frustrated too at times, but I love being with him more than any other person I’ve ever known, and I want him to be happy too. “I didn’t want this. I didn’t need this. What if he’s like every other man in my life and disappears?”

  Carlin nibbles her lip. “He hasn’t disappeared yet.”

  “Actually, he has,” I joke. “He’s away all week on a road trip.”

  “Is that a problem for you? That’s part of his life, right?”

  “It is. And no, it’s not a problem. I’m joking. He hasn’t called, though. Or texted much, even.”

  “He’s probably busy.”

  I nod. “I’m sure he is.” I’m afraid to say out loud that I’m afraid he’s bailing on us just when I’m starting to catch serious feelings for him. “I miss him, but I’m fine. I’m busy and I’m fine.”

  “So if he did disappear, you’d be okay.”

  I suck briefly on my bottom lip. “Yeah.”

  “You don’t sound very sure of that.”

  I drop my head forward briefly. “I know. To be honest, the thought of him disappearing scares the hell out of me. And that…that’s the problem. I don’t want to have feelings for him. But it’s so hard not to.”

  Carlin’s eyes soften and warm. “You’re falling in love with him.”

  “Oh God.” I press my hands to my cheeks. “I am. I didn’t want to fall in love. But I am.”

  “Maybe he is too. He seems to like being around you.”

  “I’m his dog walker.”

  “Lilly.” She tilts her head and gives me a reproving glance. “You know that’s not what it is.”

  I roll my eyes. “I know.” I straighten my shoulders. “Everything is fine. You told me to take it slow, and I kind of started rolling down a hill out of control, but I can put the brakes on. Let’s go shop more.”

  We come across a stall with all kinds of dog gifts. Gifts for dogs, but also for dog lovers. I pick up some handmade treats for all my doggie clients, and the most adorable New York Bears sweater for Otis, and then I spot cuff links. I noticed that some of Easton’s shirts have French cuffs and he uses cuff links.

  The vendor, a girl about my age, speaks up. “We make those custom with the image of your dog on them.”

  I look up at her, smiling. “Really? Can they be done by Christmas?”

  “Yes, there’s still time.” She hands me a business card and we talk about dates. I can email her a photo of Otis and pick up the cuff links here.

  “This is perfect,” I say to Carlin as we leave. “He’ll love cuff links with a picture of Otis on them!”

  They’re more money than I planned to spend, but maybe I can sell my last Coach handbag on The RealReal. What do I need designer purses for when I walk dogs for a living?

  Easton

  Coach seems annoyed by our good spirits when we get on the bus to go from the hotel to the arena in San Jose. We’re feeling pretty good about our play, and a little downtime in Santa Monica has relaxed us even more. I haven’t been with the team that long, so I like spending time with the guys and getting to know them better.

  “You’re loosening up around us,” Cookie says to me on the bus.

  “Huh?”

  He nods. “It’s good to see you laughing and letting loose a little.”

  I frown. “Am I an asshole?”

  He laughs. “Nah. Just snobby.”

  “I’m not a snob!”

  He elbows me. “Okay, not snobby. Standoffish.”

  I think about that. I guess I haven’t been the friendliest guy since I got traded here. I know I had a chip on my shoulder about the trade and about life in general. I get along with most people, but I haven’t made a lot of friends since I started playing in the NHL.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I was like that in Vancouver too,” I tell him.

  “No wonder they traded your ass away.”

  A jab like that would have had me spitting fire a few months ago. Now, I just laugh. “Yeah. So hey, thanks for talking to me even though I’m a snobby dickhead.”

  He shrugs. “You have your moments. Like when Coach called Russ a little bitch and you stuck up for him. That was savage.”

  Huh. My lungs expand on a satisfied breath.

  I check my phone one last time before I lock it away in my locker for the game. There’s a new message and photo from Lilly showing Otis out on the sidewalk wearing a red New York Bears dog sweater. I laugh out loud. He looks ridiculous. But cute. Shaking my head, I shut the locker.

  I feel good tonight. Really good. It’s one of those games where I feel light and fast, and everything clicks. JBo, Brando, and I connect for three goals—one each—in the first two periods, and Gunner is a wall, blocking every shot so far. The mood on the bench is jubilant, electric. If only it could be like this every night.

  We start the third period up by three. We just need to keep playing our game, doing what we’ve been doing, shutting things down in the neutral zone.

  We don’t quite succeed, though, and the Sharks get the puck down in our end. It’s behind the net and Jammer goes to get it, scooping it out. I don’t know what the fuck he was trying to do, but he sends the puck right in front of our net, and Adams, a Sharks forward, is right there. I’m watching this, racing toward Adams, but in a fraction of a second he puts the puck upstairs and behind Gunner and the goal light glows red.

  Gunner never had a chance, but he’s pissed, kicking the puck out while the Sharks celebrate. Jammer’s head is down, knowing that was a brutal turnover.

  Skating back to the bench, the arena is loud as the crowd cheers and the goal song plays. “It’s only one goal,” I tell Jammer, clapping him on the back. “We got this.”

  He gets to the bench before me, and as I enter the gate I see Coach come up behind Jammer as he sinks onto the bench. “That was fucking bullshit!” Coach yells. And then he does something unforgivable. Two things, actually. He uses the N-word, calling Jammer stupid, and…he kicks him. In the back.

  He kicks him.

  A red haze creeps in from my peripheral vision and tints my vision. My blood is already pumping hard and fast in my veins from that shift, but now I think I’m going to explode. I’m a volcano, erupting, spewing molten lava. I can’t control it.

  “What the fuck?” I’m still standing, staring at Coach.

  He looks up at me and scowls. “You were on the ice for that travesty. Sit your ass down.”

/>   I gape. I swallow.

  JBo looks up at me from the bench. He saw it too, but he’s giving me a subtle headshake, telling me with his eyes to sit down and shut up.

  I’m shaking. My face burns and my back teeth grind together. It takes every molecule of self-restraint I have to sit on the bench. My leg bounces and sweat pours off me.

  What the fuck? What the fucking fuck?

  My mind is buzzing, I can barely focus on the game. I can’t believe that happened. Maybe I saw it wrong. Maybe I heard it wrong.

  I didn’t. It happened.

  Somehow I get through the rest of the game. We win, three–one. Everyone’s all smiles and backslaps as we leave the ice and tramp back to the dressing room. Even Coach. I want to punch him in his ugly grin.

  He stands in his suit in the dressing room as we all sit, sweating, in stalls. “Great win, guys,” he says. “That’s the kind of play I want to see. Every game. Every shift. Other than that goddamn turnover…” he shoots Jammer a narrow-eyed look. “Don’t play like that again.”

  I don’t know what to do. My insides are writhing to the point I’m afraid I might puke.

  I look over at Jammer. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes downcast as he yanks his skate laces.

  Do I say something? Here? Should I talk to Coach on his own? Do nothing?

  I feel it like a fist in my gut. Doing nothing is not an option. Not this time.

  I stand up. “You called Jammer a racial slur.”

  The room goes dead silent, including the trainers and the equipment guys.

  Coach’s face doesn’t change. He regards me with an impassive expression. “Not your business, Easton. Jamal can take it up with me if he wants.”

  “I’m taking it up with you. That was racist.”

  “I’m not a racist!” Coach’s face reddens.

  “That’s not what I said.” I keep my voice calm. “I don’t think language like that has a place here. And…you physically abused him.”

  Coach says nothing, just getting redder. “We’ll discuss this later.” He stomps out of the dressing room.

  I close my eyes and sit back down. Yep, I’m pretty sure my career is over.

  It was a good run.

  I open my eyes and see Jammer looking at me. He gives me a small smile and a nod. My gaze sweeps around the rest of the room and Wendy starts clapping. Then Jammer. Then everyone is clapping.

  Heat washes down through me. My heart feels like it’s going to explode out of my chest. I swallow, my throat thick, and wave my hands. “Stop, stop.”

  I rub my mouth and resume undressing.

  I keep my head up as I board the bus. Coach is already there along with our assistant coach, seated at the front of the bus, and I move past them to swing into a seat. Cookie joins me.

  “See,” he says. “You have your moments.”

  We exchange wry smiles. “I’ll probably never play again. It was nice knowing you.” I say it jokingly, even though I’m terrified it could really be the end of my career.

  He shakes his head. “Not gonna happen. You contributed to all three goals tonight.”

  “Yeah.” I shrug. “I was having a great game. Until that bullshit happened.”

  * * *

  —

  I don’t hear a word from Coach the next day, not during our practice nor after. The guys all go out Saturday night again. I tag along, but this time I can’t even force myself to have a good time. I feel a sense of impending doom but keep trying to tell myself as time passes that maybe it’ll all be fine.

  Ha. I know better than that. My motto is to always expect the worst, then you’re never disappointed.

  We win again on Sunday afternoon in Long Beach, although it doesn’t feel as good. We get down by two goals early and have to fight back in the third to tie it up, and when JBo scores with four minutes left in the period we’re ecstatic. But we have to hang on for those last four minutes and the Long Beach Golden Eagles throw everything they have at us. We pull it off and wow, what a road trip, seven out of eight possible points.

  We get home late Sunday. I text Lilly to let her know I’m back so she can bring Otis over, as we arranged.

  Fuck, I missed her.

  And Otis. I missed him too.

  It doesn’t take her long to walk over. I hear her come in and I head to the door. Otis scrambles across the hardwood floor toward me, his nails clicking. I grin at him, but immediately look to Lilly.

  “Christ, you’re beautiful,” I say before I can stop myself.

  Her mouth curves into a smile. The cold air outside has made her cheeks and nose pink. She has a black knit cap pulled over her hair and a big scarf around her neck so all I can see is her face, and damn.

  “Thank you.”

  I have to give Otis some attention or he’ll never leave me alone, but I just want to wrap my arms around Lilly and carry her into my bedroom and bury myself in her sweet heat. “Can you stay?”

  “Yes.” She unwraps her scarf and unzips her jacket. “Have you eaten?”

  “I’m starving.” I meet her eyes and she laughs softly.

  Finally, Otis calms down and I can kiss Lilly, and yeah, I’m starving. Starving for the taste of her, the feel of her mouth and tongue, and her body against mine. Ravenous for her scent, and desperate to have her. It feels like she’s just as hungry, melting against me, sliding her hands into my hair, and kissing me back with the same fervor.

  When we’re both panting, we lean our foreheads together. “Bed?” she whispers. “Or food?”

  “Bed first.” I lead her to my room. “We’ll order food after.”

  Chapter 18

  Lilly

  After some toe-curling, heart-pounding, soul-melting sex, then the best shishito peppers, spicy salmon tartare, and vegetable bibimbap, which is delivered from a nearby restaurant, we go back to bed and snuggle.

  “Naked cuddles are the best cuddles,” I tell him, settling in against his chest, his super-soft sheets tucked around us.

  “I agree.”

  He tells me about the road trip, about how much fun they had, and how he felt like he really bonded with the guys. I sense there’s something more on his mind, though, and finally he gets to it and tells me what happened with Jamal.

  I’m horrified, and I sit up and shift to face him, my eyes wide. “That’s terrible.”

  “Yeah.” He rolls his head on the pillow. “Totally fucked up.”

  I touch my fingertips to my lips, appalled on Jamal’s behalf. But also just generally sickened.

  Then he tells me the rest—what he said in the dressing room. How pissed off his coach was. And I can see how distraught he is about the whole thing.

  I am falling in love. I am falling like the snowflakes outside, like leaves in the autumn and petals in the summer. Like stars that you make a wish on. I know what I wish for. I wish for him.

  My heart expands, warm in my chest, and my throat tightens. I lean over and touch my lips to his. “You did good,” I whisper. “I’m proud. You’re a good man.”

  He makes a noise of disagreement. “I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done it in front of the whole team. Coach is pissed and I don’t know what’s going to happen.”

  “He can’t fire you.”

  “He can trade me. Again.” Easton’s jaw tightens and he doesn’t meet my eyes. “But he can also make it so that nobody else wants me.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. Other teams can see what a great player you are.”

  His lips quirk, even though his eyes are still dark with worry. “I appreciate your faith in me.”

  “You should have faith in yourself.” I touch his cheek. “You did the right thing.”

  “It’s not going to change anything.” His tone is laced with bit
terness. “He’s still going to be an asshole.”

  I nod slowly. “Maybe calling him on the racist bullshit will make him think.”

  “I doubt it.” He sighs. “I expect I’ll find out what’s in store for me tomorrow, now we’re home.”

  Worry dries up my mouth. But I really do have faith in him. I believe in him and his talent and his honor and integrity. “It’ll be fine.” I kiss him again. “You’ll be fine. But what about Jamal?”

  He closes his eyes. “He says he’s fine. He’s used to it.”

  I sigh. “You have to report him, Easton.”

  His eyes fly open. “What? Report him? To who?”

  “I don’t know. The manager of the team? You said that’s his boss, right? Nobody can say things like that in the workplace. Not to mention actually physically attacking someone. God!” I put both my hands to my head. “I thought I was dealing with unethical crap at Lexington, but at least people weren’t kicking each other!”

  “I can’t do that. I can’t go over his head.”

  “But why?” I throw my hands up, my temples pulsing. “Why can’t you? Someone has to.”

  His jaw tightens, his lips thinning. “No, Lilly. I can’t.”

  I stare at him. “I don’t understand,” I whisper.

  “I guess I’m not that big of a person.”

  He is, though. I just don’t get it. But what do I know about the world of professional sports? Nothing, that’s what. Easton knows better than I do, so I let it go.

  Easton

  I arrive at the arena at my usual time, around four o’clock. I stick to my routine, warming up on the bike, stretching, playing some soccer with the other guys. But when I walk into the dressing room in my shorts and sandals, I stop short at seeing my stall empty. There’s no jersey hanging there like there is in the other stalls, everything lined up perfectly.

  What. The. Fuck.

  I can’t move for a moment, frozen in place. Then heat blasts through me like an inferno. I spin and stalk into the players’ lounge, heading to Coach’s office, but then I stop short. My breath is coming fast, my hands curled into fists. I have to calm down. I have to handle this right. There’s no fucking way he’s scratching me tonight. Is there?