by Sarina Bowen
Every hockey player in a ten-foot radius bursts out laughing.
Trevi hands me his Katt phone, and we both look down at the weather app. “They’ve upped it, actually,” he says. “Fourteen inches now. This snowstorm is hung.”
“But it’s November,” I wail.
Jason puts an arm around me and puts his chin on my head. It’s a silent show of support, and I do appreciate it. I lean into his warmth and let out a frustrated sigh. “I hate everything in the world,” I whisper. “It was going to be perfect.”
“What’s the problem?” Silas asks, sliding a beer onto the bar in front of me. “This is for you.”
“Thank you.” I feel like crying. “Silas—I made a plan for your birthday. A big plan. And now the snowstorm has ruined it.”
His eyes widen, and the other players in the bar get quiet. “What kind of plan?”
Leo Trevi reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little envelope—the kind that tickets are kept in. Wordlessly, he hands it to Silas.
Silas opens the envelope and pulls out a fat stack of tickets. His head actually jerks back when he sees what’s written on them. And his expression flickers with something unexpected. Pain. I’m sure that’s what I see, but only for a split second. Then he actually lets out a strangled laugh. “Second row.” He shakes his head. “You’re shitting me.”
“I tried,” I say, wiping the tears off my cheeks. “We all tried.”
Silas raises his chin and takes in the whole team in a glance. “You guys were really going to this concert with me?”
“Totally!” Trevi says. “I practiced singing ‘Make You Mine’ just for you.”
“Jesus,” Silas says, shaking his head. “Well, it looks like you’re off the hook. Close call, guys.”
Everyone laughs.
“Let’s put these on StubHub,” he says, holding up the envelope. “Or maybe Georgia can quickly find a charity who could use them.”
“Hey, that’s a good call,” Leo agrees. “Want me to ask her?”
“Absolutely.” Silas drops the envelope in front of Trevi, like it’s a hot potato. “Now who needs another drink?”
“I do,” Jason says. “Tequila, right? We don’t have to get up early anymore. Heidi, want a shot? For old time’s sake?”
I shudder. “Nope. Tequila and I aren’t friends.”
He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “I’ll drink yours, then.”
“Let’s get sloppy,” Silas says. “I’ll buy the first round.” His smile looks sketched on, too.
My men aren’t doing so well tonight. And I’m all out of good ideas. So I order a glass of wine and try to pretend that I’m not worried for both of them. “Does this place have a dart board?”
“If it does, we’ll find it,” Silas says grimly.
“Good, because I feel like throwing things.”
Again, the team laughs. But I’m a hundred percent serious.
33
Jason
I’m dribbling a puck down center ice, swerving between orange cones. The practice rink is my favorite place in the world. I’m at home with the sounds of pucks echoing off the boards and the murmur of male voices between drills.
Heidi skates past me in her Ice Girls uniform. “Hey!” I call. “Where’s my kiss?”
She doesn’t turn her head. Her curly hair flies out behind her as she accelerates away from me. Her legs look a million miles long in that microscopic skirt. It gets so quiet now that I can hear her blades scraping against the ice.
“Don’t make me come over there!” I call playfully. “That’s no way to greet your man.”
She plants the toe pick of her skate into the ice and jumps. She’s spinning through the air so fast that all I can see is a blur. And when she lands, the scrape of her blade against the ice is unnaturally loud. She stumbles, and my stomach drops immediately.
But Heidi doesn’t fall. She recovers herself and then picks up speed again. She’s going to do another jump.
“Hey!” I shout. I suddenly don’t want her to jump. “Heidi! Babe!” Now there’s no one here but the two of us. And I’m shouting, but the sound of my voice doesn’t carry. I can feel the sound waves die, so I yell even louder. “HEIDI STOP.”
Head down, she’s skating toward me now. Finally. She executes a perfect set of back crossovers and then spins around to face me.
When she looks up, her eyes are gone. There are only bloody sockets looking back at me.
I sit up in bed with a wet gasp, the horrifying image still burned in my vision. I’m covered in sweat, and I have to clap a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from making any more noise.
Jesus Christ. Another bad dream. They won’t stop. And what the fuck was the point of that one? It was so nasty that I feel sick and disoriented.
It doesn’t seem to matter that I’m home in Brooklyn, and Heidi is lying peacefully in the bed beside me. I’m full of adrenaline. My heart pounds while I try to control my breathing.
Taking stock, I notice that it’s daylight already. The clock says 8:05. That’s a relief. I don’t even want to go back to sleep—not if I’m going to dream morbid horror-movie dreams.
Heidi rolls over. Her eyes flutter open, and to my relief they’re just as blue and perfect as they should be. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say immediately.
“Bad dream?” she squints at me.
“The worst.”
“What was it?”
Later I’ll look back on this moment and see it for what it is—another chance to prevent myself from ruining everything. But I don’t do the smart thing. “Lost the puck to Dallas a minute before the buzzer.”
Heidi’s gaze holds mine. She pushes herself up on one hand, and the covers fall away, revealing a tiny little satin nightie. She’s staring at me with a rare intensity.
Now I’m self-conscious, so I gather her hair up in one hand, feeling its silkiness against my palm. “What?” I demand.
Those blue eyes narrow. “You freak out like that, and you want me to think you’re dreaming about the Dallas defense?”
College degree or not, Heidi is as smart as they come. And yet I do the asshole thing anyway. “Yes,” I insist.
Our gazes lock. Heidi is trying to decide whether or not to call me on my bullshit. Four nights in a row I’ve had these dreams. In one version, I’m in the car that hit Lissa’s. When I get out of the vehicle to see what happened, her body is lying on the side of the road.
I’m a fucking wreck, and I don’t know how to stop being one.
Heidi makes up her mind. Instead of chewing me out, she gets up on her knees and positions herself behind me. She puts her smooth hands on the back of my neck and begins to rub her thumb against the stiffness she finds there.
Grateful, I drop my foolish head. She can’t see my look of relief. I don’t want to talk about it, and I doubt she really wants me to. Heidi is attracted to the Jason Castro who has his shit together. She doesn’t need to know that I feel like a big bag of crazy. That my mind is full of violent images and terrible possibilities.
Heidi’s hands dig into the knots at my shoulders. Nonetheless, I feel a huge gulf opening up between us. I’ve gone back to being a frozen man, and I don’t know what to do. “That feels amazing,” I say, so as not to be an ungrateful bastard.
In answer, she lowers her mouth to my neck and gives me a lingering kiss.
Goosebumps break out on my body as she kisses me again. Her soft lips trace a line along the back of my neck. Her hands wander to my bare chest, where her fingertips trace my nipples, and then coast down the center of my abs.
My libido responds to her, as it always does. I feel my cock begin to grow heavy as she drops open-mouthed kisses onto my shoulder. Her tongue tastes my skin, and her hands coast down my body. I’m a lucky man. The luckiest.
Except for one thing. There’s still acid in the pit of my stomach. The fight-or-flight response I had to that dream is still lingering just beneath the sur
face of my skin. When I blink, my eyes are hot.
My body is all heat and confusion, lust and remorse. Tension tightens my chest, as if chains of steel were there instead of her arms.
I’m so caught, and I don’t know what to do. If I turn around and push Heidi down on the bed, I could lose myself in sex. I could unleash myself on her. I could take her like a beast.
Part of me craves that release. I want to fuck her long and hard, and I also want to burst into tears. It’s even odds which of those things might happen. Or maybe both.
I feel insane right now. And that’s no way to make love to your girl.
Catching Heidi’s hand, I stop its journey into my boxer shorts. Because I’ll protect Heidi against anything. Even myself. “Come here,” I mumble. I give her a little tug, and she takes the hint, moving around to my side.
From there I pull her into my lap and wrap my arms around her. I tuck my chin onto her shoulder and bury my nose in her hair. My hug is as tight as a Titanic survivor’s grip on the life raft.
And Heidi rolls with it. She ruffles my hair with one hand. She tucks her cheek against my chest and sighs. Best of all, she doesn’t ask for an explanation. She just holds me.
This is what I was always afraid of. My frigid heart is back. And I’m not the only one who will suffer.
“Coffee and bagels,” I mumble eventually, after my pulse finally slows. “Want to go out and grab breakfast?”
A beat goes by before she answers. “Sure.”
My heart drops again. I can hear her disappointment, and her confusion. This is why I haven’t dated anyone for five years. This awkwardness right here is the reason. Heidi wants sex, and so do I. But she also wants real intimacy.
Today I just don’t have it in me.
Heidi makes me want to be the kind of guy who isn’t too damaged for easygoing weekend morning sex. But I’m not that guy today, and there aren’t any words to explain. Because I don’t really understand it myself. What kind of idiot turns down sex just because he had a bad dream?
Things improve for me at One Girl Cookies. Coffee is a miracle drug, for starters. I buy us two giant cappuccinos and one of everything they make—quiche, muffins, croissants. We cut every offering in half and share.
I’m soothed by the scent of baked goods and the coffee shop noises. It’s harder to feel crazy over the clink of coffee cups and the sound of the milk frother. Heidi makes all the conversation. She tells me her daring plan to finish up her time with the Ice Girls.
“I’m going to audition for the dance team. And I’m going to record all the rules he has for the dancers—that he’ll fire me if I gain ten pounds, and that I’m not allowed to fraternize with the players.”
I choke on my coffee. “You little rule-breaker!”
She smiles. “I know! Like it’s any of his business who I’m with. I can’t wait to see his face when Rebecca terminates his contract. He’s going to be so mad.”
That’s a sobering thought. “Honey, I don’t think you should approach the man after Rebecca lets him go. If he’s angry, I don’t want you near him.”
Heidi makes an angry noise. “Think about what you just said. You can’t forbid me to talk to him, just like he can’t forbid me to talk to you! Do you hear yourself?”
Whoops. I really should have phrased that differently. “Good point,” I say quickly. “But I respectfully suggest that you don’t put yourself in an angry man’s path when you’re alone, at least.”
Heidi eyes me over the rim of her coffee mug. “The only time you ever make me mad is when you don’t treat me like an adult.”
Ah. Well, it’s good to know that I’m off the hook for every other nutty thing I’ve done this week. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If you weren’t an adult I wouldn’t like you half so much as I do.”
This wins me a tiny smile. Her phone bleats. Heidi picks it up and squints at the screen. “It’s my sister. I should probably talk to her.”
“Actually, I have an errand down the block. Meet you back at home?”
“Sure,” she says brightly. “I’m going to grab a muffin for Silas before I call my sister back. I’m worried about him.”
“He’s okay,” I say instinctively. Sometimes a guy just needs to make a few poor life choices to exorcise the demons in his head. The other night in Seattle when we got snowed in? Silas and I both got plastered. And to the surprise of pretty much everyone in the bar, Silas picked up a hockey fangirl and took her upstairs.
Silas never bangs the fans. But that doesn’t mean he shouldn’t indulge if he feels the urge.
“Still,” she says, stacking our empty plates. “I’m going to bring him a pastry.”
I take the plates out of her hands. “You’re the best girl in the world. I got these. Go buy muffins and call your sister.”
She gives me a grateful smile that I don’t really deserve and picks up her bag. “See you in fifteen.”
When I leave the coffee shop, I head straight for the florist on the corner. The same surly woman is behind the counter again. “You’re back,” she says. “Does that mean it’s going well?”
“Uh,” I say stupidly. But the question catches me off guard. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
She cackles, but I’m not joking. Heidi is fantastic. I care for her a hell of a lot more than I ever planned to. But I don’t know how to navigate my own drama. And I sure as hell don’t want to drag her down with me.
“Page four, I think.” She flips open her book. “This one here is for fighting over nothing.” She taps a multicolored arrangement. “Does that fit?”
“Not exactly. What kind of flower says—I’m sorry I’m trapped inside my own dumb head?”
“Hmm.” She squints at me. “I’m going to do up some poppies and draping ivy. It will look smashing.”
“Thank you.” I slap my credit card down on the counter.
“But it won’t do the trick,” she adds.
“What? You’re the master of floral expressions. It says so right on that wall!” I point.
“I am,” she agrees. “But you look like a smart man. Or at least not the stupidest one I’ve ever met. So you probably already know that spilling your guts is the only fix for what ails ya.”
Suddenly I don’t even want the fucking flowers. I just want to punch something. Because if I open my mouth to spill my guts, nothing but darkness will come out. How does that help?
Wisely, she picks up my credit card and walks toward the cooler, while I stand here feeling empty. “It’s all up to you,” she says, plucking out a gorgeous pot of red poppies and turning toward her workspace. “The next time you’re in my shop, you could be a page one again. Or a page thirteen.”
I hate that she’s right.
Five minutes later I sign the slip in silence. The flowers are stunning, as she’d promised. “Thanks,” I grunt, picking them up.
“You’re welcome,” she says cheerfully. “Come back any time.”
I wonder if I will.
34
Heidi
In the corner of the dressing room, I hurry to lace up my skates before everyone else. With shaking hands, I pop the microphone Rebecca gave me into my phone and set it to record.
This is it. I’m going to record Randy Cavanaugh’s sins and fix his fate for good.
It’s only a practice, not a game. But all the other girls are still fixing their makeup. I tuck my phone into a Brooklyn sweatshirt I borrowed from Jason—it’s roomy, so the phone doesn’t show in the pocket—and I hurry out of the cramped dressing room and down the hall.
Randy Cavanaugh is right outside the stadium door, smoking a cigarette. I’m feeling very James Bond as I step outside to talk to him. “There you are,” I say in a breathless voice. “It’s time we talk about my dance-team audition.”
He blows smoke out of his greasy nose, and I try to smile through my horror.
“You’re a fine skater, Heidi. Haven’t had to fire you yet. But I got a million girls
who can dance. Auditions aren’t until spring.”
“Just give me a chance,” I beg.
“You want special treatment, huh? You have the look of the kind of girl who thinks the world should fall at her feet.”
“Maybe I am that kind of girl,” I agree, trying to keep the conversation going. “If I don’t expect a lot, then how am I going to get it?”
He actually rolls his eyes before taking another puff on his cancer stick. Apparently he’s unimpressed by girls who show initiative. But I already know this about Cavanaugh. He likes girls he can push around. The ones who never make a wish list. He wants the girls who don’t even know they should make one and keep dreaming big.
After this I’m going to go home and add a dozen things to mine. Just for therapy.
“Maybe you’d be a great addition to the dance team,” he says finally. “Imma leave it up to you to convince me.”
Here we go! “And how am I going to do that?” I give him my most innocent face.
“I’ll leave it up to your imagination. Here’s my private number.” He pulls a card out of his jeans pocket. “You want to meet up and talk about it, you can come over tonight.”
“What are we going to talk about?” I try. “You should see me dance, maybe.”
He throws the cigarette on the ground, cementing my fine impression of him. “Yeah, okay. Wear something sexy.”
“Like what?” I just need him to say one really crude thing. “Look, I study to get an A. Tell me what it takes.”
He sizes me up, as if trying to decide how much he’s willing to say. I have goosebumps everywhere, and I hope I don’t look as creeped out as I feel.
“Look. I dunno if you’re cut out for the dance team. My favorite auditions are the ones with no clothes at all. You call me if you think you might want to try out.”
“Okay,” I say quickly. Now I’m fighting a smile. I may be a terrible actress, but I have just won this war.