On Thin Ice

by Bernadette Marie

  The truth was she’d said no; but it wasn’t because of Chris, it was because of her.

  “You need to go.”

  “I do. Suddenly the view is not so appealing.”

  He turned and left the bakery, and Malory followed him to the door and locked it behind him. She rested her back against the door and threw back her head. Quincy LeBlanc was a foul man and now she’d added to the flame of hatred he had toward Christopher. She couldn’t live with herself if retaliated against Christopher because she’d turned him down.

  Malory drove around the parking lot of the rink trying to find a place to park. It was only noon, but she ended up having to park on the side of the highway and walk the boxes of cookies to the door. Once inside she could send someone else out to the Jeep to retrieve the rest.

  She walked through the front door, and the murmur of players and reporters talking filled her ears. All of the players were there, and they were giving interviews; some of the reporters stood before television cameras and others jotted down notes or recorded the conversations on recorders.

  Malory did her best to maneuver through the crowd to the concession stand without talking to anyone. She tucked herself behind the closed door and found Maggie setting up the buffet of concession items that would bring in extra revenue.

  “I thought you were a no-show.”

  Malory let out a breath. If it had been anyone but Maggie, she would have dropped off the box and moved on without comment.

  “Just running late I guess.” She began to fill the plastic stand that would house the cookies. “I have about three more boxes in the car. I’ll run out and—”

  “We’ll get someone to get them.” She placed her hands on Malory’s shoulders and steered her around so they were face-to-face. “Something is wrong. You’ve been crying.”

  “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

  “Knowing what a wreck Christopher is right now, I’m going out on a limb to say he wasn’t the one who upset you.”

  “It’s nothing. I said I was fine.” But the tears were still stinging her eyes. She dropped her shoulders. “I was just reminded that he’s not the kind of man to settle down. I can’t make him that kind of man.”

  “What in are you talking about?” Maggie’s face went hard, and Malory retreated a step. Nothing good came about when Maggie Douglas’s eyes turned hard. “That man loves you, and I’m pretty sure you love him. So don’t tell me what he wants when you obviously don’t know what you want.”

  “I know what I want.” She wiped at her eyes. “I want him. But I want him to want me. But that’s not what he’s like. He’s not that kind of man. He’s the kind who . . .”

  Maggie stepped toward her and narrowed her eyes, ceasing Malory’s verbal assault on Christopher.

  His mother lifted a finger and took a moment to choose her words. “He’s going to kill me for this, but . . .” She looked around the empty room. “He’s exactly who you want him to be. You broke his heart when you told him you wouldn’t marry him. Chris wants to live here and marry you, and he wants to have a family with you.”

  “How do you know?”

  Maggie tucked her hands into the pockets of her apron. Her eyebrows rose and color filled her cheeks. “Aside from being his mother, I’m the one who picked out your ring.”

  “My ring?” The words caught in her throat. The sting of tears came again, but this time they were joyful tears. “He didn’t give up? He’s going to ask me again?”

  Maggie lifted her hand and waved off Malory’s excitement. “Now you hush about it or you’ll get me in trouble. I just don’t want you giving up on him.”

  “Never. Never. LeBlanc was wrong. He doesn’t know anything about Chris at all.”

  Christopher stood among the hundreds of people who filtered in and out of the arena. The fire marshal was working the front door allowing access only to those who had passes for early admittance.

  Many of the players had taken tables out to the parking lot and began signing autographs for fans who crowded the small town hoping to get a peek of their favorite players. Others kept the media busy with interviews.

  His nerves had settled, and he was beginning to enjoy himself and the moment he’d brought to Aspen Creek and her residents.

  The scoreboard counted down the time to the game. One hour and forty-five minutes.

  He looked around the rink again. The one person he hadn’t seen all day was Wil.

  His mother walked out of Harvey’s office with a grin on her face. The same one he’d seen on Wil earlier that day. The smile of a woman in love.

  A skip in his heartbeat gave him a little jolt. Wil loved him as much as he loved her. It was obvious by the look he’d seen on her face. He checked the scoreboard again. Only a few hours until he’d ask her, again, to be his wife.

  He found Wil helping Maggie in the concession stand and had to wait in line to talk to her.

  “Have you been hiding from me?” He scooped her up in his arms and planted a wet, smacking kiss on her lips.

  “Just letting you settle all your business.”

  He watched her eyes. They sparkled like the eyes of a woman in love. “It looks like we’re heading back to get ready. I just wanted one more kiss for luck.”

  Wil placed her hands on his cheeks and pulled him to her. Her warm, soft lips took possession of his. “For luck.” She rested her forehead against his.

  “I’ll see you after.”

  “I’ll be right here.”

  He couldn’t tear his eyes from her. “I love you.”

  Her eyes opened wide, then her gaze settled into his. A smile crossed her lips, but her brows drew together. “Be careful out there.” She nuzzled herself closer to him. “I love you.”

  Those three words were all he needed to give him the energy to play his heart out for the town, the rink, and the woman he loved. It was game time and he was ready.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The locker room buzzed with the excitement and adrenaline that made hockey great. And this time there wasn’t the pressure of points and wins that counted for so much during play-offs. Christopher hadn’t felt this way in over a year. It was invigorating. He’d missed it. When he left hockey he was tired of the game he loved and the politics of the sport. It was nice to feel the excitement of it again.

  The players bantered back and forth as they put on their pads and commented on the jersey designs. Christopher sat in the corner, a smile plastered on his lips—until Quincy LeBlanc pushed open the door.

  “Bonjour, girls. You ready to play hockey?”

  The room went quiet.

  “Why don’t you sit down and get your gear on.” Cal Brighton made a checkmark on his clipboard.

  “Ouais, okay. Sure, Coach. I get ready.” He moved to the back of the room and dropped his duffel next to Christopher.

  Quincy began stripping off his street clothes and putting on his pads. The room began to empty. Christopher held his temper in and finished getting dressed.

  “You pulled it off, eh?” Quincy adjusted the straps on his pads. “I’m surprised. You never had much enthousiasme for the game.”

  “LeBlanc, save it for the ice. Those people all paid for a good game. Give it to them.”

  “Oh, they will get a good show.”

  “Glad to hear it.” Christopher finished lacing his skates and stood to leave the room. Quincy LeBlanc had set his heart rate shooting up just by having opened his mouth.

  “Hey, Douglas.” The irritating voice spoke from behind him and he stopped. “I had a little chat with your woman.”

  Christopher turned around and Quincy was right there, his face only inches from his own. His pointy, scarred chin jutted out and his eyes narrowed.

  “Invited her to go to the Bahamas. Figured I could show her a good time. Something I am sure you could not give her.”

  “Leave Wil out of this.” His voice rose with his anger as he took a step closer to LeBlanc, his chest expanding under its protector.
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br />   “Her hair, it smells good, eh? I loved the feeling of my fingers tangled in it.” He grinned. “So did she.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Christopher shoved him, and LeBlanc’s helmet banged against the concrete wall. “I’ll kill you.”

  “You think you are man enough? The puck will not go your way.” Quincy shoved Christopher back as Cal flew toward them.

  “That’s enough, you two. You save it for the ice. And you”—he poked a finger into Quincy’s chest—“remember you’re on the same team.”

  “So we are.” Quincy sniffed and walked past the two men.

  “You all right?” Cal set his hand on Christopher’s padded shoulder.

  “I’ll be fine.” He sucked in a breath and slowly let it out.

  Malory managed her way to the side of the rink as the players skated to their benches. The small town rink sounded like a professional one with the music and the lights and the crowd. The paramedics and extra police officers that had been assigned to the game stood near the large doors that led to the ice. It wasn’t part of the scenery usually, but neither were the masses of television cameras. Their venues were usually small. The crowd was only a minute selection of a full stadium in a major city, but it had done its job. It had saved the rink at Aspen Creek.

  She’d caught Christopher’s eyes and the fear and anger in them trickled right down to her toes. He narrowed them and focused their stare on her. Had she done something wrong?

  The game began and the players took their positions. The puck dropped and Malory had to turn away. For fifteen years she’d gone without seeing a game in which Christopher was involved. She didn’t know if she could do it now.

  The look on Samantha’s face when Malory opened the door to the concession stand was one of pure shock.

  “What are you doing back here? Maggie will skin me if she knows you’re back here.”

  “I thought I was helping out here.”

  “You’re supposed to be watching the game.” Samantha put her hands on Malory’s shoulders and spun her around so she faced the door. “Go and don’t you come back until the end of the first period. Then you can help.”

  The door slammed shut between them, and Malory let out a laugh and then a sigh. She had no choice. She needed to watch the game she’d suggested he put together.

  The crowd never settled. Each side, every player, had a fan base there supporting them. The first goal was scored by the visiting team, but then answered just as quickly by the home team. Christopher was on the bench waiting for his rotation. She caught his eye again, and this time he smiled.

  The warmth of joy filled her cold body. He was enjoying himself; she could see it in the twinkle of his eyes. That part of his life he’d been missing was back, even if for only a few hours.

  The players shifted lines and Christopher jumped over the wall and skated into center position. The puck dropped, and he got his stick around it and shot down the ice, swerving between the other team’s offense men. Christopher raised his stick and took a slap shot. The goalie’s glove came up. The puck rang against the goalpost and deflected from the net.

  Christopher caught the puck and skated around the back of the net. Back and forth he balanced the puck on his stick as he waited for his teammates to open the shot. When they did he skated around the net to the outside and then up through the middle and shot the puck in.

  Malory screamed and jumped up and down. He’d scored and his smile was fantastic. The entire team surrounded him, and the crowd erupted in enthusiastic celebration. All but Quincy LeBlanc.

  Malory did as promised and waited till the first period break to make her way to the concession stand. The smell off burnt coffee filled the small room, but she knew that meant everyone had been as engulfed in the game as she’d been.

  She’d sold out of her cookies, and the muffins on the tray were the last dozen. If it were any other game, she’d have run back to the bakery and grabbed another box. But as it was she wasn’t going to miss a moment.

  The second period saw Christopher score again, and the other team answered with two more points.

  The chill from the air that stirred on the ice seeped through Malory’s jacket, but the enjoyment in Christopher’s eyes warmed her.

  Going into the third, the home team tied it up and it stayed that way until the last four minutes of the game.

  Cal had kept Christopher and Quincy off the ice at the same time. The plays had worked out, but now the team needed them both. Malory’s heart kicked up a notch when she saw them both jump the wall and head out onto the ice.

  The game remained tied as the clock ticked away. Then the puck was on Christopher’s stick and he was moving swiftly down the ice. Quincy skated ahead; a pass was cut off by an opposing player, but Christopher kept the puck in control. He maneuvered back and forth, trying to shake the player when Quincy LeBlanc moved up from behind him. The clock continued to count down, the crowd joined in the count.

  Malory watched as Quincy LeBlanc skated up on Christopher’s heels. His stick snaked between his feet and he drove his shoulder into his back. There was a gasp from the crowd when Christopher’s own teammate slammed him into the boards.

  Blood pounded through Malory’s body and deadened the screams that erupted around her. Someone caught her and held her up so she wouldn’t slide to the floor. People raced to Christopher on the ice. She tried to go to him, but whoever had caught her wouldn’t let her go. His helmet had flown off and his blood stained the ice. He wasn’t moving.

  It was Mac Stern whose arms she was in. “Are you okay?”

  “Chris . . .” It was all she could get out.

  “They’ve got the paramedics out there now.”

  Maggie was by her side helping Mac get her to her feet. They looked out over the ice and the swarm of people who crowded in around him. Harvey lifted his head above the others and caught their eyes. He tucked in his lips and shook his head then disappeared back into the sea of people.

  Malory swayed again and this time it was Maggie’s arm that came up around her. The woman was a rock even in a crisis.

  Police escorted Quincy LeBlanc from the ice, for his own protection, as the crowd booed and hissed at him and some went after him, but the smile on his face was smug. Malory knew at that moment he’d signed on to take Christopher out for good. He’d never managed it as a professional but now he’d done his deed.

  Once Quincy LeBlanc was gone the crowd grew silent. They moved Christopher to a board and lifted him to a gurney.

  Malory’s eyes flooded with tears and his own mother patted her shoulder.

  “He’s fine. He’s going to be fine.” She repeated again and again, but even the usually sturdy voice of Maggie Douglas shook.

  Malory looked out at the crowd around him. He didn’t look fine to her at all.

  Malory and Maggie followed the paramedics outside. A moment later a booming noise filled the night sky followed by bright lights as the helicopter they had called in to fly him to Denver landed in the back lot behind the arena. Her knees buckled again. Christopher was worse than she had thought.

  Harvey ran toward her and Maggie. He laid a hand on Maggie’s shoulder; his eyes were far from dry. “You need to go with him. We’ll be right behind you.”

  When he removed his hand from her shoulder, Malory noticed how much it shook. That told her everything. Christopher wasn’t okay.

  The hour drive to Grand Junction with her father was silent. They’d turned off the radio; every station had picked up the story of poor sportsmanship gone bad. There was no way she wanted to hear Christopher’s fate from a reporter.

  She cried again. She didn’t want to hear anything about Christopher. She wanted to hear from Christopher. Positive thoughts, she had to think positive thought, she reminded herself. But it just wasn’t happening.

  Harvey parked the car in the parking garage of the hospital, and the two of them ran through the doors of the emergency room. Media had crowded the entrance, but the reporters r
ushing them, asking questions, didn’t slow her and her father down as they raced through the doors. A guard waited for them and escorted them to the back where Maggie sat alone in a cold, white room.

  She stood when she saw them and immediately she fell into Harvey’s arms and sobbed against his shoulder. Malory’s chest ached. She rubbed away the pain.

  “Is he . . .” There wasn’t anything she wanted to end that sentence with.

  “He’s in surgery. Head trauma and internal bleeding.” Maggie lifted her head and looked at them both. “They said one more concussion might kill him.” She sucked in a breath. “This is worse than a concussion.”

  Malory felt the blood drain from her face. Her vision blurred and sweat beaded on her brow. For the second time that day Maggie went to her and helped her to a chair to sit. She wished she were as strong as the woman who had to be hurting as much as she was.

  Maggie picked up the medal that hung from Malory’s neck and held it between her fingers. “Pray and ask that they keep him safe.” She swallowed hard. “No matter which side they chose to take him or leave him on.”

  An hour dragged into another and finally a nurse came for them. They had taken Christopher to ICU. The doctor talked to Maggie and Harvey, but all Malory heard were the echoes of screams that lingered in her head from the moment Christopher hit the ice and his helmet flew off.

  Maggie went in to see him first. Malory didn’t know if she’d been in there a few minutes or a few hours. Time had blurred. When Harvey touched her arm to tell her she could go in, she wasn’t sure she could.

  He was going to die and she couldn’t watch that. She’d just reclaimed what she’d always wanted, and now she was going to lose it.

  Maggie met her at the door to his room, wiping her eyes, she looked Malory and stepped to her.

  “Go in. You need to let him hear your voice before you go tonight. Make your peace.”

  Malory shook her head. That sounded to final to her. What was Maggie really telling her? She exchanged glances with her father.