There were nods and murmurs of assent. Jason took the cross from his mother from around his neck and hung it up in his locker, where he always left it between games. He’d only ever forgotten to wear it once, and that night, he’d had his nose broken. That’s when he remembered another good luck charm he used to rely on in Minnesota.
“Cap, can I talk to you in private after we shower?” Jason asked Michael.
“I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Delilah peered out the limo’s tinted windows at muted sunlight as the car glided silently down Seventh Avenue toward Met Gar. When Jason had first come to her saying he’d gotten permission to bring Stanley to his remaining games for good luck, she’d laughed long and hard. He couldn’t be serious!
But he was. And since Stanley was his dog, she really didn’t have a leg to stand on. The clincher came when he asked her to come with them. Via limo. So she could watch the game with Stanley from a skybox. Her hermit instinct immediately kicked in.
“I have my own dogs to take care of,” she’d pointed out.
“There’s Marcus,” he said. “I’ll pay him so much he’ll think he died and won the lottery.”
“Why can’t Eric do it?” Delilah asked.
“Unreliable,” Jason had rebutted. “Plus he doesn’t like Stan. Plus he might be with Brandi.” Delilah pretended not to hear the last sentence.
“What if it freaks Stanley out?” Delilah demanded, starting to feel desperate.
“Have you ever known Stanley to freak out?” Jason retorted. “The only person he loves more than me is you. If you’re there, he’ll be fine. You know it.”
For some insane reason, Delilah had capitulated. Maybe it was the desperation in Jason’s eyes. Maybe it was his admission of Stanley’s attachment to her. Or maybe it was that the whole thing felt a tiny bit like an adventure, something she didn’t embark on very often. Correction: ever.
She looked down at Stanley, snoring happily on the limo’s plushly carpeted floor as if there was no place else he’d rather be. He’d been a little listless the first few days home after surgery, and with jagged black stitches lining his shaved belly, he looked a little disconcerting, but overall, he was doing great. He’d even gone back to trying to sneak up on her couch, which Delilah took as a good sign.
“I hope we can get him out of the car when we get to Met Gar,” Delilah said. “He looks like he’d be quite happy to stay here.”
Jason nodded distractedly. He’d been jiggling his left leg madly ever since they’d climbed into the back of the limo. In fact, it was beginning to drive Delilah a little nuts.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
Jason seemed surprised by the question. “What? Sure. Why?”
She pointed to his leg. “Oh,” said Jason. His leg stopped moving. “Sorry about that. I guess I’m a little preoccupied.”
“About the game?”
Jason turned to look out the window. “Yeah, pretty much.”
Pretty much?
Alarm bells started sounding in Delilah’s head. “Jason, you have clearance to bring Stanley inside Met Gar, right?”
Jason’s gaze remained fixed on the window. “Kind of.”
Delilah could actually feel the muscles in her neck beginning to knot. “What do you mean, ‘Kind of’?”
Jason reluctantly turned back to her. “I kind of have an unofficial green light. My captain said if I can get him in and out without corporate finding out, then I should feel free. But if I get caught, he’ll say he doesn’t know a thing about it. So I kind of have one of the security guys and Larry Levin helping me out.”
“Oh my God.”
Delilah could see it now: Met Gar security breaking into the skybox and putting her in cuffs . . . a story about it on the local eleven o’clock news . . . a picture in the papers the next morning of her and Stanley being led away.
“It’ll be fine,” Jason assured her, patting her knee.
“If it’ll be fine, why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous. I’m sure everything will go off without a hitch.” He hesitated. “But just in case it doesn’t, don’t worry. I’ll take full responsibility for whatever happens.”
Delilah pitched back against the car seat in frustration. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“Yeah, but that’s why—”
You love me, Delilah silently finished for him. Jason covered the gaffe with a quick clearing of his throat before leaning over to pet Stanley. The sad truth of the matter was, she did love him. But what did it matter? She and Jason had been one of those round peg, square hole couples. No matter how hard you tried to make them fit, they didn’t.
“Almost there,” Jason murmured, more to himself than Delilah. He hit the button to lower the glass between the front and back seats. “I’m going to direct you to a special entrance,” he told the limo driver. “I need you to be waiting there until this young lady comes back outside with the dog later tonight. We’re clear on that, right?”
“Yes, sir,” said the driver.
Jason turned to Delilah. “Ready?”
“I hate you,” Delilah said with a glare.
But both of them knew it was a lie.
Jason would never admit it to Delilah, but he was experiencing some trepidation about the Stan Plan. If anything went wrong, corporate would hang him and his three-year contract out to dry, and Ty would let them.
With the help of Larry Levin and Joey Sacco, a Met Gar security guard whom Jason knew was a dog lover, Jason had concocted a plan. He, Delilah, and Stanley would arrive by limo at one of Met Gar’s lesser-known entrances. Larry would be waiting there for them to make sure the coast was clear. If it was, Stan, Delilah, and Jason would take the service elevator down to locker room level, where Joey, the security guard for that floor, would conveniently be “on break.” Jason and Delilah would quickly hustle Stanley into the locker room, hanging there until Joey knocked on the door three times. Joey would then conveniently take another break, allowing Delilah and Stan to go up to skybox level once Larry again gave them the heads-up. They’d do the same thing at the end of the game, sans locker room visit. The only other difference would be that Delilah would leave in the middle of the third period to avoid the departing hordes. Was it risky? Yes. Was it worth it? Jason thought so.
Jason directed the limo to the appointed entrance. He was relieved to see Larry Levin hovering at the door as he hopped out of the car.
“Hurry,” Larry barked.
As Delilah had feared, Stanley was reluctant to leave the limo, though he obeyed when Jason gave him the command for “Up,” albeit with a dirty look. Jason quickly hustled Stanley through the door, Delilah in tow, looking like she was going to throw up.
“This way,” Larry commanded, walking briskly toward an elevator at the far end of the hall. Jason could hear voices coming from somewhere; he assumed Joey Sacco was nearby, chatting up people to detain them.
Jason, Delilah, and Larry all seemed to breathe a collective sigh of relief as the elevator doors slid shut, and the elevator began its descent.
“That’s not a dog,” said Larry Levin, staring at Stanley agog, “that’s a friggin’ pony. You couldn’t own a bichon frise?”
Jason snorted. “No self-respecting jock owns a bichon frise, believe me.”
“How you doin’, Delilah?” Larry asked, looking concerned.
“I’m okay. Look, Larry, remember when we met at Tully’s party and I disappeared for awhile and then left on my own near midnight and—”
“Not now,” Jason said sharply. Delilah seemed to shrink against the back of the elevator. “I mean, we just don’t have time,” he amended gently. This was not the best time for Delilah to turn into Babbling Brook, though he could see how nervous she was.
“It’s going to be fine,” he told her again.
Delilah just nodded.
The elevator doors squeaked open, and Larry stuck his head out. “The coast is clear.” He regarded Jason
. “Fifteen minutes, right?”
Jason nodded. “Sacco should knock in fifteen minutes. You be here waiting.”
“Go, go, go,” Larry urged.
Jason legged it out of the elevator as fast as he could. For once, he wished Stanley was one of those lithe, high-strung dogs; at least they moved quickly. He paused before plunging into the locker room.
“You gonna be okay?” he asked Delilah.
Her eyes flashed with alarm. “Sure, as soon as you tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do for fifteen minutes.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.”
“Clearly.”
Jason looked both ways down the hallway. “Ladies’ room?” He pointed to the left. “It’s that way. Or you could just hang out here.”
“And if someone comes by, I tell them—what?”
“The truth: that you’re my—friend, and you’re waiting for me.”
Delilah gave him a strange look and leaned against the wall trying, he supposed, to look as inconspicuous as possible. Jesus, he’d nearly done it again, put his foot in his mouth where Delilah was concerned. First in the limo, and now this. He needed to watch himself around her.
“Okay.” He patted Stan’s back. “Showtime, big guy.” He regarded Delilah. “See you in fifteen.”
“God willing,” she replied dryly.
He started into the locker room, then paused. “Delilah?”
“Mmm?”
“Thank you.” A rush of emotion overcame him, rendering him unexpectedly tongue-tied. “For being willing to do this, I mean. It means a lot to me.” Shit, he was starting to sound like her. “I mean—”
Delilah held up a hand. “I know what you mean. See you in fifteen.”
“Ho-ly shit.”
Michael Dante’s big brown eyes bugged out of his head as Jason ushered Stan into the locker room, locking the door behind them. For a split second, everyone just stared at Stanley in awe. The next thing Jason knew, he and Stan were being surrounded by his teammates, and he was being bombarded with questions.
“What is that, a baby bear?”
“How much does that sucker weigh?”
“Yo, what the hell kind of dog is that?”
“Gentlemen,” said Jason proudly, “I want you to meet Stanley.”
Appreciative laughter rippled through the locker room. As always, Stanley basked calmly in the attention. He looked damn regal sitting there, his large black head tilted up nobly.
“Is it okay to pet him?” Tully Webster asked nervously.
“Of course,” said Jason. “He loves it.”
Hands shot out from all directions to pat Stanley’s head or stroke his back.
“What kind of dog is this again?” Thad Meyers asked.
“A Newf,” Jason answered.
Michael Dante recoiled slightly as Stan panted. “His breath is foul.”
“I didn’t get a chance to brush his teeth this week,” Jason explained apologetically.
“You brush your dog’s fucking teeth?” Denny O’Malley jeered.
“Yeah. You might want to try it yourself sometime.”
Accompanied by sniggers, Denny stormed back to his locker to continue dressing. David Hewson, meanwhile, had crouched to examine Stanley’s belly.
“What’s with the stitches?” he asked.
“Minor surgery. Shouldn’t you be off throwing up?”
“Oh. Right.” David stood and rubbed the top of Stanley’s head. “For luck,” he explained before trooping off to the bathroom. The entire locker room held its breath, waiting for the sound of David retching. When it came, it was like music to their ears.
“Stanley,” each of the Blades intoned solemnly as they took turns petting Stanley’s head, Michael Dante included.
“I don’t want to know how you got him in here,” he said to Jason as the team began dressing. “I just hope to hell you can get him out.”
“Piece of cake,” Jason assured him. He crouched down, pressing his forehead against Stanley’s.
“Bring us luck tonight, boy,” he whispered. “Please.”
CHAPTER 28
“What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
Delilah closed the door to the team’s skybox and waited for Eric to answer. It wasn’t stressful enough she’d had to sneak into Met Gar with an animal the size of a pony and pray she didn’t get caught. Now she had to deal with her ex-boyfriend’s brother, who had her father’s ex-fiancée in tow.
“My brother’s in the Cup finals,” Eric answered. “Of course I’m gonna be here.”
“Jason didn’t mention anything about you being here.”
“That’s because he’s stupid, and probably distracted.” Eric looked down at Stanley. “What is he doing here?”
“He’s the team mascot.” Delilah made a subtle gesture toward Brandi, who’d dramatically turned her back on Delilah the minute she came in. “What’s she doing here?” she asked quietly.
“She’s my mascot.”
“Spare me.”
Eric reached down to give Stanley a cursory pat on the head. “You know you’re breaking the law, right?”
“Of course I do.” As calmly as she could, since Eric’s words made her even more nauseous than she was already feeling, Delilah explained Jason’s elaborate, hopefully foolproof, scheme. Eric’s response was a snort.
“Oh, man. You are so going to be an item in the Sentinel’s ‘Police Blotter.’ ”
Delilah scowled at him. “That’s very helpful, Eric. Thank you.”
Eric shook his head. “I can’t believe he talked you into this.”
“Neither can I.” Delilah put a protective arm around Stanley as he sat, leaning against her.
“Why would you help him out on this after he dumped you? If it were me—”
“He told you he dumped me?”
Eric looked intrigued. “That’s not how it went down?” he asked eagerly.
“I broke up with him first,” Delilah declared.
“Then why are you helping the loser out, risking your neck to bring Stan the Man to Met Gar?”
It was a good question, one that Delilah wasn’t prepared to answer honestly, at least not out loud. “We’re still friends.”
“Yeah? Let’s see how good a friend he is when you get arrested with his dog.”
Delilah ignored the comment, escorting Stanley farther into the sanctuary of the skybox. Having never been in one before, she hadn’t known what to expect. It was quite plush, with incredibly comfortable seats, its own bar, its own bathroom, and platters of food, one of which Brandi was busily divesting of pepperoni slices. Delilah approached her, uncertain of what to say.
“Your father’s a total ween,” Brandi declared, not looking up.
Delilah could deal with a lot of things; a gold-digging bimbo calling her father a “ween” wasn’t one of them. “You seem to have recovered from your heartbreak pretty fast,” Delilah noted dryly.
“Now, girls,” Eric chided in a tone so obnoxiously paternal Delilah wanted to smack him, “the only fights I want to see are down on the ice.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge before settling down in one of the comfy chairs with a satisfied sigh. “Game three of the quest for the Cup, Blades versus Detroit. This is gonna rock.”
“Goddamn, they’re kicking major ass tonight.”
Delilah smiled nervously at Eric’s observation as she peered down from the skybox at the action on the ice below. The score was 3-2 with New York in the lead. Eric explained to her how Jason’s teammate Doogie Malone had scored the second goal, taking “a perfect feed in the slot” from Thad Meyers and “wristing” the puck into the net on a “power play.” Eric was so excited Delilah didn’t have the heart to tell him she had no idea what he was talking about. Her gaze followed the puck on the ice, which she knew wasn’t what you were supposed to do; but it was the only thing her eyes could really latch on to, except for Jason. Every time he hit the ice she watched avidly, unable to tear h
er eyes away from him.
She peered behind her to check on Stanley, who was on his back, snoring, his belly exposed for all the world to see. “Maybe Stan is bringing them luck,” she mused aloud.
“I think it’s more likely the realization that if they don’t win tonight, they’re fucked,” said Eric, eyes still glued to the ice as he tilted his head back to finish off his beer. “Je-sus!” he suddenly spluttered. “Did you see that?!”
“What?” Delilah asked, turning from Stanley as the roar of the crowd filled her ears. What had she missed?
“Jason! The fucker just scored on a low slap shot!”
Delilah looked down on the ice in time to see Jason getting pats on the butt from his teammates as he headed back to the bench. Brandi turned to Eric.
“Why do you pat each other’s heinies like that?” she asked him.
Eric looked disturbed. “Hockey players don’t have heinies, honey. We have asses. Don’t forget that, okay?” He directed his attention back to the ice. “Jace is playing incredibly well tonight,” he murmured.
“You should tell him that.”
Eric turned to Delilah with a horrified expression. “Huh?”
“You’re his brother,” said Delilah. “Can’t you tell him he played well?”
Eric looked disgusted. “What is he, a pussy? He knows what I think.”
“Maybe he needs to hear it.”
“Did he tell you that?” Eric prodded, sounding alarmed.
“No,” said Delilah, feeling put on the spot. “I just thought it might be nice.”
“I’ll tell him if they win the Cup. Any sooner, and he’ll get a swelled head.” Eric’s gaze returned to the action below. Delilah followed suit, watching Jason as he climbed over the boards and back out onto the ice. She didn’t know very much about hockey, but even she noticed Jason had been playing a lot. “How are your folks?” she asked abruptly. “You know, I really liked them. They seemed really nice and—”
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