Brutal Love & Stanley Cups_A Slapshot Novel

by Heather C. Myers

  Clara glanced away, out the passenger window. She probably should have thought about this more. They were valid questions to ask, especially if she had volunteered the information in the first place.

  “Dean and I got together after my first year of college,” she said. “I tried out to be an Ice Princess and got rejected because I couldn’t skate and still can’t. He happened to be there and saw me fall flat on my butt trying to scrape off the ice. I think he was there to help bring publicity to it. There wasn’t tons of interest because the Gulls were still new and they weren’t that great of a team. He helped me up, asked me out, and for three months, we were inseparable, except when he was practicing or training.”

  Bill scoffed and Clara glared. “Why are making faces if you asked the question?” she asked. “If you didn’t want to hear the answer, you shouldn’t have asked the question.”

  “Fair enough,” Bill said. He had his elbow on the window sill and his head in his palm, like this was taking all of his energy to deal with.

  Clara opened her mouth, ready to continue. Then, she stopped herself and shook her head.

  “You know what?” she said. “No. No, it’s fine. If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do to change your mind. You either believe me or you don’t, and it sounds like you don’t. That’s fine. Good to know.”

  “What do you want, Clara?” Bill asked before groaning. “I’m tired. I had an awesome night that you ruined because you said that you didn’t feel good and we left the locker room. The locker room tour - something I had always wanted to experience but never got the chance to until now. And you ruined it.”

  “I didn’t want -“

  “You’re selfish, Clara,” Bill said. “This was a big deal to me. Like, I don’t think you realize what a big deal this was to me. And you couldn’t just deal with whatever you were feeling for me. You couldn’t just do that. Even if you had dated, just put up with him, for me. That’s why I’m so upset. Because it doesn’t seem like you’re sick. It seems like you’re feeling good enough to fight with me, just not well enough to let me finish my goddamn conversation with Art Jackman.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way,” she said, her voice low and strained. “Do not talk to me like that at all.”

  “Well, it’s getting kind of -“

  “There’s no excuse, Bill,” she pointed out. “Feel how you want to feel. Don’t believe me. Think I’m selfish. Whatever. But don’t talk to me that way.” She unbuckled her seat belt and popped open the car.

  “Where are you going?” Bill asked. “Clara.”

  But Clara was already out of the car. “Sorry for ruining your night,” she said. “I’ll be back. I just need to be alone.”

  “Clara -“

  Clara didn’t stop walking and Bill never got out to stop her. Instead, he drove off, leaving Clara stranded at the Ice Palace.

  Chapter 6

  Dean wanted to kick something. He knew that inviting her to the locker room was presumptuous. He knew that he wasn’t going to like it when she brought her boyfriend. And he knew he wouldn’t be able to control the shit that came out of his mouth when he talked to her - because he knew he would have to talk to her. He couldn’t be in the same room as she was and not talk to her, even though he probably shouldn’t.

  “Was that her?” Jackman asked after they left.

  Dean hadn’t looked away from the door. There was still a small part of him that hoped she would turn around and come back. He would consider apologizing, even if he didn’t think he didn’t do anything wrong.

  “Her?” he finally asked.

  Jackman nodded, as though that was enough for him to understand the situation.

  “She seems like she has her shit together,” Jackman commented. “I tried to talk to him for as long as I could, man.”

  Dean nodded his head. “I know,” he said. “Apparently, I pissed her off.”

  “Not surprising,” Jackman muttered before clapping him on the back. “Good game, see you tomorrow.”

  Dean was one of the last players out of the locker room. He took a longer shower and tried not to think about Clara, about the way she still smelled like vanilla lavender, the way he still saw stars in her eyes and fire in her hair. The way she still narrowed her eyes at him and got a wrinkle over her nose.

  God, he missed her.

  He got dressed in his street clothes, his hair still damp from the shower. He put his Gulls hat on and walked out the door and up the slope into the parking lot. There weren’t any lingering fans, waiting for a picture or an autograph, something he was grateful for. He loved his fans, but right now, he just wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Maybe crack open a beer when he got home. Maybe.

  He headed to his BMW when he caught sight of a familiar shade of red hair. He paused and did a quick cursory glance around. Nobody else was with her.

  What the fuck?

  “Clara?”

  His booming voice cracked the silence. He saw her glance up and then tilt her head. Even though he couldn’t see her, he was almost positive she was rolling her eyes and he smirked. Some things never changed.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked. “Where’s your friend?”

  Dean would rather be caught with his pants down than call that asshole her boyfriend. He slid his hands in his dark jeans and stopped walking. He didn’t want to scare her off by approaching her.

  She walked towards him but didn’t respond. Instead, she shook her head and looked away. Part of him wanted to reach out and curl stray strands of red hair behind her ear. But he refrained from doing so. He waited.

  “If you must know,” she said after clearing her throat. “Bill and I had a little tiff.”

  “And he just left you?” Dean asked, all humor gone from his voice. He clenched his jaw together, his fingers coiling into fists. No, he didn’t want to kick something. Now, he wanted to punch something. Or someone.

  “I got out of the car, to be fair,” Clara said, staring down at her feet. She wore black chucks. Dean would have grinned at how different she was, and how completely the same she was. “I told him to leave. I needed space.”

  “Space?” Dean crossed his arms over his chest and this time, he did crack a grin. “Lover boy must have done something to seriously piss you off. You don’t need space unless you’re angry.”

  “Kind of like when I left the locker room?” she quipped.

  His eyes narrowed in on her mouth and he realized how badly he wanted to silence her with a kiss.

  “What did you fight about?” He sidled up close to her but made sure not to touch her. He didn’t want to be disrespectful and presumptuous. “Come on, you can tell me...”

  “Said the big bad wolf.” Clara glanced up at him and locked eyes with him. Just staring at Clara made his heart palpitate in a weird pattern. “Not that it’s any of your business, but -”

  “Hold that thought.” He grinned when he saw a flicker of annoyance sparkle in her dark eyes. He loved that look, craved it. “Have you eaten? Are you hungry? I remember you had some kind of wooden leg when we were together. You could put away a torta from Cancun Juice like no one’s business.”

  He heard her stomach growl at the word torta and he grinned. “That’s what I thought,” he said. “Let me feed you and then I’ll take you to wherever you want to go. Even if you want me to take you back to that prick.”

  Clara opened her mouth, probably to defend the asshole, but she surprised Dean by slowly closing her mouth and letting out a tired sigh. It made him want to wrap his arms around her and ask if she was okay. He wasn’t the sort to be romantic because he didn’t want romance. But Clara had always been different. That wouldn’t change. And he could admit that.

  “Is he coming back for you?” Dean asked. “I’ll wait with you. I might have to restrain myself from saying something for leaving you by yourself.”

  “I told him to go,” she insisted. “He looked at me like an adult capable of making my own decisions a
nd respected me by doing as I asked.”

  “That is such bullshit.” He looked around the empty parking lot. “Come on. Let’s get you fed. You can tell me all about how wrong you are where we’re in a confined space.”

  Clara didn’t resist him this time. Instead, she bit back a smile, crossed her arms over her chest, and followed him. He opened the passenger door for her before circling around to the driver’s seat. As he got in, he noticed her feet were on the seat, her arms wrapped around her middle, her seat belt buckled.

  Still the same.

  “Tell me,” Dean commanded.

  Clara cut him a look that he easily read as ‘don’t speak to me that way or there will be a problem’ and he gave her a casual shrug.

  “I told him,” she said, looking down in her lap. Her hair fell into her face, shielding her profile from Dean so he couldn’t look at her. He made a right out of the Ice Palace parking lot and headed onto Pacific Coast Highway. “About us, I mean.”

  “I take it he didn’t take it well?” Dean guessed.

  He took his eyes off the road only for a moment before looking back out into the dark night. There were only a few cars on the narrow highway, which was a rare sight. Usually, during the day and especially after a game, PCH was jammed with traffic. It was one of the reasons why he typically waited an hour after they played before he even thought about leaving.

  “He didn’t believe me,” she said, finally looking up. From his peripheral, he caught sight of her fingers coiling into tight balls of fists. “He didn’t believe me. He thought I was trying to impress him. Why I would pick you, out of everyone I could have a fake relationship with...”

  Dean rolled his eyes. “Har, har,” he drawled.

  “Anyway, I got out of the car and I told him I needed space,” she finished. She relaxed her fists and placed them flat on her thighs.

  Dean remembered how much she used her hands for things that didn’t require them - gesturing, fidgeting. Her nervous tic was playing with her fingers or rubbing her thighs. When she was really worried - like for the final exam she had during her summer courses back when they were together - she would chew on her thumb nail. It drove him batshit crazy.

  “And he drove away like an idiot,” Dean said, rolling his eyes. Part of him was glad that Bill was an idiot. It gave Dean the opportunity to spend time with Clara alone. However, regardless of his personal feelings for Clara, he didn’t think she deserved to be treated that way. It was an odd conundrum to find himself in: appreciating Bill’s idiocy and wanting to beat the shit out of him for being an idiot.

  “Like I said, he respected my decision.”

  Dean rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Clara could be so goddamn stubborn, he wanted to scream. He flipped on the blinker and made a right off PCH up Dover before making a left on Seventeenth. He was planning to hit Harbor and grab some food for them. It would probably be close to closing so they could take it to go and eat in the car.

  “There’s a time to respect your decision and a time to put up a fight,” Dean said. “That was a time to put up a fight. No way would I leave you in a parking lot at eleven o’clock at night, even if it’s Newport Beach. You get in the car and I won’t talk to you but you’re damn well getting in the car.”

  “Maybe that’s one of the reasons we’re not together,” Clara muttered, looking out the passenger side window.

  Dean opened his mouth, ready to make a comment, but stopped himself. He let out a frustrated growl and turned onto Harbor.

  “Can you call them?” he asked. “I want the usual.”

  Clara dialed the number and placed the order for them. Dean knew the order would probably be ready by the time they got there. He didn’t drive fast. Instead, he took his time and didn’t mind it, which was a good thing, considering if you hit a red on Harbor, you should expect the next few lights to be more of the same.

  The rest of the ride was experienced in silence, which was the opposite of what Dean wanted. However, he was unsure what to say. He wanted to ask how she was doing but he didn’t think it would come across as sincere. He wanted to wrap his arms around her. He wanted to hug her. He wanted to bury his face in her hair and smell her.

  God, he missed her. And he didn’t know what to do about it.

  When he pulled into the parking lot, he murmured to Clara to stay in the car, and went and grabbed the food and the frescas. They just barely made it before closing, and the couple sat in Dean’s BMW and started eating.

  “Don’t worry about spilling,” he murmured through a bite of carne asada torta. “You’ll probably get it all over your white shirt anyway.”

  Clara laughed despite herself. “Do you remember,” she said, “when we were in San Diego and we were both wearing white shirts, and for some reason, we thought it was smart to go to that hole-in-the-wall Mexican place? And my taco spilled out of the tortilla everywhere?”

  Dean’s eyes sparkled as he remembered. “The look on your face,” he said. “And after that beat, you were over it. You just kept eating. You didn’t even give a shit.”

  “I didn’t want my food to get cold,” Clara said with a shrug.

  “I can’t believe you asked for a quesadilla,” Dean said.

  “They had them, didn’t they?” she shot back.

  He shrugged and took a long sip of his drink. His eyes found Clara, and for a moment, he watched her eat. Her hair kept getting in her face but her hands were filled with grease and sauce so she tried to move the hair back with her shoulder and it didn’t work.

  Before he could stop himself, he reached out and curled a strand of hair behind her ear. Clara’s eyes snapped up but she didn’t move from his touch. She didn’t even flinch.

  Something passed between them. Something like a spark, a flicker, a shock.

  Something was still there between them.

  “I, uh.” Clara cleared her throat. “You should probably take me back.”

  Dean nodded but it was the last thing he wanted to do.

  Chapter 7

  Bill wasn’t home when Clara finally walked through the door. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. She wasn’t sure where he would go. Bill wasn’t the type to go to the bar and drink his sorrows away. It was one of the reasons she was attracted to him in the first place. He wasn’t a drinker. He was focused, and determined to eventually make partner at his law firm. He played hockey in an adult league at the ice rink in Yorba Linda. He was fit, attractive, intelligent, and ambitious.

  Clara shook her head to herself, wrapping her arms around her body. Bill was perfect. Maybe there were times when he talked down to her or didn’t realize she was actually quite familiar with legal jargon because she was a private investigator. Not only that, but she was familiar with hockey because one of her friends owned a hockey team and she used to date a player years ago.

  Did she just fuck everything up with Bill?

  She didn’t know.

  “Dammit,” she muttered to herself.

  She pushed herself from the door and forced herself to take a shower. Clara might have regretted what happened with Bill, but she couldn’t shake Dean if she tried. The first thing she did when she stepped into the bathroom was brush her teeth three times. She didn’t need Bill to come home and smell the jalapeño on her breath. She needed her mouth fresh and clean. She needed to not remember it that Dean teased her about how she ate the same.

  When she finished that, she turned on the shower and stepped inside. The heat from the water was enough for her to realize that any nostalgia she felt with Dean was not appropriate. She was with someone else. She was in love with someone else. And yet she couldn’t get Dean out of her head. The way he looked at her with those sky-blue eyes. The curve of his lips as he gave her one of his patented half-smiles. The way he accidentally brushed her skin with his hand.

  And then, she started crying. She had no idea when the tears started to fall, but they did.

  ‘Don’t kid yourself, Clara,’ she thought to herself. ‘You never
got the resolution you wanted. Things just ended and that was it. It wasn’t like you wanted to break up, and it seemed like he didn’t want to break up either.’

  She shook her head, her hair sticking to her face and the back of her neck because of the shower. The steam surrounded her face. Dean always said she took showers as hot as the flames in hell –

  “Why are you even thinking about him, Clara?” she said to herself. “Bill kind of says the same thing. He should be the one that first popped into your head. Not Dean. Never Dean.”

  Except that wasn’t the case. It was always Dean. She hadn’t realized it until now but everything reminded her about the Gulls player. She tried to avoid him. She didn’t let herself think about him. When she thought she saw him in a crowd, she reminded herself that she didn’t care. When Fox Sports West interviewed Dean during the intermissions of the game, she busied herself with other things so she wouldn’t be reminded of how ridiculously good-looking he was, the low timbre of his voice that set her soul on fire, what an amazing hockey player he was. She didn’t want to remember it at all.

  When she finished with the shower, she stepped out and dried herself off with a fluffy white towel. She wiped the steam off the mirror, looking at her reflection in the mirror.

  “What are you doing?” she muttered. “Get a grip.”

  She wrapped her hair up in a second towel before heading to the bedroom. She pulled on pajamas and let her long hair dry naturally, huffing a sigh. Still no Bill.

  “Why hasn’t he called?” she wondered aloud.

  Except, maybe he had. She hadn’t checked her phone in the last hour.

  Clara walked back to living room where she set her phone on the dining table. She clicked it on and saw she had three texts from Dean - how he still had her phone number after all of these years, Clara had no idea. She wasn’t sure how to feel about the situation. It definitely didn’t help when she was doing everything in her to forget him.