Pipe Dreams

by Sarina Bowen

  “Everything okay back there?” she asked sleepily.

  “Mmm-hmm.” He skimmed his fingertips down over her mound, through the tiny V of silky hairs she had there.

  She shivered, yet didn’t open her legs for him. So he teased this little patch of loveliness, and her thighs, too. It was a privilege to wake up beside her. A year from now he knew they’d wake up every morning in a bed together. He was sure of it, even if the details weren’t worked out yet, and even though he wasn’t allowed to speculate.

  Lauren had said last night that everything was complicated. But that was only on the surface. It was pretty damn simple how much he loved her, and how much they needed each other. Their complications would be dealt with one at a time. Somehow.

  Beacon pushed the hair off Lauren’s neck and began kissing her there. She shivered, her body arching against his. “I have to go to work,” she whispered.

  “I know. But I have a little work to do, first. Won’t take long at all.” He slipped his hand between her thighs and was greeted by slickness and soft warmth. “Aw, yeah. Roll over, baby.”

  Instead of rolling toward him, she tipped the other way, onto her stomach. She spread her legs and arms, relaxing into the pillow, just waiting for him.

  Unngh. He ran a hand down her body slowly, from the nape of her creamy neck, down her back, over her sweet ass. “That’s my girl,” he said, his voice raspy with desire. He maneuvered until he could kneel between her spread legs and touch her again. She jumped when his fingertips made contact with her pussy. “Lift your hips,” he ordered, and that beautiful body lifted in invitation half a second later.

  Yes, yes, he chanted as he slid inside her perfect, tight heat. Beneath him, Lauren pushed her face into the pillow and whimpered.

  He planted his elbows on either side of her body so he could whisper in her ear while he pumped his hips slowly. “Thank you,” he panted. “Needed you last night, and you let me stay. Hell. Need you every night.”

  With a deep moan she pushed back against him.

  “That’s it,” he said, snaking one hand underneath her body. “Take what you need from me.” He stroked her clumsily, his heart rate ratcheting up as she let out a throaty sigh.

  “Harder,” she demanded, and he almost came on the spot.

  Gritting his teeth, he gave it to her the best he could. He remembered all too well the last time they did this, and it was sexy as hell. She might already be carrying his child. The idea made his heart so full he couldn’t take it any longer. He came with a shout, curling over her body and shuddering through it. She followed him over the edge, gasping and pulsing beneath him.

  “Jeez,” she breathed. “Good morning to me.”

  He grinned. Who could blame him?

  “Up,” she said, reaching a clumsy hand around to smack his thigh. “I have to shower.”

  “Can I come, too?”

  “Sure, but you have to be good.”

  “Baby, I’m always good.”

  “You’re cheesy.”

  “I’m just honest.”

  They showered, and he behaved himself. Mostly. When she shut off the taps he pressed her against the tiles and kissed her one more time. For luck. “I’ll think of you all day.”

  “Me, too, you,” she whispered. “In fact, I’ll be feeling you all day long. You’re cute, but you leave your mark.”

  His inner caveman needed one more kiss. “That might have been two days’ worth,” he murmured against her lips.

  “Good to know.”

  • • •

  They left Lauren’s building together, parting on the street, each of them heading for different subway trains. He needed the number two train to Clark Street in Brooklyn, and rush hour traffic would make a cab ride miserable. In this fashion he discovered how miserable the commute was from the East 30s to Brooklyn.

  The timeline for moving Lauren into his house on Willow Street moved up another month for every midtown block he walked. When he finally reached home, he put the key in the lock and opened the door, whistling.

  Only to find Elsa staring at him from the sofa.

  “Why aren’t you at school?” was the first stupid thing that popped into his head.

  Her eyebrows lifted, and her look of disapproval was so much like Shelly’s that it wasn’t even funny. “Teacher-in-service day,” she said slowly.

  “Oh.” Hans had probably put it on his calendar, but he’d forgotten to check. He dropped his gym bag on the floor where it landed with a thunk that sounded deafening in all the silence between them.

  “I thought you were upstairs, sleeping in,” she said.

  That’s what I wanted you to think. “Where’s Hans?”

  “Skyping with his mom upstairs. Why are you wearing last night’s clothes?”

  Mike took off his jacket and hung it on the doorknob of the little coat closet. Then, having no further busy work for his hands, he took a seat on the opposite end of the couch from Elsa. “I was at Lauren’s,” he admitted. He knew this conversation was a can of worms, but lying wasn’t a good option. Elsa wasn’t stupid, and it set a horrible example.

  “All night?” Her eyes narrowed.

  “Yes.” Kill me already. Maybe lying would have been the way to go after all.

  “Is that going to happen a lot?”

  Oof. He had to think carefully about his answer. But it was tricky to be honest without allowing the conversation to veer into topics too personal for discussion. “I’m going to see a lot more of Lauren. But I haven’t figured out how that’s going to work yet.” And wasn’t that the truth.

  “Are you going to get married?” Elsa’s voice was as sharp as her questions.

  “I really don’t know.” But I like the sound of that.

  “You shouldn’t,” Elsa said quickly. “It’s too soon.”

  “Honey,” he said softly. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?” He checked her face, which was half grumpy and half scared.

  “Uh-huh,” she croaked. “That’s a funny thing to say when you’ve been out all night.”

  Fuck. Elsa: 1, Daddy: 0. “You know what I mean. If I do marry Lauren someday, she will live here. I wouldn’t have to go somewhere else to see her.”

  Elsa made an anguished noise that doubled his blood pressure. He’d thought he could ease her into the idea. Then he got caught doing the walk of shame. But it didn’t even matter, because any mention of Lauren at all turned his daughter into a rabid cat.

  “Look,” he said, and then realized he had no idea what to say next. “Your mother and I . . .” didn’t love each other. That wasn’t the right thing to say, because Elsa didn’t care. She just wanted her family back the way she remembered it best. “Lauren has been important to me for a long time,” he said instead. “And you’ve been important to me for even longer. I love both of you. I’m going to take care of both of you the best way I know how.”

  His daughter’s eyes reddened, and he braced himself for an outburst. But it didn’t come. She lifted her chin and stood, her posture regal. Then she carried herself up the stairs to her room, where he heard the door click shut.

  He let out a heavy breath. That could have gone worse, he reminded himself. But it hadn’t gone well. Baby steps, right? He was a patient man. All top-notch goalies were. He would wait Elsa out, and tell her he loved her at every opportunity.

  She’d believe him, eventually, because it was the truth.

  • • •

  The next four days were shitty, and it had nothing to do with the women in his life.

  He had a terrible game five in Detroit, letting in goals he should have saved. They could have clinched the series that night if he hadn’t been off his game. Off nights happened, it was a known fact. But his timing was spectacularly bad.

  Going into game six the series was 3–2, which wouldn’t have been so bad if
it weren’t for those two back-to-back losses. The team had squandered all the momentum they’d built up early in the series.

  Back in Brooklyn, the dressing room was quiet before the game. Too quiet. “Let’s make some noise out there,” Doulie said, walking around the oval to give every one of his guys a slap on the back. “We can get this done tonight.”

  They couldn’t, though.

  It was only a small consolation that the game six loss wasn’t Beacon’s fault. The defensemen screwed up early in the first period, giving Detroit an easy goal with an odd man rush. Then the forwards seemed to freeze up, and it was downhill for the rest of the game. They lost 5–2.

  The series was now 3–3, and the pundits were having a field day. “Brooklyn Chokes” blared more than one headline. The talking heads began to drop statistics like raindrops. “Seventy-eight percent of teams who never led during game six will lose game seven.” And, “No team who’s squandered a three-game lead has ever advanced to the finals.”

  Beacon listened to all of this chatter with half an ear. No matter what anyone said, when a series went to game seven, the odds were still fifty-fifty. He didn’t need Elsa’s new math tutor to know that.

  Still, it didn’t feel good.

  At the briefing the morning after their loss, Coach Worthington practically had smoke coming out of his ears. “Let’s go over the footage again,” he said a million times. He talked plays and habits and formations until every player went glassy-eyed.

  After a light workout in the weight room, he walked home to pack for yet another trip to Detroit. On the way he tried Lauren on his Katt Phone.

  She answered on the second ring. “Hi there.”

  “Hi yourself. Missing you like crazy right now.” He hadn’t sought solace in her bed after their most recent loss, but it sure had been tempting. They texted into the wee hours instead.

  “How’s morale?”

  “It’s not great. How’s Manhattan?”

  “The usual. It’s Sunday, though. So I’m working at home instead of at my desk.”

  “Ah. Wish I were there.”

  “Soon,” she said, reminding him that the play-offs—no matter how exhausting—didn’t last forever.

  “I got a question.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Any chance you’re coming to Detroit for game seven? A guy can dream.”

  She laughed. “I’m not traveling with the team, if that’s what you’re asking. That’s Becca’s job again.”

  “They sell plane tickets at the airport, though. I’ve heard that’s a thing. Can I buy you one?”

  “Do I get an hour to think about it? I need to look at tomorrow’s schedule and see what I can rearrange.”

  “Of course. And, honey—if it’s really not good timing, you can say so. I just miss you.”

  “I miss you, too. And I love to watch you play.”

  “Take a look and let me know. Either way, we’ll get our chance soon.”

  “If you guys make it to the Stanley Cup final, wild horses won’t keep me away.”

  “I love you,” he said. He was just going to keep saying that forever, and he wanted her to know it.

  “I love you, too. Now let me get some work done and I’ll call you later.”

  His feet had reached Willow Street, so he let himself in. He heard pop music from the second floor and NPR in the kitchen. Mike headed for the kitchen and a glass of water, startling Hans, who looked up from the kitchen table with a sheepish expression. He clutched his phone in one hand, the screen lit.

  “What’s the matter, bud?” Seemed like nobody in his life was happy this week.

  Hans shoved his phone into his shirt pocket. “Nothing.”

  “Is it auditions? Or is Justin the problem?”

  Hans laughed and shook his head. “Neither. Just poor timing.”

  “I’m the king of poor timing,” he reminded the babysitter. “What’s the matter?”

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to add stress to your week.”

  Oh, hell. That probably meant that it did matter a great deal. “Just try me.”

  “Got a text about a really neat gig, but I can’t do it. They want me to sub for one of the musicians in Hamilton.”

  “Hamilton?” Elsa came skidding around the corner. “Really? That’s so cool! You have to do it!”

  “When is it?” Mike asked.

  “Tomorrow night. But they’ll probably call me again some other time.”

  Tomorrow night. Game seven in Detroit. “Oh, shit.” Hans had turned down gigs before to accommodate Beacon’s game schedule. But never an important one. He’d already bought plane tickets for Elsa and Hans to fly out for game seven. They left tomorrow afternoon.

  “I’ll stay home in New York with Hans,” Elsa volunteered immediately.

  Hans was already shaking his head. “You have to see the game. It’s okay. They’ll give me another chance to sub.”

  “No! This is big! And you told me Broadway pays really well. I’ll go with you tomorrow night and wait in the lobby.”

  “Oh, Elsabelle,” Hans said, his smile sad. “It’s four hours. I appreciate your sacrifices but that’s not practical.”

  “I have a better idea,” Mike said. “Can you all give me a few minutes? Hans—you didn’t turn it down yet, right?”

  The babysitter shook his head.

  “Just give me an hour. I might have a solution.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  DETROIT, MICHIGAN

  MAY 2016

  Lauren’s travel companion maintained a stony silence on the ninety-minute flight from La Guardia to Detroit, her earbuds jammed into her ears. From the seat beside her, Lauren stole occasional glances at Elsa, remembering how hard it was to be thirteen.

  At that age she’d felt mostly grown up. She’d been the same highly organized, disciplined go-getter at thirteen as she was today. But nobody had been ready to acknowledge it. Parents and teachers still treated her like a child. And her body was doing all sorts of embarrassing new things.

  You couldn’t pay her to be thirteen again. No sum would be enough.

  At the baggage claim in Detroit, a driver waited with a sign reading BEACON FAMILY because Mike had made all the arrangements. Elsa gave both the sign and the driver a glare, just in case nobody in the Detroit metro area had missed her displeasure at traveling with Lauren.

  It’s not personal, Lauren reminded herself during the forty-minute drive to the hotel. When they got there, it was already five o’clock. “Shall we go out for dinner?” she asked Elsa. Though sitting across the table from someone who didn’t speak to you didn’t sound like that much fun. “Or we could eat whatever concessions they have at the rink, but that’s not for two hours.”

  “I’m not very hungry,” Elsa said. “We can wait.”

  Okay then.

  When the car (finally!) pulled up at the hotel, Lauren was relieved to discover that keys to their adjoining rooms were ready and waiting. “The puck drops at seven thirty, so we have a couple of hours,” Lauren said in the elevator. “We’ll leave at seven? We can either walk through the convention center or ride the shuttle.”

  “Fine.”

  Sigh.

  Lauren opened Elsa’s room door first. It was a nice double. Inside, she opened the lock to the adjacent door. “I’ll just be through here if you need anything,” she told the girl.

  Elsa didn’t say anything. She just climbed onto the bed and pulled out her iPad.

  Lauren went back into the hallway and keyed into her room, which contained a king-sized bed and Mike’s luggage. He’d left a note on the bed.

  Lo—

  Thank you so much for everything. Hope she hasn’t been too hard on you. (But I’m willing to bet she has.)

  Can’t wait to see you tonight.

  Love you
,

  M.

  Aw. A few hours with a grumpy teenager weren’t so bad. She tucked the note into her purse and hung her garment bag in the closet.

  She unlocked the door which adjoined Elsa’s room, but when she opened the door, she found that Elsa had already closed hers. TV sounds came through the door.

  Leaving Elsa in peace, Lauren took out her eReader and climbed onto the bed. A nap sounded good, which was odd. She hadn’t napped in years. But this week she’d felt oddly tired. So tired, in fact, that she didn’t even make it through five pages of her book before falling asleep.

  When Lauren opened her eyes again, she was disoriented. The room had deepened into shadows, and for a moment she wasn’t sure where she was. When she woke completely, her eyes flew to the clock. It was six thirty. She’d slept more than an hour.

  Jumping up, Lauren went into the bathroom to splash water on her face and brush her teeth. Feeling almost human, she went to knock on the door adjoining Elsa’s room. “Honey? Will you be ready to go in thirty minutes?”

  Silence. Even the TV noises were gone.

  Lauren tapped again, but the girl didn’t answer, and she didn’t hear any movement. Grasping the knob, she tried to open it.

  Locked.

  A chill snaked up Lauren’s spine. Her mind offered up an ugly scenario. What if Elsa got even with her by disappearing? She could only imagine the phone call she’d have to make to Mike. I’ve lost your child.

  Don’t panic, she coached herself. While a rogue thirteen-year-old on the loose in Detroit was not ideal, there was no reason to think that any harm had come to Elsa.

  Luckily, Lauren had held onto one of the key cards to Elsa’s room. If the kid was just playing possum in there, Lauren would know in a moment. She grabbed Elsa’s key and went out into the hall. She knocked briskly on the door. “Elsa, please open the door. I’m going to come in either way, okay?”

  Nothing.

  Having no other choice, she waved the card in front of the scanner, pushing the door open when the light turned green. Elsa’s room was beginning to darken, too, though nobody was napping on the bed. Her heart dove toward her shoes, until she saw the strip of light under the bathroom door.