by Rebel Hart
11
Kimberly
Eugene passed me a napkin and a cardboard sleeve for my coffee. I slid it over my cup before going to the condiment bar to add a packet of sugar, a dash of cinnamon, and a splash of creamer. I stirred it all up with a wooden stir stick while Eugene clamped a lid over his coffee that he drank black.
Then we moved to the windows in the lobby to watch people on the skating rink.
“I heard you ran out of work yesterday and called in to cancel your practice,” Eugene said. I could feel his eyes on me as he tilted his head back and sipped his coffee. “Is your knee bothering you still?”
Yes. It was. But that wasn’t the reason why I left work.
I told Eugene in quiet tones all about how Doyle had asked me out and promptly threatened me when I shot him down.
When I finished recounting the tale, Eugene cast his gaze around the lobby, looking for Doyle. “Where is the little shit? I’ll tell him to stuff his threats where the sun don’t shine and-”
“Don’t worry about it, Eugene. It was nothing. Really. I should have been nicer about it when I told him no. I think I just hurt his feelings.”
Eugene scoffed and shook his head at me. “Girl. You have nothing to feel bad about. Doyle is a creepy little vermin. He deserved to be shot down like that. Maybe he’ll finally take the hint and leave you the hell alone.”
“Hopefully.”
Eugene bumped his shoulder into mine. “Thank God he’s not gay. Can you imagine? He’d never stop following me around.”
I giggled. “You are gorgeous. He wouldn’t stand a chance.”
“Not in his life.”
We snickered.
I didn’t know what I would do if I didn’t have Eugene here at the rink with me. Our shifts didn’t overlap as much as we’d both like, but even seeing him at work for a few hours a week was enough to get me through the harder days. He was my rock in this place. I probably would have quit by now if he wasn’t here.
Then again, probably not. I didn’t have any other prospects. The only thing I was good at was hockey, and even then I was damaged goods on the ice.
“Speak of the devil,” Eugene said before raising his cup to his lips.
I followed the direction he was staring and spotted Doyle strolling in through the front doors. He was dressed in jeans and a gray T-shirt. His hair was especially greasy today, hanging heavily in front of his eyes and over his ears. He looked sloppy and dishevelled.
“Looks like someone went on a bender last night,” Eugene muttered.
I was about to look away when Doyle spotted me staring. His expression hardened and there was real anger behind his eyes as we stared hotly at one another.
Eugene put a hand on my shoulder. “Leave it alone, Kim. He’s not the kind of guy you want to provoke. Trust me. He’ll slash your tires or something.”
“Let him. There’s cameras all around the building. We could finally get his ass fired.”
Doyle’s eyes raked up and down the length of my body and I had the impression he was undressing me with his eyes. I resisted the urge to wrap my arms around my body like a shield.
It was as Doyle was staring at me that the front doors opened and people began muttering amongst themselves. Doyle never took his eyes off me, but my attention was caught when Eugene whistled.
“What is it?” I asked.
Eugene pointed to the entrance. “I think you have a visitor.”
A tall, handsome man was striding purposefully between the benches in the lobby as people laced and unlaced their skates. It was William.
I groaned. “Oh God. What’s he doing here?”
William never even looked my way. His attention was somewhere else.
His attention was on Doyle.
Eugene turned and braced himself up against the window. He rested his elbows on the sill, crossed one ankle in front of the other, and watched William approach Doyle with an unabashed grin on his face. “This is gonna be good. Kim. Go make us some popcorn.”
“Shut up, Eugene.”
I wanted to disappear. This wasn’t happening. I told William not to get involved. I told him I could take care of myself. And yet here he was, being an idiot.
Thankfully nobody had taken out their cameras. Nobody had put two and two together and truly realized there was a pro hockey player in their midst.
Nobody except for Doyle, who was watching William approach with childlike glee in his ignorant eyes.
The surprise he was about to get gave me a little satisfaction.
William stopped in front of Doyle. They were close enough that Eugene and I could hear the words they exchanged.
“Are you Doyle Digby?” William asked. His tone was neutral. Controlled.
Doyle, on the other hand, had no self control at all. He nodded eagerly, smiled like a ten year old meeting his favorite athlete, and stammered out the words, “Y-yes. I am. And you’re William Hughes. What are you doing here?”
William gave Doyle a lopsided smile. “I was looking for you.”
“You were?” Doyle asked hopefully.
Eugene snickered. “Oh. It’s like a train crash you can’t look away from. So good but so bad all at once.”
William slid his hands into his pockets. He still wore that carefree smile on his lips, but something about him hardened as he leaned forward until he and Doyle’s noses were only a few inches apart. That’s when the smile evaporated and Doyle found himself staring up into the face of a very angry, very menacing, very large hockey player.
“I hear you were giving Kimberly Renwick a hard time last night,” William growled.
Doyle shrank.
Eugene groaned. “Oh God yes.”
“Oh God no,” I breathed, burying my face in my hands and peeking out between my fingers.
William took a menacing step forward, forcing Doyle back two paces. “She’s family to me. And if I catch word that you’re giving her a hard time again I’m going to come back here and you and I are going to have a conversation you’ll hate even more than this one. Do you understand me?”
Doyle swallowed. “Yes. I… I understand you.”
William straightened and clapped a hand on Doyle’s shoulder. Doyle flinched. William held fast. “Good,” William said, his smile returning. “I’m glad we’re on the same page.”
William’s hand fell from Doyle’s shoulder, who stayed rooted to the spot as William brushed past him and came toward me and Eugene, who was gushing like a school girl over the whole exchange.
When William stop in front of me Eugene clapped his hands together. “I just have to say. That was epic. Kim. Did you see Doyle? He nearly shit himself. Well played, William. Well played.”
William flashed a smile in Eugene’s direction that I was sure turned my gay best friend’s insides into a puddle of desire. Eugene fanned his cheeks as William turned to me.
“Sorry Kim. I know you probably hated that. But I couldn’t help myself. Sometimes a guy just needs to be set straight, you know?”
“You’re an ass,” I said.
“Yup. I am.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What are your plans for the night?” William asked.
“I have practice,” I said sharply.
Eugene inserted himself into the conversation. “But practice ends at eight.”
I shot Eugene a look that very clearly warned him to shut up. “Yes, it does, but I have to clean up afterward, which always takes half an hour or so.”
“Alright. Eight thirty isn’t bad. Once you’re done you and I can go grab a bite to eat.”
“What?” I asked, my eyes widening. “No.”
Eugene grabbed my wrist and squeezed. “She’d love to.”
I pulled out of his grip and was about to lay into him when William started talking.
“Excellent. Then it’s settled. I’ll stay for your practice and be your guest coach. Then I’ll help you clean up and we’ll grab something to eat so we can catch up properly. And I
can make up for being a dick last night. And for storming into your workplace and threatening your coworker.”
My mouth worked but no sound came out.
So Eugene took over for me. He batted his lashes at William, wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and practically sang, “She’d love to.”
I didn’t find the mental clarity to rip a strip off of him until William had already said goodbye and left the rink, leaving Doyle shaking like a leaf on the other side of a lobby and me vibrating like a taut bow string.
“Eugene, you meddlesome ass,” I growled.
He giggled and tapped his coffee against mine like a toast. “You’ll thank me later, baby girl.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
12
William
I returned to the rink fifteen minutes before Kim’s team took to the ice. I had my own skates in hand, dangling from the tips of my fingers by the laces, and I was leaning against the window watching Kim put out cones and the two nets while her team arrived and strapped on their skates in the box. They wore team fleece jackets that matched Kim’s and several sets of parents moved up the stairs to take up seats in the stands, where they draped blankets over their laps and cupped mugs of coffee or tea or hot chocolate between their hands.
My father used to come watch my practices, too. But he didn’t have paper cups filled with belly warming cocoa. No. He had bottles wrapped in paper bags straight from the store and he’d sit there pounding back vodka while shouting across the rink at me to skate faster. Harder. Better.
I almost envied the grins on the faces of the girls on Kim’s team. They looked about twelve or so, about the right age for hockey to become a serious sport as opposed to just a game. Their hormones would demand a higher level of competition. Their increasing strength would push the sport to new limits. This next year would separate the real athletes from the kids who just wanted to have some fun on the ice and shoot some pucks.
Kim played an instrumental role in leading them in the right direction. I wondered if she knew that or if she was too consumed by the loss of her ability to play the sport to realize how integral she was to the future of her players.
Eugene sidled up next to me. He didn’t say anything for a minute or so. We both stood there watching Kim and then he finally let out a deep breath. “She’s not as put off about you being here as she pretends to be.”
I glanced over at him as he raked his fingers through his white blond hair. The roots were dark, probably deliberately, and I was pretty sure in high school he was one of the kids who was sporting a new neon shade every other week. “She could’ve fooled me.”
Eugene chuckled and shook his head. “Kim isn’t good with vulnerability. None of us really are, I suppose. But her especially. She’s got a chip on her shoulder bigger than Long Grove itself.”
“And yet here you are, putting yourself in harm’s way talking to her enemy.”
Eugene smirked as he crossed his arms over his chest. The bracelets on his left wrist jingled against each other. “You’re not the enemy, William.”
“Then who is?”
“Doubt,” he said simply. “And maybe gluten. But I suppose it depends who you ask.”
I laughed.
Eugene nodded at Kim, who was now skating up to the box filled with teenage girls eagerly waiting to take to the ice. “Why are you hanging back here? Aren’t you supposed to be out there making all the girls ooh and ahh over you?”
“I didn’t realize that’s what I was doing.”
“Well, it’s what’s going to happen. Prepare yourself for giggles and hysterical shrieks from mothers. This might be more action than they get all year. You skating laps around here will be the stuff their late night fantasies are made of for weeks to come. What do women call wet dreams?” Eugene innocently cocked his head to the side and I had the impression his question was genuine and not in mocking fun.
I groaned. “Suddenly I don’t really want to go out there.”
“Liar.”
Chuckling, I held up my hands. He’d seen right through me. “All right. All right. I’m going. But first, can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything, handsome,” Eugene purred.
“Did I overstep with Doyle?”
Eugene snickered. Then he shook his head at me like I’d just asked him the most ludicrous question of all time. “No. Not at all. Doyle has been asking for someone to put him in his place for ages. Who better than a six foot tall hockey player and local hero?”
I flashed him a grin. “Six foot three.”
Eugene fanned his cheeks. “Stop teasing me, Hughes.”
Chuckling to myself and at his expense, I stepped away from the window and moved through the doors into the rink. I put my skates on outside the gate, swung it open, and pushed out onto the ice.
Kim was like a Labrador retriever. She heard me the second my skates hit the ice and looked up, eyes narrowing, as I made my way across the rink toward the bench, where the girls were all gripping the edge and leaning forward, trying to figure out why I was coming toward them. If Kim had fangs she would have bared them at me, and if she’d had hackles, those would’ve been up, too. As it was I could tell her shoulder blades were bunched together and she was probably considering beating the holy hell out of me with her hockey stick.
My name was soon being whispered on several lips, including those of the parents up in the stands. The whispers soon morphed into excited conversation, and soon the parents were calling my name. I looked up, smiled and waved, and carried on toward Kim, who met me in the middle of the rink with one hand on her hip and the other holding her stick.
“I didn’t think you were actually going to show,” she said.
“Of course I was. I couldn’t just leave you hanging. What kind of guy would that make me?”
“The less annoying kind,” she muttered. “This is my job, you know. I don’t need you coming in all high and mighty making me look like a small town coach. I’m already painfully aware of how small of a speck I am in the hockey world.”
“Kim. Come on, now. That’s not what I’m doing. Why can’t we have a little fun? Are you seriously telling me that if a Blackhawks player showed up to your practice when you were a kid you wouldn’t soak up as much as you possibly could while he was on the ice?”
Kim’s bottom lip pursed in a frown. “I never said that.”
“So then let’s make the most of it. Okay? For the kids.” I knew full well that was logic even Kimberly Renwick couldn’t argue with. This was all in the name of the kids. Her kids. Why would she take away an experience like this from them when I was offering it for free?
It was simple.
She wouldn’t.
“Fine.” Kim lifted her chin. Her mouth was set in a fine line but she wasn’t fooling me. There was a glint in her eye that suggested she was perhaps a little excited about this, too. “Let me introduce you to everyone before we begin.”
The introductions proceeded exactly as Eugene had predicted. The parents no longer seemed content under their cozy blankets up in the stands. Instead they were swarming the bench and reaching over the heads of the players, who had all gathered at the edge of the box and were grinning up at me, mouth guards hanging from their bottom lip, like I was some sort of real life superhero.
I suppose in a way I was.
Back when I was their age there was nobody I looked up to more than the men on the ice. They were power houses; true athletes and men of honor. My father always told me a hockey player was a true sportsman with class, dignity, and morals. My old man believed an NHL player had a role to fill and a responsibility to meet since he had so many young fans. Looking at the bright eyes of the soon-to-be teenagers before me made me realize how true that was.
Still. A kid wanted to look up to their own father more than they did a stranger in a red, white and black jersey.
I shook the hands of the parents. They all called questions over each other wanting to know why I was
there and if I would stay after practice if their uncle, brother, sister, niece, or best friend popped by with a jersey and a sharpie. I’d long since passed the window where I could have said no, so as I agreed to spend time with the parents after practice, Kim pulled the girls out onto the ice. I could hear them behind me as they began skating drills.
I wasn’t here to make nice with the parents. I was here to make nice with Kim.
“Sorry folks, we’ll have to save it for after practice,” I said. None of them protested. They knew I was here for the kids—which was a good thing. I didn’t want them thinking I was really here for the coach. I pushed away from the boards and propelled myself out to center ice where Kim was standing. The girls were moving out to the outside boards and had begun skating laps to warm up.
Kim eyed me as I came to a stop beside her, spraying only a little bit of ice up her pant leg. There was a whistle hanging around her neck and she thumbed it absently as her attention went back to the girls. “I saw you and Eugene talking. What were the two of you gossiping about?”
“We weren’t gossiping.”
“Yeah right.” Her cool gaze followed the girls around the ring. “You were talking about me, weren’t you?”
“No. He was hitting on me.”
She giggled. “Naturally. Don’t let it go to your head. Eugene hits on everyone.”
“So do I.”
Kim blew shrilly into the whistle. I flinched. A devilish smile morphed her lips and she stuck her nose in the air at me. “Okay, champ. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
By the time practice ended I was spent. I’d had no idea how much energy twelve-year-old girls had or how hard it would be to burn them out. They could have kept skating for hours. Kim could see my fatigue and I’d caught her giggling behind my back several times and I scowled at her, reminding her that my practices had been back to back and I was already tired as it was.
She didn’t buy it.
I kept my word and spent the time after practice signing autographs. I used Kim as a scapegoat and only gave them fifteen minutes before explaining that I had to help the coach clean up, because that was good sportsmanship. With their children watching there was nothing they could say to keep me there, so I was free to help Kim clean up the ice. We collected cones and pucks and someone’s mouth guard; leave it to kids not to realize they were missing something that was supposed to be in their mouth any time they were on the ice.