High Stick

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Good, but not quiet and there wasn’t much downtime. Lots of eating, snowmobiling, and watching the Sound games that my grandpa had recorded.”

  “That sounds nice.”

  “It was. I am guessing you didn’t do any snowmobiling or hockey watching. Did you at least eat?”

  “Not so much—at least no more than usual. I didn’t go home for Christmas.”

  Home. It struck him he didn’t even know where that was for her—yet she knew where he was from. Had he told her the night of the wedding? Or had she read it somewhere? He hoped she’d looked him up.

  “Where is home for you?” he asked.

  “Beaver Crossing, Alabama. Doesn’t that sound picturesque?”

  “Sure. Beavers are cute. Though it would be more picturesque with you there. Did your family come here?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “There was no time.”

  So she’d been alone—totally alone. And he’d been whining to himself because he’d been sleeping alone and had no one to hold hands with in front of the fire. At least he had been with family—family he liked.

  “You should have gone to Wisconsin with me,” he said without running it through his brain.

  She had a mouthful of tea and made some sounds that might have been laughter or choking from surprise. She clapped a napkin to her mouth. Either way, she didn’t seem to be choking to death.

  “Go home with you?” She wiped her mouth. “I had known you for what? An hour?”

  “More like two,” he said. “Remember, we ate together. You can learn everything you need to know about me in two hours. I’m not complicated.”

  “Even if that were true, as I said, there was no time. I work retail. I would have barely gotten to Beaver Crossing before I would have had to turn around come back to Nashville. I wouldn’t have gotten to Wisconsin at all.”

  “And your family couldn’t come to you?” Maybe her family wasn’t close. On the one hand, that could mean there would be no competition between their families for holidays; but, on the other, it could mean she didn’t embrace the whole close-knit family thing. That wouldn’t be good.

  “It’s just my parents and me, and my dad had to work, too. If not for that, they would have driven up.” So it was just circumstances.

  “Oh, is your dad in retail, as well?”

  She laughed. “No. Though I guess you could say some in his profession are. He’s a pastor. In Beaver Crossing, there’s always a midnight Christmas Eve interdenominational service. He can’t miss it.”

  A pastor. Merry was the daughter of a pastor. He liked the sound of that.

  “Here’s the pizza.” She rubbed her palms together. “I’m hungry.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “I grow weary of women who pretend they aren’t hungry.”

  Her head jerked up; her eyes went wide; her face turned pink.

  Brilliant, MacPherson. So smart to refer to other women when he was out with the one he wanted.

  “Can I get you anything else?” the waitress asked.

  “We’re good,” Jarrett said, but they weren’t.

  Bloody crap.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “If I blundered on the ice like I do off, I wouldn’t even make it in the beer league. There haven’t been many other women and none for a long time.”

  “None of my business.” She picked up a piece of pizza, bit into it, and let out a little moan. “This is so good.”

  “I’d like it to be your business.”

  “What? The pizza?” She widened her eyes and smiled.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

  Her face went serious and she put her pizza down. “Look, all this is very flattering, but you hardly know me. You’re talking like we’ve been dating for months and you’re ready to take it to the next level—like you want me for eternity. And I know that isn’t true.”

  “It could be. I always know what I want right away. I like you.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I know enough. You have a strong work ethic. You have good values. You’re nice, smart, pretty.” He’s known Kristen, Lorelei, Thea, and the others very well and look how that had turned out.

  She frowned and took her eyes from his. “You don’t know anything about my values. Anyway, if this had been ten days from now, I likely wouldn’t have come out with you.”

  “And why is that? Will you like me less in ten days?”

  “It hasn’t been established that I like you now. But no. My classes start in ten days. I would have had to go home to study.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have. You could have brought your work and studied while we ate pizza. I would have been quiet. Probably for the best. I’m less likely to blunder when I’m quiet.”

  She laughed.

  No one ever laughed at him. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Because you’re funny.”

  “No one ever thinks I’m funny. Which is another reason why I like you.”

  “You need to slow down—way down.” She reached for a second piece of pizza.

  “No. I need to speed up. I’ve only got ten days to convince you to like me enough to fit me in when you can, and of those ten days”—he closed his eyes and visualized his game schedule—“I will be on the road three.”

  “I’m not a puck bunny,” she said.

  “Bloody crap!” He’d been reaching for pizza, but his hand froze. “Where did you get the idea I thought you were a puck bunny?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know what to think. Jarrett, we don’t know each other.”

  “Look, Merry. Regardless of what my teammates call me, I’m no saint. But I’m a good guy—or I try to be. Won’t you keep an open mind?”

  “I don’t have casual sex. You might as well know that now.”

  “If I wanted casual sex, I could be having it right now. I walked by about five women hanging around the locker room who would have given it to me—walked by them to come help you clean up after the Beaufords.”

  Her resolve seemed to crack a little. “That’s true.”

  Okay. He was at the net. Someone had passed him the puck. Now it was make or break. “You keep saying we don’t know each other. Suppose we try to get to know each other? If we don’t like what we find out, we walk away.”

  She nodded. “I can’t spend every waking moment with you. I still have to work.”

  “And I can’t spend every waking moment with you. I have to practice, work out, and go to yoga.”

  “Yoga? Really?”

  “Yoga. It takes up more time than I like. So I guess we’d better get started getting to know each other. Ask me anything.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “To be completely honest, I Googled you. Since Googling me wouldn’t do much good, I’m already ahead. I’ll give you a chance to catch up.”

  “You Googled me?” He couldn’t remember being this pleased since he’d last hoisted the Stanley cup. He had the feeling it showed on his face.

  “Don’t get so full of yourself. I Google all my fellow bartenders.” She took a bite of pizza. “Ask. This is your chance.”

  What to ask? It needed to be about something important to her.

  “What kind of law do you want to practice?”

  He had asked a good question. He knew because her face lit up.

  “I’m going to be a public defender.”

  “That was fast.” He would have been fine if she’d said corporate or property law, but he was pleased that she had a heart for such noble work that had little payoff. “You must be very sure.”

  “I’ve been sure since I was fifteen years old.”

  He finally reached for a piece of pizza and took a bite. “Tell me about that.”

  “Are you sure? There’s some backstory.”

  “I’ve got the time. I’ve got the interest. The rain is coming down and I’ve got pizza to eat.”

  “Promise you’ll stop me if you get bored.”

  “I
promise, though I don’t think there is any way possible that you could bore me.”

  She sat up straighter and folded her hands in her lap. There was something about her demeanor. He could see her in a tailored suit and gold earrings standing before a judge’s bench.

  “As I told you, my father is a pastor—a Baptist pastor. There are different kinds of Baptists and his—ours—is not the most conservative, but it’s conservative enough. We don’t see eye to eye on everything, but I love and respect him. He is a good man—compassionate and nonjudgmental. He believes in a loving God, not a wrathful one.”

  That was good to hear. It only then occurred to Jarrett that he might have ended up with a father-in-law who preached fire and brimstone and damned those who didn’t agree with him to hell. He nodded to show Merry that he was listening.

  “We were at a First Church in a small town in Southern Mississippi before going to Beaver Crossing.” She hesitated and twisted her mouth. “Things weren’t going spectacularly in Mississippi. The church had long had a program to disseminate monetary gifts at Christmas to widows with children. When Daddy insisted that widowers, and all other single parents whether they were divorced or never married, be included, there was some backlash from the more conservative faction of the congregation—not a great deal, but some. Understand, my father is a good-looking, charismatic man and a dynamic speaker. In short, he’s popular and that makes it easier for him to get his way. It wasn’t long after all that died down that a gay couple came along who wanted to sing in the choir. There was more backlash that time, but my father said the real question was could they sing, and they could.

  “I’d like to meet him,” Jarrett said.

  “He’s a football fan, but he’d watch hockey if I asked him to.” She smiled and then briefly closed her eyes to signal that the story wasn’t over. “That’s the backstory—or part of it. Before we get to the meat of the matter, you must understand there’s a particular kind of woman—man, too, I’m sure, but it’s the women I’ve watched and studied—who like to have the attention of the authority figures in their lives—their teachers, coaches, principals.” She paused and leaned forward. “Their pastors. Hannah Cook was such a woman.”

  Jarrett was mesmerized. “You are very eloquent when you are impassioned.”

  “Thank you.” She nodded like a queen accepting an accolade—a queen in a Bridgestone Arena shirt. But that wouldn’t always be so. Even he could tell she would be a fantastic attorney.

  “So about this Hannah Cook,” he prompted.

  “You know her kind—president of the PTA and on every community board in town.”

  He wasn’t sure he did know that woman. “And she was interested in your father—romantically.” Sexually. But no way was he going to say that, not when they were talking about her Baptist pastor father.

  Merry shook her head. “No. At least I don’t think so. She wanted attention—wanted to talk to him about everything that she was in charge of at the church from what kind of flowers he thought they should have on the altar at Easter to decorations for Vacation Bible School. He didn’t have a lot of patience with people who wanted to be micromanaged, or for people who wanted attention for the sake of it.

  “It was the perfect storm. All that controversy had been going on, and that was just the big stuff, and he had brushed Hannah off one too many times. She accused him of raping her.”

  Jarrett caught his breath. Every rich, professional athlete feared that. This took him back to the time that Sherry had accused him of impregnating her. That had been awful but wouldn’t hold a candle to being falsely accused of rape—if it had been a false accusation.

  She seemed to pick up on the thought. “He didn’t do it, Jarrett. Hear me out. Looking back with what I know now, I’m not sure there was enough evidence to indict him, but it was a small town. Hannah Cook was a big dog and Daddy had bucked the system. There was a trial. Sides were taken and one was just as vehement as the other. Fortunately, one of my father’s biggest fans was also the best attorney in town, and he took the case pro bono.”

  “And he got your father off.”

  She nodded. “Not only that, he destroyed Hannah so thoroughly on the stand that she ended up losing her composure completely and recanting. And finally, we get to the part of the story that answers your question—why I want to be a public defender.

  “There is no way we could have afforded the defense my father got, and he’d be in jail right now if he’d had to depend on a public defender. It would have destroyed all of our lives. So I decided then I would go to the best school I could and become the best defense attorney I could. And I would defend people who couldn’t afford it as if they were paying me top dollar. I do not have any illusions. Most accused rapists are guilty. Many of the people I will defend will be guilty. But I believe in the system, and everyone should have the best defense possible, someone to fight for them. And that’s it. We left Mississippi, moved to Beaver Crossing, and my father is free to shower the world with his compassion and good sense. And he’s free to preach things I agree with and things that I don’t. But those are his convictions and who am I tell him he’s wrong?”

  “You’re amazing.”

  “No, I’m not,” she said. “Not yet.”

  “I disagree.” If he hadn’t wanted her before, he would now. She was confident and optimistic, but realistic, too. She believed in pie in the sky, but she knew it didn’t come easy or free. She was willing to climb a mountain to get it.

  “You aren’t going to tell me I’m an idealist?”

  “No. You already know that, but you’re practical, too. Because of that, you’re less likely to become disillusioned and quit when things go wrong—as they certainly will from time to time. I think you’ll always rally to fight another day.”

  And she smiled. He could have committed the ultimate blunder—the one he couldn’t have come back from. He could have devalued her convictions. But somehow, the right words had come out. She was still smiling.

  “Eat,” she said. “You’ve hardly eaten.”

  That was a sure sign—not that he needed one. There had never been a woman who had made him forget to eat.

  • • •

  Merry did not want to let the night go, but the pizza was gone, the restaurant was almost empty, and the staff was cleaning the floor and straightening tables.

  “It’s getting late,” Jarrett said. He leaned across the table and touched the corner of her eye. “Somebody is sleepy.”

  Yes, somebody was. It had been a long day and a long night. Once in a great while, she wished she had someone to climb in bed and cuddle with, but she had never wished it more than she did right now. And for the first time, that wish wasn’t just for someone—it was for this man. Maybe it was the cold rain. Maybe it was the way he had listened to her so intently and had not belittled her ideals.

  Or maybe it was just that she was tired, and tired of being alone. Either way it wasn’t going to happen.

  “Yes. I should get to bed. You probably should, too.”

  He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have practice until the afternoon, but I’m going to work out with some of the guys in the morning.” He hesitated. “I have to fly out first thing Thursday morning to Chicago. Blackhawks that night, then on to Minnesota to play the Wild Friday—the night before New Year’s Eve.” Was he about to ask her out for New Year’s Eve? And if so, what would that imply? New Year’s Eve was a special night. It had been a long time since she’d seen the New Year in with someone. And if he asked, should she go? “Any chance you’d go to dinner with me tomorrow night?”

  Tomorrow night, but not New Year’s night, not the special time. A bit of disappointment set in—disappointment that she had no business feeling.

  “I couldn’t stay out late,” he said.

  “Do you have a curfew?” she teased.

  “Actually, I do. Midnight the night before a game, though I like to be in bed by eleven.”

  If she hadn’t been so ti
red, she wouldn’t have let the image of that invade her thoughts—flannel pants, no shirt, king-size bed.

  “Anyway.” He smiled that barely there smile. “I like to carb up the night before, and I’d like you to carb up with me.”

  “Would I have to carb up? What if I want protein?” And she realized she’d accepted without considering. It was done now, almost as if someone else had made the decision for her.

  “Just because I’m carbing up, doesn’t mean I’ll be shunning protein. I need both to play hockey.”

  “I want both,” she said, “though I don’t know about need, since I won’t be playing hockey.”

  “You might need both to watch hockey.” He narrowed his eyes a bit. “Will you be watching hockey?”

  “What?” Surely he didn’t think she was going to Chicago. “No. Chicago is a little far for me.”

  “I meant on television. You have cable, don’t you?”

  “Why would I need cable?”

  “To watch me play hockey.”

  “I don’t have a television.”

  His eyes flew open. “You don’t have a television? Everybody has a television.”

  “Not me. Why would I need one? I work and study all the time.”

  He shook his head. “You are unlike anybody I have ever known, Merry Sweet.” He placed his hands on the table and looked at the ceiling. “Well. Maybe I’ll have to call you and tell you how it went.”

  “Maybe you will.” Would that be so bad?

  “But for now, I need to get you home.”

  “Back to my car, you mean.”

  He frowned. “I don’t really like the idea of that. It’s late. I would rather see you home.”

  “But you see, that’s not going to work out, since that would leave my car in the Bridgestone parking garage. Besides, I’ve been getting myself home for a long time now.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m old-fashioned.”

  “Actually, it’s kind of nice. Just not practical.”

  He made to get up and she reached for her jacket. “No. Stay here a minute please. I’ll be back for you.”

  She almost asked why but realized he probably needed to go to the restroom. An old-fashioned guy wouldn’t like to say so.