Hockey Holidays

by Toni Aleo

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Off in the distance they could hear fireworks from downtown, then inside the bakery cheers and horns alerting the midnight hour.

  Kyler leaned in close, his lips only inches from hers. “Happy New Year.” His smelled of sweet lemon. Then his lips pressed against hers, he kissed her soft and gentle.

  Avery wrapped her arms around his shoulders and deepened the kiss to her satisfaction. She couldn’t help the soft moan that formed in the back of her throat. Pulling away only enough so she could speak, “Happy New Year, Kyler.”

  The End

  Books by Melody Heck Gatto

  The Renegades Series

  Until You – Prequel to the Renegades

  Score On Me – Renegades 1

  Unsportsmanlike Conduct – Renegades 2

  Playing the Game – Renegades 3

  Zambonis and Mistletoe – Renegades 4

  Shutout – Renegades 5

  Shootout Save – Renegades 6

  Blindsided – Renegades 7

  Shot at Love – Renegades 8

  Body Checked (After the Buzzer) – Renegades 9

  Melting the Ice – Renegades 10 (Coming Soon)

  About Melody Heck Gatto

  Melody was born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, where she still lives with her husband, son, dog and cats.

  The whole family are avid Pittsburgh Penguins fans and like going to hockey games when they get the chance. Having met some of the players has fueled her interest in writing about hockey and creating wonderful stories.

  Melody has loved writing since she was small. In school she never met a creative writing assignment that she didn't love. She is lucky enough to have a wonderful husband who encourages her to write. When she was laid off from her job of 14 years, he was supportive about letting her stay home and just be a mom. During that time, she discovered hockey romances and found a renewed love of reading as well as a passion for writing.

  During the holidays, she really enjoys any romance about Christmas, and especially Hallmark movies on tv. There’s just something about fairy tale romances, and happily ever afters that she can’t get enough of.

  You can email Melody pensfan621@gmail.com, visit her website for more information, or catch up on her blog posts.

  Jean C. Joachim - The Final Slapshot

  Harry "Deke" Edmonds hides his secret, hoping for a Christmas miracle. When confronted with the truth, will his heart-breaking decision cost him everything?

  Dedication

  To hockey fans everywhere.

  Special Dedication

  To Trent McCleary, who inspired this story.

  Acknowledgment

  A huge thank you to V. L. Locey, who kept the hockey part of this story accurate. Thank you, also, to Jami Davenport, who invited me into the hockey holiday anthology. Without her generous invitation, this novella would never have been written. Thank you to my editor, Sherri Good, and my proofreader, Renee Waring.

  Chapter One

  Harry “Deke” Edwards, defenseman for the Hartford Huskies pro hockey team, walked into Jasper’s Jewelry on Park Street.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the man behind the counter asked.

  “Yeah. Diamonds. A bracelet?”

  “A tennis bracelet?”

  “Naw. Hockey. I play hockey.”

  “No, I meant the style of bracelet. May I show you?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  Embarrassed and feeling like an idiot, Deke wandered around the store, peering into the cases. He spotted a pair of diamond earrings. He’d get both the bracelet and the earrings. Hell, it was Christmas, wasn’t it? Maybe their last one as husband and wife. A heaviness surrounded his heart.

  “Here you go, sir,” the clerk said.

  Deke held up the bracelet, fit it around his thick wrist. Of course, it was too small for him. It should fit his wife, Kitty, just right.

  “I’ll take it. And those earrings over there, too.”

  “Yes, sir.” The clerk bustled over to the case to extract the baubles. “Shall I wrap them separately?”

  “Please.”

  “As a gift?”

  “Christmas gift.”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  As he looked out the window, Deke shook his head. Was he nuts? Who buys expensive jewelry for his wife right before he meets with his lawyer to discuss divorce? The clerk returned and handed him the presents.

  With a tiny, elegant shopping bag in his massive paw, Deke headed for the parking lot. He maneuvered his car down the highway to Monroe. He pulled up in front of a two-story office building. The icy wind penetrated his thin jacket during the short walk from the car.

  Deke and Kitty had been living together only part-time for three years. She ran an art gallery in Washington, D.C. while he played for the Huskies in Connecticut. Was it fair to keep her tied to him when she had a life elsewhere? Inheriting the gallery from her aunt three years ago had been their undoing. She wanted to run it, and he wanted to play hockey. They agreed to live apart during the season. Off-season, he trotted down to D.C. to bunk in with her.

  He’d found it uncomfortable being “Mr. Kitty” to the folks in her circle. She was too good for him, and he’d always known it. Smart, and sophisticated, she understood all kinds of crap about art. He couldn’t distinguish between modern art and a finger painting. Kitty was sweet, hot, gorgeous—and she laughed at his dumb jokes. How could he not fall for her?

  By year two, they had patched together a disjointed schedule of meet-ups. Often, during the week, Kitty joined him in hotels on the road, especially when they were in towns close to D.C., like Baltimore and Philly. Their separation made times together intense and hot. Frequently, it was sack time first and catching up second.

  When he was in Hartford, the loneliness ate at him. Although they’d speak often, almost every night, he hated going to bed and waking up alone. Distance grew between them. Calling ceased to be regular. Some nights he’d fall asleep before touching base with her and regret it in the morning.

  Puck bunnies in faraway towns tempted him, but he resisted. Sex on the road would have been easy—just fuck and leave. He simply refused to jeopardize his eight-year marriage for a roll in the hay. Besides, no easy lay could compare with making love to Kitty.

  He opened the door of his lawyer’s office and sat down in the waiting area.

  “Mr. Cohen will see you now,” the receptionist said.

  Deke ambled into the tasteful, mahogany-paneled room. He occupied a chair opposite the mammoth wood desk. Herb Cohen talked on the phone. He swiveled to face Deke and gave him a smile. When he hung up, he raised his gaze to Deke’s.

  “What can I do for you, Harry?”

  “I think it’s time to give Kitty a divorce.”

  “Divorce?”

  “You remember. We talked about it. Give her half of our assets and the house in Washington, and whatever else she wants. Okay?”

  “Shouldn’t we talk about this?”

  “We did. She deserves to have her freedom, not be stuck with a washed-up hockey player.”

  “Since when are you washed up?”

  Deke waved his hand. “Never mind about that.”

  “And what about you?”

  “Me?” he laughed. “I’ve had eight years with the most wonderful woman in the world. I’d say I’ve been more than lucky.” Deke pushed to his feet and strode to the door. “Send me the bill.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “About the bill?”

  “About the divorce.”

  “No, but I do lots of things I’m not sure about. It’s only right she get her life back before it’s too late.”

  “It’s a no-fault state. So this should be easy.”

  “Good. That means it’ll be cheap, too. Right?”

  “Maybe. It depends on her.”

  “She won’t fight it.”

  He exited the building. Once in his car, he felt empty. Something was missing. Oh, ye
s. He’d left his heart in Herb Cohen’s office.

  On the drive home, he remembered their last big fight. It had happened when they were still together full time.

  “I’m not ready to have children yet.” Kitty had been sitting at her dressing table, brushing her auburn hair.

  “Christ, Kitty, want to wait ’til you’re forty?”

  “That’s ridiculous! I’m only twenty-seven. Can’t you wait five years?”

  “Five years! I could be dead in five years.”

  “Then we’ll freeze your sperm.”

  “Nobody’s freezin’ nothing of mine.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “I understand you don’t wanna have kids with me. You gonna run that stupid art gallery instead?”

  “It’s not stupid. I just want a chance at a career. Just for a few years.”

  “A few years? Yeah, right. Why didn’t you tell me you didn’t want to have kids before we got married?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just want to wait. Please, Harry?

  “I can’t force you,” he said, turning away from her. “Go be a career woman.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m backed into a corner here,” he said, anger rising in his chest. He’d stomped out of the bedroom, down the stairs and into his car. He’d driven around for an hour. When he’d returned home, Kitty wasn’t there.

  Damn it! Why did life have to be so hard? Things had been going great for him. Being the top defenseman on the Huskies and married to the hottest, nicest woman—Deke had captured the brass ring of life. Now, half of that dream had burst into flames. Was there any way to keep the other half from crumbling?

  The next morning, after sleeping past his alarm, Deke pushed thoughts about his marriage out of his mind. At nine thirty, he turned his car toward Hartford and headed for the Huskies’ arena. He’d be late for morning skate, usually a big deal with Coach Timmons. But Coach had gone soft on Deke, allowing him an infraction or two, pretending not to notice. Deke worried. That couldn’t be good.

  He parked and hustled into the locker room. He threw on sweats and headed for the exercise room. Warm-ups came first. The other guys were already bending and stretching.

  “Glad you could fit us into your schedule, Mr. Edwards,” Sonny, the head trainer said.

  “Sorry, Sonny. Won’t happen again.”

  The trainer shot him a cold glance and continued leading the men. Deke fell in with the back line.

  “What the fuck?” It was Buzzy MacConnell, a winger, and Deke’s best friend.

  “Stuff,” Deke muttered and turned his gaze to the front of the room.

  Fifteen minutes later, they headed for the ice. Deke took his time getting his skates on. Feeling a glare, he looked up. Eyes narrowed, Sonny rubbed his chin as he stared. Deke swallowed. The trainer was getting too close. He’d catch on.

  Pushing up, Deke joined in with the skate warm-up. He circled the rink, trying to keep up.

  A whistle blew. “Faster!” Sonny yelled.

  Buzzy caught up to Deke. His brows knitted as he glanced at his buddy.

  “You okay?” Buzzy asked.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Deke growled, increasing his speed.

  Sonny took them through passing and shooting drills. Deke and two other defensemen blocked. After an hour, they broke. Deke ripped off his skates in record time and charged into the bathroom. Locking himself in a stall, he whipped out an inhaler and shot two puffs into his lungs. It didn’t help. The doctor told him to forget the nebulizer, but Deke insisted on trying it.

  He collapsed on the toilet seat and bent over, waiting until his breathing returned to normal. It didn’t take long. As soon as he stopped the exertion, his chest calmed down. He shut his eyes tight, his lips clamped together into a fine line as he recalled his last visit to the doctor.

  “How long until I can breathe normal again?” Harry asked the doctor.

  “This isn’t going to get better, Harry.”

  “That’s what you said. But I swear, I was able to go longer yesterday.”

  “You’re fooling yourself. The surgery took out fifteen percent of your windpipe. It’s not going to grow back. You can’t move as fast as you used to. It’s a fact. Try to accept it.”

  “Accept it? You want me to accept that one injury has taken away my whole life?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I had better news. We had to do that to save your life.”

  “Yeah? Well some fuckin’ life you left me with,” Harry muttered, slamming out of the doctor’s office.

  He’d picked up a bottle of his favorite vodka and gotten blasted that night, all by himself. Sonny had told him exercise does miraculous things. According to him, “Men have made parts of their bodies come back enough to continue playing.” Deke refused to accept the doctor’s prediction that this was the end of the line for his life on ice. He’d simply have to work harder.

  Tomorrow, they’d leave for Washington, to play the Wolverines. Kitty would stay with him—the perfect time to tell her about his plan. She’d never asked for a divorce, but the strain of separation showed in her face. Her phone calls had petered out. Deke had no clue what was going on in her life, yet, she stuck with him.

  After the injury, she’d rushed to the hospital and held his hand when he came out of surgery. That one slapshot had changed everything. He had to man up. It was time to put Kitty ahead of himself and set her free to have a better life.

  Deke managed to make it through the rest of skate time. He turned down Buzz’s invitation to dine with him and his wife to head home, alone, and prepare for the trip. He watched some reels of the Wolverines while he ate. A smile crept across his face. Hell, he found their weak spot within fifteen minutes. Defending against them would be a piece of cake.

  Their best shooter was left-handed, making it easier to sneak up on him and block his shot. He chuckled. It didn’t look like the guy had good aim, or was it only that game? If he could still defend, Kitty and Sonny wouldn’t know the truth—at least not for a while.

  He climbed into bed and turned out the light, sinking into a deep sleep. Deke was right there, skating against the Boston Bulldogs. They were hot, the toughest team on the ice. He scrambled to block the forward, heading for the Huskies goal.

  There it was, wham! A perfect slapshot at the goal! Deke leaped into the air, sailing across the crease. The puck hit him in the neck, crushing his larynx and windpipe. He crashed down hard. Gasping for breath, he barely managed to skate to the bench, where he collapsed. Everything went dark, until he awoke in the recovery room.

  Dreaming, Deke tossed, clutching his throat, the memory of being unable to breathe flashing back. Sweat broke out on his face, soaking his pillow. He jolted awake. Damn, would he ever stop reliving that horrible day?

  During his recovery, Kitty commuted to her gallery, spending weekdays with him, but returning to D.C. for weekends, when the gallery did most of it’s business. The accident jumpstarted their marriage. As if on a honeymoon, they couldn’t get enough time together. Deke counted the hours until Kitty returned to him.

  He figured you didn’t need a big windpipe to skate. The injury wasn’t like racking up a knee or breaking an ankle. He’d be on the ice again once he recovered from the surgery and regained his strength.

  But if you can’t breathe, you can’t skate. Or at least skate fast enough to play pro hockey. For the first time, he’d been dumped on the disabled list. After a month, the Huskies brought Deke back. They’d kept an eye on him but hadn’t started him yet. Grateful to hide his breathing condition longer, Deke didn’t complain. On this trip, Coach Timmons told Deke he’d start.

  He’d been all for it, until morning skate. Sure, the doc had told him the truth, but he didn’t believe it. Doing breathing exercises at home should bring his wind back. But not so far. Punching his pillows and rearranging the sheet and blanket, he changed position. How much longer could he pretend?

  Kitty put down the phone. The doc
tor confirmed her worst fear—Harry’s career was over. Her stomach turned over and her eyes wetted. Harry, her strong, handsome, powerful husband reduced to a has-been. How could this be? Just a little reduction in the windpipe and—blam!—game over.

  Blotting her cheeks with a tissue, she swallowed. Her hands fisted as the word unfair breezed through her brain. He’d turned himself into a pretzel with insane travel, a D.C. home, and other expenses, supporting her career. The gallery was doing great, even with the crazy schedule she kept. When Kitty flew off to join Harry, Donna, her assistant, took over. Success knocked at Kitty’s door, and now, Harry, a proud man, would be kissing fame goodbye.

  Anxiety clutched her gut. How would their marriage survive? The tipping of the delicate scale would require new ways to cope. Now, he could be with her fulltime in Washington. But would he want that? Harry move into her digs and be in her shadow? Never.

  Her heart squeezed. This couldn’t be the end of Kitty and Harry. She padded to the kitchen and put up a fresh pot of coffee. It was nine, but she had no appetite for breakfast. There had to be a way to reorganize their life so that their marriage would survive.

  After adding milk and sugar to her mug, she dialed her mother. At the sound of her voice, Kitty burst into tears. Unable to stop crying, she couldn’t speak.

  “What’s wrong? Kitty? Dear? Please. Tell me what’s wrong.”

  Kitty took a deep breath and brought her phone to her ear. “Mom?”

  “Kitty? What’s happened?”

  “Mom. It’s awful. It’s terrible. Harry’s career is over, and he won’t tell me and he won’t stop playing and it’s terrible. I don’t know what’s going to happen,” she said, stringing the words together.

  “What are you talking about?”