by Toni Aleo
“That would be up to you.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“I thought you wanted kids? Hell, three years ago you gave me all kinds of crap for wanting to wait. Now we’ve waited.”
“This is crazy.” He shook his head.
“You’ll be a great father. You have so much to teach children,” she said.
“This is nuts.”
“You said that already. Will you at least consider it?”
He frowned, his brow wrinkled.
“Please. Just think about it. You don’t have to decide now.”
“Okay. I’ll think about it.”
She shot him a flirtatious glance. “We could work on making the first one now.”
A grin lit up his face. “We could. Yes. I’d be up for that.”
“You’d have to be up for it to work,” she chuckled, sliding the comforter down.
Christmas Eve day
Harry woke up first. He stretched in bed and yawned. It killed him that he felt fine but still couldn’t play. It’s not like he had a broken limb or was paralyzed, or anything like that. Still a perfect physical specimen plus a scar from the surgery, yet without the stamina to play hockey.
Shaking his head, he hit the john, brushed his teeth, and pushed the frustration out of his mind. Kitty had begged him not to cancel their big party today, and he’d agreed. Harry’d pretend to be happy, cheerful, laughing, and feeling the spirit. No more difficult task could have befallen him.
His wife slept. Her auburn hair complemented the ivory pillowcase. One bare shoulder protruded from the fluffy comforter. Her skin, smooth, the color of porcelain, tempted him. According to tradition, making love was on the agenda.
After checking his armpits, he eased back into bed. Harry snaked his arm around Kitty’s middle. She stirred.
“What time is it?”
“Time for lovin’,” he replied.
With a soft chuckle, she rolled over to face him. “Bathroom first.”
“Go,” he said, giving her rump a squeeze as she flung off the covers.
Hippity-hopping across the cold floor, her bare skin pebbled as she wrapped her arms around her chest. Harry dialed up the temperature on the mattress pad. Within minutes the bathroom door opened, and his beautiful, naked lady scooted across the room and took a flying leap into bed. Harry drew her close, into his warmth.
“Oh, God. It’s cold,” she said, her teeth chattering a bit.
“Let me warm you up,” he snickered.
Kitty wound her leg around his hips and snuggled her face into his neck. A faint, sweet, familiar scent pleased his nose. His hands rubbed up and down the tender skin of her back.
“Warming up?”
She nodded.
Harry loosened his grip so he could reach around in front where luscious breasts flattened against his chest. Blood pumped to his dick as he caressed her body. Kitty kissed him, unleashing his desire. He cupped her rear, pushing her hips to his. Her perfect butt filled his hand. She ran her instep up and down his shin. When her knee moved up, he clasped her thigh, his fingers on the back. He slid them up to her core, grinning as she let out a small gasp.
“Harry,” she breathed in his ear.
“Love you,” he said.
Kitty wrapped her fingers around his erection while he rubbed her. Then he slid a finger between her folds and inside. She squeezed her eyes shut and stopped moving.
“Damn. You do it. You do it to me. Every time.”
“Ready?” he asked.
“Hell, yes.”
He mounted her, lubricated himself with her juices, then entered. He loved the feel of her tightness surrounding him. Her moans and movement spiked his desire. At least he could still give his wife pleasure. Gratitude filled his heart. He pumped his hips, his eyes slitted to watch her reaction.
Kitty’s face softened, then her eyes squeezed tight as her groans grew louder. She was close. Harry smiled as he watched her give in to an orgasm. He bowed his head, kissing her neck. Sweat broke out on his forehead.
Pushing up on his hands, he stared down at her. Her eyes fluttered open, the green more brilliant.
“Harry,” she sighed.
He grinned. “Good one?”
“The best.”
Her muscles contracted around him again, spiking his body heat. He increased his pace and closed his eyes as his release took over his body. His balls tightened, one shudder, a hard thrust, and he stopped. Warmth and pleasure coursed through his veins all the way to his toes.
Bracing himself, he lowered his lips to her peak once more, then withdrew. Sitting back on his haunches, his gaze caressed his wife. Beautiful, vulnerable, and satisfied, Kitty smiled at him and combed her fingers through his hair.
“I love you, Harry Edwards.”
“And I love you, beautiful.”
He fell back on the pillows next to her. Kitty crawled into his embrace, snuggling her head against his shoulder. Harry ran his fingertips over her bare skin. His thoughts returned to his situation, bringing a frown.
“Are you fretting about hockey?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
“Forget it. We have the party tonight. There’s so much to do. The caterers will be here at noon,” she said.
“Noon? It thought it was tonight.”
“Tonight, on Christmas Eve, starts at four o’clock. It’s an open house. I expect we’ll have people coming and going from four until eleven.”
“Geez.”
“I know. But you always have fun. Tomorrow’s our bathrobe-and-leftovers day.”
He grinned. “That’s the best present of all.” This time, he wouldn’t be playing, so it didn’t matter if he drank or was rested or had exercised during those days off, did it?
“You’re a regular party animal, Harry.”
He laughed. “Not exactly. What time is it?”
“Ten. Already,” she groaned, rolling over on her back.
“Better get dressed before the troops arrive,” he muttered, throwing back the covers and swinging his legs over the side.
Kitty grabbed his hand, and, drawing it to her lips, muttered, “Thank you.”
Harry bent down, cupped her cheek, and brushed her lips with his. Then he stood and wandered into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
By eleven thirty, his house was filled with hot-and-cold running caterers, bartenders, liquor store delivery boys, and waiters. The house had been scrubbed from top to bottom. The kitchen overflowed with people preparing food. Clad in navy sweats, Kitty stood in the living room, directing everyone.
Temporary bars were set up in the foyer and the den. The dining room table, stretched to its limit with inserts, had been covered with a gigantic, festive tablecloth, and sterling silver flatware. It stood proud and ready to present the scrumptious buffet. Platters, pulled from cupboards, were washed and ready to carry hot and cold hors d’oeuvres among the crowd expected to invade his space in the early afternoon.
Harry bundled up in fleece sweats and a down jacket, climbed in his SUV, and sped away. He drove around for an hour, stopping for breakfast at the mom-and-pop diner nearby. With nowhere to go, he turned the car toward Hartford and the barn. At least it would be quiet there.
After punching in his code, he opened the door, and headed for the rink. He flipped on the lights. The Zamboni had been through and the pristine ice beckoned him. He loved to be the first one on clean ice, leaving his tracks on the smooth surface.
He lugged his skates from his locker and went for a spin. Careful not to exert himself, he glided along, forward, then backward, lifting a leg, and ending in a twirl. Harry’d been on ice since he was eight. Memories of speed skating contests on a pond in the woods returned. He smiled. From the get-go, little Harry Edwards had been the fastest boy on ice in his small hometown. His parents, always stretching a buck to feed a family of five, saved enough to get him a second-hand pair of ice skates for Christmas.
It had been love at first s
kate. When it got dark, they’d go searching for him in the woods. There he’d be, twirling and racing along the frozen pond. Now, that would come to an end. His heart grew heavy.
Short of breath after three laps, Harry hit the bench. Recollections of fantastic shots he’d blocked marched through his mind. Then came the image of that last save, the one that had taken his career, his livelihood. He could almost feel the pain in his neck again. He touched the scar and remembered the panic, mixed with the excruciating agony, when he couldn’t breathe.
They’d done a tracheotomy right in the arena before hauling him to the hospital. He awoke hooked up every which way to machines. A small, warm hand, resting in his, had brought him around. Kitty had flown up from D.C. She’d stayed by his side for the first three weeks, giving the gallery over to her assistant.
Gratitude for her loyalty again filled his heart. Though he’d never admit it, Harry’d been scared out of his mind. Kitty had soothed and calmed him. The doctors reassured him he wasn’t going to die, and that he’d be able to breathe on his own just fine soon enough.
It wasn’t until training started, and he ran into trouble, that the doctors admitted his life wasn’t going to be exactly the same. They couldn’t predict the level of restriction his salvaged windpipe would impose on his game. Hell, they thought it a miracle he was alive.
The images in his memory faded. Harry stared at the empty rink and stands. His heart squeezed. Nothing could replace the cheering of the crowd, especially when he’d blocked a goal or taken out an opponent. The noise had pumped him up like a shot of adrenaline. For a few seconds, he was Harry Edwards, king of the rink.
Emotion rose like a tidal wave in his chest. His eyes stung. Unable to tamp it down, Harry put his hands to his face and sobbed. Leaning against the railing, he cried. He’d lost his career. What would happen to his marriage?
The creaking of a door interrupted his pity party. He wiped his face on his sleeve and sat up. It was Coach Timmons.
“Saw a car. Thought it might be you.”
“Yeah?” Harry replied.
“Can’t imagine any of the other guys coming in here to skate on a day off.”
Harry grinned. “Got that right.”
Stan Timmons eased down next to Harry.
“How are you doing?”
“Been better. I’m okay. I guess.”
“Gonna take that scout job?”
Harry shook his head. “Not if I want to stay married.”
Coach nodded. “I see. The traveling. Right?”
“Right.”
“Any other plans?”
“Nope.”
Coach pursed his lips. “I might be able to do something for you.”
“Really?” Harry turned his gaze to his coach.
“Yeah. Let me make some calls. Might be here in Hartford, though. Where’s your wife working?”
“D.C.”
“Oh, yeah. Anything I can dig up would be here.”
“At least I’d be in one place.”
Coach Timmons slapped Harry on the shoulder. “Okay then. I’ll make some calls and get back to you. Merry Christmas, by the way.”
“Merry Christmas, Coach.”
Stan Timmons ambled off toward his office. Harry took off his skates, jammed them back in his locker, and washed his face. He got in the car, took a deep breath, and returned to the chaos that was his home. What would Kitty say to an opportunity that kept him in Hartford? Would he have to sell his beloved home and become permanently “Mr. Kitty” in Washington? He sighed and put the car in gear.
Chapter Four
When Harry walked in, his house was abuzz with workers. The sound of the door chimes drew his attention. He opened to find a man he had never seen before.
“And you are?”
“The piano player,” the man at the door replied.
“Come in, come in.” Harry stepped aside, ushering the stranger into his home. “Right this way.”
“Do you have any preference for music?”
“Just Christmas stuff.”
“I get that. But I mean religious or secular?”
“No madrigals, hymns, dirges or Gregorian chants. Something fun. In the spirit,” Harry said.
Fun. He barely choked out that word. Would anything, outside of sex with his wife, ever be a good time again?
“Got it.” The man sat down at the upright, stretched his hands and played scales.
Everyone warms up. Pianists, singers, hockey players…but he’d never warm up again. Emotion grabbed his chest. He coughed and coughed.
“Darling? Are you all right?” Kitty asked. “Sherman, get him a glass of water. Please.”
Someone else Harry didn’t know strode up to him with a small tumbler. Harry nodded, took the glass and sipped.
“Good.” Kitty said, planting a quick kiss on Harry’s lips. “Time to dress,” she said, taking him by the hand.
The couple climbed the stairs to their boudoir and shut the door. Harry sank down on the bed, then fell back flat.
“Harry! Don’t fall asleep! The party starts in half an hour.”
“Just a little shuteye?”
Kitty sat next to him. “This is getting you down, isn’t it?”
“Really? You mean losing my entire livelihood in three months isn’t a good enough reason to feel like shit?”
“Of course it is. But tonight? It’s Christmas Eve. Can’t we look at all we have and try to be grateful? Can’t we toast with our friends and family to our good fortune?”
“Good fortune? What good fortune? One fucking slapshot and I’m out to pasture. I’m thirty-three, Kitty. Thirty-three! Not forty-five. I’m not over the hill. But I am now, all because of that stupid, fucking surgery.”
“That stupid fucking surgery saved your life,” she pointed out.
“Life? What life? Life is over for me.”
Her eyebrows rose and her eyes watered. “Harry Edwards! Don’t you ever say such a thing to me again! Your life is not over. You have me. Our marriage. Our future children. And another career. We just have to figure out what that is.”
“Easy for you to say. Your career is on the rise. I’m finished. Done. Dumped. Out with the trash.”
She bent over to hug him. “I know you feel that way, but you’ll see. Things’ll get better. At least we have each other and money in the bank. That’s more than most people can say.”
“Fucking optimist,” he muttered, rolling over on his side.
She patted his back. “Why don’t I lay out your clothes while you take a short nap? Then you can change and join the party. Okay?”
He nodded. “Thanks.”
Kitty disappeared into the bathroom. Harry closed his eyes. Strains of popular Christmas carols floated up to the second floor. Harry mouthed the words almost automatically. After a gazillion Christmas pageants in school, he knew all the lyrics by heart.
The First Noel, then Silver Bells…one by one, religious carols alternated with secular ones. Harry’s eyes drifted shut, but the songs continued to play in his head. He loved Christmas carols. When they were first married, he and Kitty tagged along with a group of neighborhood carolers. Since he’d made the big-time, they’d sold their tiny starter house and bought this elegant abode. The switch in neighborhoods brought an end to the holiday tradition. He’d missed it.
The click of the bathroom door startled him. Kitty emerged, dressed in the most beautiful forest green velvet, floor-length dress. The scoop neck highlighted her graceful shoulders and ample bosom. God, she took his breath away.
“Great, you look great,” he murmured.
“Thanks.” She bent to kiss him and was out the door before he could comment further. His eyelids grew heavy.
A hand jostled his shoulder. “Get up. Harry. Time to get up.” He cracked sleepy lids to spy his wife at his side.
“Darling, the party is going great. Please get dressed and come downstairs. Everyone is asking for you.”
Harry managed a weak
smile, pushed up on his elbows and threw off the covers. Kitty hugged him. “The party’s not the same without you. Hurry, darling.”
He nodded. She called him “darling” when she worried about him. Hey, he was fine, physically. One sharp-eyed glance at Kitty gave it away. Her eyebrows knitted, and she’d pulled her lower lip between her teeth. He smoothed her hair with his palm.
“I’ll be right down.”
“Good. Love you,” she said and was gone in a shot.
Sounds of singing met his ears. The piano sounded good—the voices, not so much. He chuckled. Wasn’t a decent, tune-carrier on the entire team. A quick splash of water on his face and then he ran a comb through his short hair. Harry buttoned his flannel shirt, zipped up his cords, and headed for the stairs. When he appeared at the top, a shout went up.
“Harry!”
His rowdy teammates held up glasses and cheered. It wasn’t about what had happened, because they didn’t know. His conversation with Coach Timmons had been private. The goofballs playing on the Huskies did that for him every year.
Harry’s parents now resided in Florida, so they weren’t at the party but Kitty’s were. They greeted Harry with hugs and sympathetic looks. Shit! They know! He couldn’t expect Kitty to keep the bad news from her family.
He exchanged high fives, butt pats, and shoulder slaps with his teammates as he made his way to the bar. At least he could have a few good belts now and watch his teammates stay dry. He exchanged greetings with the neighbors, then sidled up to a group of five Huskies who were discussing the next game.
“The Falcons have won their last five games,” Buzzy said.
“Philly’s always been hard to beat,” said their star forward.
“That fuckin’ forward, Darren something?” asked their number two defenseman.
“He’s been their lead scorer all season.”
The men turned slightly to face Harry. “Harry, got any ideas how to rock them?”
“Well. Darren’s not God. Every man’s got a weakness. I remember last year…”
Harry launched into a description of the close game they played last January, then chucked in advice. The men hung on his words. Glancing up, he noticed Kitty leaning against the archway, drink in hand, smiling, watching.