by Toni Aleo
The gallery had grown. Shows were bringing in a decent crowd, and she’d covered all her expenses from income earned this year—a first. Harry had provided funds to make up the difference in the past. She couldn’t completely walk away from it at this point. Kitty had worked hard to get it up and running, now was no time to quit.
She sipped her coffee as the bare-bones of a plan formed in her head. Concessions, big ones from both sides, would be needed for her idea to work. Her brows knitted. Harry had not been in a compromising mood lately. She had to give him time to adjust to the change in his life. But time was the one thing they didn’t have. He’d be off on the road and she’d return to Washington. Decisions had to be made now. She picked up the phone and headed to the den for privacy.
Harry lay in bed, trying to read. Finally, he put the book down. He pushed to his feet and stared out the window. Snow blanketed the trees, freezing into a crystalline coating on even the tiniest branches. The sky hung heavy with gray clouds. As he gazed at the landscape, he frowned.
What the hell was he going to do with his life now? Tag along after the team, watching them from the sidelines for a couple of months, while his marriage deteriorated? Or would he take the scouting job and get a divorce before his being gone turned them sour toward each other?
And that stupid coaching job! How ridiculous to turn him into a babysitter for a bunch of pimply faced, horny teens. He knew the hockey forward and backward, but they’d be more interested in the latest video game, getting laid, and smoking pot than paying attention to him.
Harry “Deke” Edwards, washed up, a man without a life. He watched the birds, industriously combing the frozen trees and ground for food—hell, at least they had jobs. He shook his head. This damn pity party had to stop. Wound-licking didn’t make him feel better or solve his problems. Only jerks sat around sucking their thumbs and feeling sorry for themselves.
Time to do something. Make a decision. His lips compressed into a thin line. First step would be following along with the team on this road trip. He yanked his small suitcase down from the closet and rummaged through his dresser. Time to pack. He’d think of something to say to Kitty to put her off until he’d had time to ponder life. He stopped.
What about Kitty? And the gallery? He had no answer. If he lost her, then he’d truly have nothing, but he’d be damned if he’d live the rest of his life as “Mr. Kitty” in D.C. He folded his clothes and laid them in the valise, then grabbed his spare Dopp kit and shoved it in. He’d have to leave at seven tomorrow morning to make the plane to Philly.
The aroma of something good lured him to the top of the stairs.
“What’s cookin’?” he yelled down toward the kitchen.
“Heating up some leftover roast beef and that apple pie. Hungry?”
“I am now,” he said descending to the first floor.
While Kitty bustled about, gathering the food, Harry set out the silverware. He opened a bottle of Malbec. They took their places at the kitchen table.
“You’re leaving early tomorrow, right?” Kitty asked.
He nodded, cutting off a piece of the succulent meat.
“We have to discuss some stuff.” She hesitated, her lip trembling a touch as she put down her fork. “Where do we go from here?”
“I don’t know.” He cupped her cheek and met her gaze with his. “We’ll work it out.”
“I need more than that, Harry. This is a crisis. Talk to me.”
He put down his fork. “I don’t have any answers. I thought that, after this road trip, on New Year’s, we could talk about where we go from here. Maybe by then, we’ll have direction.”
“You want me to wait?”
“It’s only a week.”
“True.” She cast her gaze to her plate.
Harry took her hand. “We can work it out, Kitty.” His lips spoke, but his mind didn’t agree.
“Can we?” She raised her eyes to his.
“Of course we can.” Emotion gathered in his chest.
“We’ll see.” She turned her attention back to her food.
That wasn’t the answer Harry expected. Had Kitty lost hope? He’d been acting like an idiot, moping around, worrying only about himself. How could he blame her?
“What’s happening at the gallery?” he asked, stuffing a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.
“Nothing too much. We’re finally in the black this year.”
“That’s great.”
“Thanks. I have plans to expand, sort of. Do more shows, find new artists.”
Beautiful and brainy, too. How did he get so lucky? Harry took her hand. “I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” She put down her fork. “Look, if you want to take that scouting job, I understand. The team is everything. Always has been. We could get a friendly divorce. If that’s what you want. I don’t want to stand in your way.” The color drained from her face.
Coming from her mouth, the word divorce terrified him. For a moment, words froze in his throat. She’d read his mind. The team had been his life until he met her. He’d thought it had settled into a fifty-fifty deal, with the team and Kitty splitting his heart.
In an instant, hearing her words clarified everything. He took her hand.
“The team isn’t everything to me. You are,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Tears spilled over onto her cheeks as she raised his hand to her lips.
“Do you want a divorce?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Then let’s keep the original plan. I’ll think about it on the road. You at home. At New Years, we’ll talk.”
“Okay,” she muttered, nodding.
His palms sweated, but the fluttering in his heart stopped. As easily as he’d thought about divorce before, once she said it, he realized a divorce would be a huge bomb in his life, blowing up what he loved most. If he needed to move to D.C. to keep Kitty, he’d figure it out.
“I can’t lose you. Please. I just can’t.” He pulled her onto his lap and hugged her tight.
She buried her face in his comfy shoulder and sobbed.
After a quiet farewell, Harry drove to Hartford. He boarded the aircraft with the rest of the team. Would this be his last time? He sat next to Buzzy and peered out the tiny window. The snow had stopped, but it had turned colder.
The plane climbed steadily, offering a view of snowy houses before it reached cruising altitude. Once it leveled off, there wasn’t much to see. Buzzy buried his nose in Sports Illustrated.
“It isn’t even the swimsuit issue,” Harry muttered.
“Nope. But there’s a piece here on Ron Duguay.”
“Duguay? He still alive?”
“Yep. He coached in the minors for four years. You think about that?”
“Nah.” The minors, what would he want with the minor leagues? A bunch of guys who could either shoot straight or defend but not both.
“Turnin’ your nose up at the minors? Didn’t you start there?”
“Only for one season. Huskies drafted me after I kicked fuckin’ butt in Scranton.”
“Duguay jumped right from amateur hockey to the Rangers.”
Harry read over his buddy’s shoulder.
“He set a Ranger record for the fastest goal at the start of a game,” Buzzy went on.
“Yeah?”
“Nine seconds,” the winger said, whistling through his teeth.
“That’s impressive. Did I ever tell you, MacConnell, about the time I… Harry began.
Buzzy closed the magazine and turned his attention to his teammate. One player sitting in front of them pushed up, turning his head to listen in.
When the plane landed at Philadelphia International Airport, the team boarded a private bus to the hotel. The men checked in before they headed to the arena to practice. The team chowed down at the barn before the game.
Since he wasn’t scheduled to play, Harry’d watch the game from the Huskies’ private box. Before game time, H
arry, dressed in a suit, hung around the locker room.
“Watch out for that dickwad, Darren,” Harry whispered to Bastien “Bass” Javier, the defenseman taking Harry’s spot.
“Darren?” The younger man’s brows knitted as he shot a quizzical glance Harry’s way.
“Yeah. That asshole is their biggest scorer. They pass to him before every goal.”
Bass nodded before he hit the chute with the rest of the team. Off the roster, like a bad boy, Harry headed for the box. What the fuck! Why was he even there if he wasn’t going to play?
As he watched the game, he noticed Coach Timmons gnawing on a fingernail. With a new man at defense, the whole balance of the team was off. With Harry in that slot, the Huskies hummed like a fine-tuned violin. But now? Hell, there’d be a whole lotta adjusting and fucked up plays until Bastien hit a rhythm with the others.
Harry cheered the good plays and booed the bad calls. At intermission, he joined the players in the locker room. Bass Javier plopped down on a bench and sucked down water. Harry sidled up to him.
“That fucker Darren. You gotta watch him. Keep your eye on him. Someone else brings it down, that asshole crosses over, and right when he’s in front, wham! He gets a pass and puts it in. Get your ass on him.”
Bass nodded as Harry went on. When Stan Timmons addressed the team, Harry moved to a corner to listen. Was this his last pep talk? A lump formed in Harry’s throat. When the team filed down the chute to the ice, Harry hung back. He blinked rapidly, wiped his nose with his handkerchief, and took a deep breath before taking his place in the box.
As play resumed, Buzzy took a perfect shot that was deflected by a Falcon defenseman. The same man bounced him into the boards. Harry jumped up out of his seat, yelling for a foul call. When he didn’t get it, anger steamed up his chest, he itched to get revenge on the ice. And he’d have done it, too, if he’d been playing. Watching from the box sucked big time. Harry jerked open a bottle of water and washed his rage down.
The Huskies lost the game with Philly, and the next one in New York, too. By the third game, in Baltimore, frustration had turned to desperation. Competitive spirit morphed into sheer hatred of the Baltimore Bulldogs. Harry nicknamed them the Baltimore Bullies for their dirty playing. Harry shouted encouragement from the bench.
Bass blocked the Bulldogs hotshot forward, knocking him into the boards and stole the puck. He raced down the ice, then shot a perfect pass to Buzz, who put it away. The goal bucked up the Huskies, who turned the tide, beating Baltimore three to two.
After the game, Coach Timmons called Harry into the injury room, a substitute office.
“Sit down,” he said. “We’re wrapping up the details with your agent about the contract buyout. You have a choice. You can ride out the rest of the season with us, or you can move on.”
Harry nodded, casting his gaze to the floor.
“Mind if I give you a little advice?”
“Please.”
“You’re thirty-three, right?” Again, Harry nodded. “You’ve made it past some players, age-wise. Retirement comes to all of us, eventually. It’s fifteen years for me, but I remember like it was yesterday. It’s not easy to take, but hell, it’s a medical and you’re in good shape. Count yourself lucky. Cheer up. You’re young for anything else. There’s a shitload of stuff you can do.”
“None of it’s what I want.”
“Hell, man. Stop complaining! You’ve got two good offers I know of. Probably could have more, if you’d look into it.”
“Maybe.”
“If you keep up this bad attitude, you’ll lose your friends, your wife, everything. Harry, pull yourself together. Play the cards you’ve been dealt. Make lemonade out of lemons. How many more stupid, dumbass fucking clichés do I have to throw at you?” Stan Timmons cracked a smile.
“You’re right. It’s just that I wasn’t expecting it. I thought I could play into my forties, like some other guys.”
“That’s the exception, not the rule.”
“I guess.”
“Got money?”
Harry nodded.
“Well, hell, man. What more do you want? In the prime of life and enough money to not have to work, right? You’ve got choices. You can do shit just because you want to. It’s a gift. A gift not many receive.”
“Never thought of it that way.”
“That’s the way it is. Be positive. Find a new path.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Let me know if you want to travel out the season with us.”
“I will.” Harry rose. The men embraced, and the coach slapped Harry on the shoulder as he left. Coach’s words tumbled again and again through Harry’s brain as he changed and headed for the bus. Was he right? Did Harry have a great life ahead or was he finished?
A tired team climbed on the plane for the flight home from Baltimore at the end of their road trip. It was December thirtieth. The men talked about getting home to their families and quiet New Year’s celebrations. Harry didn’t hear, his mind was elsewhere. He slipped into the seat Buzzy saved for him.
As the bus made its way to Hartford, Harry made one decision. The pain of traveling with the team and watching from the box overwhelmed him. No way could he continue to pretend he was a Husky. Riding shotgun wasn’t in Harry’s wheelhouse. A man of action, he’d always been the one making hockey happen, not cheering from the sidelines. He hated the idea of being a fifth wheel, watching his team play, helpless, unable to contribute to a victory.
As the bus rolled along the highway, Harry considered the options set before him. He’d have to pick one or come up with something else himself. Clueless, he bounced back and forth between the scouting offer and coaching the kids. Or he could become a house husband and raise a brood of little hockey players.
“Got plans?” Buzzy asked him.
“Nothing much. You?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m gonna pop the big one to Brenda.”
“Don’t tell me what you’re doing with your dick, Buzzy. Some things should remain private.”
“I wasn’t talking about sex, you dickwad! The big one, question. Propose, you idiot!”
Harry laughed. “Oh, I see. Sorry.”
“Sometimes you can be so dense. Get your head out of your ass. You know what you oughta do? Oughta have a dozen kids, so you could think about somebody else for a change,” Buzzy said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“I said I was sorry.”
“You’re too damn touchy these days.”
“You would be, too, if you were forced outta hockey by some stupid asshole’s slapshot.”
Harry turned away, facing the window.
“Is that it? I wondered why you weren’t playing.”
“Yeah. I’m being put out to pasture. No wind. Can’t skate. Can’t run. They made my windpipe smaller and I can’t get enough air,” Harry said, his voice low.
“Oh shit, man. Fuck! That sucks. You’re really off the team?”
“Can’t play. What’s the point of traveling around with the Huskies?”
Buzzy grabbed Harry and hugged him. “Fuck it, Deke. I had no idea.”
“Yeah, well, that’s the way I wanted it. Guess I can’t hide it forever.”
“The guys should know.”
“They’ve probably figured it out by now. Seeing as I passed out on the ice in my last game.”
“There was some talk.”
“About me?”
“Just guessing.”
“You can set ’em straight.”
“If you want me to.”
Harry nodded. “Go ahead. Doesn’t matter now anyway.”
“Gonna miss you,” Buzzy said, his voice husky.
“Don’t go there,” Harry said, holding up his hand.
The bus from the airport arrived at the arena. The men pushed forward while Harry hung back. He was the last one off. Kitty waved from the car. He smiled as he made his way to her.
Leaning over, he kissed her.
“Good trip?” she asked, putting the vehicle in gear.
“Not really. We split. Lost in Philly and New York. Won in Baltimore.”
“At least you didn’t lose them all.”
“True.”
Conversation veered toward dinner and their plans for New Year’s Eve.
“I don’t want to celebrate this year,” he said.
“What?”
“I mean, let’s skip the Sullivans’ party. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“Just get a couple of movies, some bubbly and order in Chinese. Just you and me.”
“If that’s what you want,” she said, keeping her eyes on the road.
“Did you want to go to the party?”
“It’s okay. I like their parties, but it won’t kill me to miss it.”
“You understand?” he asked.
“Of course. But we do need to return to the land of the living eventually,” she put in.
He chuckled.
Kitty turned into their semi-circular driveway. The smell of good food met Harry at the door. He took his bag upstairs, washed up, and met her at the table.
“Roast turkey. My favorite,” he said, picking up the carving knife.
“And turkey sandwiches for tomorrow.”
They focused on their food, avoiding conversation. When they finished, Harry cleared the table.
“They’re planning to throw a little party for you at Veteran’s Memorial Rink tomorrow. Around lunchtime.”
“Lunchtime? We have turkey sandwiches,” Harry said.
“Those are for tomorrow night with the movies, chips, brownies, and champagne.”
“Do I have to go?”
“Of course you do, you’re the guest of honor.”
“What if I break down?”
“Everyone’ll break down with you. Come on, Harry. Don’t be difficult. Coach Timmons called and said you have to be there,” Kitty said, clenching her jaw.
“Okay, okay. I know I’m being an asshole. I’ll go.”
“Good,” Kitty replied.
“You coming, too?”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” she said, a twinkle in her eye. Harry did the dishes while Kitty put away the food. He finished first and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her middle. He kissed her neck.