A Perfect Catch

by Anna Sugden

  “It’s not like you need me back anyway. It’s been a successful road trip so far.”

  “Yeah, Monty’s been standing on his head to get us those wins,” Jake said.

  “Until tonight,” Tru said. “Prepare to eat ice, pussycats.”

  “Prepare to melt under our hellfire, snowballs,” Kenny retorted.

  Ike joined in the trash talk. For the first time since his accident, he didn’t feel so isolated.

  Then someone off-screen called to them and they had to go. With a heavy heart, he wished Jake and Kenny good luck for the game and Tru bad luck—injured or not, Ike was still an Ice Cat—which he promised to watch.

  Once he’d signed off, the house seemed even quieter than before.

  He had to get out of here or he’d go nuts. He had to do something. Surely he could take a long walk through the local park without risking injury.

  An hour later, he was back. It had been good to be out of the house and get some fresh air. The brisk walk had taken some of the stiffness out of his limbs, but it hadn’t raised his heart rate. He could almost feel his muscles atrophying.

  Ike drained a bottle of water and looked at the clock. Still a couple of hours to go before dinner. He didn’t want to watch TV. The thriller he’d started reading last night was good, but he’d be sitting on his ass all night.

  What harm could a short stint on the stationary bike do?

  Once he’d had the idea, he couldn’t think about anything else. If he took care not to overdo things, it’d be okay. He didn’t have to do his usual ten miles; even half that would make him feel better. He ignored the inner voice of caution that told him the medics had banned him from working out for a reason. That applied to ordinary people, not a professional athlete.

  Having convinced himself it would be okay, Ike walked upstairs and got changed. In his home gym, he programmed the plasma TV to show the latest episode of his favorite crime drama. He stuck a chilled water bottle in the bike’s cup holder and a clean towel around his neck, then did a few leg stretches to warm up his dormant muscles. Grinning at how good it made him feel, he sat on the bike and started pedaling.

  Even though the five miles was harder work than he’d expected, when Ike got to the end of the circuit, he’d barely broken a sweat. Perhaps he should do the other five miles, too. Since he couldn’t lift weights or work on the machines, he wouldn’t be overdoing it.

  The second five miles was definitely more of a workout. Frustrated that it had taken so little to tire him, he was also pleased his body finally felt like it had done something.

  Job done.

  Getting off the bike, his legs were jellylike. He stumbled, catching himself at the last minute with his good hand. Whoa! Perhaps he’d overdone it, after all. A nice hot shower would fix him. It was easier slipping the waterproof sleeve over his splint than the cast, so he was soon standing under the pounding water.

  “Man, that feels good,” he moaned.

  When he got out of the shower, Ike felt surprisingly weak. Worse than after that triple overtime game against the Flyers in the playoffs a few years back.

  “Probably need to eat something,” he muttered. “Low blood sugar.”

  He toweled off and got dressed before heading downstairs.

  Halfway down, the light-headed feeling got even worse. Blinking and shaking his head to get rid of the weird sensation, he wondered what the hell was going on. It wasn’t like he had a concussion. He’d be fine once he was downstairs. He’d grab a sandwich and chill out on the couch. Maybe even have dinner early—one of his mom’s stews was already defrosting in the kitchen.

  He snorted. Hell, no one was monitoring his schedule. He could eat what he wanted, whenever he damn well pleased. With that in mind, he started down the stairs.

  His foot missed the step. Instinctively, he reached for the banister with his catching hand to stabilize himself.

  In the split second that followed, it all went horribly wrong.

  As his fingers closed around the varnished wood, the restriction of his splint reminded him that he shouldn’t grab anything with that hand. He jerked it away and used his other hand. But he was still off-balance and the sudden movement destabilized him even more.

  His foot was in no-man’s-land in the air between two steps. Neither hand was holding on to anything.

  Ike was falling and he couldn’t stop himself.

  Again, instinct took over. He threw his arms out in front of him to break his fall. Again, he realized he couldn’t use his injured arm. More importantly, he needed to protect it. In a weird twisting motion, he tried to bring his arm back to his chest.

  It was too late.

  Ike landed on the wood floor at the bottom of the stairs with a sickening thud. Pain shot through his hip and lower back. Something tore in his arm.

  He lay there for a few minutes, heart pounding, scared to move in case he made anything worse. Finally, he managed to propel himself into a sitting position. At least nothing was broken. Then his injured arm began to burn and throb. It felt like needles were jabbing into the scar line. He didn’t have to undo the bandages to know he’d ruptured something.

  He should call an ambulance or something. No. Someone might recognize his name and put it out in the media. Still, he couldn’t just sit here until someone stopped by. Especially as no one would be stopping by until tomorrow. It didn’t take a genius—which he wasn’t or he wouldn’t have put himself in this situation—to figure out who he had to call.

  Gingerly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell and dialed.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “THE ICE CATS are giving notice?”

  Tracy’s heart sank. Even though she’d had her suspicions and had even spent part of her unexpectedly free weekend looking at contingency plans for the company, the reality was still a shock. She certainly hadn’t expected it to happen so soon.

  Tracy struggled to mask her disappointment as she stared across the large glass-topped desk at Callum Hardshaw. When his assistant had called this morning asking her to come in for an unscheduled meeting this afternoon, Tracy hadn’t had the impression there would be bad news. She’d actually harbored a small hope that Hardshaw might want to discuss Helping Hands. The idea that he’d end the contract altogether hadn’t crossed her mind.

  The general manager leaned back in his oversize leather chair. “In reviewing the organization’s operations, I found that we were spending far too much on external suppliers—particularly for work we could manage more cost-effectively ourselves. Travel, relocation and player accommodation is one of the areas that will be brought in-house. Making this transition in the middle of the season isn’t ideal, but I want to have our processes in place for the trade deadline.”

  “So this is with immediate effect, even though there is a three-month notice period in the contract?” She couldn’t keep the shock from her voice. Even when she’d imagined the worst, she hadn’t anticipated such a drastic turn of events.

  “No. It will take time for the new Player Logistics Manager to get up to speed and we don’t want any balls dropped in the meantime.” Hardshaw’s smile was overly hearty. “You’ll finish your current projects, keeping the PLM fully informed, and hand over everything else as soon as possible. Naturally, we’d expect you to support Lois and ensure as smooth a transition as possible over the next three months.”

  “You already have someone in place?” How long had he been planning this?

  “Under the circumstances, it seemed appropriate and expedient to recruit from within, rather than externally. Lois is one of our junior sales managers. She’s very bright, so I’m confident she’ll pick up her new responsibilities quickly. Especially with your support.”

  Tracy wasn’t sure what pissed her off the most—that the GM seemed to think what she did was so easy that som
eone with no relevant experience could take over, or that Hardshaw expected her to train her replacement. Regardless, there was no point crying over spilled milk. She had to focus her energy on what she could control: her business. “I’ll arrange for a handover in the next few days. Just to be clear, these are the projects I’m currently working on and will complete.”

  Tracy went through her active projects with him and was relieved that he agreed she should see them all through, even the most recent player trade completed only last week. She stood and stuck out her hand, determined to appear professional even though she wanted to smack him.

  “It’s been a pleasure working with the Ice Cats these past few years. If there is ever anything we can do for the organization, do let us know.”

  He shook her hand. “One thing I’ve learned in this game is never to say never.”

  Tracy strode out of the office with her head held high, though anyone looking closely would have seen her white-knuckled grip on her briefcase. She deliberately exchanged cheerful goodbyes with the receptionist and pressed the lift button casually, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. If only. Tracy resisted the urge to tap her foot impatiently as she waited for the car to arrive. Instead, she focused on breathing steadily.

  In and out. A few more minutes and she’d be in her car, away from prying eyes. Then she could give in to the emotions welling inside, tightening her throat.

  In and out.

  The elevator pinged. Thank God. Hold it together just a bit longer.

  Once the metal doors had shut, she exhaled heavily and resisted the urge to dissolve into a miserable puddle by giving herself a stern talking-to.

  Okay, so this was a major setback, but it wasn’t the end of the world. Tracy had survived worse times; she’d survive this. She wasn’t in immediate financial trouble, though she might have to find ways of tightening the business’s belt if she hadn’t replaced at least some of the revenue before the three months were up.

  The obvious area was their intern. Even as the thought occurred, Tracy dismissed it. Carla was a godsend. She worked hard, had great initiative and common sense, and didn’t need a lot of overseeing. Plus, she’d taken an enormous load off Tracy’s plate on the admin side—which made her worth every penny of her small salary.

  On top of that, Maggie wouldn’t be back at work for several months at least, and then only part-time until Joe was older. Even without the Ice Cats contract, Tracy needed Carla’s support to manage their other clients. Keeping her on would free Tracy to focus on finding new clients.

  If it became necessary, Tracy would find the savings elsewhere. She would cut her own salary, as she’d done in the past when things had been tight.

  The more she thought it through, the more her unhappiness got pushed aside in favor of forward thinking. The key was not to lose sight of her goal. She had plenty of ideas and had identified some potential opportunities; she just had to work on them sooner than she’d hoped.

  Although she didn’t want to stress out her sister, Tracy had to tell her about the termination. Maternity leave or not, Maggie was her partner and had a right to know. Tracy knew Maggie would support her decisions, but she’d stop by her sister’s place tomorrow.

  In the meantime, Tracy needed to get back to the office and turn her tentative ideas into a structured action plan. She unlocked her car, tossed her briefcase onto the backseat and slid behind the wheel.

  Her phone rang just as she plugged it into the hands-free cradle. Tracy glanced at the caller ID on her dashboard screen and was surprised to see Ike’s name.

  Why was he calling?

  Had she forgotten something? She cast her mind back to their earlier meeting. It had been stilted and uncomfortable, but as far as she could tell, she’d covered everything important. She pushed aside the twinge of guilt at having rushed away as soon as possible, and answered.

  “Hello, Ike. What can I do for you?” she said, her tone polite but upbeat.

  “I have a...bit of a problem. I need your help.”

  Tracy frowned. He sounded out of breath. “What’s the matter?”

  “I had...an accident.” Pain edged his gruff voice. “I’ve hurt myself. I need you to come over.”

  Her stomach twisted. “Have you reinjured your arm?”

  She didn’t wait for his answer before pulling out of the parking space.

  “I think so.” He sounded miserable. “It’s not good, for sure.”

  “Have you called an ambulance?”

  “I was going to, but I didn’t want to alert anyone in the media.”

  She rolled her eyes. He was acting as if he were Jon Bon Jovi, not a hockey player. As if the paparazzi hung on Ike’s every move. Though she supposed if it was that bad, the sports media would be all over the story. She hoped it sounded worse than it was.

  Tracy spoke calmly, trying to hide her concern. “I’m on my way. I can be with you in half an hour.” If she pushed it. “Whatever you do, don’t move.”

  “I won’t.”

  His ready agreement told her all she needed to know. Ike was hurt badly.

  She pressed her foot to the accelerator. Stuff the speed limit, Ike needed her help.

  * * *

  IDIOT. IKE CLENCHED his good fist and stared out of Tracy’s car window at the scenery whipping past. His arm throbbed like an SOB. He hadn’t dared look too closely at the bandage. Blood would be really bad news.

  Why hadn’t he followed the surgeon’s instructions? Why hadn’t he listened to Cheryl’s advice? Hell, every damn person in his life had told him the same thing. Be patient. Give your arm time to heal. Don’t rush things.

  Ike had thought he knew better than any of them. Stupid idiot.

  He’d sworn as he’d sat at the foot of his stairs, cradling his arm, that he’d do everything he was told without complaint, if the damage wasn’t as bad as he suspected. If he could just play again this season.

  He tried to tell himself it had only been a slight fall. He hadn’t tumbled the full length of the stairs. And he’d done his best to protect his arm.

  Who was he kidding? He knew his body well enough to tell when an injury was serious. He didn’t need an examination or tests to know that it was bad. Blood or no blood, he was in trouble.

  “We’re almost at the hospital.” Tracy flicked a concerned look at him. “How are you holding up?”

  “Hanging in there,” he lied.

  Thank God for Tracy. Ike had never been so relieved to see anyone as he’d been when she’d burst through his front door. The panic in her dark eyes had had a strangely calming effect on him, as though she’d taken the worry from him. Warmed him, even as she’d blasted him for being a dumbass.

  He’d been impressed by how quickly she’d turned from worried to efficient. She’d sprung into action immediately. She’d helped him to his feet, ignoring his embarrassment, then bundled him into her SUV. She’d called ahead to the hospital and paged Dr. Gibson, so Ike wouldn’t have to wait.

  When they pulled up at the ER entrance, an orderly with a wheelchair awaited them.

  Ike started to protest that he could walk, but Tracy’s stern look silenced him. He stopped arguing because he was light-headed and the pain in his arm was making him nauseous. He sank into the chair with a sigh of relief.

  “Would you like me to come in with you?” Tracy asked. “I can handle your paperwork.”

  “Yes, please.” He felt better with her there and was in too much pain to worry about hiding it.

  “All right.” She squeezed his shoulder, then followed as the orderly wheeled him inside.

  Dr. Gibson met them in a cubicle that had been set aside for Ike. “Let’s take a look.”

  “I’ll go and sort out the admin,” Tracy said. “I’ll be right outside if you need anything.”

 
Suddenly, Ike wanted to delay her departure. “Could you let Jake know what’s happened and where I am?”

  “Of course. What about your brothers and your mum?”

  “I’d rather wait until I have something concrete to tell them.”

  Her expression said she disagreed with him, but she nodded. “Okay.”

  “You’d better call the Ice Cats, too.” Ike hated that they’d have to know what he’d done to himself, but there was no way around that.

  “Why don’t I wait until we have something concrete to tell them?” She repeated his words with a smile, as if understanding his anxiety.

  “Thanks.”

  Once again, she’d gone above and beyond when he’d needed her. She’d been under no obligation to come and help him. Yet she had, without hesitation.

  Ike had plenty of time to mull that over as Dr. Gibson examined his arm before sending him for an MRI.

  Once he’d studied the results, the surgeon confirmed Ike’s worst fears. “You’ve re-torn one of the tendons completely and seriously damaged a second. The third looks to be intact, but I won’t know for sure until I get in and take a look.”

  Ike swore. “But you can fix them again, right?”

  “I can. However, there’s no guarantee that the new damage won’t have a cost. Healing and recovery will be far less predictable this time.”

  Ike’s chest tightened. “Are you saying I won’t be able to use my arm properly again?”

  “No. You should regain a reasonable amount of functionality. But I can’t promise how much. I certainly can’t guarantee that your arm will be strong enough for you to play hockey in the near future, if at all.”

  Ike ignored the last part. “‘Near future’ as in a few months, or a few years?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll take it step-by-step and see how things go.”

  This time the nausea had nothing to do with the pain in his arm.

  “Do whatever you have to, Doc. I promise I’ll follow every instruction you give me to the letter.”

  The surgeon shook his head sadly. “I wish you players would make those promises before you cause me so many problems.”