A Perfect Catch

by Anna Sugden

  No. Definitely no. Definitely not going there.

  Yet as she walked out of Ike’s room, a little voice inside her asked, Why not?

  CHAPTER TEN

  “YOU’RE CHEATING!”

  Tracy pointed to the winning hand Ike had just laid down with a flourish on his over-bed table. Cards he couldn’t possibly have got without a crafty sleight of hand.

  “I’m a Stanley Cup–winning goaltender. I don’t need to cheat,” he retorted loftily.

  She leaned across and snatched a card from beneath his bandaged arm. “So this one just fell by accident?”

  “How did that get there?” The twinkle in his eyes spoiled the too-innocent expression.

  “And there was me thinking nothing sneaked past a Stanley Cup–winning goaltender.”

  “Even I’m not perfect.”

  Tracy laughed at his attempt at humility. “That’s for sure.”

  It was great to see Ike in a good mood. Her strategy to stop him brooding about his situation was clearly working. For the past three days, Tracy had made sure that whenever she visited Ike, she did something to distract him. On Tuesday it had been a hard-fought duel of Battleship. He’d cheated then, too. Knowing Ike enjoyed logic problems as much as she did, she’d introduced him to Hanjie on Wednesday. He’d already worked through one book of the Japanese picture puzzles and had asked her to bring him more.

  Today she’d brought a well-worn deck of cards from his den. It was the pack he’d had since he was a young boy and featured pictures of classic heroes of the game. He took the cards with him every time he traveled. It was the same deck they’d used back when they were together—only they hadn’t played ordinary gin rummy.

  Her cheeks heated at the memory.

  “Maybe we should try another game. You might have more luck.” His gruff tone and the heat in his look told her he was remembering the same evening.

  “That was your argument the last time we played cards. I seem to remember you fiddled the dealing then, too.”

  His chuckle sent a delicious shiver through her. “And you removing an earring or a bracelet when you lost was fair?”

  “The rules were that anything we were wearing counted as clothing.” The huskiness in her voice spoiled the prim response she’d been going for.

  He reached across and trailed a finger across her cheek to her ear, where he toyed with the dangling earring. “I was down to my shorts in a few hands and it was taking you forever to even take off your sweater. I did what I had to do.”

  Her pulse skipped. “Are you saying the wait wasn’t worth it?”

  “Hmm. I can’t seem to remember too clearly. My brain must be fuzzy from the drugs.” His finger followed her jawline to her chin, then up to her lips. “We could give it another shot and see if that jogs my memory.”

  Tracy stamped on the urge to say yes. Instead, she nipped his finger. “Even ignoring the fact that we’re in a hospital room, with the door wide open and the nurses’ station a few feet away—hardly the ideal venue for a game of strip gin—may I remind you that the only thing you’re wearing is a hospital gown. I only need to win one hand and you’re toast.”

  “I don’t suppose you’d give an injured man a handicap, huh?” He gave her a pitiful look.

  She removed her six bangles and laid them on the table. “How’s that?”

  “You’re a wicked woman.” He shook his head sadly.

  “Takes one to know one.”

  “In that case, I’ll have to settle for beating your ass at normal gin. Don’t expect me to take it easy on you, either, after that little trick.” He pushed the bracelets back toward her and picked up the deck of cards.

  A nurse bustled into his room and checked his chart, then his arm. “Do you need a top-up of your pain medication?”

  “Nah. I’m good, thanks. I’ll need all my wits about me to beat this card shark.”

  “Uh-huh. So you’re cheating again.”

  He sighed heavily. “What kind of hospital is this? I’m getting picked on by you, too?”

  “You’re not giving the nice nurses a hard time, are you, Ike?” JB flashed his charming grin at the nurse as he walked into the room, followed by Kenny.

  “He wishes.” The nurse made a note on Ike’s chart and left.

  “Welcome back, guys. Nice job on the road trip.”

  Despite his bright expression, Tracy heard the hint of wistfulness in Ike’s voice.

  The mood in the room changed as the two younger men exchanged barbed comments about their play over the past week with Ike. Why they couldn’t just chat normally, Tracy had never understood. Anyway, now that they were here, she felt a little uncomfortable.

  She got up from the bed. “I should probably get back to work. No rest for the wicked.”

  “We can continue the game tomorrow.” Ike shot a heated look at her.

  That was so much better than disapproval. Now that she thought about it, Ike hadn’t made a snarky comment about her work since his accident. Go figure.

  “Hey, what’s this about the Cats bringing travel and relocation in-house?” Kenny asked.

  Ike’s surprised gaze shot to her. “Is that true?”

  The time had never seemed right to tell him. Their new...whatever this was...had felt too fragile. She hadn’t wanted to risk the information being used against her in some way. Now she felt a little guilty for not having trusted his reaction.

  “I’m afraid so.” She explained briefly what had happened and what it meant for her business. “I start training Lois and handing over ongoing work—like bringing that defenseman up from the AHL for the weekend’s games—tomorrow.”

  “That’s nuts,” JB said. “Lois is way too inexperienced to be in charge of important team arrangements. She’s barely been in Sales five minutes.”

  “You know her?” Tracy asked, surprised. Players didn’t usually have much contact with the office staff.

  “I know all the cute girls.” JB frowned. “But I remember her particularly because I was warned off—she’s related to Hardshaw in some way. Wife’s niece or something.”

  “You’re joking.” Tracy hadn’t thought the Cats’ GM was the type to indulge in nepotism. That put a whole different spin on things.

  “Will you be okay?” The concern in Ike’s voice was unexpected. “That’s a pretty big contract to lose.”

  “Maggie and I have already identified ways in which we can replace the lost business. It’ll set us back a bit, but I’m sure we’ll be on track again quickly.” She’d make sure of it now she knew about the real reason behind Hardshaw’s decision. No way would she let his unfair practice keep her from her goal.

  Ike looked like he had more questions, but Tracy didn’t want to get into a discussion about it now. Especially not in front of his brother and JB.

  “On that note, I’d better get out of here. Lots to do.” She grabbed her bag and waved goodbye to JB and Kenny. “See you tomorrow, Ike. I’ll bring my iPad and show you that new adventure game I mentioned earlier.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  The genuine warmth in his words made Tracy smile broadly all the way back to her car. She wasn’t afraid to admit that she was already looking forward to tomorrow, too.

  * * *

  “I’M SHUTTING YOU down until next season.”

  Coach Macarty’s words seemed to reverberate inside Ike’s skull, sending a chill through his body.

  No. This could not be happening.

  It was like a scene from one of his nightmares, only Ike couldn’t wake up. He stared at the three men standing around his bed—Coach, Callum Hardshaw and Dr. Gibson—and shook his head in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

  “He can, and he is.” Callum Hardshaw’s expression was hard as granite and his to
ne matched. “We all agree that this decision is in our longer-term interest. The Ice Cats cannot afford to lose you permanently.”

  “But it’s only been four days since my surgery.” Ike pointed at Dr. Gibson. “You told me I was healing well and everything looked fine.”

  “Given the circumstances, it does. But I also said it was too early to make any predictions. Tearing those tendons again has complicated things.”

  “We know how committed you are, Ike,” Macarty said, clearly playing the good cop to his boss’s bad cop. “If we give you an opening, you’ll push yourself to the limit and beyond to be able to play. If we said April, you’d want March. If we said May, you’d want April. We’ll sacrifice this season to save your career.”

  “What happens if you need me for the playoffs? Assuming the team can actually get to the postseason with only their backup goaltender in net,” Ike said, desperation clawing at him. “Monty has practically no postseason experience.”

  Hardshaw shot his cuffs, as if already bored with the discussion. “Monty was named the NHL’s second star of the week for his performance on our recent road trip. Three wins and an overtime loss against the cream of the Western Conference is pretty darn good for ‘only a backup.’”

  As pleased as Ike was for his friend, the public recognition had stung. And made him wonder if it was a sign that there would soon be a changing of the guard. Even if Ike did get back, he might not be number one again.

  “Sure,” Ike said. “Monty did great out west, especially against the Kings. But the guys bailed him out by playing out of their skins against Anaheim and San Jose. Those games were crazy shoot-outs—twenty goals scored. Then Larocque saved Monty’s bacon in Colorado with those two last-minute goals to get the game to overtime.”

  The GM shrugged. “Seven points is still seven points, and it keeps us in sight of the Penguins at the top of the Metropolitan division.”

  “What if things aren’t looking so hot come March or April?”

  “We’ll deal with that if the time comes.”

  “That’s nuts. There has to be some flexibility.”

  Macarty looked uncomfortable. “Maybe we can rev—”

  Hardshaw cut off his coach. “Our decision is final. You’re too valuable to this organization to take a risk. You can rejoin the team for training camp, not before.”

  It was November now. Training camp was next September. The dead time loomed ahead of Ike like a black hole. Physio first, then gradually getting back to working out at the gym. By himself. Then training to get back to fitness. By himself. Then off-ice and on-ice workouts with the trainer, but effectively by himself. In the normal scheme of things he’d eventually be back practicing with the guys, wearing the no-contact jersey. The way Hardshaw was talking, Ike wouldn’t even be allowed to do that, let alone take part in a full practice.

  Ike lay back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling. The walls seemed to close in on him, suffocating him. He clenched his jaw to stop himself from begging. Why had he been such an idiot? All he’d done was land himself back in the same freaking hospital, in the same freaking ward...hell, the same freaking bed.

  “Come on, Doc. Help me out here.”

  “I’m sorry, but I agree with them. If you want to play next season, you need to give yourself time to heal properly.”

  Ike made one desperate, last-ditch effort. “I’ll take this to the NHLPA.”

  Macarty shook his head. “The Players’ Association fights for players’ interests and yours are best served by keeping you off the ice until you’re one hundred percent fit.”

  Ike hated to admit it, but his coach was right. While the NHLPA might sympathize with Ike’s perspective—there wasn’t a player alive who didn’t bust a gut to come back from injury—they’d take the surgeon’s advice and back the Ice Cats’ position.

  “That’s your final word?” Ike stared down the three men in turn, hoping one of them would blink first and give him a glimmer of hope.

  “Damn straight,” Hardshaw said.

  Macarty’s expression was apologetic, but his agreement was firm.

  Dr. Gibson met Ike’s gaze without flinching. “If you reinjure this arm, your career will be over. You will be done. Permanently.”

  “So, you’re telling me to suck it up.”

  “It’s only a few months. Is it really worth the rest of your career?” the surgeon said.

  “But we’re barely a third of the way through the season. I’ll miss sixty-plus games.”

  “Better that than missing the next sixty-plus years,” Dr. Gibson shot back. “You’re a long time from retirement, Ike.”

  Acid burned the back of Ike’s throat. “I get that. All I’m asking for is the possibility that if I heal well I could be activated.”

  “No.” Hardshaw’s jaw was set.

  It was over. Ike was done. Shut down. Useless. Worthless.

  The realization sent a sharp pain through him, so acute he had to fight to keep from catching his breath. “At least let me practice with the team as soon as I’ve been cleared for on-ice drills, even if it’s no-contact.”

  Hardshaw started to refuse, but Macarty stepped in. “When Dr. Gibson clears you to skate, you’re welcome to join us. Being with the team is as important to your recovery as physiotherapy and rest. But I expect you to follow instructions.”

  “Yeah, I know. To the letter.” Relief flooded through Ike. That small concession would have brought him to his knees if he hadn’t been stuck in the damn bed. “So when can I get out of this place?”

  Dr. Gibson smiled. “You know the drill. It’s Friday today, so it’ll probably be Monday. If you behave and everything looks good, I might release you a day early. Particularly since I know you have a good support system in place.”

  Ike forced himself to look relaxed. At least that was one thing he didn’t need to worry about this time. “Great.”

  Once the men had gone, he allowed himself to release a deep breath. He felt like a dog on a chain, being yanked every which way by an impatient master. It was his own fault. The only person to blame for this was him. He’d let boredom and frustration get the better of him and made a stupid mistake. Now he was paying the price.

  Much as Ike hated to admit it, both Tracy and Dr. Gibson were right. He was lucky. He grimaced at the word, but it was true. The situation could have been a hell of a lot worse. Ike was lucky the second injury hadn’t been more serious. Lucky that the surgeon had been able to fix the damage. Lucky that this wasn’t the end of his career. Missing the rest of the season was bad enough, but at least Ike would play again.

  He’d learned his lesson. It all had to be different this time. He couldn’t let anything get in the way of his recovery. Especially not himself. It wasn’t going to be easy. He’d follow every instruction and do every finger exercise so he could get back on the ice ASAP.

  What would he do if that wasn’t enough?

  Ike tried to push aside the terrifying thought. But once it had slipped into his mind, he couldn’t shake it loose.

  There were no guarantees. Dr. Gibson had been real clear about that. Come to think of it, the surgeon hadn’t committed to anything specific. He’d been all caution and caveats and provisos. What if Ike’s arm healed, but it wasn’t strong enough to take the punishment of being a starting goaltender and playing sixty-plus games a season? What if Monty did such a great job the Cats didn’t need Ike back as a starter?

  He couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t worry about what he couldn’t control, but focus on what he could. Those instructions and finger exercises. He would make it back—to the ice, to the Cats and to the starter’s job.

  But for the first time in his life and his career, Ike couldn’t fully silence the little voice of doubt.

  * * *

  “ARE YOU AND Uncle Ike friends
again?”

  Not much got past Emily, Tracy thought. “Why do you ask?”

  Her niece looked up from the mixing bowl. Flour dusted her ponytail and she had a smudge of batter on her cheek. “We’re making him your special cheese scones.”

  “Well, Uncle Ike’s coming home from the hospital this afternoon. I thought a treat might cheer him up.”

  “Is he okay?” Maggie asked, concerned. With Joe cradled against her shoulder, she was supervising the baking.

  “I’m not sure,” Tracy admitted. “Since Hardshaw and Macarty told Ike they were shutting him down, he’s been subdued. He didn’t even react when Dr. Gibson signed his release a day early.”

  Where before Ike had been determined to get up and get out, for the past couple of days, he’d acted as though he couldn’t be bothered. As though he was going through the motions. Nothing Tracy had done to distract him had worked. He’d claimed he was too tired to play games or his arm hurt.

  “This whole situation has been miserable for him,” Maggie said, moving to place her sleeping son in his Moses basket. “I know he was silly to try to rush his recovery, but I can’t think of a hockey player—or any professional athlete—who wouldn’t have done the same thing. He’s unable to do even the most basic of workouts, when he’s spent so much of his life training to achieve peak fitness. If it was Jake, I’d have to duct-tape him to the bed.”

  “It’s particularly difficult when you’re worried you’ll have to work twice as hard, for twice as long, to get back your shot or pass, or in Ike’s case, his catch.” The way he snatched a puck out of the air so easily had always impressed Tracy.

  “And you’ve got young guns coming up behind you, eager to take your roster spot. As sorry as Monty feels for Ike, he’ll be relishing the chance to show he’s got what it takes to be a starter, and you can’t blame him.”

  It wasn’t easy being backup to a player like Ike, who wanted to play every game and was both skilled enough and fit enough to handle the work. Ordinarily.