Sweet as Pie

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Twice.” Evans hadn’t intended to say that out loud. Christine and Anna-Blair gave her almost identical questioning looks. “What? He got the puck twice at the boards.”

  “But out of how many times?” Christine asked.

  “I don’t know,” Evans said. “I didn’t count.”

  Christine shrugged. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Blake’s death on top of the divorce has been hard on him. But he came back from Europe in a much better state of mind. I was so relieved. He was in such bad shape when we were in Vermont for the funeral.”

  Was Jake in a bad place? Had she been so preoccupied with her own feelings that she hadn’t noticed? She knew how close he’d been to Blake. How could she have ignored that?

  “The condo is beautiful,” Christine added out of the blue.

  “It certainly is. Just lovely,” Anna-Blair agreed.

  What? They had gone from the state of Jake’s mind to the state of his home?

  “I took that he seems to care about his surroundings to be a sign that he was in a good place,” Christine went on.

  Ah. That made sense, but it didn’t make it true. Jake having his condo decorated had nothing to do with anything except not wanting to hear Christine complain that he was living like an animal. He didn’t care about his surroundings as long as he had a TV, gaming system, some beer, and a towel that hadn’t gone too far into the mildew zone.

  “Evie, has he talked to you about any of this?” Christine asked.

  “No. Not a word.” Wasn’t that telling in itself? And it was telling that she hadn’t asked, hadn’t considered. She’d sent the flowers, said so sorry, and moved on. She’d been too busy hoping he would love her to be much of a friend. That was a hard truth to face.

  “Maybe he just needs time,” Anna-Blair suggested.

  Christine nodded. “I suppose.” She smiled and turned to Evans, signaling the discussion was over. “Evie, I’ve been so preoccupied with watching Jake, I haven’t noticed much of anything else. How is your young man doing?”

  “Good question!” Anna-Blair piled on. “Is he playing well?”

  Her young man? For a moment, Evans was confused, but then it all snapped into place. Able. They were talking about Able. Had he played well? Evans didn’t have an answer. She hadn’t noticed Able or anyone else. She’d been too busy counting how many times Jake had come away from the boards with the puck—and, if she were to be honest, watching him sit on the bench between his shifts.

  “Well, you know,” she said evasively. “Fine.”

  “Why don’t you ask him to join us at Hammer Time after the game?” Christine said, then added, “His family, too, if they’re here.”

  How had that happened? How had Christine gone from concerned mother to procurer of information in such a short time?

  “Yes, Evie,” Anna-Blair chimed in. She looked around. “Do you see his parents? I’ll just go invite his mother.”

  Holy hell. Was there a convent in Birmingham and did they accept Methodists? Because anything was better than this. She loved these women—her mother in particular, of course, but Christine, too. But they exhausted her.

  “I, uh...” she began, having no idea where she was going.

  “Look!” Christine interrupted her. “Isn’t that Noel Glazov? Over there, in the ice suite across from us.”

  There was a petite woman with sandy blond hair standing against the glass, a baby on her hip. She spoke into the child’s ear as she pointed to the Yellowhammer mascot, who was skating around with the ice girls.

  Evans had no idea if that was the coach’s wife and child or not, but she was grateful to her for distracting the women from hunting down Able’s family. She could be Lucrezia Borgia for all Evans cared; she’d swear fealty to her right now.

  Anna-Blair leaned forward. “I believe it is. Do you know her, Evie?”

  “No, but it could be. They’ve bought a second house here, and she’s opening a new quilt shop in Laurel Springs.”

  “She’s a famous quilter,” Christine said. “She makes every one of her quilts completely by hand. The wait list is horrendous.”

  Now, there was a woman who would appreciate a handmade pie. Maybe she’d take her one when her shop opened.

  “Just where have you come by all this information?” Evans wanted to keep them going, so they’d forget about Able.

  “There was an article about her in Garden & Gun,” Anna-Blair said.

  “I hope we get to meet her at the breakfast,” Christine said. “The article made her sound really nice. Let’s hope her husband is, too, and will show Jake some mercy.”

  As the buzzer sounded, signaling the beginning of the second period, Marc and Keith rejoined them.

  “It’ll be interesting to see if Jake is still playing first line,” Evans heard Marc say to Keith in a low voice.

  But he was. Not only that, in the first ten seconds of play, he took the puck, skated to the other end of the rink, and handed it off to Robbie, who put it in the goal. The crowd went wild and the tension lifted in their little corner of the world.

  From there, everything got better. Jake was a different player and the Yellowhammers a different team. Evans was riveted—and relieved.

  She didn’t hope for victory. That would have been too much to ask for; it was enough that it was better. Then, in the last thirty seconds, Able fed the puck to Jake, who scored to tie the score. That meant overtime. Evans hated overtime—but she loved that Jake got a goal.

  In the end, there was no overtime. For his second assist of the night, Jake sent the puck down the ice, to Luka for another goal and the win.

  The Yellowhammers pulled it off. Technically, it might have been a struggle win, but it felt like the victory of the century. In addition to his goal and two assists, Jake had shown the world and himself that he was still king of the boards.

  “Well,” Christine said as they were leaving, “I guess he was just off his game.”

  “It happens,” Anna-Blair agreed.

  “Just nerves.”

  Evans hoped it was true.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jake pulled into a parking spot down the street from Hammer Time.

  Beside him, Robbie said, not for the first time during the drive from the arena downtown back to Laurel Springs, “I still can’t believe we won. I thought we had lost it for sure.”

  They’d had their showers, massages, and closing speech from Glaz. Now they were headed for food with the parents and the Pembertons—which he assumed would include Evie, but who knew? She might be off with Killjoy, the senior Killjoys, little sister Killjoy, and little brother Killjoy.

  “I don’t think Glaz could believe it either. I think he was happier than he let on,” Jake said.

  “What did he say to you when he sent for you after first period?”

  “It was strange,” Jake said. “I went in there expecting to get the ass-chewing of my life, but he was scary calm. He wanted to know if I was okay. He said it wasn’t always possible to leave your troubles off the ice, but I had to try.”

  “Whatever he said, it worked,” Robbie said.

  Not really. I had worked it out before he sent for me. But he didn’t say that, didn’t want to think about it anymore. He’d already had a gut load of thinking—not to mention talking—about his feelings. Who did that? Right now, he wanted to enjoy the victory and eat pizza.

  Jake opened his car door. “Let’s go get some food.” It was only then that he noticed he’d parked right in front of Crust.

  “Are we going to break in and eat pie?” Robbie joked.

  “I figured we wouldn’t get much closer to Hammer Time.”

  “Do us good to walk a little,” Robbie said, getting out of the car. “Get the kinks out.”

  Jake paused and looked in the window of Crust. If Evie had decided to enter
tain the Killjoy family in there, she was doing it in the dark.

  “Are you coming?” Robbie was halfway down the block. How had that happened?

  A cheer went up when Jake and Robbie entered Hammer Time. “Maybe we do deserve to skate first line,” Robbie said.

  “Don’t believe your own press,” Jake said. “Right now, they’d cheer for anybody.”

  His folks should be here by now. They’d had plenty of time. “We’re meeting someone,” he told the hostess. “We’ll just walk around until we see them.”

  “Your party left word, Mr. Champagne.” She fiddled with the book on the hostess podium. “Yes. They’re at the twelve-top in the back left-hand corner.”

  “Twelve-top?” That couldn’t be. Christine and Anna-Blair had been known to insist on a bigger table than they needed because they didn’t like to be crowded, but not that much bigger. “There are only seven of us. Are you sure?”

  The girl referred to her book. “Yes. Champagne. Evans Pemberton was with them. Does that sound right?”

  “Yes. I guess so.” Maybe Christine wanted to lie down—Anna-Blair, too. Maybe they wanted to have a slumber party right here at Hammer Time. That’s all he could think of—because it would never have occurred to him that he would find what he did.

  Hellfire and brimstone. Save for two seats, the table was filled. Killjoy and who Jake could only assume were the Killjoyettes were seated with his people, who had traveled from the Delta to see him play—on an Ole Miss home game weekend no less. Good thing there weren’t more Killjoys, else he and Robbie would be sitting at the bar.

  Maybe he could run. They hadn’t seen him yet. But no, hell no. He’d been noticed, and by none other than the—temporary—captain himself.

  Jake had done what he’d needed to on the ice, but he had avoided Killen in the locker room. He wouldn’t always be able to do that, but couldn’t a man catch a break? Couldn’t he have a little time to work up to it? But there was no avoiding him now, because he was on his feet—out of his chair, which was next to Evie’s, of course.

  “Sparks, Scotty. Great game, guys.”

  And the noise level went up in the room. His parents were hugging and congratulating him, his mother kissing Robbie and inviting him for Thanksgiving, Anna-Blair and Keith getting in on the act, Killjoy introducing his family.

  Jake couldn’t breathe. Finally, he’d been hustled into his waiting throne, next to Robbie and across from Evie—who had not hugged, cooed, congratulated, or said a word up until now.

  “Hello, Robbie,” she said warmly.

  “Hello, lass. You look beautiful as always. That’s a nice sweater, but you need a Yellowhammer jersey. I’ll take care of that.”

  “I’ll see that she gets one,” Killjoy said.

  Over my dead body. The thought went through Jake’s mind, but that was fifteen-year-old talk. What had happened to his earlier resolve? There wasn’t a thing he could or should do about Evie being with Killjoy.

  “My, my, who knew I had so many fashion consultants?” She took a sip of her wine and it left her lips all purple and rosy at the same time. Then she turned to Jake. “I was beginning to doubt the power of my chicken pot pie, but eventually it did its magic.”

  To his own surprise, Jake laughed. She was the only one tonight who’d called it like it was. Though there would be some film watching and a reckoning coming from Glaz, even he’d glossed over that disastrous first period tonight. Luckily people would forgive your sins if you gave them what they wanted in the end.

  “Next time, could you make your magic a little faster acting?”

  “Next time? Who said anything about next time?” she said.

  “There’s always next time,” he said.

  “Sometimes.” She nodded. “Unless there’s been no time.”

  “What?” Robbie said. “I didn’t understand a word of that.”

  Frankly, neither did Jake, but it had felt private, intimate. He glanced at Killen. He might have looked confused, or maybe that was just his usual expression.

  “Don’t pay any attention to them,” Christine said. “They were in the cradle together and have a language all their own.”

  Technically, that wasn’t true. When Evie was born Jake had already been too big for the cradle, but he’d learned at a young age not to correct Christine in public, or really anywhere.

  “Son, we ordered you a pizza,” Marc said, “and two cheeseburgers and double fries for Robbie. Do y’all want anything else?”

  “No, Dad. That’s great.”

  “Thank you, perfect,” Robbie said.

  “We had enough post-game meals with Robbie when they played in Nashville that we know what he likes.” Christine addressed Able’s parents, bringing the new people into the conversation.

  “Able likes lasagna,” Mrs. Killjoy said. “I used to make it ahead and freeze it, so he could have it quickly after the game. You know how hungry they get.”

  Evie winced a little as she took a gulp of her wine—not to be confused with a sip. Maybe she hated frozen lasagna even more than frozen chicken pot pie. She had to if it was driving her to drink.

  Killjoy leaned in a little closer to Evie—not so much that she noticed, but Jake noticed.

  He eyed the sister. She looked at least twenty, not too young to be flirted with. That would get under Killjoy’s skin. Not that he would. He understood the Bro Code. Thou shalt not date, flirt with, or trifle with thy teammate’s sister, girlfriend, wife, ex-girlfriend, or ex-wife. He wouldn’t break the Bro Code. Besides, did he really want to open himself up to the possibility of a lifetime of freezer meals? He could see it now—Christmas morning with the Killjoys, Evie serving quiche, Mrs. Killjoy and the sister doling out frozen waffles.

  “Are you in pain?” Evie asked him quietly.

  “No.”

  She shrugged. “You had a painful look on your face.”

  Mrs. Killjoy and Christine were yammering on about living through the youth and junior hockey years. Was Able leaning in even closer to Evie? And if so, what did he hope to accomplish? The Bro Code needed to be amended to include all women who might have allegedly been in the cradle with your teammate. He would propose that to the Bro Code Council, as soon as he found out who the members were.

  “Melba.” Anna-Blair was speaking now. Mrs. Killjoy must be named Melba. “We went to Ole Miss with a girl from Idaho. I know it’s a stretch, but might you know her? Karen Chastaine. She was a Phi Mu.”

  “No. I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  “Jim,” Keith Pemberton said, “what do you do?” Melba and Jim Killjoy. They were a pair. Yes. Killjoy was definitely leaning in toward Evie, inch by inch. She must have sensed it, because she shifted away. Good. Don’t let him in your personal space, Evie. You don’t know where he’s been.

  “I’m an attorney,” Jim said. “Private practice. Mostly real estate.”

  So, Jim Killjoy, esquire.

  “Ah,” Keith said.

  “Ah,” Marc said.

  Jake did not know what those ahs meant.

  “Awww!” Robbie leaned in to hiss, quietly, but earsplitting all the same time. That meant nothing good.

  “What?” Jake looked around. No one was listening to them, with the possible exception of Evie, and that was a slim maybe. All the parents were exchanging career information, and little sister and brother were playing on their phones. Occasionally someone would stop to look at one of the giant televisions where Auburn and Arkansas were playing.

  “Holy family and all the wise men.” Robbie looked past Jake and gave out a tight little smile.

  Jake turned his head and his mouth went dry.

  Sashaying toward them were Delilah and Dawn—the two Nashville Sound ice girls who were not twins, but looked so much alike that people thought they were. They played it up by dressing alike and wearing their long bl
ond hair the same way. Tonight, they were wearing Yellowhammer jerseys.

  And that’s not all. Delilah’s—or was it Dawn’s—had Jake’s number on it. The other one had Robbie’s.

  Fuck me and kill me now.

  “Just who we’re looking for!” said Dawn. Or was it Delilah?

  Jake slowly turned his head and looked at Evie, but she didn’t meet his eyes. She wasn’t avoiding him, but she was totally taken up with the jersey-clad bookends in front of her. She was all wide eyes, agape mouth, and clenched hands. That said it all. He didn’t know exactly what it said, but something.

  He felt a hand on his shoulder and was compelled to turn his face back toward the mini cloud of perfume that was hovering around him. It was Dawn—Dawn, for sure. She was the one he had kept company with on occasion.

  Robbie jumped to his feet. “Well, we certainly wouldn’t have expected to see two loyal Sound cheerleaders here tonight, especially not in Yellowhammer sweaters!”

  “The Sound is on the road,” Delilah said. “You didn’t think we would miss the debut game of our two favorite Sound players, did you?”

  Well, honestly, Delilah, we didn’t think about it at all. Or I didn’t. I can’t speak for Robbie but, from the look on his face, I’d say he hadn’t pondered it overmuch either.

  “Would you two young ladies like to join us? We can get some more chairs.”

  Oh, hell. Hell, hell, hell. That had come from Evie’s daddy. Keith Pemberton was known for his perfect manners. He would have eaten a blowfish to keep from offending his hostess. Yes, ma’am, I’d be delighted. Just let me call my attorney first and get my affairs in order. Maybe Jim Killjoy can handle it for me. He’s a real estate man, but how hard is a will?

  Delilah and Dawn looked at each other, carrying on a conversation with their eyes.

  It was Dawn who spoke. “We won’t intrude, but we do need some help. We had a flat tire.”

  Is that all? Killjoy will fix you right up. He’s a cracker jack at tire changing.

  “My car is downtown at the arena,” Dawn carried on. “We took an Uber here, but we can’t very well take an Uber back to Nashville—or leave my car in Birmingham.”