In the Zone (Portland Storm 5)

by Catherine Gayle

  “I don’t need cupcakes.” But I took the box anyway, carrying it into the kitchen.

  “Honey, if ever there was a time to have a cupcake, it’s when your heart’s broken.” She followed and took a seat in one of the barstools. Then she pulled a bottle of red wine out of her bag, along with a corkscrew. “They’re triple chocolate or something. Perfect for the occasion.”

  I’d just eaten a meal’s worth of pickles to keep myself from overindulging in bacon when the bacon hadn’t even been around for me to dive into. Now I had cupcakes and wine tempting me. This couldn’t end well.

  I leaned on the bar, resting my chin on joined hands propped up by my elbows. “I’m not sure I should be eating things like this when I’ve got that performance…”

  “Speaking of which, your routine with Devin is coming together nicely.”

  It was, especially since I’d started trusting him to be strong enough to lift me. “He’s pretty amazing.”

  “You’re not too shabby, yourself.”

  I shrugged the compliment off. “Well, it’s turning into a good partnership. One that I never would have come up with on my own.”

  “Shannon is planning to bring the costume in tomorrow for a final fitting. Have your new bras come in yet?”

  “Just this afternoon.” I hadn’t even opened the package yet, in all my self-pity.

  “Good. Be sure you wear one of them so we can see how things will really look on the night of the performance.”

  “Not sure they’ll make such a huge difference but whatever.”

  “Not a huge difference?” she scoffed. “Have you paid any attention to the way you look since you went shopping with Sex on a Stick that day?”

  “Please don’t call him that.” It only made me think about what I’d given up, which wasn’t going to help anything.

  “Fine. Keith, then. Don’t evade the question.”

  I rolled my eyes. “They fit well.”

  “They fit you amazingly. And you look great. And your confidence is definitely up, and it shows.”

  “A makeover isn’t going to change anything about me.”

  “Hmm,” she said, but she left it at that.

  “How come you aren’t out on a hot date tonight?” I asked, hoping to move our conversation away from me. Since I’d met her, I’d never known Tanya to date the same guy twice but she was always going out.

  “Because I still haven’t convinced Devin Shreeve to ask me out, and you needed me.”

  “I don’t know that I needed you tonight.”

  In answer, she pointed to the wine and cupcakes.

  “Fine.” I laughed. Even if I wanted to fight it, it was nice to have someone to commiserate with. “Devin, huh? That’s who you’ve got your sights set on now?”

  “Well, I figure Sex—I mean, Keith—is off the table, even if you’re not jumping his bones. So yeah. Devin it is. There’s something about that long, curly hair…”

  “Want me to poke around while we practice and plant some seeds?”

  “You really needed to ask?” Tanya sighed dramatically. “I even brought chocolate to butter you up.”

  That she had. I straightened up, turned to the cabinet, and took down two glasses.

  She grinned. “I’ll take that as my cue,” she said, opening the bottle. She poured two rather full glasses while I took out saucers and forks for the cupcakes.

  “Forks?” Tanya laughed with the question.

  “They’re huge, and they look sticky.”

  She shrugged “More to lick off your fingers. But fine,” she said with a drawn-out sigh, picking up a saucer and fork. “Have it your way.”

  We took our wine and cupcakes into the living room, me carrying a big stack of napkins just in case, and settled in for a double feature.

  DURING THE REGULAR season, I lived for overtime. It was five minutes of four-on-four skating and lots of open ice, perfect for someone who played like I did. I could hit, I could use my speed to stay with my guy and force him off the puck, I could defend in my own end like a motherfucker, and I could sneak in on offense and surprise teams with my slapper if they forgot about me. In overtime, teams tended to forget about trailing defensemen all too often. All the better for me.

  Needless to say, it didn’t hurt my feelings at all that we were on our way to overtime right now in our game against the Minnesota Wild. We’d come out of regulation all tied up at two, but Bergy wasn’t quite as happy about the state of things as I was. He and Webs had pulled out a whiteboard and dry-erase markers, and they were drawing up a play. They had all the forwards gathered around them.

  I stood next to the bench, guzzling Gatorade during the TV time-out. Colesy was right beside me. In the last couple of games, he and I had started to figure each other out on the ice. We felt a little more comfortable in terms of each of us knowing what the other would do in any given situation.

  Hancock could have been doing the same sort of thing with the D, but he was letting us breathe and mentally prepare ourselves for what was to come. Tonight, our defense had been pretty solid for once. It was the performance of our forwards that had been shaky.

  When the horn sounded, we all headed out to center ice so they could drop the puck—Colesy and I on the backend, Zee and Jamie Babcock up front. Babs was in his third year in the NHL, but he was still younger than most rookies. He’d made the team straight out of camp the year he’d been drafted, at only eighteen. But today was a special day for him. Babs had just turned twenty-one.

  Zee circled over to me and Colesy before lining up at the dot. “I’m pulling it back to you,” he said to me, holding his glove over his mouth so the guys on the other side couldn’t read his lips. “Babs and I are going to clear some space for you, throw them off the scent. Let’s fucking end this fast and get the hell out of here. Act like you’re going to pass it to one of us but rip off one of your fucking slappers instead.”

  I glanced over at Babs, who appeared to be chatting idly with Zach Parise, one of the Wild’s forwards. I doubted it was idle chatter, though. It was likely pure gamesmanship, both guys bragging about what they were about to do to the other, something like that. This year, Babs had really started to come out of his shell. He’d always been kind of shy and easily embarrassed, but something had changed over the summer. He’d left after we’d been ousted from the playoffs last spring as a boy in a man’s body, but when he returned to Portland in the fall, he came back a man.

  Maybe the transformation had already been underway—it was hard to be sure—but there was no denying it now. The kid was growing into a natural leader on the team, and it was starting to feel weird to think of him as a kid at all.

  Tonight, the boys and I had plans to help Babs celebrate his birthday, but I had an idea as to how I could help him start the party early. I nodded my head in Babs’s direction, indicating that he should come over to us. “I’ve got a different idea,” I said when Zee raised a brow.

  He skated our way, shouting something at Parise that I hoped none of the girls on the front row behind him could hear. When he joined us, he had a big, shit-eating grin on his face.

  I cuffed him on the back of the head for good measure. It was something I’d started doing his rookie year, and I saw no reason to stop now. “So I was thinking.”

  “There’s a first. It’s about fucking time,” Babs said, making my hand itch to cuff his head again.

  Instead, I kept going. “Zee said you two were going to clear some room up front. But I thought maybe Colesy could do part of that, too—”

  “The fuck kind of idea is that?” Colesy cut in.

  “A brilliant fucking idea,” I said. “Because they’ll never expect it. They won’t have a clue what the hell’s going on.”

  “Hurry up and finish telling us your plan,” Zee said, eyeing the ref at center ice.

  “So Babs can crash in around the crease while you two are wreaking havoc, and I’ll fake my slapper but actually pass it off to him. He can roof it, and we c
an get the fucking party started.”

  Zee eyed me for a couple of seconds, and then he shrugged. “Sounds as good as anything. But Colesy, don’t get caught up ice if it doesn’t work.” Then he and Babs skated off for the face-off.

  The look on Colesy’s face made it clear he wasn’t as sold on the idea as Zee.

  “If you do have to turn on your jets and book it back to our end,” I said to him as we skated into position, “it’ll give you a chance to show Bergy your fucking dancing lessons have been paying off.”

  “Yeah,” he said, scowling at me. “Right.”

  The ref dropped the puck, the crowd went wild, and the game was back on.

  Zee wasn’t able to win the puck cleanly. He and the Wild’s centerman were all twisted up, using sticks and skates and anything else they could to gain an advantage. Babs and Parise both came in to help out, and Zee lost his skates in the mess. Somehow he managed to kick the puck free, but it went straight to Colesy instead of me.

  He took one look over at me, only a half-second’s indecision, and then he started in motion. Zee and Babs barreled toward the zone, holding up long enough for Colesy to join them. He crossed over, passed the puck back to me right as I slipped into the zone, and then he went to work banging bodies and heading for the net.

  Sure enough, seeing Colesy anywhere near the opposition’s goal threw them all off. The next thing I knew, two of Minnesota’s defenders were chasing Colesy, of all people, leaving me wide open. I hesitated as long as I could, picking my moment. Just as Babs slipped free from his man, I wound up and let it rip, angling my fake shot slightly off the net and right onto Babs’s stick. A quick deflection and it was flying past the goaltender’s shoulder, glove waving wildly.

  THE BOYS WERE all in good spirits as we headed out of the arena in the early evening. It had been one of those weird afternoon games that could throw our schedules all off, but at least we’d won it in the end. After I had cleaned up and taken my turn with the media, I’d gone up to the owner’s box to collect Shane, and now he was coming with me and the rest of the team to celebrate the win and Babs’s twenty-first.

  “You’re still not saying what we’re doing after dinner?” Jonny asked warily. He’d always been a bit of a homebody, a guy who’d rather have a quiet night in than go out and party. In a lot of ways, he was my complete opposite, but we still got along pretty well—even if half the time he wanted to kill me for the things I dragged him into.

  I’d turned a lot of that over to Soupy this season, which Jonny had more than appreciated since Soupy’s idea for a good time lined up more with his own, but I’d kept the planning for Babs’s birthday to myself. How often did a guy turn twenty-one? I had big plans. Tonight was going to be epic.

  Now that Jonny and Sara Thomas, the daughter of our former coach, were an item, I knew he would far prefer to be spending the night with her—but I’d said no wives or girlfriends tonight. I wanted it to be just the guys. When Shane had shown up yesterday, I’d decided to alter that to include him. He was a guy, at least, even if he wasn’t part of the team.

  “It’s a surprise,” was all I had told any of them before, and it was all I said now. “Everyone head down to Old Town Pizza. Pay for parking for the night. We can walk where we’re heading from there after we eat.”

  “The only thing I know of near there that’s within walking distance is Voodoo Doughnuts,” Chunk complained, following dutifully behind me and Shane as we headed toward the parking garage. Chunk’s real name was Kyle O’Roarke. He’d been with the team for a few years now, spending most of his time up in the press box as a healthy scratch. Almost everything he said came out as a complaint these days, probably due to frustration at never getting to play. I chose not to let his complaints bother me, particularly since I knew what was in store and he didn’t.

  “We’re not going to Voodoo,” I replied.

  The guys had dispersed throughout the parking garage when we’d entered. Shane and I got to my car, and I grabbed Vladdie by the shoulder and pulled him along with me. The guy’s English was horrible, and he was only twenty. We were going to have to sneak him in or get them to turn a blind eye. I didn’t think that would be an issue, but I wanted him with me just in case.

  I pointed toward the backseat. “Get in,” I said.

  The massive Russian gave me a look I couldn’t interpret and folded his big body into the backseat, his long legs cramped. Maybe I should have told Shane to get in the back instead.

  Off to my right, I saw Chunk and Babs getting into Soupy’s SUV. Good deal. Everyone was on the way.

  I climbed into the driver’s seat and started up my car.

  “While it’s only the three of us,” Shane said, with a meaningful glance over his shoulder at Vladdie, who was muttering something—likely uncomplimentary—in Russian beneath his breath, “where exactly are we going?”

  I backed out of my spot and headed for the exit. “A drag show.” I turned out onto the street. Even though I was focused on the road in front of me, I could sense my brother’s shock.

  “This has been planned for a while now, so don’t go thinking it has anything to do with you being here.”

  If anything, it had more to do with Colesy, but I had no intention of outing my teammate to anyone, including my brother. Nor did I have plans to out my brother to my teammates. If he wanted to, that was his prerogative and I wouldn’t try to stop him.

  “Maybe it’s not such a good idea for me to come with you guys,” Shane said.

  “Why not? Drag queens not your thing?” Even as I asked, I wished I hadn’t. Maybe the problem was that they were definitely his thing. I didn’t know. I didn’t have the first clue about any of it where my brother was concerned, and my words had come out much harsher than I’d intended.

  “I don’t want to do or say anything that would embarrass you,” he said after a protracted silence.

  I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel. “You’re my brother, Shane. I love you. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed or anything else of the sort.”

  “Yeah.” He stared out the window on his side, though, and I knew he didn’t believe me.

  Why should he believe anything out of my mouth, though? They were only words, and my actions for so many years didn’t line up with what I was telling him now. I couldn’t blame him for his doubt.

  Neither of us spoke the rest of the way to Old Town. We parked in a lot about a block away from the pizzeria and got out to a biting cold wind. A few of the guys had beat us here and had already arranged for a big grouping of tables. Vladdie took a seat next to Slava Lukashenko—Luka being the only other Russian on the team—and loosened up a bit now that he had someone nearby that he could say more than five words to.

  I pulled out a chair near Babs, toward the middle of the group, but Shane chose to go off to the end of the long line of tables, separating himself from me. Fair enough. The mess I’d made of our relationship had been years in the making. It wouldn’t be sorted out overnight. I gave a brief start when I saw Colesy take up the seat next to Shane, but then I shrugged it off. Maybe they’d hit it off? Although I wasn’t sure either of them had any plans of outing themselves, so that might be taking too big of a leap.

  The rest of the guys showed up, and we all talked and laughed and ate and drank. They had a TV on in the background, but for the most, part none of us paid it any attention, preferring instead to enjoy the present company. During the season, the team ended up spending a hell of a lot of time together, so much that we became like brothers.

  A couple of the guys toasted Babs and bought him another round of beer. He was laughing and joking, taking all the good-natured ribbing in stride, until something on the TV caught his eye. I looked up in time to see Katie Weber, Webs’s oldest daughter and the girl Babs had had a crush on for more than two years, at some red-carpet event in Hollywood. It was worse than just seeing her, though. She was on the arm of some slick actor, one of her costars in the show she was set to star in. Well, on
his arm wasn’t quite right. More like they were all over each other.

  I cuffed Babs on the back of his head to distract him. “Another beer?”

  He quirked a grin at me and took the beer, but I doubted he’d get that image out of his head anytime soon.

  The next time I got up, I asked the employees if they could change the channel, give us ESPN or something safer. Something that wouldn’t be likely to give him more reminders of the one who’d gotten away.

  That only made me think of my own girl who’d gotten away. Brie had agreed to come over to my place tomorrow—several of the guys and their friends and families would be there, too, since so many were in town for the Christmas holidays—but she was coming as a friend only, not as my girlfriend. I was nervous. I wanted to see her, but I didn’t know how well I’d be able to keep my hands off her. And Shane was coming, too, now that he was here. She’d meet him. Would he talk about all the things I couldn’t? Would she hate me as much as he did once she knew?

  I wallowed in the comfort of my own beer until it was time for us to head over to Darcelle XV and then paid our tab. When we got up to go, I put an arm around Babs’s shoulders, making sure he couldn’t make a quick escape, and hauled him along beside me. I checked to make sure Vladdie wasn’t far behind us, since he was underage and we were going to have to work some magic to get him in, and we set off for our next destination.

  The building where the drag show took place was only about half a block away, if that. We literally only had to cross the street and go around the corner. When we stood in front of the door, Babs stopped cold.

  “Are you serious?” he deadpanned.

  I dragged him inside. “Serious as a heart attack. Come on. It’ll be fun.” I dropped my voice so only he would hear me. “Besides, it’ll help you to stop thinking about Katie for a bit.” And it would hopefully help me to stop thinking about Brie.