Body Check

by Alicia Hunter Pace

  “Stop it, Lars.” She put up a hand. “I know how it works. I’m the owner’s daughter, remember? The fact is you would be traveling here and there, back and forth, for what could be seven games. And that’s just the first round. So don’t talk to me about being absent from this marriage. I’ll only been gone for five shows in nine days. I’ll be back the following Tuesday.”

  She talked like this was actually going to happen! “Five shows in nine days. It’s too much. You don’t know how hard it is to travel like that or how tired you’ll be.”

  “I’m healthy. The doctor said so.”

  The doctor had said that of Julia, too. “And you think you will stay healthy if you get on the fast track with this Flying Hillbilly Hoedown?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I resent that. I don’t make fun of you for playing hockey.”

  “I don’t play hockey anymore, remember?” His voice came out colder than he’d anticipated.

  “And I guess that’s my fault?”

  “No. Not your fault. I never said that. You are twisting my words.” Which was appropriate since his stomach was twisted in knots.

  “But you’re going to blame me, aren’t you? And since your career is over, you don’t want me to have one either.”

  He walked over and put his hands on her shoulders. “No. I made the choice to retire. When I met with Oskar today, he tried to persuade me to let him look for another team instead of writing that press release. But I told him no. Your career is here. I support that. Just not now, not with this trip. There is time enough for that later after the baby comes.”

  “No, there’s not, Lars. My album comes out Friday. People are already wondering if I’m a one-hit wonder, a flash in the pan. I have to do this.”

  “This whole thing is at odds with my press release.”

  “What does it say?”

  He brought it up on his phone. “Lars Eastrom announces his retirement effective immediately from the Nashville Sound and the National Hockey League. A native of Sweden, the defenseman began his career at seventeen with the New Jersey Devils, where he played for twelve years before signing with The Sound. This is his nineteenth and final season in the NHL. Due to a minor injury that has placed him on the injury list, Eastrom has elected to retire before the playoffs in order to spend time with his new bride, country music star Rita May Sanderson. The two are expecting a baby in September.”

  She nodded. “That’s pretty good. They are going to ask you what the injury is and how your teammates feel, and about a hundred other things, so you’d better be ready.”

  “I am ready. I don’t intend to answer any questions.”

  She widened her eyes. “You can’t do that.”

  “No, Tradd. You can’t do that. You have a high-profile career. You have to make nice and keep people happy. I, on the other hand, am ending my career. I give not a damn what people say about me.”

  “I guess you’ve got a point.”

  “But you can see how you going on this trip is going to look after I’ve just said I retired for us to be together.”

  “You just said you didn’t care.” She looked like a cat that had eaten some birds.

  “You should.”

  “You let me worry about that.”

  “I could go with you.” If he were there, maybe he could keep her safe.

  She shook her head. “The arrangements have already been made. It isn’t my plane and it isn’t my tour. I don’t want to be perceived as needing a babysitter.”

  It wouldn’t have done any good anyway. It wasn’t as if he could control her. Besides, he’d been with Julia and it hadn’t helped.

  “All right.” He was not going to win this. She was going to go to California on an airplane and exhaust herself.

  “Will you at least call the doctor and tell him what you’re planning? Will you cancel this if he says it’s not a good idea?”

  “I’ve already done that. Jackson’s people asked me to, but I would have anyway.”

  There went his last shred of hope.

  “No matter what you think,” she said, “I want this baby, too. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him.”

  Where had that come from? It seemed he got more confused every time she spoke. “No matter what I think? What do you think I think?”

  She shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t mean anything. We need to get ready to go to my parents’. They’re expecting us for dinner.”

  More fun—only accompanied by food and alcohol. And crystal.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Tradd felt a little shaky, so she was glad when Lars took her elbow as they ascended Greenwood’s veranda steps. She needed some food and rest. And come to think of it, she might be a little dehydrated.

  She didn’t mention to Lars that she wasn’t feeling quite herself. They were still at odds, and that would have given him fresh ammunition for why she should not go on the tour. This dinner with her parents the last thing she wanted. As far as she was concerned, this was just another pit stop on this crazy, out of control merry-go-round. She couldn’t wait for Monday, to get away from all this.

  As they approached the front door, Tradd stopped Lars. “I want to make this visit as short as possible. I want to eat, plead exhaustion, and leave as soon as good manners will allow.”

  Concern washed over his face. “Are you exhausted, Tradd?”

  “No. I’m feeling great. I just want some downtime and I don’t want a repeat of last night.”

  He nodded. “Actually, I agree. It’s been a hard day. Just say the word and I’ll follow your lead.”

  She opened the door and stepped inside. There was no one about and the house was dark.

  “This is odd,” Lars said.

  “Mama? Daddy? Anyone?”

  Just then, all the lights went on at once and people poured through the three foyer doors.

  “Surprise!”

  Fucking hell in a hand basket!

  Tradd rounded on Lars. “Did you know about this?” It would be just like Pickens and Mary Lou to get together with him cook this up.

  But he looked as shell-shocked at she felt. “I did not. Do you think I’d be here if I had?”

  And then they were surrounded, surrounded by people in sequins and black tie when she was wearing what was perfectly acceptable for a spring dinner with one’s parents—a simple pink sundress and sandals. Lars wore what she’d picked out for him—khaki shorts and an untucked white oxford button-down.

  “Congratulations.”

  “We hope you will be so happy.”

  “Quite the surprise, but so perfect.”

  Hockey people, college friends, Pickens’s business associates, plus lots of people she had never set on eyes on. How had Mary Lou managed this in less than twelve hours?

  And there she was, making her way through the crowd, like the queen butterfly she was, with Pickens bringing up the rear, looking like they’d been given the biggest crown jewel in the imperial scepter from the Roman Empire.

  They all embraced. “Mama, we aren’t dressed for this!” Tradd hissed into Mary Lou’s ear. Not to mention up for it emotionally or physically.

  “I know,” Mary Lou said. “But you have a world of clothes stored upstairs in your old room, and I contacted Thor’s caretaker and had his formal attire sent over.” She turned to Lars. “It’s hanging in the blue guest room across the hall from Tradd’s room, dear.” So, he was dear again.

  Lars looked around. “You accomplished quite a lot in a short time, Mary Lou.”

  “She’s worked pretty much nonstop,” Pickens said.

  “It was a labor of love,” Mary Lou said. “I knew it was exactly what Tradd would want.”

  That took the wind out of Tradd’s sails. She had to admit that there was a time when Mary Lou would have been right—a fancy surprise party would have thrilled her to no end and she would have already been running up the stairs to put on one of her two dozen appropriate dresses.

  But that was then, and
she knew every one of those dresses intimately, and they were all slinky, clingy, with tiny waists.

  “We aren’t changing,” Tradd said. “There’s nothing up there that will fit me.”

  Mary Lou’s face became a study in bewilderment. This was the one thing she had not considered. “Oh, well. It’s your party, so it’s everyone else who is dressed inappropriately.”

  You had to hand it to her—she could recover at the speed of light.

  “I suppose I should at least tuck in my shirt,” Lars said.

  “Tuck in your shirt and I will divorce you,” Tradd said.

  “Tradd! You have to come with us!”

  Oh, Lord. It was a gang of her sorority sisters, including Carson.

  “You know what we have to do!” Bibi Macelroy said.

  And she did. The ritual. They would never get too old for it. They surrounded her until she was like the middle of a chocolate covered cherry and rolled her away toward whatever private location they would have arranged with Mary Lou.

  It would be interesting to see whether or not Lars tucked his shirt in.

  This was a nightmare.

  Except for a couple of brief exchanges with Jake Champagne in the interest of obtaining clothes, Thor had spoken with none of his teammates since resigning. That was something that needed to happen, but there had been no time. Now it would be thrust on him before he was ready.

  And he was dreading it. They wouldn’t believe the resignation or the injury story, but they would maintain that he should have stayed away from Tradd in the first place. He didn’t blame them. If it had been any one of them in his position, he would be furious. A party in honor of him was probably the last place they wanted to be, but what were they going to do? Say no to the owner’s wife? Not likely.

  Speaking of the owner’s wife, Mary Lou got a death grip on his arm and hauled him around introducing him to people he’d never seen before and likely never would again—at least not if he saw them first. As she trotted him around the mansion, he got a look at his teammates gathered in the winter parlor. They waved as he we went by, but they did not look happy.

  “Oh, look,” Mary Lou said. “There’s Pickens’s sister, Legare. She came all the way from Charleston just today. She was my college roommate, you know. I went to the College of Charleston. That’s how I met Pickens. Legare was my maid of honor and is Tradd’s godmother. But I’m sure you know all that.” No, he had not known all that. Still didn’t. It was too much to rattle around in his head. Mary Lou nudged him along. “You have to meet her.” Was this special hell the punishment for robbing Mary Lou of the wedding she had probably been planning for the duration of Tradd’s life so far?

  Then like some king savior angel in a tux, Packi stepped into their path. “I’m sorry to interrupt you, Mary Lou, but the caterer was looking for you.”

  “Oh, dear.” She stopped and looked around. “I guess I’d better find him. Thor, go introduce yourself to Legare, won’t you? I’ll be right back.”

  “Are you going to do that?” Packi asked once Mary Lou was out of earshot.

  “No. I don’t even know which one is Legare.”

  “Then we’d better leave this room. She probably knows who you are.”

  “Was the caterer really looking for her?” Thor asked as he followed Packi onto the east verandah.

  “Probably.” Packi approached the table where a bartender was dispensing beer from a keg into crystal (of course) beer mugs. “Two,” he said to the bartender before turning back to Thor. “It has been my observation that at big parties the caterer is usually looking for the hostess.” He handed Thor one of the beers.

  “Thanks for the rescue.” Thor followed Packi to the corner where there were two empty wicker chairs.

  The chairs creaked when they sat down. “I don’t like straw furniture,” Thor said. “It always feels like it’s going to fall apart.”

  “Better than a house of straw,” Packi said. “Or feet of clay.”

  “That’s for sure. After all my high and mighty talk about how everyone had to keep their noses clean, I couldn’t stay away from her.”

  Packi nodded. “That’s good news.”

  Good news? “How do you figure that? Things are pretty much a mess around here.” Except for the baby, if he could just keep it alive.

  “I was nineteen years old the first time I saw my wife. I couldn’t stay away from her either. It’s a good sign.”

  “Pickens doesn’t think so.” He couldn’t tell if Pickens’s congenial manner tonight was real or for show.

  “Pickens will have to get over it.”

  “That remains to be seen.”

  “Of course he will. Tradd’s his daughter. You’re the only player he has ever loved like a son. There’s a baby on the way. When he gets past his ego and the fact that The Fair-Haired Child did not obey him, he’ll be happy about how things turned out.”

  “You seem pretty certain that everything is going to end up fine.”

  “Aren’t you?” Packi took a sip of his beer.

  “I haven’t gotten that far. We’ve argued almost nonstop since getting married. She wants to go on a nine-day tour, and I don’t want her to.”

  “All couples argue. And Tradd’s a handful. You had to know that going in.”

  But I never meant to go in. Time to change the subject. “The guys look upset.”

  Packi nodded. “More discombobulated, I’d say, than upset.”

  “Because of me? Because of what I did and how I left the team?”

  “No.” Packi shook his head. “They were a little shook up yesterday, and going into the playoffs without you isn’t their first choice. But you’re old news. Someone heard that Pickens is definitely selling. They aren’t happy.”

  “That rumor’s been going around for a while. You know how it is. One day, Pickens is selling, the next he’s not. And then he doesn’t know.” Sure, he’d said in his office last night that he was selling, but that didn’t mean he was. He’d been angry and wanted to twist the knife in Thor’s back by making the crack about the sale being contingent on not awarding him a contract.

  “It’s different this time,” Packi said. “Supposedly the source is Baker Blackstone. Apparently, he told someone, who told someone, and it got back to someone Mikhail knows.”

  “Really? That’s who he is selling to?” Besides inheriting a bundle of Tech Stock money from his mother, Blackstone had made another fortune in real estate. “Doesn’t he already own a minor league baseball team?”

  Packi nodded. “That’s what I hear. It’s all gossip. Who knows if it’s even true? But the guys aren’t happy. That’s a fact.”

  “I should go talk to them.” But he made no move to get up. “I should have already done it.”

  “I was surprised you didn’t come clean out your stall.”

  “Pickens told me my locker room days are over.”

  Packi shook his head. “Pickens says a lot of things when he’s mad. He didn’t mean that and he won’t hold you to it.”

  “I remember it,” Thor said. “I will hold me to it.”

  “Yeah?” Packi sipped his beer. “See to it that you don’t let your stubbornness ruin your life. That would be a shame.”

  “I’ve lived through ruined lives before. I survived.”

  “It wasn’t any fun, was it?”

  “We aren’t promised fun.” He drained his beer, set the mug on the table, and rose.

  “Lars?”

  Thor stopped short at Packi’s use of his real name.

  “Yes?”

  “Remember this. The circumstances are completely different. There’s no reason to think this baby won’t be born hale, hearty, and howling. But keeping Tradd under your thumb won’t have any bearing on it.”

  “Thanks, Packi.” Maybe Packi was right. He usually was, but the thought of nine days with Tradd out of his sight was almost more than he could bear. Though he could accept it now or accept it later, because she was going.

&nb
sp; It was time to face the song with his teammates.

  Apparently, the winter parlor was The Sound central. His former teammates were gathered at one end of the room, the wives and girlfriends at the other.

  “There he is!” someone said and they began to applaud. The wives joined them, and regardless of the circumstances, it felt good to bask in their congratulations and good wishes.

  “Where’s Tradd?” Amy, Emile’s wife, asked.

  “A posse of women took her away. She’ll be back.” And he hoped that was true. It was possible she might decide to catch a midnight train to Georgia after all, or maybe go sing karaoke at the smoke-infested club.

  After a few minutes, the crowd dissipated. Some of the women talked about going to get food, and some of the men went with them. Finally, Nickolai Glazov turned to the younger players and said, “Rookies. Go make yourself useful—or useless—somewhere else. We want a word with Thor.”

  And he was left with Glaz, Mikhail, Emile, Bryant, Jarrett, Sparks, and Robbie.

  “Let’s sit,” Glaz said.

  Once they were settled, Thor spoke. “I’m sorry you found out about my marriage from the Internet. I would like to tell you that if I had it to do over again, I would have told you, but I don’t know when that would have been.”

  “This isn’t about us,” Glaz said. “We are glad you are happy.”

  “And sorry you got fired,” Jarrett said. “Though, to be fair …”

  “I knew the rules, and I broke them. It’s hard to be sorry. And I wasn’t fired. I resigned.”

  “Same difference,” Bryant said.

  It was not the same!

  “It’s funny in a way,” Sparks said. “The big bad enforcer here, lecturing us on our behavior, when all the while—”

  “You’d better stop right there, Sparks,” Emile said. “He may not be on the team anymore, but he can still beat your ass.”

  “I’m not liking the thought of going off to Minnesota without you,” Robbie said.

  “You don’t need me,” Thor said. “A team is not dependent on even the best players, and I’m not the best by a long arrow.”