Hot on Ice: A Hockey Romance Anthology

by Avery Flynn

  A smile cracked his serious expression and revealed perfectly white teeth, even if they weren’t all originally his. A short release of breath served as a laugh. “Um, yeah. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re pretty much one of a kind. It’s a snake pit out there. I met a few decent people, but no matter what they were like, there was always one inescapable flaw.”

  “They committed the cardinal sin of trying to eat food off your plate?”

  “They weren’t you.”

  A rush of heat flooded her, but it wasn’t all attraction and warm fuzzies. There was some barbed resistance and resentment, too. Of all the things she’d been prepared for, that didn’t make the list. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “It’s true.”

  Okay, fine. Time to throw down the gloves. “I don’t want you to say that. How do you think it makes me feel? Back then I knew you were the only one I wanted to be with. I knew your worth even if you didn’t know mine. But now that you’ve tried everybody else and I still come out ahead in the pro-con race, you’ve changed your mind. Why are you even telling me this?”

  He looked like she’d slapped him. Okay, it was a decent verbal assault with a few low blows, but he wasn’t stopping, and she needed him to stop. After a few seconds of silence, he hit her with, “I want to try again. With us.”

  Her lips parted, but all thinking short-circuited, and nothing came out. Was he serious?

  “I know I don’t deserve a second chance. You have every reason to hate me. I gave you every reason. But if I don’t at least try, I’ll regret it.”

  And if I do give you a second chance, I might regret it. “I don’t know if I can do that.”

  “What if we don’t look at it as a second chance? A lot of time’s gone by. We’re different people. I’d really like to get to know Aria the woman. You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it.”

  Thinking about it was the last thing she wanted to do, but not thinking about it would be impossible now, and he knew that. Rash decisions had never been in her wheelhouse. Good or bad, every choice she’d ever made came after hours, days, even weeks of careful consideration. It was one of the traits that had gotten her elected chief. And he was playing on that now. How did she feel? Did she want to know Bear the man? “I will think about going for coffee. Maybe. I can’t commit to anything else.”

  “I’ll take it.” He stood, and dear lord, it was like looking up at a towering pine. He gave off the same, immovable strength. “See you at the meeting tonight?”

  She nodded from her seat, not trusting her legs. A spoken response was also out. She’d already said more than she’d meant to. It was enough, because Bear flashed one of those smiles that’d always been just for her. It had the effect of a swaying cobra, momentarily hypnotizing its prey, but she snapped out of it as he closed the door behind him. Okay, step one. Don’t be taken in by the dimples. Step two? Damned if she knew.

  4

  What am I doing? Ever since he’d seen Aria the night before, Bear had almost lost complete control of everything that came out of his mouth. Apologizing had always been a part of the plan, but flaying his heart open and offering it to her on a platter? Not so much. If the guys back in New Orleans ever heard about it … well, it wouldn’t matter because they’d never believe it. He’d cultivated a pretty good tough guy persona in the Crescent City, and he’d earned it through years of fights and record-setting penalty minutes. As one of the Rage’s enforcers, that kind of thing was important.

  But every time he was near Aria, it was like a dam broke and his innermost thoughts and feelings came pouring out. She’d had that effect on him as a teenager. Looked like the power had only grown over time. Of course she didn’t want to give him a second chance. Why should she? Why would he ever expect that? Everything he’d said in her office was true but one thing most of all. If he didn’t at least try to win her back, he’d never be able to move on. She’d be the big what-if hanging over his head in any future relationship. Honestly, it was a miracle she agreed to think about coffee.

  When he reached the steps to his parents’ duplex, he hesitated then changed directions and went to the front door. It was open. It always was. One good thing about knowing everyone in your town was the relative certainty that no one would be dumb enough to break in. Crime sort of depended on anonymity, and there was zero chance of that in Bear Mountain. When he was a kid, the fact that he’d been named after the reserve had made him feel like king of the castle. Now that he was well known in hockey and therefore Canada, it was embarrassing when people made the connection because some were ignorant enough to think the reserve changed its name to hitch a ride on his shooting star. Ridiculous.

  Nukumi rounded the corner from the kitchen when he stepped inside and waved with a wooden spoon in her hand. “Mui’n. He’s awake. Go say hi.”

  Bear took two steps and gently kissed his grandmother’s forehead. She patted his cheek then turned him around and gave him a push toward the bedroom. As much as he wanted to talk to Niskamij, he was afraid, too. Afraid to see him so diminished from the man he’d known. Last night had been a shock and hard to accept, but the truth was inevitable. Going in wasn’t easy, but it would be so much worse to avoid his grandfather until it was too late.

  Niskamij was sitting up in bed, watching a game show. He looked tired but attentive and switched the TV off when Bear came in. “Mui’n. Come in. Sit down. Tell me about your life.”

  Bear reclaimed his seat from before. His life. What could he say? Small talk was insufficient. “I’m hoping Aria will convince the council to let the media on the reserve. It would be good for us.”

  “Unh. It would be good for us, or it would be good for you?”

  “You sound like her.”

  “Mimiges is a smart woman.”

  “I know.”

  “So trust that she will make the right decision. Now. Why don’t you say what you really want to talk about?”

  It was stupid to be surprised. Niskamij had always been able to read him. The strange thing was, Bear hadn’t known he’d wanted to talk about it until the old man told him he did. Niskamij had always been at least fifty percent magic, fifty percent man. It would be disrespectful to hold back. “I know now the mistake I made with her.”

  “Mui’n, everyone knows.”

  “Well, it took me some time to figure it out. The thick skull that saved me in hockey apparently doomed my love life. I can’t undo what I did, but … I want her back. I want to show her I’m not that idiot kid anymore.”

  “I approve. What is the problem?”

  “I’m not sure it’s possible.”

  “Ah.”

  Ah? That’s all he had? “I was hoping for something more encouraging.”

  Niskamij grunted. “Mimiges was a sweet girl who grew into a strong woman. She guards her heart now. You taught her that.”

  “I never meant to.”

  “It’s an important lesson that everyone must learn, but know this: if she chooses to let you back in, it will be because you earned it. Not because she didn’t know better.”

  Tough love, and it sunk deep. Aria the girl had given him blind trust, but Aria the woman required proof. If it were the last thing he did, he’d give it to her. “What can I do?”

  “Show her who you are. In here.” He tapped his chest with weak fingers. “Let her see what you hide from the world. Be vulnerable. I know it is not natural to you, but the most valuable things often require greater sacrifice than we think we are capable of.” He succumbed to a coughing fit and sat up.

  Bear was on his feet and had a glass of water ready when it was over. He helped Niskamij take a few slow sips. “Should I get Nukumi?”

  “No.” His grandfather sighed and laid back. “But I need to rest now. It won’t be much longer.” No nervousness in his voice or even regret. Proving that magic ratio again, he patted Bear’s hand. “A man with no regrets cannot fear death. My life has been more than I ever hoped it could be.�
�� He closed his eyes, and after a minute his breathing settled into a slow, relaxed pattern.

  If I don’t at least try, I’ll regret it.

  5

  Why am I so nervous? Aria kept trying to slow down her speeding heartbeat with deep breaths and no success. It was just a council meeting. They had one every month. Not only did she know all of the members by their first names but their children and sometimes grandchildren as well. She’d brought them more controversial issues than this in the past. But those issues didn’t involve an ardent plea from the love of her life who also happened to be her one and only heartbreak. Every time she saw him, it was a weird mix of butterflies and dread and emotions right on the surface no matter how hard she tried to push them down. He’d always been able to do that to her. Damn him.

  She poured a cup of coffee—her fifth of the day—while everyone milled through the door and began taking seats. More than a few had commented on her “fancy” attire and asked about a funeral. Ugh. While council members had to attend all meetings, they were also open to the public. If people had little to do, sometimes they’d show up, but more often than not, it was just the ten members. Tonight, it was a packed house. Everyone wanted to know what was going on with the Cup. Even Jasper Olson, who usually paid attention to nothing but the paper bag he drank from despite the reserve’s dry policy, sat in the back row, eyes half-open.

  A glance at her watch said it was time, but Bear wasn’t here yet. That should have been a relaxing thought, but the anticipation of his arrival only made her palms sweatier. The auditorium in her office building was actually just a big room with a small stage up front. She strode up to it, climbed the two steps, and took her own seat behind a long table. Ollie sat to her left, as always. An empty chair sat to her right. Should I wait?

  When she glanced at Ollie, he lifted his shoulders as if to say your call. Aria took a slow breath then lifted her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I’d like to get started.” The murmuring died to whispers, which trailed into silence. All eyes on her. “There’s really only one issue to address at this meeting, and I believe you’re all aware of it.” Of course they were. Bear winning the Cup was the biggest thing to happen to Bear Mountain since … well, it was the biggest thing to happen to Bear Mountain.

  Samuel Jones, the reserve’s grade school history teacher fresh out of university, spoke up. “Let them in! Let the world see and know who we are. Why wouldn’t we want to share our culture? How often do we get this kind of spotlight?”

  Michael Thomas, an elder, shook his head. “The world hasn’t always been kind to us. Letting them in could be a mistake.”

  It was the exact divide Aria had expected, but part of her had hoped for unanimity one way or the other. Then the decision wouldn’t be on her shoulders. “Obviously there are two sides, but—”

  The door opened, and everyone turned to look. Bear entered, head down, shoulders curved in, expression blank. Aria’s stomach dropped, and her heart pounded. He met her gaze and must have seen her fear because he shook his head. A wave of relief made her lightheaded. Niskamij hadn’t passed. Yet.

  Bear walked around and up the steps to take the seat to Aria’s right. Every single pair of eyes was on him. His whole life, he’d been happy to be the center of attention, showing off at every possible opportunity—it had been annoying at times actually. She’d teased him about it. But now he seemed to fold in on himself, and it was painful to see.

  It wasn’t the time or place for pity, and those things wouldn’t help him now anyway. She pushed them down deep. “Well, why don’t we hear the details and then decide? Bear?”

  He glanced at her then out at the council. For a second it was like he forgot what he was doing there, but in a blink his public persona returned if a little strained. “Yes. Thank you. Listen. You all know me. Bear Mountain is my home. I would never expose it to anything that could damage us. I left so I could make a name for myself, achieve a dream. But it wasn’t just for me. I wanted to bring success back to the reserve. Use what I do as a platform for Mi’kmaq recognition and respect. We’re a good people. We have nothing to be ashamed of. Bear Mountain raised me. It’s a part of me. I just want the chance to give back.”

  The council was silent. Some nodded, others mulled. She had to give it to him; it was a good speech. And his heart seemed to be in it.

  Michael Thomas lifted his chin and spoke again, his voice strong but gravelly. “The press is at your command, Mui’n? They will do as you say and not take liberties?”

  Bear hesitated. It was enough to make the old man nod as if he’d expected as much. Bear held up a hand like he was trying to physically stop ten minds from changing. “I’ve given them guidelines. Rules to respect while they’re here, and they’ve agreed. This isn’t going to be an exposé. They just want to document my time with the Cup. They’ve assured me they want to show the reserve in a positive light.”

  Michael grunted. “And you trust them?”

  “Yes.”

  No verbal response to that but Michael’s reaction was clear enough, and it seemed to be shared by half the council. At the heart of it, personal grudges didn’t matter. Acting in the best interest of the reserve was the be-all and end-all. Normally, that was easy. A decision was almost never unanimous, but usually they could come to a consensus. It wouldn’t be so simple this time. Great. Before Aria could interject, Bear kept going.

  “We all know we’ve been trying for years to get respect and understanding. From other First Nations. From Canada. From the world. It would be foolish to miss this opportunity. If you’re afraid, then you think we have something to be ashamed of here, but I’m proud of our reserve. I’m proud to be from Bear Mountain. Let this be the beginning of our new legacy.”

  That declaration made the room stand still. The fog of doubt tangibly began to lift. It was on everyone’s faces, a spark of hope in their eyes. The man really must have super powers. At least his effect wasn’t limited to her. And then he said, “I’d like to end the Cup’s day here with a potlatch welcoming the surrounding Mi’kmaq tribes.”

  Her heart contracted, and emotions warred inside. A potlatch was a cultural celebration with traditional dress, dancing, and artifacts. A typically West Coast event, First Nations people would gather in one spot from up and down the seaboard and celebrate by sharing their wealth. They’d been abolished during the Indian Act when Canada had tried to stamp out everything Aboriginal about the Aboriginal people, but it’d been repealed in the early 50s, and their parents’ generation had begun to heal that wound by establishing potlatches here, in the East.

  A lot of progress had been made, but in her own childhood, she’d seen a total of two potlatches and always in the winter, as had been tradition. When she’d become chief, she’d insisted on at least two a year. They’d just had one in May to celebrate the re-birth of spring, and the second wasn’t slated until harvest time. That wasn’t the issue. Hot Skates wanted to invite the media and widen the stage for potential catastrophe by welcoming the other Mi’kmaq tribes to Bear Mountain. If anything went wrong, all New Brunswick First Nations would be there to see it and blame her for it. But if everything went right, it could be the best publicity any of them could ever ask for.

  She let his words sink in for another minute with the council before lifting her voice. “So. It’s time to vote. All in favor of letting the cameras in?”

  “You will speak to them first?” Michael focused his steady gaze on her.

  From the corner of her eye, Bear flinched at the implied slight that his word wasn’t good enough, and damn it, a spark of sympathy flickered in her heart. “I will speak to them.”

  With that, hands starting raising one after the other but not all. Half in favor, half against. Shit.

  Oliver cleared his throat. “With a divided room, the choice falls to you, Chief.”

  Thanks for the reminder. She glanced at Bear. Mistake. The open pleading and underlying pain in his warm, dark eyes had never failed to pull her
in, and as much as she denied it, as much as she fought it, they still did. With a deep breath, she met the gaze of each council member. “We don’t have many chances to highlight Bear Mountain’s successes on this kind of platform. One of our own has achieved great prestige, and while I believe in our people with my whole heart, we don’t know when something like this could happen again. More opportunities could come from this and benefit the reserve and the Mi’kmaq. I vote in favor. And I promise to do everything I can to ensure all goes well.”

  She was met with some nodding and some wary stares, but it was done. Decided. And all on her if it went to hell.

  Once Aria concluded the meeting, a handful of council members—mostly elders—stuck around for pastries and coffee and to pepper her with questions. No one came up to him, and it stung. Sure, he won the Cup, and they were excited, impressed. But when it came to band business? Their trust was entirely in Aria. Yes, she was the chief, but he was still a grown, logical adult, and the reserve was still his home. Or was it? He’d been gone a long time. Bear Mountain would always be home, but it wasn’t where he lived anymore. A fact that wasn’t lost on the council members shooting him sidelong glances as Aria appeared to offer reassurances. When did I become the outsider?

  Probably the day he’d ended things with their chief-to-be. She’d always been beloved around the reserve even as a kid, spending most of her free time volunteering for community events and helping any family who needed it. Her heart had always been with these people. It used to be with him. If he was the outsider now, he deserved it. Had earned it with every choice that’d taken him farther and farther away. Coming home, sharing his victory was supposed to be a happy thing. He’d swelled up with pride the night he’d lifted the Cup, imagining how his people would receive him, how they’d echo his joy. The reality was beginning to look very different, and it created an aching, hollow space in his chest.