by Avery Flynn
Two years later, he heard she had broken up with whoever she’d been busy with, so he called, hoping to see her, maybe have dinner. But, again, she had someone in her life, and it wasn’t him. Why should he be surprised? She was bright, beautiful, and had men trailing after her with their tongues hanging out.
A couple of times, he’d run into her out at dinner with someone, and it was all he could do to be polite to her date. Again, the word jealousy popped into his head, but how could that be? He’d walked away and apparently given up any claim to her. Now he saw that she’d gotten on with her life without him. Apparently, he was a stupid fucker, as his sister never hesitated to point out, if he expected her just to wait around for whenever he succeeded on his quest for the Holy Grail of hockey.
He asked himself the same question over and over. Why couldn’t she see he wasn’t ready yet to give a woman a permanent place in his life? Why was that so hard to understand? But dealing with the reality of her with someone else ate at him, and unfamiliar emotions plagued him at odd times. Shutting that door in his mind took more effort than he’d expected.
Year after year passed, and his goal seemed farther out of reach than ever. It took him so much longer to get out of the minor leagues than he’d expected. Even then, he got traded twice before racking up the kind of playing time he wanted with the Rage.
And worst of all? All these years, no matter how he tried, he’d never been able to get Lizzie out of his mind. Looking at it now, he figured that was his punishment for shutting her out of his life. Now, when it might be too late, he realized they’d had something special. He was a first class dunce—make that egotistical jackass—to have thought they could just put their situation on the shelf until he decided the time was right.
Today, with the emptiness of his life stretching before him, it finally struck him with painful clarity what an ass he’d been, on so many fronts. Lying in the hospital, alone, his career shattered, his relationship with his family fractured, he’d realized something he’d avoided all these years. He was in love with Lizzie St. John. Yes, in love. L.O.V.E. Why the hell had he been so stupid? Okay, he had the Cup. So what? He had no one to share it with, and by no one he meant he didn’t have her. Lizzie. The woman he’d so cavalierly walked away from, so certain that when he was ready she’d be waiting for him.
He’d stopped calling her because it irritated him when she blew him off for someone else. By now, she’d probably built a great life for herself with some guy. And he, selfish bastard that he was, had…what? An injury that forced him out of the game and a heart aching for the woman he’d tossed away so carelessly.
Was it possible he still might have a chance with her? Would she even talk to him? Worst of all, if he called her, would she think it was only because his career was over and he had no other options?
Man, his world looked bleaker than ever before.
As he sat there, indecisive, his phone chimed with an incoming text. From the team office. Great. What more could they do to him? He opened the text.
Don’t forget, June 29 is your day with the Cup. That’s two days from now. Get hold of Bear Thompson and make arrangements for him to hand it over.
The tradition was that when a team won the Cup, every team member got to have it for one day. He could do whatever he wanted with it as long as he didn’t damage it or lose it. His first reaction was to tell them they could just pass it on to whoever was next in line.
As he thought about the Cup, he suddenly remembered all the stories other players had told, abut their day with the Cup bringing love into their lives. An idea popped into his head. It was stupid and idiotic, but it just might be the key to unlock Lizzie’s heart. Prove to her she wasn’t second best now that he was off the ice for good. That she’d always been first. He’d just been too stupid to recognize it. But, first, he had to end the pity party and go home and make nice with his family.
He would attack this with the same fervor he used in hockey. Only the prize this time would last forever, if he could win it.
Okay, he typed.
His finger hovered over the screen for a moment, but then he pushed the icon to send it. That done, he pulled out of the parking lot and headed for his apartment. It was a long drive to San Antonio, and his leg wasn’t in the best shape. He’d better pack, get a good night’s sleep, and then hit the road.
2
“We did it, Liz.”
Dara Flynn high fived her partner as they collapsed on the couch in Lizzie’s office. They had just returned from Delfina’s, an upscale restaurant on San Antonio’s south side where they’d overseen a bridal luncheon for one of the city’s best-known television reporters. Going into it, they both knew that a major success here could take their business to the next level. Conversely, a screwup could easily trash their reputation and destroy their fledgling business, Wonder Works, that had just celebrated its one-year anniversary. They’d both put in a lot of hard, slogging time at the largest event planning firm in the city, Affairs to Remember. Starting her own business had been a risky venture for them, but their former boss had actually encouraged them and referred some smaller events to them.
“San Antonio needs more resources like this,” Margot Shanley, owner of Affairs to Remember, told her.
Liz—she hadn’t been called Lizzie for a long time—reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a handful of business cards, spreading them on the table for Dara to see.
“All possible clients. They loved everything, especially the part about not having to do a thing except give us their idea and final approval of everything. They all want callbacks within the week.” She kicked off her shoes and put her feet up on the table next to Dara’s. “I think this calls for champagne, which I will get in just a minute.”
“I’ll get it.” Dara slid her feet off the table, and, as she did so, she knocked off the newspaper scattered there. She picked it up, frowning. “Since when are you reading the sports section again?”
“Not again.” Lizzie bounced up and tried to grab the paper. “Not ever.”
“Uh uh uh.” Dara held it away from her, staring at the page it was folded to. “Well, what have we here? An article about that—what is it you call him—selfish bastard? Yes. Matt Vorchak. Mr. Selfish Bastard himself. Isn’t that interesting.”
Lizzie jumped up and tried to take the paper from her, but Dara danced away, holding it just out of reach.
“Come on. Give it here.”
But Dara was frowning. “This says he’s been released by the Cajun Rage. That he doesn’t have medical clearance to play anymore.” She looked at Lizzie. “Did you know that?”
Liz bit her lip. She hadn’t wanted Dara—or anyone, for that matter—to know she’d been following Matt’s career. It was a sick obsession she couldn’t seem to cure. She kept telling herself a smart woman would manage to get over a ten-year-old crush on a man who had walked away from her because he thought his career was more important. You’d think in all this time, as badly as he’d hurt her, she’d have been able to put him out of her mind. She was an idiot, for sure.
“Sort of.” She shrugged, trying for an attitude of nonchalance. “I read about him now and then. Since the Rage signed him three years ago, he’s been all over the local sports section. Hometown boy and all that. It’s hard to miss it all.”
“It’s easy if you don’t read the sports section,” Dara pointed out. “And now it’s all come crashing down. I read the other day, how he got body checked, fell wrong, and wrecked his knee. Too bad. He was one of the stars of the championship playoff series against the Caps, especially during the final game.”
“Yeah, too bad.” Liz shrugged. With superhuman effort she slammed shut the Matt Vorchak door in her mind. “But enough about him. Today is all about us and L&D Special Events. Where’s the champagne?”
“Coming right up.” Dara pushed herself off the couch and fetched the chilled bottle from the back room refrigerator. She filled two paper cups, handed one to her pa
rtner, and raised hers. “To many more successes like today. We’re on our way, kiddo.”
“I’ll drink to that.”
Liz touched her cup to Dara’s, and they each took a long swallow.
Still, as the bubbles fizzed in her mouth and the chilled liquid slid down her throat, she couldn’t help thinking of the college boy who’d lived for life on ice, for the slap of the puck, and the clash of hockey sticks. What would happen to him now that it was all gone?
She wondered if he’d stay in New Orleans or come home. What would he do with his life? What did other athletes do when an injury forced them out of their careers? Maybe she should do some research on that. Maybe she should—
Maybe I should have my head examined.
She’d spent too many years as an afterthought in Matt Vorchak’s life. She needed to get on with her own. She had a thriving career and an active social life. What else did she need?
Someone who sets me on fire and makes me dream of a future together.
Okay, she’d had that very thing. They meshed together so well, and god! The sex had been so hot it nearly burned the sheets. Only, apparently, it hadn’t been enough for Matt. His dreams were so much bigger, with no end in sight. She might have been willing to make a commitment to hang in there, but he’d been very open about his situation. Hockey was everything to him, and he had nothing left over to give to a personal relationship until he’d reached the pinnacle of his career.
How did you measure that, anyway?
Finally, after a long struggle, Matt had played for a team that won the Cup, but the last game had ended his future. She was doing her best not to feel sorry for him. After all, he’d made her heart hurt without even realizing it. Or maybe even caring.
It wasn’t as if she’d hidden in the dating closet all this time. She’d had more than one long-term relationship, situations she’d really wanted to work. But none of them had lit the spark she got with Matt.
Enough!
“Hey!” Dara’s voice pierced her thoughts. “Where’d you go?”
Liz gave herself a mental shake. “Just basking in the success of today’s event and thinking about filling up our calendar.”
“As long as no thoughts about a selfish hockey player were mixed in there.”
Liz laughed, hoping she sounded casual. “Nope. Got more important things to think about. Let’s finish up today’s report then start calling all the people who gave us their cards. Said they wanted to hire us.”
“Alrighty, then. I’m on board with that.”
But as she opened a document on her computer to fill in the final information from today, she remembered that when a hockey team won the Cup, each member had it for one day. One twenty-four hour period. When was his day? What, she wondered, would Matt do with his? Would he stay in New Orleans and celebrate with people there, or bring it back to show the hometown? And if he brought it to San Antonio, would he bring it over to show her? Did she even want him to?
Am I willing to open that door again and face the possibility of getting my heart stepped on one more time?
That, she thought, is the big question, and one for which, damn it, she had no answer.
3
A few years ago, knowing San Antonio was still the place he wanted to put down roots, Matt bought a large townhouse in the northwest area of the city. It was furnished in what one woman had called industrial male. So what if everything was steel and leather and sort of blah? The couch was comfortable, the flat screen television huge, and he spent most of his time in the third bedroom, which he’d set up as a gym, anyway. Off-season was devoted to developing his upper body strength and getting laid. In his very large bed with the leather headboard.
“I think you’re missing your sensitivity gene,” one woman teased him after a night together.
He hadn’t asked her what she meant. He hadn’t really wanted to know. But he’d discovered on the long drive from New Orleans, when he took a good look at himself, he didn’t like much of what he saw. He was furnished much like his apartment—without warmth or emotion. Now, with his career so abruptly ended, he had two choices. He could turn into a very bitter person and shut everyone out of his life, or he could get his shit together and start mending fences. He just hoped the fences weren’t irrevocably damaged.
He’d called his parents yesterday before he left New Orleans then again last night when he arrived in San Antonio. Those were the first calls he’d made to them since the surgery and damn it! His mother broke down and cried. She kept telling him they were happy tears, but all he could think was, Way to go, Matt. Another woman you treated poorly. And his mother, of all people.
“You come over first thing in the morning, Mattie,” she kept saying.
“I will, Ma. I don’t want to show up too early.”
She laughed. “Your dad still gets up with the sun. You come over as early as you want. I’ll have coffee and pastry.” She paused. “And a big hug for you.”
“Will you call Brenna? I tried her, but her phone goes to voice mail.”
“She’s out at some party from work. I’ll get hold of her. She’ll be here, too.”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “She’ll probably want to chop my head off. I can’t believe the way I acted toward all of you.”
“It’s okay,” his mother assured him.
But it wasn’t, and he knew it. He’d finally taken off the blinders he’d been wearing all these years. Maybe something good could come out of the injury that destroyed his career. Maybe he could figure out how to build a new life if he could mend things with a lot of people. His family first.
“Brenna loves you, Mattie. We all do. And we are so glad you came home. Just get here early in the morning, and we’ll start new.”
At six thirty in the morning, Matt met Bear Thompson at the airport and took possession of the Cup from him.
“Six thirty, man?” he said. “Really?”
“Making connections, and this was the best flight I could get,” Bear told him. “Gotta get back to someone special.”
Matt just stood there immobilized, holding the trophy, awed by the history of it and the fact that this year he had been part of the winning team. For a moment, the turn his life had taken and the personal wreckage he’d left behind on his climb to the top faded away.
Last night, as he lay in bed reaching for sleep that wouldn’t come, he’d had so much running through his head. First and foremost was how he could use this to move forward with his life, especially with the woman he’d been such an ass to. Would she even speak to him? He thought he might need some grand gesture to open the door, but since he had never been much for those kinds of things, no ideas popped into his head.
He was very nervous about what he wanted to accomplish today. And, he’d probably need some help. In addition, the team secretary had called him to tell him he had a meeting with a reporter and photographer from the San Antonio paper at five thirty. He hoped that didn’t happen in the middle of a crucial part of his plan. Okay, first things first. He placed the Cup lovingly in the backseat of his car and took off.
Although his parents were early risers, he still waited until seven thirty to show up. His mother must have been watching for him, because he’d barely parked his car and gotten out when she threw open the front door.
“Mattie?” His mother stood in the open doorway, a big smile on her face. “Ohmigod. Mattie. You’re really home.”
“Where else would I be?” he joked.
“I was so worried you might not be able to make the drive. I felt much better when you called last night.” She took a step back and looked him over from head to toe. “How is the knee? How do you feel? What’s going on with you?”
“Let the boy in,” his father called from behind her. “Don’t make him stand out there on the porch all day.”
“Oh! Of course, of course. Come in.” She tugged him into the house, Cup and all, and ran her hands over his face. “Oh, Mattie, I’m so glad you’re here.”
His reception was more than he expected and probably more than he deserved, considering how he’d neglected everyone in his fight for fame and success.
“Ma?” He put the Cup down so he could give her a big hug. “I’m sorry I was such a miserable jerk in the hospital. You didn’t deserve it. None of you did.”
“It’s okay. We understood. A very bad thing happened to you. Anyone would be angry.”
“But I didn’t need to take it out on you all.” He cleared his throat. He might as well try out his new outlook on her. “I’ve come to terms with the fact my career is over and I need to move on.”
She gave him a coy smile. “Does that mean you’re going to try and patch things up with Lizzie?”
He swallowed a sigh. “Things may not be patchable there. I was terrible to her all those years ago, arrogant enough to think she’d just hang around waiting until I had my career where I wanted it.” A sick thought struck him. “She’s not with anyone else now, is she?”
His mother shook her head. “Not that I know of. Brenna sees her now and then. She could tell you better.”
Matt snorted. “If she’s even talking to me.”
“You’re her brother, aren’t you? She’ll be okay with you.”
“Is that the Cup?” His father pointed. “Dora, don’t make him stand there all day. Let’s bring it in the kitchen.”
“Here.” Matt lifted it and handed it to his father. “How about you hold it for a while.”
A grin split his father’s face as he took the large icon from Matt’s hands and carried it into the kitchen. There he set it on the table and ran his fingers over it with reverence. Matt’s dad had become a big hockey fan since Matt got drafted, so he knew the Cup’s significance. He looked at his son now with pride.
“Good job, kid.” Then he sobered. “But you know we love you whether there’s a trophy or not, right?”