I’d had my first Gordie Howe hat trick at the NHL-level tonight: a goal, an assist, and a fight. All in all, it was a pretty decent way to return to the Portland Storm and show Jim Sutter that I belonged.
The fight had happened because Canucks center Ryan Kesler had taken a run at Andrew Jensen, the star defenseman that Jim Sutter had orchestrated a blockbuster trade for over the summer. It had been an ugly hit from behind that had upended Jens near the boards. He would have stood up for himself, but I’d beat him to it. If Jonny had been out on the ice, there was no doubt he would have been the first one to hold Kesler accountable. It’s just what we do in the game of hockey. The players police the game.
I doubted Kesler would be taking any more runs at our stars anytime soon, too…not after tonight.
We had been lucky that Jens hadn’t been hurt too bad. He’d gone off to be checked out by Doc for a few minutes, but he’d returned to the bench no worse for wear other than a few new stitches on his pretty face.
Fighting is just part of the game, something that happens in the heat of the moment. If I wanted to keep my spot, I had to be willing to play that role sometimes.
Once Babs had gone inside our apartment and shut the door, I took a step toward Rachel.
It was just one step, but I probably shouldn’t have taken it. She retreated through her doorway almost immediately, but I was surprised that she didn’t close the door in my face. I really didn’t get what was going on. If she was afraid of me, if she thought I would do something to hurt her or her kids, she should have locked me out—but all she was doing now was retreating.
Should I go in? Or should I wait out in the hall? If she was like my sister, if she had panic attacks and that sort of thing, then I should keep my distance. But was she like Dana? I didn’t think so. Not with how she’d let me carry her around, how she’d allowed me to hold her on my lap. There was a part of her that at least wanted to trust me, even if she couldn’t fully allow herself to do so.
I moved to the threshold and looked in just in time to see her walking gingerly back from the kitchen, a baggie of ice in her hand.
“Put this on your cheek,” she said in a tone devoid of life. She kept her voice down, like she was trying not to wake her kids.
I’d already iced my cheek and a few other nagging aches after the game, but I took the baggie and held it to the spot where Kesler had gotten his single good blow in.
“Thanks,” I said, trying to match my volume to hers. “If you don’t want me to carry you to the sofa, you should go sit down now.” I would have picked her up already if not for the fear in her eyes.
A small frown tugged at the corners of her lips, but she turned around and headed that way. I closed her front door and followed, sitting next to her but leaving her a little space. I’d learned with my sister that space is necessary when fear is involved.
I readjusted the baggie so the ice fit more comfortably against the contours of my face now that it had melted a little bit from the heat of my skin. She didn’t move a muscle, her back straight and rigid, not leaning against the cushions or relaxing in any manner.
The voice on the TV caught my attention. I looked up to see highlights of tonight’s game, with the Storm’s play-by-play man recapping what had happened. Had she watched the game? I’d had a good night, all things considered. We all had. We’d beaten the Canucks by a final score of four to two, and I had been involved—either directly or indirectly—in three of our four goals.
I couldn’t think of anything she might have seen in the game to bring on this newfound fear in her. It didn’t make any sense. “You want to tell me why you’re scared of me all of a sudden?”
She looked away, staring at the television, but I doubted she was actually seeing anything on it. Her lips moved, but if she said something, I couldn’t hear her. It was no more than a whisper.
“What was that?” I prodded.
Her eyes shot over to meet mine, full of accusation. “Why did you fight that man?”
This was about my fight? I’d come across people who didn’t like the fighting in hockey before, who didn’t watch because they thought it was too violent. Most people were the opposite. They got into watching it because of the fights. Hell, I’d had three puck bunnies throwing themselves at me at dinner tonight after the game, just because I’d dropped my gloves in the heat of the moment.
If Rachel was going to react like this over a single fight, what on earth was she doing working for a hockey team?
I shrugged, giving myself an extra moment or two to determine how best to answer her. “It’s just part of the game. We fight to keep everyone honest.” Fighting is part of the culture of hockey players—there are referees calling penalties, but it’s really the players who make sure no one steps over the line. The refs can’t see everything that happens, and if a guy makes a hit like Kesler did tonight, we want to be sure that he knows we’re not going to let things like that slide.
“Fighting is part of hockey?” She sounded dumbfounded. “What does fighting have to do with scoring goals? And I have no idea what you mean about keeping people honest, but it seems like poor sportsmanship to me.”
Now it was starting to make a little more sense. “You’ve never watched hockey before, have you?”
She shook her head. “I doubt I ever will again if there really is much fighting. I don’t want my kids to see that.”
“They didn’t see it—Tuck and Maddie?”
“No. They’d just gone to bed.”
That was probably for the best. Particularly since she didn’t know enough about the game to be able to explain it to them.
“Tomorrow night,” I said before I could think it through. “There’s a Portland Winterhawks game. Let me take you and the kids. I can try to explain things a little so you understand it.” The Winterhawks were a major junior team that played at the Moda Center sometimes, just like we did. Taking her to a game, explaining how hockey works—all of that would give me an excuse to spend more time with her. I was starting to like being with her, except for now, with her backing away from me like she was. I reached over to take her hand, but she jerked away.
“I don’t know if I want that.”
“You don’t want to watch a game with me?”
Her gaze passed over the hand I’d been reaching for her with. “I don’t know if I want any of it. I don’t know who you are—how you can be so gentle with me and carry me around and try to take care of me, but at the same time how you can be the man who was trying to beat up another hockey player. I don’t know if I want to understand.”
“Then why were you waiting up for me? Why did you give me an ice pack and let me come inside?”
Her mouth fell open, but she looked up at me. “I don’t know. But it’s a school night. The kids can’t be out—”
“It’s not the kids being up too late that has you so worked up,” I interrupted her. If I let her push me away with those halfhearted excuses, not with the real reasons behind her fears, we’d never get anywhere. I set my baggie on the coffee table and slid closer to her. She didn’t back away this time. “When I’m playing, it’s just a game,” I said. “It’s just my job. The things I do on the ice—that’s not who I am.” I reached for her again, and this time she let me take her hand. It was so tiny in mine. Everything about her was small. Delicate, but with a surprising strength resting beneath the surface. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, felt the frantic pulse in her wrist beating against mine. “I’m exactly who you think I am.”
“I’m not sure what I can believe anymore,” she whispered. “I don’t know who I can trust.”
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
“It’s not me I’m worried about.”
That much was clear, considering how she hovered over Maddie and Tuck. I pulled her closer, lifted her onto my lap. The breaths lifting her chest grew faster and warmed my neck. I splayed one hand over her rib cage, stopped myself from anything more intimate than that. “I’m
not going to hurt your kids, either.”
“I don’t think you will, but I’ve been wrong before.” Her voice hitched over the words.
“Who hurt them?” I raised my hand, used the pad of my thumb to brush over her cheek, and then guided my fingers through her riotous tangle of curls. I wanted her to trust me. I wanted her to believe that she and her kids were safe with me. I wanted to kiss away all the tension and fear keeping her from letting me in.
But she shook her head. Closed me out. Kept her secrets. Refused to unburden herself.
It hurt, like it had when my sister had stopped letting Dad and me hug her, like when she’d kept us at arm’s distance because she couldn’t stop her panic from setting in. All we’d wanted to do was hold her, love her, chase away her demons. But no one can fight off those kinds of demons for you. It’s something you have to do yourself.
Patience had never been a virtue I possessed, but it was exactly what Rachel needed. I’d have to find some, or I’d run her off—and I wanted to keep her close.
So I didn’t push. I allowed her to keep me at a distance emotionally. There would be no other way to gain her trust.
I didn’t stop myself from leaning down and placing a kiss on her temple, though. A breath fluttered from her lips, a whispered sigh that made me want more.
I wrapped both arms around her, pulled her close to me, and held on until she relaxed. She let her head fall against my chest. I didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break that moment, so we stayed that way as long as I thought I could handle without losing the tight rein I held over my self-control.
She had to work in the morning, and I had to go to practice. Eventually, I forced myself to stand up and carry her to the door.
“Lock the door behind me,” I said as I set her on her feet. “I’ll take you to work tomorrow, and we can talk more about the Winterhawks game then.” Her head moved slightly against my chest, a silent acknowledgment, I supposed. I headed out into the hallway. I didn’t really want to leave—every bone in my body wanted to stay with her—but I knew I had to go. She wasn’t ready for more.
“Brenden?” she said softly behind me.
I stopped and turned back, foolishly hopeful that she would ask me to stay even though there was no chance in hell that would happen.
“I’m not scared of you,” she said slowly, each word measured and cautious, “and that’s what scares me.”
She’d finally given me something I could work with. Thank God.
As I made my way upstairs to Jim’s office to pick up Rachel the next evening, I was still a little surprised she’d given in and agreed to let me take her and the kids to the Winterhawks game. Babs and I had picked Maddie and Tuck up from their after-school program before heading back to the practice facility. She hadn’t been too keen on the idea of us getting the kids without her, but it made more sense to already have them with us. That way we could get Rachel from work and go straight to dinner before the game. I’d tried to make her see the logic of it all, and when that failed, Babs had sweet-talked her. The kid could charm the toque off an Eskimo if he wanted to.
Babs had one of Tuck’s hands in his, and Maddie had the other. Tuck’s giggles were getting out of control, but it was impossible to be annoyed by it. He stopped on each step, refusing to move up to the next one, thereby forcing Babs and Maddie to lift his weight and swing him upward. Maddie wasn’t a ton of help on that score, but at least Babs didn’t seem to mind.
Oddly enough, I minded. Not that Tuck was playing around or anything like that. Tuck was a kid. Playing is what kids do.
I minded that it was Babs and not me that Tuck was holding on to.
I’d been jealous before, but never over a kid. I didn’t know what to do with that, and I wasn’t particularly keen on trying to sort out why jealousy was striking me like this so I went on ahead of them and turned the corner. Rachel had already shut down her computer by the time I reached her.
Jim’s office was dark, but Martha was still busy at her desk. She gave me a rare smile, looking up from over the top of her monitor. “Rachel tells me you’re going to explain the game to her, Campbell.”
“That’s the plan.” I was looking at Rachel instead of Martha. Her cheeks flushed a little, emphasizing the smattering of freckles covering her face.
“Good,” Martha said. “I can teach her about the business end of things, and I think she has at least a basic understanding of icing now, but I’m useless when it comes to explaining things like fighting.”
I laughed. “What, your boys never fought in their playing days?” Two of her sons had played pro hockey for several years, in the minors and in the elite European leagues, and at least one of her grandchildren was playing in the local peewee league now. They didn’t allow fighting in peewee, but it was a rite of passage for minor league players—one of the ways you could make yourself stand out for the scouts of the higher tiers of teams.
A willingness to fight for your spot—literally to fight—was the only way some guys would ever get a shot at the big leagues.
“Oh, they fought,” Martha said. “A lot more than I would have liked, actually. I’ve just never understood the code.”
Babs and the kids had finally made it to the top of the stairs, and Rachel had already donned her coat and buttoned it. She reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and retrieved her purse, slinging it across her body in that habitual manner she had that only drew my focus to her breasts. Even with the coat covering them so I couldn’t really get a good look. Hell, I was a mess.
“I doubt I’ll ever understand it, either,” Rachel said, “but I’m going to give him a chance to help me see the light.” At least she was smiling. Granted, her smile was probably due to Tuck’s laughter that was filling the hallway and echoing off the walls. The kid’s exuberance was infectious.
“Ready?” I asked as I reached out to pick her up.
She held me off with a hand, shaking her head. “My feet are healing. You don’t have to carry me all the time.”
I lifted a brow in Martha’s direction. There was no chance she would let Rachel get away with lying to me about something like that.
“She’s been walking just fine all day,” Martha deadpanned. “No signs of pain. I’ve been watching.” Then she shooed us away with her hands. “Get out of here before I find a reason to keep her.”
I wasn’t entirely convinced, but there was no good reason for Martha to lie to me. Still, I wasn’t ready to give up entirely. Before Rachel could pull herself away from me, I put my hand out and took hers inside it, tugging her closer to me.
Her eyes shot up to meet mine, but she didn’t pull away. I’d take it. I’d take anything I could get from her.
“Mommy!” Tuck shouted, releasing his grips on both Babs and Maddie so he could race ahead and hug Rachel. He hit her with enough force that she bumped back against her desk.
“Slow down, Ginger Ninja,” Babs said. “Your mom’s on our team, not the other side. We don’t body check our own teammates.”
She ruffled his hair and then took his hand with the one not in mine. “Did you have a good day at school?”
We all headed for the stairs, leaving Martha behind.
“Yep,” Tuck said matter-of-factly. He pulled his hand free and situated himself between the two of us, using his two little hands to pry ours apart. Then he started swinging himself along with me and Rachel for support as he’d done with Babs and Maddie on the stairs. “We learnded the colors of the rainbow.”
We’d hardly gone five or six steps when Rachel looked up at me and mouthed, “Sorry.” I wasn’t sorry. It felt right.
Maddie walked along ahead of us with Babs at her side, but she kept her distance from him. Not like she was scared, though. It was more as though she was just being a little cautious. Caution never hurt anyone, as far as I was aware. I just wished I knew why she found it necessary.
We had dinner at Amani’s, a favorite restaurant among the players. Even with taking the n
ecessary time to clean up the mess Tuck made of himself in trying to eat his spaghetti and meatballs, we still got to the Moda Center well before puck drop.
“Why don’t we go to the Fan Shop?” Babs suggested. “We could get you two some jerseys.”
Tuck tried to run ahead, even though he didn’t know where he was going. “I want a Mr. Jamie jersey!”
Babs caught up to him and picked him up, tossing him over his shoulder to lead us the rest of the way. Maddie hung back close to her mom. Even after we got into the Fan Shop, she stayed close to Rachel’s side, almost hiding behind her despite the fact that the store was almost deserted other than us.
“You can go look around,” Rachel said. “You don’t have to stay right with me in here.”
Maddie just shook her head.
Babs had taken Tuck over to look at the wall of hats on one side of the store. They wouldn’t need our help, at least as long as Tuck didn’t get too rambunctious. A little voice in the back of my head told me Babs would have an easier time than I would handling Tuck if something like that happened, though.
“Come on,” I said to Maddie. I reached out a hand for her, but she quickly took her mom’s instead. I tried not to let that bother me as I headed for the kids section. “Let’s find a jersey for you, okay?”
Rachel and Maddie followed me. I searched the racks until I saw the leftover selection of pink and lavender kids jerseys they’d done for the annual Hockey Fights Cancer month. They still had the Storm logo, a streak of lightning cutting through a hockey puck, but they looked like something a little girl might like to wear.
I picked up one in lavender that looked like it was at least close to the right size. “What about one of these?”
With a look up at her mother, Maddie shook her head. “I don’t need one.”
“We can get you one,” Rachel said. “Really.”
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