He checked his Rolex. Ten to nine, he’d be right on time. Tubs had asked him to stop by before practice, which was odd. Usually, they shot the breeze after practice was over. Tubs relied on him to give the lowdown on where the players’ heads were at, and they discussed strategy, line changes and possible last minute trades. They were a good match, he and Tubs. He’d dealt with coaches in the past who were threatened by his power as captain, coaches who refused to listen to him on issues of personnel and strategy because he was a player. But Tubs wasn’t like that. Tubs trusted him and valued his opinion. In turn, he was loyal to Tubs, refusing to brook criticism of him from the players, never disputing Tubs in public, even on issues they disagreed on.
On automatic pilot, Ty headed straight into the locker room to change and lace up before he realized his mistake. He shook his head and walked back down the photo-lined hall towards Tubs’s office. He had to admit, he felt a little tired today. He had spent a good part of the night before trying out positions from the Kama Sutra with Janna. They killed themselves laughing when things didn’t quite work out thanks to his failing knees or her fear of passing out if her head was upside down. But when it did work . . . just thinking about it made him hot all over again. He’d had more than his share of women, but this one . . . this one knew how to keep him coming back for more. And it wasn’t just the sex, although he didn’t want to dwell on that too much. The important thing was, he hadn’t had this much fun off the ice since . . . shoot, he’d never had this much fun off the ice. And fun is what it’s all about with Janna, he told himself. Remember that.
As usual, the door to the coach’s office was closed. Ty knocked once and went in. Tubs was standing in the middle of the room in his usual uniform, khakis and a white tennis shirt, reviewing a video of the game against Dallas from the night before. Hearing Ty enter, he paused the video and got them both bottles of Gatorade from the small fridge beside his desk.
“What’s up?” Ty asked, accepting the Gatorade while clearing away a mountain of papers and equipment so he could sit down on the beat up couch across from Tubs’s desk.
“Couple of things.” Tubs sat and swung his short, chunky legs up on the desk. His body had earned him his nickname way back when he was a hockey player himself. “How you feeling?”
“Fine. Why?”
“Don’t bullshit me, Ty. I’ve been watching that hit you took from Porter over and over again on video. He hurt you bad, didn’t he?”
Ty grinned. “I’ve been hurt worse.”
“How bad is it? Tell the truth.”
“We might need to freeze the shoulder Thursday night, I don’t know,” he replied, massaging the area in question. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”
“In a way.”
Ty’s ears pricked up cautiously. “Yeah?”
Tubs sighed—not a good sign. “I can’t afford not to have you in the Playoffs.”
Ty laughed. “No kidding.” Not to be too modest, but there was no way the team could win without him, and everyone knew it. He was about to tell Tubs so, but the look of worry on the coach’s face precluded it. “What else?” he prompted.
“I’ve been thinking of resting you the next month. Shave a few minutes off your ice time each game.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Ty scoffed. “I’m fine.”
“You’re thirty-three, and you’ve got guys ten years younger than you trying to destroy you every minute you’re out there.”
Ty allowed himself a small, self-congratulatory smile. “Too bad they’re not doing such a good job of it.”
“Oh, no?”
Tubs picked up the remote from his desk, rewound the video, and hit “play.” Ty watched his own feet leave the ice as Greg Porter, a gorilla-sized defenseman for Dallas, smashed him into the boards, his left shoulder jamming up into his ear. He watched his own eyes glaze over with pain for a split second before grimacing and skating, semi-hunched, back to the bench, where one of the trainers began working on him immediately. Seeing it annoyed him.
“Turn it off.”
Tubs complied.
“I’m still not getting your point.”
“My point is the less chance they have to mess you up, the better the chances of you kicking ass in the Playoffs.”
Ty slowly lowered the bottle he had just put to his lips, not bothering to drink. “Are you benching me?”
“Just on Thursday. I want to see how it goes.”
“ ‘How it goes’?” Ty echoed incredulously. “Are you out of your mind? This is not the time to experiment. You and I both know that. You bench me, and they’re going to think I’m injured. They think I’m injured and then they’re really going to go for me, try to take me out for the rest of the season.” He shook his head. “Don’t do it, Tubs. It’s a mistake.”
“It’s one game.”
“One game is all it takes.”
Tubs hesitated. “You’ve been a little off your game, Ty.”
Ty lurched forward. “What?”
“Just a little,” Tubs amended, swinging his legs back under the desk. “Not enough for anyone but me to notice, maybe, but you are.”
“Explain.”
“Your skating hasn’t been as sharp as usual. Your stick handling’s been a little sloppy.” He peered at Ty with brotherly concern. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” Ty insisted.
“Anything distracting you? Girlfriend trouble?”
“I don’t have a girlfriend,” was Ty’s terse reply. Janna, he thought. This is all because of Janna. Because of her his concentration was off. He wasn’t eating, breathing, dreaming the Cup.
“Well, I don’t know what it is, then,” Tubs was saying, “but I really think you should try to be more in tune with what’s up with you. Because we don’t want it to turn into a real problem.”
“No, of course not.” His eyes held his coach’s. “Don’t bench me Thursday. I’m telling you, it’s a major tactical error. Trust me.”
Tubs seemed to be considering it.
“Who would you put on the line with Kevin and Lonnie if you sat me out?”
“Lubov.”
“Lubov!” Ty exclaimed. Talk about adding insult to injury. “That line’ll never mesh.” He shook his head despairingly. “If you’re going to be stupid enough to bench me, then put Deans in with Kev and Lon. It’s a better fit.”
“Maybe.” Tubs tapped a pencil on the edge of his desk, thinking. “You really think it’s a green light to beat on you if I sit you out?”
“Jesus Christ, you know it is. Look, I told you. I’m fine. If you want, I’ll rest more when we’re not playing, okay? I’ll take naps, I’ll sip warm milk, I’ll go to bed at nine. Shaving a few minutes off my ice time from here until the Playoffs is acceptable. Benching me is not.”
“You sure there’s nothing distracting you?”
“I’m sure,” Ty swore.
But there was, he knew there was. And he had to figure out what he was going to do about it.
Someone was dead.
That was the first thought that sprang to Janna’s mind as she emerged from the velvet fog of sleep to the phone ringing. Early morning phone calls, late night phone calls, both meant only one thing. Bad news. It was five A.M. Please don’t let it be Daddy or Wills, she prayed, squinting against the brightness of her bedside lamp as she turned it on, bracing herself.
“Hello?”
“Janna? It’s Jack Cowley.”
Jack Cowley? At this hour?
“Lou’s had a heart attack. He’s in Columbia Presbyterian.”
Janna closed her eyes. “Oh my God.” The shock brought her body instantly, jerkily, awake. “What happened?”
“He was watching TV with his wife, complaining of heartburn after supper, which apparently was nothing unusual. About an hour later, he rose to get a snack from the kitchen and collapsed, saying that he felt like his chest was being crushed. His wife called nine-one-one. The paramedics got there in time to sa
ve him, but the damage to his heart is massive. He might be in the hospital awhile.”
“Oh my God,” Janna repeated numbly. She could see it all. Lou in a ratty old bathrobe, leaning back in a comfy, reclining chair, pounding his chest while he crabbed about Lily’s spaghetti sauce being too acidic. Then waddling off to the kitchen at a commercial break to get some ice cream, only to be seized with the sensation of his rib cage cracking apart. The fear he must have felt, the panic as he wondered if this was it, the end. She gave herself a small shake to force the vision away. “When did you find out?”
There was a small, almost infinitesimal pause on the other end of the phone. “Lily called me at around midnight, actually.”
“And you’re just getting around to calling me now?!”
“I’ve been in the office all night taking care of things,” said Jack coolly. “Now that Lou’s going to be out of action for a while—”
“You thought you’d just move into his office and take over,” Janna finished for him. “You must be so disappointed he didn’t die.”
Cowley ignored the barb. “You might want to come in, since you’re clearly going to be doing my job for a while in addition to your own.”
“You seem to forget I’m your superior now, Jack.”
“And you seem to forget I’ve worked PR for the Blades years longer than you have. I think experience trumps job title in this case, don’t you? So come on down. I need to show you the ropes.”
“Go hang yourself with them. It’s Sunday. The only place I’m going is to the hospital to visit Lou, unless someone from Corporate calls me to do otherwise. Anything else?”
“Nothing that I can think of,” Jack replied with false pleasantness. “Send him my love, won’t you? I don’t know if I’ll be able to get there.”
“Send it yourself.” She slammed down the phone. JERK!!!
God, she hated that . . . creature. The thought of him going to Lou’s office in the middle of the night and rifling through Lou’s things, thinking he could fill Lou’s shoes, made her nuts, even more nuts than knowing that Cowley was probably right. She probably was going to have to take orders from that oily, unctuous, awful, megalomaniac swine. The fact he didn’t phone her as soon as he got the news rankled her, too. Waiting to call was a deliberate slap in the face.
She slid back down and pulled her comforter up to her neck, then over her head, thinking, I could hide here and fall asleep. When I wake up, I will deal with it then. She closed her eyes, opening them again less than a minute later. Forget it, she was too wired. She would get up, put on coffee, and watch bad infomercials on early morning TV until the paper came. Then she’d read until it was time for visiting hours at the hospital.
As she padded out to the kitchen, her mind raced. If Ty were here, this wouldn’t have happened. It only happened because we haven’t gotten together for a while for Chinese food and sex. It’s an omen. It’s . . .
Ridiculous. Since when was she superstitious? Ty was the superstitious one, always having to lace up his left skate before his right, always having the same dinner before a game—pasta with grilled veggies. A lot of the guys had quirks like that, she’d noticed. Kevin Gill had a statue of the Virgin Mary he kept in his locker that he kissed. Lonnie Campbell always tucked in the back left side of his uniform. Defenseman Wally Manzourek kept a rabbit’s foot on the team’s bench in the arena. Some guys were even known to stop shaving during the Playoffs. Thankfully, Ty wasn’t one of them.
The kitchen was chilly. Even though it was already April, the mornings were still cool. Setting up the coffee as quietly as she could, so as not to wake Theresa, her mind remained on Ty. He seemed squirrelly lately, like he just wanted to be alone. She knew he was preoccupied with the upcoming Playoffs, so she had given him a wide berth. There were only three games left in the regular season. Three games left until they’d begin seriously bumping heads again over PR. He’d already told her he wouldn’t talk to anyone but the beat reporters during the Playoffs. Meanwhile, interview requests were pouring in faster than she could keep up with them, especially since the leadership piece in Sports Illustrated. She’d need to ask Lou—
Lou. She sat down at the kitchen table, clearing her seed catalogs out of the way to make room for her coffee mug. The last thing on earth she wanted to face was the sight of him helpless in a hospital bed, surrounded by beeping machines and a tangled highway of tubes. But she had no choice; this was one of those situations where like it or not, you have to do the right thing. With that thought in mind, she sipped at her coffee, and waited for dawn to come.
“Are you family?”
The thin, tired looking woman behind the nurses’ station in the Intensive Care Unit peered up at Janna suspiciously.
“I’m Louis Capesi’s daughter,” Janna replied smoothly. The woman, distracted by the computer screen in front of her, didn’t answer immediately. When she did, her tone was perfunctory.
“He’s at the end of the hall, room 515. No more than fifteen minutes, please.”
Janna nodded and started off in the direction that she was pointed in, the clacking of her clogs against the highly polished floor embarrassingly loud to her own ears, especially when compared with the silent steps of the staff hustling past in rubber soles. She hated hospitals. It didn’t matter that Lou was in one of the finest cardiac care units in the country. From the moment she’d stepped inside and passed through the first set of automated double doors in the lobby, she’d been overwhelmed with anxiety. It was the smell: cold, sterile, designed to mask fear and sickness and death. She should have brought him some of the fragrant lavender she’d grown in her little garden.
The door to Lou’s room was open. Not knowing what to expect, she hesitated before stepping inside. There was Lou propped in a hospital bed, eyes closed, his pallor glowing ghostly green beneath the thin strip of neon lighting above his bed. Despite his girth, he seemed dwarfed by the equipment surrounding him. A heart monitor beeped out its monotone song, while another machine whose function Janna wasn’t sure of pinged away in frantic counterpoint. An IV pole pumped what she assumed to be glucose into his pudgy, hairy arm. Tubes thin as spaghetti fed Lou oxygen through the nose while others crisscrossed his chest. Her eyes filled, and she looked down to the floor, composing herself. Should Lou awaken, she didn’t want him to see her crying.
Pulling up a chair, she sat down beside him and put her hand on top of his. His skin was cold. It alarmed her. Was his skin supposed to be this cold? She wondered if she should call a nurse. Lou stirred, blinking. His eyes opened. He seemed to take a minute to adjust to his surroundings. When he realized Janna was beside him, he gave a trace of a smile.
“Hey, doll face.” His voice was barely a whisper.
“You don’t have to talk,” Janna murmured to him, slowly massaging his hand in an effort to warm it up.
“I want to.”
Janna threw him a look of warning. “Lou, I don’t want you wearing yourself out.”
“Hey,” he wheezed, “who’s the boss here?”
“Right now, I am.” She reached up, tenderly touching his cheek. “Close your eyes if you want.”
He nodded, eyes closed. “Doctor says . . . my love affair with cheeseburgers is over.”
“You got that right.”
The small, piggy eyes opened up again. “I’m sorry about this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Lou’s hand was beginning to warm a bit. Janna started rubbing a bit more briskly now.
Lou sighed. “I feel bad about leaving you alone with Cowley.”
“I can handle Jack, ” Janna assured him.
A half smile settled on Lou’s lips. “The real question is whether Cowley will be able to handle you.”
Janna smiled, taking it as a compliment. “Is there anyone you want me to call?” she asked. “Anything you need taken care of that you might have forgotten to mention to Lily?”
Lou shook his head no. “It was nice of you to come.”
�
��You’re my friend, Lou. I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetcakes.” His eyes shut again as he sank deeper into the pillows. “If I die—”
“You’re not going to die. Granted, you did come close, but they got to you in time, thank God.” She raised his now warm hand to her mouth and kissed it.
“When I thought I was going to die . . . when I was lying there on the kitchen floor . . . I told Lily I loved her. I realized that was the most important thing, that she knew that. ’Cause you never know. . . .”
“Sshhh, enough. Enough talking now. Rest.”
She sat with him, waiting for him to drift back to sleep. A nurse came into the room with two more bouquets of flowers. The room was full to overflowing. Lou really was loved. When Janna was satisfied he was resting comfortably, she rose, kissed his forehead, and left, stopping back at the nurses’ station.
“I was wondering if you could give me an update on my father’s condition,” she said politely to the same nurse she’d spoken with earlier.
“What do you want to know?”
“Is he out of the woods yet?”
“He’s still in critical condition.”
“Which means what?”
The nurse looked impatient. “That we’re doing all we can, but in the meantime, we have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t go into cardiac arrest again.”
I see,” said Janna in a small voice. “Thank you.”
Numb, she made her way down the silent corridor toward the elevators. Anguish squeezed at her heart like pincers. She couldn’t bear the thought of Lou dead. She imagined him lying on the kitchen floor looking up into Lily’s frightened face, telling her that he loved her. This time she let the tears come. All of us, she thought bleakly, truly are alone unless we reach out, connect, say what’s in our hearts. The simple truth of this overwhelmed her. Outside on the sidewalk, she hailed a cab. When the driver asked her where she wanted to go, she gave him Ty’s address.
CHAPTER 17
Body Check Page 22