“We’re heading over to the Maypole to grab a few drinks. You joining us?”
Ethan tossed his stick to the side and pulled off his helmet. He shook his head then ran a hand through his damp hair before pulling the jersey over his head. “No, I’m good.”
Dillon nudged him, getting his attention. “You ever going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Yeah, something is. You haven’t been yourself for the last few months, not since you came back early for training camp. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. Just focusing on my game.”
Dillon narrowed his eyes, his gaze focused on Ethan’s face. A few seconds went by before he shook his head, his disbelief clear. “Any more focused and you’d be a fucking robot.”
Commotion in the doorway spared Ethan from answering. He turned around, felt a real smile spread across his face for a brief second when he saw Alec Kolchak enter the room. He was dressed in jeans and a faded sweatshirt, his son, Tanner, riding on his shoulders. Guys piled around him, hitting him on the arm or clapping him on the back. Questions rang through the room, each one louder than before, begging for answers.
How was his knee?
Wasn’t he done with therapy yet?
When was he coming back?
Ethan glanced over at Corbin, noticed the kid’s strained smile. He could almost feel the tension rolling off the backup goalie as Alec moved deeper into the room.
Yeah, that had to suck for Corbin. He’d been pulled up from the Bombers last season when Alec went out with a knee injury—which meant he’d be going back down when Alec came back. Yeah, it definitely sucked. But he had to have known it would happen. Maybe Alec had been out longer than anyone had anticipated, but looking at him now, you’d never know it.
Or would you?
Ethan looked closer, his mind shutting out all the noise and questions, his gaze focused on Alec as he walked. Was it his imagination, or was the man still limping? No, it had to be his imagination, along with that sudden inclination to seek out the weaknesses and find the negative in every situation.
He gave himself a mental shake then lowered himself to the bench, leaning forward to unlace his skates as everyone around him kept talking at once. A loud voice boomed throughout the room, silencing everyone.
“Listen up!” Sonny LeBlanc, their head coach, pushed his way into the room, a tube of tightly-rolled papers held in his hand. His steely eyes roamed the room, resting on each player with an intensity that could bring a strong man to his knees. But not tonight. Tonight, the expression in his eyes was congratulatory, silently telling everyone they’d done a good job.
His gaze landed on Corbin, resting on him for a few seconds longer than the others. Coach finally nodded then looked away, tapping the roll of papers against his open palm. He looked over at Alec, his lips compressing into a tight line for a brief second before he looked away. “Kolchak has an announcement.”
Ethan straightened on the bench, one skate still attached to his foot. He didn’t have to look around to know that his frown mirrored those of his teammates. He didn’t move, his gaze focused on Alec as the man moved to the center of the room. He reached up, grabbed his son’s hand and gently removed a fistful of hair from the chubby fingers. Then Alec looked around the room, an expression of unease crossing his face. Ethan was certain it had nothing to do with the fact that the toddler had grabbed another handful of hair.
“I’m retiring.”
The words echoed around the silent room, bouncing off the rubber mats covering the floor and the tiles of the low ceiling. The silence stretched on for what seemed like minutes but in reality, was only seconds. Then the room erupted in loud voices. Shouts of denial mingled with questions filled with disbelief—and maybe even dismay. Alec held his hands up, waiting for the room to quiet. He cleared his throat, his eyes blinking several times before he continued.
“It’s, uh, it’s a surprise, I know.” He tried to grin but there was no humor in it, no joy. “But I’m not where I need to be and probably won’t be—”
“You just need some more time, that’s all.”
Alec’s gaze moved to Ian Donovan’s, silent communication passing between them. Ethan looked over, studying Ian. Had he known already? He must have—the pair had been friends for years. This wasn’t something Alec had just learned, Ethan was certain of that. No, he’d probably known for a while, had probably told a few of the guys what was coming.
Ian, certainly. Probably Nikolai Petrovich as well. Who else? Ethan looked around, studying the faces of his teammates. The ones who had been around for a few years, like Ian and Nikolai and Randy Michaels. JP Larocque and Mat Herron. No, probably not Mat, not when the man couldn’t keep a secret to save himself.
Alec kept talking, his voice thick with emotion as he assured everyone it was for the best. He couldn’t play his best game with his knee, not any longer. It wasn’t fair to the team, wasn’t fair to them, if he couldn’t bring his best to the ice each night.
Ethan listened to the words, not really hearing them. He was too busy watching everyone’s reactions, guessing their thoughts from their facial expressions. Nobody was happy, that was a given. Even Corbin looked stunned.
“Stop looking so damn depressed, guys. Shit, you’re making me feel worse.” Alec cleared his throat, smiled again, this one less forced. “It’s for the better. And just because I’m not going to be in the net anymore doesn’t mean I’m not going to be around. I’m still part of the organization.”
Sonny stepped forward, the scar running down his face turning from red to pink. He cleared his throat, tapped the roll of papers against his hand, and gave them a brief smile. “Kolchak here is going to be the Assistant Goaltending Coach for the Bombers. So yeah, we’ll still be seeing him.”
“Yeah, you can’t get rid of me that easily. Besides, AJ refuses to let me completely retire. She said I’d drive her crazy.” He smiled again, this one even wider. “Especially since she’s pregnant again.”
The room erupted once more, this time with congratulations and rowdy comments. Some of the players went over to Alec, clapping him on the back, bombarding him with questions. Ethan stayed where he was, his mind processing the news then pushing everything into neat little compartments. It was a skill he had picked up recently, one he was getting good at.
Ever since Cindy had disappeared from his life. Since that day in the airport on St. Thomas.
Things changed, whether you wanted them to or not. Tonight was a perfect example. Nothing stayed the same, things didn’t work out the way you wanted. As far as Ethan was concerned, the only constant was the game.
That, at least, stayed the same. So that was what he focused on: the game.
He peeled off the rest of his gear then grabbed his shower kit. Yes, the game was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that deserved his attention. It was all about the game now.
Not about a pair of emerald green eyes that still haunted his nights.
Just the game.
Get in. Focus. Get the job done. Get out. No emotion, not anymore.
Chapter Eight
Late November
Baltimore, Maryland
The night was kept at bay by the lights shining down from two street lamps. The poles were far enough away that pockets of shadows fell between them. Cindy stared at those pockets, wishing she could run into the darkness and hide.
She looked down at her hands, watched with a hazy detachment as they curled into fists and rested along her thighs. Her palms were damp, she could actually feel the cold clamminess coating them. And if she looked even closer, if she spread her hands out flat instead of fisting them, she was certain she’d see her fingers trembling.
This is a bad idea.
The thought raced through her mind for the hundredth time. It was a coherent thought, not muddied and confused like the ones she’d been having the last few months. Cindy knew she should take comfort in that much, at
least. And she would—if she didn’t know for a fact that this really was a bad idea.
“You ready?”
She glanced over at Maggie, tried to read her friend’s thoughts through the shadows. But she couldn’t, and not just because her face was mostly hidden in the surrounding darkness. Maggie kept her face carefully neutral now. At least, she tried to. Tried to hide the worry and concern and even those oh-so-brief spurts of impatience she felt. But Cindy was slowly, so slowly, getting better, and it was becoming easier for her to see what her friend was feeling.
Just like she was slowly starting to feel like herself again. Not sharp, clear feelings. No, whatever she felt was still a little muddied, the edges smooth and dulled. But she was feeling. And right now she felt…anxious.
Or was that nothing more than a byproduct of what was going on with her? She frowned, thinking, trying to detach and analyze.
Both, she decided. A byproduct…and natural anxiety. She took a deep breath, intent on nodding, then shook her head. “Maggie, this is a bad idea. I don’t think I can do this.”
Maggie was silent for a few long seconds, studying her. She shifted in the driver’s seat and rested her arm against the steering wheel. “You don’t think you can physically? Or you don’t think you can because you’re afraid?”
Cindy frowned, her mind sorting out the words, studying the differences. She sighed and shook her head again. “I think both.”
“Are you sure?”
The tone of Maggie’s voice—an odd combination of concern and impatience—almost made her smile. Almost. But she hadn’t made it quite that far yet. She’d get there eventually.
At least, that’s what the doctor told her.
“Cindy? Which one is it?”
“Afraid. Mostly. I think.”
“Do you want me to take you home?”
She wanted to say yes. She wanted to jump on Maggie’s offer. But she couldn’t, not if she wanted to get over this and try to live some kind of normal life. Or as normal as could be expected now. She wasn’t stuck in the gray darkness anymore, wasn’t quite as lost in the nothingness as she was before. But it was a battle, a constant battle. And it would be so easy to just let go, to disappear back into the nothingness.
To stop living.
No! No, she didn’t want to do that again, didn’t want to go back there. But she didn’t know if she wanted to go forward yet, either. At least, not here.
This wasn’t her first outing. She had her weekly sessions, of course, and her doctor appointments. And she’d been to the store—early in the morning, with Maggie, when it wasn’t quite so crowded. She’d even gone to get her hair done. Well, she had tried. That hadn’t gone quite as well as she thought it would. But this was her first time out in a large crowd. The nerves and butterflies and…and anxiety were to be expected.
That’s what her psychotherapist had told her. And Cindy knew enough to expect it. But knowing it and experiencing it were two different things.
“Cindy?” Maggie’s voice was soft, understanding. Cindy looked over but her face was still cloaked in the shadows. “Do you want me to take you home?”
“No.” Cindy shook her head, took one deep breath then another. “No, I can do this. I need to do this.”
“You’re sure?”
No, but she didn’t have a choice, not if she wanted some semblance of a normal life. It was a party, a private party at a sports bar. Her stomach clenched and her lungs squeezed, making it hard to breathe. No, she couldn’t think of it that way. Thinking of it that way made the anxiety worse.
Yes, it was a sports bar. But it was closed to the public tonight and since the party was a private one, it wouldn’t be that crowded. One of Dillon’s teammates was retiring or something. Maggie thought it would be a good opportunity for Cindy because it was more controlled.
None of that would matter if Cindy didn’t move. She nodded one more time, silently reassuring Maggie—or maybe herself—then reached for the door handle and pushed it open. Cold air washed over her, oddly settling her.
She could do this. One step at a time. She could do it.
Maggie moved beside her, giving her a reassuring smile as they walked across the gravel lot. Stones crunched beneath their feet, the sound crisp and somehow alive. Or maybe Cindy was just hearing things with a new perspective now. Or maybe it was the new medication. If she were still on the old one, she wouldn’t be feeling anything. What had Maggie called her? A zombie.
And she had been right. But part of Cindy wondered if maybe that wouldn’t be better. Just turn into a zombie and stay holed up and wither away and…
She gave herself a mental shake. That wasn’t her thinking, it was this…this thing going on with her. And God, she couldn’t even say it. Not yet. Not even when it explained so much.
They reached the door, thick heavy oak with an ornately designed lead glass window. Cindy frowned as she studied it, thinking it didn’t quite match her idea of what a door to a sports bar would look like. Then she shook her head again, knowing she couldn’t trust her mind.
She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to trust her mind again.
The thought filled her with a sudden sadness, sharp and painful. She must have made a sound because Maggie looked over at her, concern etched on her face. She placed a hand on Cindy’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“You okay?”
Cindy tried not to jerk away from the touch as she nodded. “Yeah. Fine.” She took another deep breath, held it to the count of five, and slowly released it. “I’m fine.”
Maggie studied her for a few seconds then dropped her hand and reached for the door. Cindy watched as she pulled it open, waited for the panic and fear to wrap around her as music and laughter drifted out to the sidewalk.
Her shoulders hunched around her ears, her back stiffening as the first fingers of icy panic scraped along her spine. A heavy weight settled on her chest, making it hard to breathe. She closed her eyes, took several long deep breaths, forced her mind to focus on calming images like her therapist suggested.
Crystal blue water.
Fine white sand.
Smoky blue eyes fringed with dark thick lashes.
Cindy’s heart slammed into her chest as another fear descended on her—one that had nothing to do with what was going on with her. Oh God, why hadn’t she thought about that before? She should have asked Maggie if he’d be here. Of course he’d be here. She should have realized that before ever agreeing to come tonight.
Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe she could ask Maggie to take her home. She didn’t want to see Ethan, not like this.
No, that wasn’t quite true. She wanted to see him, had wanted to see him ever since she got back from the trip this summer. But she didn’t want him to see her. Not like this. What if he came up and talked to her? What if he wanted to know what had happened? What if he asked why she never called him back, all those times he’d left messages? She couldn’t tell him, not when it made her look weak and pathetic. She didn’t want to see sympathy or pity or something even worse in his eyes when he found out.
But it was too late because Maggie was already guiding her through the open door, into the dimly lit entranceway of the sports bar. Then she was pulling another door open and the music and laughter became even louder, filling her ears, her lungs, her mind. Cindy hesitated, closed her eyes and fought to control her breathing, fought to stay steady and not run out into the street. The scream building in her chest finally subsided, the buzzing in her ears receding.
She felt Maggie’s stare on her, turned and gave her friend a small nod. Cindy wanted to smile but she couldn’t, not quite yet. In a few minutes, maybe, once she adjusted to the noise and people.
It wasn’t quite as loud or as crowded as she thought at first. No, that had been her mind, playing games again as it twisted the reality into something scary. She closed her eyes and pulled a deep breath into her lungs, filling them with the scents of savory food. Her stomach rumble
d at the smells. She clapped a hand against her belly and looked down, the sound and sensation startling her as she realized she was hungry.
No, she wasn’t just hungry. It was more than that: she wanted food. She actually wanted food.
“You okay?”
Cindy turned to Maggie, a small smile—a real smile—spreading across her face. “I’m hungry.”
Maggie blinked and Cindy was certain her friend was going to ask her if she was okay again. The words and their implication must have registered with her, though, because suddenly Maggie was smiling, too. She wrapped an arm around Cindy’s shoulder, pulling her in for a side hug, then stepped back and laughed.
“Then we need to get you a plate.” Maggie glanced around the bar, frowning. “Where do you want to sit?”
Cindy followed her gaze and immediately knew what her friend was thinking. Several long tables filled with heaping trays of food lined the back wall. That’s where the delicious smells were coming from. But there was a crowd gathered in front of them. Knots of people gathered in groups of two to five mingled in front of the food and around more tables. Some were occupied, some were simply covered with empty plates and glasses.
Cindy took a step forward then stopped as the weight on her chest reappeared. A wave of heat fell over her, causing sweat to break out on her forehead and on her palms. The heat was immediately replaced by a rush of icy panic. No, she couldn’t step through the crowd, couldn’t bear the thought of pushing through the knots of people. Not yet.
She glanced to her left, the weight on her chest easing as she studied the empty booths and tables on the other side of the large room—away from the crowd. She chewed on her lower lip then glanced over at Maggie with an apologetic look. “Is it okay if I sit over there?”
“Yes, of course. I was thinking the same thing.” Maggie grabbed her elbow then quickly released it. Had she noticed the way Cindy stiffened at the touch? She must have but she didn’t say anything as they moved across the room. She paused between a table with six chairs and an oversized booth placed against the outside wall, the silent question clear on her face.
Face Off (The Baltimore Banners Book 10) Page 5