“That’s what makes it so ridiculous. I had no intention of ever sleeping with you,” she retorts in a low voice so that her class can’t hear what she is talking about. The nerve he has to come here and discuss their problems in public. “Anyway, that’s not what I’m mad about.”
He furrows his eyebrows. “It’s not?”
Her students skate back to the red line.
“Grab some water,” she tells them and watches her students skate for the bench as she thinks about Ty, standing beside her looking confused.
“What’s done is done,” she says with determination.
“What is it, then?” he asks.
“I can’t talk about it here.” Her eyes soften and she feels weak thinking about his betrayal of trust.
Her class skates back to the goal line for their next instruction.
“Okay, we can talk after class,” he says.
“While you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful and show this class a few things,” she tells him, trying to contain her emotions and focus on anything but Ty.
“I could do that,” he says. “What are you working on after skating? Passing?”
“No, that’s next week.”
“Hmm . . .” He hums, thinking about what to teach them. “Well, you can have them skate circles like you were doing earlier.”
“You were watching me?”
“For a few minutes,” he says as he leans on his stick with two hands looking at the kids.
“How about a relay? Two teams?” he suggests.
“No, that doesn’t really teach them a skill.”
“I guess not, huh?” he says. “How about skating lines? That’s always a good one to learn.”
“Would you like to show them how it’s done?”
“Sure,” he agrees, watching the last of the students return to the starting line.
“You did a good job on the C-cuts,” she tells her class. “Just remember to extend your leg. We’ll come back to practicing the C-cut another time, but for now, we are going to practice stopping skills. This exercise is called lines. My friend Ty, here, will show you how it’s done,” she says, extending one hand as if to say, Now over to you.
One kid looks up at Ty with amazement, as though he’s a giant. “Do you play for the Warriors?”
Ty smiles. “Yes I do,” he says, proudly.
“Cool!” the boy screeches. “Are you going to be our teacher every week?”
“No, that’s Eileen’s job. I have games to play,” he reminds them.
“Oh, yeah,” the boy says with disappointment.
“Are you Ty Caldwell?” another boy asks.
“Yes, I am,” he says proudly, leaning on his stick.
“Well, Ty’s here today, so let’s work as hard as we can,” Eileen encourages, trying to turn their attention away from Ty and back on what they were here to learn. “Okay? Let’s show Mr. Caldwell what you can do.”
“Are you able to sign my jersey after class?” one boy asks, pulling at his jersey to indicate where he wants his signature.
“Sure,” Ty says.
“Cool!”
“Let’s talk to Ty after practice,” Eileen tells them.
“I just got a Warriors jersey for my birthday,” another boy tells Ty, his eyes wide with admiration.
“Great,” he says. “What number did you get on it?”
“Thirteen.”
“So you’re a Keller fan.”
“He’s really good.”
Ty laughs, enjoying the conversation.
“You know, you could give your jersey to Eileen. She’s a real close friend of mine and she could give it to me to sign for you if you would like.”
The child’s face lights up. “That would be awesome!” he shouts.
“Okay, class, we can talk to Ty after our practice?” she asks with frustration.
“Let’s practice lines,” Ty says simply. “This is a drill I still practice. When you’re skating, you are building up speed and when you need to stop, you’ll carry a lot of force with you, so when you stop, you’re putting your body weight into it,” Ty says, showing them how it’s done. “For this drill, skate to each line and stop on your left leg, so you’ll be facing the boards,” he says, pointing his stick. “Make sure you bend your legs and dig your blade into the ice. When you get to the end, you’ll come back, stopping, facing the opposite direction. You got it?”
The kids nod their heads, starstruck by Ty’s presence.
“Now give it a try,” Ty says loudly and then looks at Eileen.
The children skate off. Some are more cautious than others, looking up to see if the hockey player is watching them.
“You’re good with kids,” Ty says, eyeing her. “I took notes.”
“This is just a test,” she says.
“Test?” he asks with concern.
“Working with kids tests your patience.”
“Are you testing me?” he asks. “Seeing if I will be good with kids?”
“Not at all,” she says.
“That’s not what it sounds like.”
His eyes study her for a moment. “So . . . what do you say we grab a bite to eat after this?” he asks and then lowers his composite hockey stick, letting it fall to his side.
“No, I don’t think so,” she says. “Sorry.”
“I don’t get you,” he says, giving his head a shake. “I’ve never met a woman so, so . . .”
“Independent?”
“No.”
“Compassionate?”
“That’s not what I was looking for,” he says. “More like the most difficult woman I have ever been with.”
“Shhhh,” she says.
“What?”
“I don’t want the kids to know.” Yesterday she would have told the world that they were together, and today she’s glad she didn’t, thinking of the embarrassment it would have caused her.
He shot her a look as though offended. “We’re adults.”
“I know, but still, I don’t want people talking.”
“If you read the newspaper lately, it’s no longer a secret. Admit it—we’ve had some good times.”
“Well, I don’t want to broadcast it.”
“Who’s listening?” he asks teasingly and looks around him.
“No one.”
“Very funny,” she tells him, then turns her attention to her students. “Good work. Let’s play a game of scrimmage and then class will be over.” She divides the class up into two teams, white jerseys and dark-color jerseys. She drops the puck at center ice and backs away from the play.
“So now that we’ve cleared that up, where do you want to eat?” Ty asks as he watches the kids skate hard for the puck.
“We didn’t clear anything up,” she says, watching the game. How does she tell him she knows that he was behind her job loss? The man she’s fallen in love with has deceived her.
“Okay, we can talk after class . . . go for lunch . . .”
“I don’t have time today.” Is it better to forget him, forget about what they shared, and pretend that nothing happened between them?
“You’re giving me the cold shoulder,” he says. “I’ve never seen you like this before.”
“I guess people change,” she mutters.
“You don’t want to talk to me anymore?”
“I do want to talk to you,” she tells him abruptly.
She blows the whistle again. “Another point for the white team,” she yells and picks up the puck. She looks over at the people watching the game, and even the maintenance guys are standing around watching. “Looks like you have quite an audience here today,” she tells the kids.
“They’re watching Caldwell,” one kid says as he skates past them. Eileen thinks to herself, He’s probably right, but she tries to boost their self-esteem. “No way, they’re watching you guys! You’re playing a great game,” she says, watching their smiling faces. “You have a couple more minutes before the Zamboni comes
on the ice,” she yells out and then skates backwards to lean against the boards.
“It sounds serious,” Ty says.
“It is.”
He brings his hand to his heart. “Now the suspense is killing me. I don’t know if I can wait.”
“Miss Eileen?” a child’s voice says.
She glances down at the young girl.
“My mom is here to pick me up. Can I go?”
“Sure,” she says and watches her skate off the ice and then waves to her mother. Eileen smiles at the fact that the girl is trying her hardest to succeed, reminding her of her youth and how desperate she was to learn in a class of all boys.
“Okay,” Eileen says to the class. “We’re out of time. See you all next week. Good work today!” she yells, watching the kids skate to the bench.
She watches the children leave the ice, one at a time, until the last one is sitting on the bench unlacing his skates. Eileen skates off to the bench, grabs her duffel bag, and takes her shoes out of the pouch so she can put them on. Ty sits beside her and does the same thing.
“Ty Caldwell?” one parent asks, and Ty looks up from unlacing his skates. “Can I get your autograph?” he asks. “I’m a big fan. . . .”
Eileen ignores their conversation and continues to untie her laces. She hears another person talking to Ty, and within seconds a swarm of people is talking to him and getting him to sign pieces of paper or their children’s jerseys. Some even take pictures.
Eileen shoves her skates into her bag and tosses it over her shoulder. She’s not interested in hanging around until everyone has their “Ty Caldwell” fill before starting an argument about why she lost her job.
She walks away from the crowd. Why should she stand around and wait for him?
He didn’t care about her career or what makes her happy, so why should she do the same?
As she heads out to the parking lot and clicks off the alarm to her car, she opens the door and throws her bag onto the passenger seat.
“Elle!” Ty shouts, running across the parking lot. “Elle, wait!” His white T-shirt blows like a flag as he sprints in her direction. His hands are waving in the air trying to get her attention, his other hand carrying his backpack and hockey stick. “Please, Elle, wait!”
What does he want from her? She is the one who is mad at him and wanting to give him a piece of her mind. How can she tell him how disappointed she is? Would he even care? Does he even realize what he’s done to her?
Eileen waits for him, leaning against the hot car, feeling the burn on her back. When he nears her, he stops and takes a deep breath.
“We didn’t get to finish our conversation,” he says, easing his backpack to the cement. He places a hand on his hip in a casual manner, holding his other hand on his hockey stick and taking in a deep breath. “What’s bothering you?”
She crosses her arms, her skin moist from the September heat. All Eileen wants to do is go home, have a shower, and forget about Ty Caldwell for good, but the truth is, she can’t, or it will be pretty hard to. He’s on her mind every day, from the moment she wakes up, picturing his morning smile and heavenly embrace.
She doesn’t want him to see her weakness for confronting him, so she tries to look everywhere but at him.
“I know why I was fired from my coaching job,” she begins, looking at the skating rink in the background, anywhere but at him, and reading the banner hanging on the building.
“You do?” he asks. She can feel his eyes searching for hers, so she makes eye contact.
“Yes, I do,” she says. “What I don’t understand is, why? I think I’m pretty good at what I do—”
“You are.”
“I like to think I’m good at teaching the sport. I’ve studied the game, I’ve played since I could walk, and I’ve played at the highest female level. I consider myself a professional and if I could play in the NHL, I’m sure I would.”
“You are a professional. There’s no doubt about that.”
“It’s too bad because I’m a woman, some men think I can’t do my job,” she says, glancing at him with a sharp eye, and then she breaks her stare and looks at the full parking lot, wondering where he parked. “It’s funny because I’m not even competing in the NHL. I thought we’ve come so far in society. Manon Rheaume played a pre-season game in 1992 for Tampa Bay. Sure, it was looked upon as a publicity thing, but still, she can say she played.” Eileen takes a breath. “And yet I have all the credentials behind me and it’s still not good enough for your team.”
Ty lowers his eyes. “How do you know it’s because you’re a woman?”
“I know Ritchie isn’t back at work yet and I was told that he was.”
Ty’s face is drawn. He holds his hockey stick with one hand, twirling it around with his thumb, nervous, perhaps, or feeling guilty? She wonders what he is thinking.
“The team would rather go without a skating coach than be taught by a woman.”
“There’s probably more to it. You never know, right? Don’t let a few guys ruin your confidence. You know you’re good at what you do.”
Had she not been told that Ty was part of the decision, she would have thanked him for his compliment. The way he looks at her, she can feel him acknowledge every word and interest himself in the conversation, whatever the topic. He is truly an attentive guy.
“I guess you’re right. I shouldn’t let a couple of guys on the team ruin me,” she says. “I knew it was going to be a bit of a challenge, but I figured since it was for a short time, the guys would be mature enough to accept me. The guys who complained are just big-headed and sexist.”
“I don’t know about that,” Ty says. “A lot of the guys are just used to the same format. I don’t think it had anything to do with you as a person.”
“Really? It’s obviously a personal decision if a couple of guys wanted me off the coaching staff.”
Ty stops twirling his hockey stick and holds it as though it’s his walking stick. “I can tell you honestly, Elle, it wasn’t like that.”
“Hmmm. You know more about this than you are willing to tell me?”
“Look, a couple of guys didn’t see the reason for having another skating coach. We have Ritchie and we’re professionals. Why would we need someone else telling us how to practice?”
“That’s a bunch of crap and you know it. Come on, you have a personal trainer. It’s not like you need to know how to balance your body on a workout ball. You have a head coach, not to teach you how to play the game but to help you improve by supporting you and encouraging you. You have a trainer to coach you through it because we all know that some days are easier than others.”
“Maybe the guys didn’t think about it that way.”
“No, I’m sure they did. They seem smart enough and care enough about their careers that they would do anything to keep their jobs and to keep their bodies in perfect form in order to play well,” she says. “I just don’t understand a guy like yourself, who decides to flirt and push me to go out with you when you’re the one who wanted me gone.”
The color drains from Ty’s face and he looks away, gripping his head with one hand, rubbing it as he does when he’s in deep thought and is not sure what to say. “I didn’t have any say in that. It wasn’t me,” he manages to say. He is trying his hardest to look at her, but she can’t, and doesn’t want to, get sucked in by his “I’m so sorry” eyes or “I didn’t mean it” look.
“You can’t fool me, Ty. I know the truth and I know now I can’t trust you. I want nothing to do with you. I don’t want to see you again.” She gathers her thoughts, staying strong as she rehearsed. She will not cry, she tells herself as she feels her eyes mist.
“You can trust me,” he says calmly, finding her eyes, and when he does they take each other in like tasting a glass of wine. “You don’t mean it. I can tell you what happened,” he says, sucking in a breath. “It’s not what you think. First of all, Elle, I need you to know that from the moment I met you at the p
arking meter I knew I wanted to get to know you, and the more I did, the more I had to see you.” He drops his stick to the ground and takes a step closer to her. “It wasn’t me. I’m telling you the truth. I will admit I didn’t want you on our team in the beginning, but that changed the first time I met you on the ice. Look, I didn’t think they were going to get rid of you. Steve likes you, Rick likes you. Hell, the team hasn’t said they didn’t like you.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better? I’m out of a dream job because you couldn’t wait a few weeks, a few months? You couldn’t stick up for me when some of the guys complained? You couldn’t have told Bret and Joe that it’s only for a short time?” she asks, unhooking her arms and letting them relax on her hips. “I thought you were different. I would never guess that you would do such a thing,” she says.
Ty extends his hand on her arm, feathering her skin and then reaching for her empty hand. “Look at me,” he pleads. “I didn’t do it. I swear. I’d never want to hurt you.”
She looks at him, letting him take her hand in his and says, “You did hurt me.”
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I am really sorry it turned out this way.”
“You knew it was going to happen, didn’t you?” she asks, holding back tears.
They stand facing each other in silence, and when Eileen doesn’t get an answer, she lets go of his hand. “I have to go,” she says and opens her car door, gets in, and puts her key into the ignition to start it up.
“It wasn’t like that,” he says, stuck for words.
Eileen ignores him. It’s too late for an apology. She shuts her car door and reaches for her seat belt, wishing she listened to her instincts. Ty couldn’t wait for her to finish her job so they could be together.
Where to next? Go home and eat Haagen-Dazs ice cream while taking a bubble bath? Or pour herself a stiff rum and Diet Coke? She had neither rum nor ice cream at home, and she doesn’t feel like getting out of her car to buy some with her eyes starting to redden. Instead, she drives around town, wasting time. She has no other place to be.
Chapter 21
Eileen takes the highway home, trying to think of anything but Ty. The thought of him makes her stomach tighten and her heart pound a little harder. She never thought she would feel the need to be comforted by his touch; however, at this moment, he is what she craves most.
His Game, Her Rules Page 22