“But she sure liked hockey players. When I won my gold medal at the Olympics, I don’t know if she even watched the game. But when I got back to the Olympic Village, there she was. In bed with a Swedish hockey player. The one I fought with, and it got in the paper, and I showed your mother the picture.”
Greta had no idea. She didn’t know what to say.
Brandon looked down at his plate, with the chicken and slaw that Greta got for him, after she cleaned his apartment.
Then he looked up. “Sorry. Sorry to unload on you.”
“That’s okay, Brandon.”
He sighed. “I guess I had to tell you, sooner or later.”
They finished their meal in silence.
Greta picked up her plate and reached for Brandon’s empty plate. “Here. I can take these.” She dumped the used paper plates in the garbage and puttered around the kitchen. What could she say, after hearing Brandon’s story?
When she glanced at him, he was sound asleep again. These games were wearing him out. She decided she’d clean up the last of the kitchen debris, and let him rest.
She was walking out the door when she heard her name called.
“Greta. Thanks again.”
“If there’s anything else you need, Brandon…”
“Can you come to the game tonight? I’ll leave a ticket for you at the window. Or do you have to work tomorrow?”
“Yeah, I have to work. But I can come to the game.”
Brandon wanted Greta to be there. And she wanted to be there too.
Greta’s cell buzzed the minute she got home. Not Brandon, not April. Her mother. And she was furious.
“I can’t believe anyone would have the nerve to do that. Does she think I’m stupid?”
“What’s the matter, Ma?” Greta, physically tired from the house cleaning and mentally tired after hearing Brandon’s story, wondered if she had to help Ma with some major problem.
“You know that dumb broad next door to me? The one with the long red fingernails and the hair like a circus clown?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I was looking through my Christmas boxes and I found the present she gave me.”
Greta had to laugh. “Good timing, Ma! It’s almost Memorial Day.”
“Greta, this isn’t funny. Remember I told you, she got me some kind of appliance? This is a candle warmer. What the hell is a candle warmer? You light a candle and burn it, and then you blow it out.”
“I never heard of a candle warmer.”
“Listen to this! I was digging it out of all the wrapping, and guess what I found! The old to and from tag!”
Greta burst out laughing. “Talk about regifting! Ma, that is too much.”
“I’ll say it’s too much. And I got her an expensive pair of gold earrings. I wonder what happened to those earrings? And she gave me this piece of crap she didn’t want.”
Ma continued to talk about the dumb broad, but Greta had to stop listening and start getting ready for the game. “Ma, I’ll call you back. I’m going out tonight.”
“Are you seeing that guy Brandon again? How serious is this, Greta?”
Greta closed her eyes. “Ma. You kept telling me to find a guy. He’s nice. The one I met at April’s hospital.”
“Is April going with you?” Ma didn’t know the story about Greta leaving April at the baseball game. Ma didn’t know a lot of things, and that was fine with Greta.
“Not this time. I’ll call you tomorrow, Ma.”
The Ice Bandits won their game and forced a game seven. Brandon played some of the best games of his career, scoring a goal and two assists. Greta was there for both games six and seven, to watch him play and to learn more about the game of hockey. She wore a sweater bearing Brandon’s name and number, and looked just like any other fan. She happened to sit next to an older fan and season ticket holder who informed her of some of the nuances of the game. He explained a lot of things to her as the game went on, and she enjoyed it. Hockey was a better game than baseball; there was hardly any downtime.
Greta didn’t mention that she was seeing a player, until the end of the third period of game seven, when he asked her how she got such a good ticket.
“A friend got me a ticket,” she told him.
“What number does he wear? Forty-eight?”
She didn’t tell him. But a number of fans, hanging near the parking lot, saw the pretty blonde in the #48 sweater and the star defenseman embracing at his car. The fan club took note of Brandon Taylor’s new girlfriend. They always kept track of such things.
Brandon fell asleep on his bed with all his clothes on, before Greta could even take her shoes off. She stayed with him that night, then went to work the next morning. She began drinking bottles of energy drink, like her friend April did, to stay awake for hours and keep going on the job.
The season was wearing on Greta too. The hectic schedule, the stress, and the constant pressure on Brandon to perform at the top rung would end soon. Greta hoped with all her heart that this would have the best possible ending.
Chapter 15.
Greta’s heart pounded as Mr. Blakely addressed his staff.
Was this the end? It couldn’t be. This couldn’t be happening.
But Mr. Blakely smiled, the first time anyone had seen him smile like that.
“Record-breaking profits,” he said. The room erupted in applause that lasted a few minutes.
When he was able to speak again, Mr. Blakely said, “This never would have come about if not for your efforts. Everyone one of you works hard and contributes so much to South Side Precious Metals. But there are two people I want to single out.
“Steve, our coin expert, recognized that double eagle gold coin for what it was when that customer came in with it. The customer couldn’t believe it. But he was convinced when Greta personally took him to her car, drove him all the way downtown to Windy City Galleries, and he was informed that he held a very rare coin.”
Mr. Blakely held up a copy of the Tribune feature article on the old man, his coin, and the young woman who drove him to the coin shop. There was also a sidebar that told the story of the coin and why it was worth so much money.
“Business is better than it ever was. I owe it all to you, to the great workers I have, and to the honest people like Steve and Greta.
“Thank you. Thank you, everyone. Steve and Greta, come up here. I have something for you.”
Mr. Blakely handed them gift cards. Greta looked at hers. It was worth fifty dollars.
“Thank you, Mr. Blakely. You didn’t have to…”
“Yes, I did, Greta. Honesty is not rewarded as much as it should be. But you went above and beyond.” His eyes twinkled. “And I know your days are full, with your projects, the gold bracelet, and dating an Ice Bandits hockey player.”
Steve accepted his gift card, and turned to Greta. “Any chance of some playoff tickets?”
Greta never thought of asking Brandon for tickets. She didn’t even know who they were playing.
“Should be one hot series. Wouldn’t be surprised if it went all seven games.”
“All seven games?” How long were these playoffs, anyway? They just finished a seven-game series with Detroit that wore Brandon to the bone.
“Maybe a few overtime games too. Those Washington Capitals are tough, and score a lot of goals. They took care of Quebec, and they had the best record.”
The Washington Capitals had eliminated the Quebec Voyageurs, the top seed, in a seven-game series that many hockey fans called a classic. Four of the seven games went overtime, including the last game in Quebec. That last game was tied for almost the full three periods. But with 95 seconds to go, the Caps’ team captain scored a goal that held up. Greta saw a picture of that team captain in Steve’s Sun-Times. He looked like a lumberjack, with his long hair and heavy beard. Tears streamed down his face.
Hockey was so intense. The game made these tough men cry.
Brandon had told her about playoff beards, b
ut she still thought all that hair was unattractive. “I have plenty of time to shave later,” he said. Right this minute, Brandon was at the Arena with his teammates, getting ready for that first game with the Caps. And Greta would be there, of course. The Ice Bandits had home ice advantage for this series too.
The Arena was rocking.
Greta almost had to cover her ears as the fans screamed and cheered, when the players were introduced, when the Anthem was beautifully sung by a teenage girl, and when the puck was dropped to begin play.
Both teams came out roaring. The first period flew by, and neither team scored. One of the TV announcers interviewed Brandon just as the first intermission began. Brandon said, “We have a tough game here, but we’re up to the challenge. To be the best, you have to beat the best.”
Brandon knew all the sports clichés and used them well, Greta realized.
The second period started. Fans yelled, “Let’s go, Bandits!” They groaned when Mike missed a goal that bounced off the pipe. They moaned louder when Kyle had a goal taken away by the Capitals’ goalie, who had already tied a record for the most saves in a game with Quebec.
Greta was still learning the game, but she could see that the Washington Capitals were a fierce team that kept coming at you and wouldn’t give up anything easily. The game moved so fast, she could hardly keep track of where the puck was. The players on both sides seemed to fly down the ice, racing after that puck, colliding, falling, getting back up, spraying ice. Both goalies protected their nets, assuming butterfly positions, splaying every which way. The Ice Bandits’ goalie did the splits and saved a goal.
One of the Capitals got the puck and controlled it, then broke away.
Brandon skated at top speed after the Capitals player.
No one, including Brandon, was quite sure what happened next. Did he trip on his skates, or on some irregularity in the ice, or was he pushed?
Brandon crashed into the boards. Hard.
The crowd gasped at the impact of the hit. The sound reverberated throughout the packed Arena.
When Brandon didn’t get up, or even make a move, two trainers rushed to his side.
Brandon did not move. He lay still on the cold ice.
The crowd was so quiet, Greta could hear her own heart beating. And it beat harder, and it hurt, when Brandon didn’t move a muscle.
His teammates stood nearby, in shock. The Capitals players, too, watched the trainers bend over the fallen player.
No reaction from Brandon.
The game clock stopped. Time stopped.
Brandon did not move.
The crowd stayed silent as Brandon was placed on a stretcher and carried off the ice.
He didn’t wave, or give a thumbs-up. He lay still.
His teammates stood watching the area where Brandon had gone down, staring at the ice, as if their anxious looks could bring him back. The other Ice Bandits sat on the bench, as quiet as they had ever been. Zach buried his head in his hands. Vyto turned away and held on to the pipes. Even the usually upbeat Mike DeBerry, the one Brandon called “Dingleberry,” stood with a pained look on his face.
Most pained of all was Greta Patton. Her head swam. She couldn’t believe what she had seen, and prayed to wake up from the nightmare.
The game had to continue. But no one wanted it to. Some of the fans walked out of the Arena, stunned by this turn of events. Sure, hockey was a violent game, but who expected this?
Everyone, including the Washington players, wanted to know how their teammate and fellow hockey player was, if he was all right.
If he would ever be all right again.
Coach Jock, as anxious as any of the players, rallied his troops to keep going. They didn’t have much choice. The show must go on.
Within one minute after play resumed, Zach slammed the puck into the net. The Ice Bandits scored and led 1-0. The fans roared.
As the red light flashed on and the horn sounded, Zach pointed to the exit where Brandon had been carried on a stretcher, as if to say, “That goal was for you, Sparky.”
Greta sat still and didn’t stir when Zach scored.
The seconds of the game ticked on. Some fans stayed in the aisles and continued to watch, after the goal, but there were empty seats now. A few younger fans, older ones too, were spooked by the sudden injury to a star player.
Greta watched the clock. She couldn’t look at the game, wondering where and how Brandon was, and if anyone else would get clobbered and knocked out of the game.
An usher approached her. “Are you Greta Patton? Can you come with me, please?”
Her entire body trembled as she walked up the stairs, out of her section, and down a long hall, a very long hall, all the way to the trainer’s room.
Maybe he was asking for her. That would mean he was all right. That had to be it, why they called her to go see him.
The usher brought her at the door of the trainer’s room. No one said a word.
The door was closed. Just as the usher was about to knock, the door opened and the trainer came out. When Greta tried to peek inside, he abruptly closed the door.
“Miss Patton? I have to tell you…”
Greta’s heart dropped to the ground.
“Don’t tell me he died!” She burst out. “Please, don’t tell me he died!”
Chapter 16.
What the hell was going on?
Last thing Brandon knew, he was skating and defending the puck in Game 1 of the Eastern Conference Final. Now he lay on his back in the trainer’s room, while a bunch of men shouted questions at him.
“Brandon, where are you?”
“Can you squeeze my hand, Brandon?”
“What day is today, Brandon?”
He could give a shit what day it was.
“Game one…” he managed to say.
“Right, Brandon! Do you know where you are?”
He blinked his tired eyes and looked around. His vision cleared, and he stared at the far wall. “The ice…the Arena…”
“Brandon, can you…ouch! Good grip.”
“Do you know who you’re playing, Brandon?”
He tried to move his aching body. Well that was a good sign. He could feel pain. Yes, he certainly could.
“Brandon, what team are you playing?”
He found his voice.
“We are playing the goddam Capitals.”
Greta grabbed the trainer’s shoulders.
“Where is he? Where did you…”
“Calm down, Miss Patton.” The trainer talked in a low, soothing voice. “Brandon is not dead. He took a bad hit, and he was knocked out, but he is not dead. In fact, he’s asking for you…”
So she was right the first time. He was asking for her.
“Brandon is being evaluated for possible injuries. He is awake, and aware of his surroundings, and…”
“God damn it! I told you, get me back on the fuckin’ ice! I gotta play my shift!”
“Sounds like he is awake and alert.” Greta walked to the door of the trainer’s room. “I gotta see him.”
“Miss Patton, we don’t want…”
“I said, I gotta see him. Right now.” She walked straight into the room.
She saw Brandon’s feet, still with his skates on, and a bunch of men surrounding the table where he lay.
“Are you his girlfriend? Miss, you can’t come in here.”
“I already did.” She saw his face then, pale, with his blue eyes looking around the room, looking at her.
“Greta.” His eyes lacked their usual sparkle, and looked incredibly tired.
It took all of Greta’s willpower to keep from embracing him on the table. She had to stay calm.
“Hey, Brandon. What did you do? You scared a lot of people.”
“Including your coach.” The trainers parted to allow Coach Jock to see his fallen player. He bent low, and spoke to Brandon. Greta couldn’t make out what was said.
Coach turned to Greta. “We’re taking him to the hospita
l, for observation. Did they tell you that, er…sacre coeur, I forgot your name.”
“It’s Greta. Greta Patton.”
Coach could have sworn Brandon was seeing someone named Terri, or Theresa, or something like that, but he couldn’t always keep track of his guys’ social lives.
Brandon was loaded onto a gurney, among his protests that he could get up and walk.
“They’ll evaluate you at the hospital, Taylor,” the head trainer told him. “So far, everything looks okay, but we cannot rule out a concussion. And we have to make sure all is well.”
Greta watched as Brandon was carried out the door and into a waiting ambulance. Damned if there weren’t a bunch of fans hanging around. What did they want, an autograph?
She had no heart for the game anymore, although the Ice Bandits led 2-0. Tony scored right after Zach did. Just as she left the Arena, she heard the P.A. announcer tell the fans that Brandon Taylor had been taken to a hospital for observation, that they suspected a concussion, but he was alert and talking.
Greta had half a mind to follow the ambulance to the hospital, but she figured Brandon would call her as soon as he could. Who else would they call? She was his girl—even Coach Jock knew that—and Brandon’s family was in Pickle Lake, Ontario.
Greta, exhausted and sick after the events of the evening, was ready to fall into her bed when she noticed there was a text message on her cell.
“Greta. Saw the game. Sorry. Pls call & let me know it’s OK. April.”
Her former best friend April got back in touch with her, after Brandon’s scary accident.
Greta guessed all was forgiven, and forgotten, in the wake of what happened to Brandon. Sometimes, after a disaster or a near disaster, arguments and disagreements faded away. What was left was a real friendship. Even after Greta ditched her for Brandon that night at the Sox game.
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