In It to Win It

by Kelly Jamieson

  It’s killing me, though, seeing the droop of her lips, mascara smudges beneath her puffy eyes, her cheeks blotchy. She should look terrible, but she’s never been more appealing.

  “You want to stay here for dinner?” Lacey invites Taylor. I’ve already been invited. “We’re going to make fajitas.”

  “Sure.” She nods listlessly. “I don’t want to go home yet. God.” She closes her eyes and tips her head back. “This is going to be so awkward.”

  “When is your mom moving out?”

  “I don’t know.” She scrunches up her face. “I assume right away, since they told me and Amy today.”

  “You’ll still see her.”

  “I know.”

  “You two are pretty close.”

  Taylor nods. “I’ll have to start looking for a place too. The house is going on the market tomorrow.”

  “We should buy it,” Lacey says to Théo.

  “What?” His eyebrows fly up.

  “You’re just renting this place. It would be nice to have our own place, and we love it here.”

  “Uh…that’s a bit sudden,” Théo says, being his usual careful, controlled self. He would definitely not make an impulse buy of something like a house. He’d research the market, check out interest rates at different financial institutions, and make a list of everything they needed and wanted in a house before even looking. “I was planning to look at buying somewhere after my first year here, when we have a better idea if I’ll be staying.”

  “Oh.” Lacey makes a face. “Okay.”

  “I think I’ll look in Torrance,” I say. “Near work.”

  Torrance isn’t far from where I live.

  “That’s a good idea.” Lacey pushes out her bottom lip. “But I’ll miss having you so close.”

  “Our friendship is probably over,” Taylor says sadly.

  Lacey chokes and my eyes shoot open wide at this dramatic statement.

  “I’m kidding,” Taylor adds. “Sort of.” She lifts unhappy eyes to look at Lacey. “But I did think of that. What if you don’t want to bother with me when I live farther away?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Lacey laughs and hugs Taylor. “Of course we’ll see each other. And we’ll send Snaps all the time, just like we do now.”

  “Okay.”

  My heart aches a little at Taylor’s fears. She’ll be losing a lot—her home, her family, and she’s worried about losing her new friends.

  We all help Lacey and Théo in the kitchen, making the marinade for chicken and beef, slicing up onions and peppers. It’s comfortable and yet it’s not, because just being near Taylor is a challenge to my resolve. My body vibrates and my mind hums with wanting her.

  My mind twists and turns with the effort to resist. It’s killing me.

  I have to fucking get over this.

  “You know what’s stupid?” Taylor says. “I’m m-most broken-hearted about Byron.”

  I frown. “What about Byron?”

  “Neither of my parents can take him, and I’m sure any place I can find won’t allow p-pets.” Her voice catches and tears glint on her eyelashes. “My dad wants to buy another house eventually, but I don’t know what we’re going to do with him right now.”

  My heart contracts and my gut tightens. Fuck. She loves that dog. She’s losing everything.

  “I’ll take him.”

  For a couple of seconds, I don’t know where the words came from. Oh…me. They came from me.

  She gapes at me. “What?”

  “I’ll take him. I love dogs. He likes me. I don’t live right on the beach, but close.”

  “Can you…have dogs where you live?”

  “Oh yeah. You can visit him. In fact, you’ll have to when I travel.”

  She gives her head a shake. “That’s crazy. You don’t have to do that.”

  “Well, the offer is there.”

  “If you’re going to live in Torrance, that would be closer than us,” Lacey says. “We’d take him too, but JP’s place would be easier for you to get to.”

  “You want to get your own dog,” Taylor says to her with a sad smile. “I know. But thank you.”

  “Just let me know,” I say, not sure why I’m doing this except I can’t stand to see her so broken-hearted. And I really like Byron. “Seriously.”

  She catches her lower lip between her teeth, looks up at me through wet eyelashes, and slowly nods.

  * * *

  —

  Saturday is the Fan Fun Fest the Eagles hold every year during training camp. It’s held outside the ExCorp Center in Long Beach, where the Golden Eagles play. There are a bunch of stations where kids can do fun things like shoot pucks at targets, and we have places to sit and meet and greet the fans and sign autographs. We’re all expected to be there for a while.

  It’s a kick meeting fans, especially the kids, who are all big-eyed with hero worship. Lots of parents are too. I find it funny, because it’s such a different atmosphere than what I grew up with. Yeah, Montréal fans are unique in the intensity of their relationship with their hockey team. Hockey is more than just a game. But they’re hard-core serious about it. Hockey players aren’t rock stars, like they are here in California; they’re gods. Or pariahs, depending on how they play. Or how they treat the fans. Ha.

  Anyway, it’s a nice day, the sun is shining, people are smiling and happy, and I’m signing sticks and hats and jerseys and random stuff.

  Even my dad and Uncle Mark are here, on the periphery, probably making brief appearances. I pause in chatting with fans to glance over at Uncle Mark, surrounded by a group of puck bunnies.

  One corner of my mouth lifts and I shake my head. Jesus. He’s forty-five years old and there are twenty-year-old women fawning all over him.

  He seems to be enjoying himself.

  He’s been single for a long time, although I know he’s had relationships. I don’t even know if he’s seeing anyone right now; he kind of keeps his personal life…personal. Understandable. When he first came to California from Hershey, he went out with a pretty well-known TV actress and the media was all over that. He (and Dad) don’t like anything that takes away from the hockey, which we’ve all learned after a couple of stories hit the news about players and their, uh, social lives. Dad and Uncle Mark both have a way of looking at you that can make your nuts shrivel. You don’t want to go there.

  The woman in front of me follows my gaze. “Your coach is hot.”

  I don’t even know what to say to that. I force a smile. “If you say so.”

  “It must run in the family,” she adds.

  “Uh. Thanks.”

  Normally, I’m all into girls flirting with me. But it’s hard to work up enthusiasm when I keep thinking about Taylor. Also, it’s creepy that this woman finds me and my uncle attractive. So instead of flirting back, I quickly sign her jersey and move on to whoever’s next in line.

  Three women. All beautiful, with long, wavy hair, shiny lips, and big smiles. “Hi, JP,” one of them says.

  “Hello, ladies.” I smile back at them.

  Maybe they should rename this the Flirt Fest.

  * * *

  —

  A few days later, I’m in Uncle Mark’s office at the ExCorp Center—or should I say the coach’s office—for a meeting that every player is having. They’ve got the roster down as of today, and I made the team. I wasn’t really doubting it. I know my hockey skills are good.

  But I’m getting the expected lecture about my behavior.

  “And don’t think that your last name is going to get you any preferential treatment,” Uncle Mark says.

  I sit up straighter. “I’ve never thought that.”

  He narrows his eyes at me. “Are you sure?”

 
I frown. “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “You don’t think you can get away with stupid shit because there won’t be any consequences because of your name?”

  “No!” My jaw drops. “Hell, no. There are consequences. The Department of Player Safety doesn’t give a shit what my name is.”

  I think. They wouldn’t go easy on me because of who my family is, would they?

  I’ve never thought that. I’ve never wanted that. That Uncle Mark would think it about me burns.

  “No,” he agrees. “Likely not. But that’s supplemental discipline. You also gotta face the consequences from the refs…the fans…your own teammates.”

  “I know that.” I clench my teeth. “Believe me. I’m trying to do better this year. Control my emotions.”

  “And not taking stupid penalties. You gotta keep your feet moving. Too many of those stick infractions were because you were behind the play.”

  Ugh. He’s right. I know it. I nod slowly. “Yeah.”

  “We’ll work on that.”

  “You talk to everyone else like this?”

  He grins. “Yeah. You think you’re special or something?”

  One corner of my mouth lifts. “Nope.”

  “Everyone has a part of their game they need to work on,” he says.

  “Yeah. I want to work hard.”

  “Good. I want everyone to be the best player they can be.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And I know you can be the best,” he adds. “Both as your uncle…and as your coach.”

  My chest expands and I lift my chin. “Thanks, Uncle Mark. Er. Coach.”

  His faith in me, despite his warning, means a lot. I’d be lying if I said making my dad and my uncle proud wasn’t important to me. It is. Also Grandpa Wynn. Even though I play for the “wrong” team, I want him to be proud of me too.

  Most of all…? I want to be proud of myself.

  Chapter 11

  JP

  I’m on my way to yoga class.

  Things have been busy with a bunch of road trips—San Jose, Phoenix, Dallas, Vancouver, with home games in between. I wanted to go to another class, but with games every Saturday for the last three weeks, I haven’t been able to. I hate to admit it, but I liked the way I felt after the class and without Harrison there showing off for the instructor, maybe I’ll be able to focus even more.

  Although Taylor in tight leggings and a bra top is hella distracting.

  I sigh. She’s not the reason I want to go to another yoga class. Seriously. I don’t even know if she’ll be there. The last time I saw her, she was broken up about her parents’ marriage ending, crying her eyes out. I’ve had a hard time not thinking about that over the last month, wanting to get hold of her somehow to see if she’s okay. I considered texting or calling Lacey to ask but knew how she’d take that. I saw Everly once and managed to casually ascertain that she was “okay,” but that was it.

  This is all about improving my game. So far this season I’m playing okay, but I know I can do better. It always takes a few games to get back into the swing of things—working out in a gym, even training camp and exhibition games can’t totally prepare you for the reality of a regular-season game. It’s hard.

  We’ve lost a few games, and I’ve taken a few penalties. One of them, I’d take again—I likely saved us from a goal against us, and we managed to kill the penalty. I deserved a couple of them, they were dumb, but another was a fucking horrible call that just about made me lose my mind. Hence the yoga class.

  I need to find my Zen. Or whatever.

  This is the second year having my uncle as my coach and it’s stressful. I mean, he’s a good coach, but…he’s my uncle. I don’t want any special treatment, and I especially don’t want my teammates to think I’m getting any special treatment. I also don’t want them to be awkward around me when they’re pissed at Uncle Mark, which happens even though he’s a good coach. He’s tough and honest, but fair. And damn smart. I think every guy on the team feels like I do…we listen to him and do our best to give him what he asks of us. And I want to show him my best, not me breaking my stick and shouting obscenities at the ref. (I didn’t do that, but I wanted to.)

  I park in the lot. Unlike last time I was here, it’s a beautiful sunny day, the sky a clear, cloudless blue, the ocean a deeper shade of cobalt. I stroll inside Makara Yoga, trying to feel chill, not hyper-alert on the lookout for Taylor.

  She’s not here, and I’m not sure if I’m disappointed or relieved.

  “Hi again,” Arya says to me with a friendly smile, clearly remembering me. “It took you a while to come back.”

  “I’ve been away the last three weekends.” I have no idea if she knows who I am, but I tend to assume people don’t know me.

  “Your friend’s not with you?”

  “Not this time.” I grin. “And he’s not my friend.”

  She blinks.

  “Actually, he’s my uncle.”

  She gives her head a confused shake. “Okay.”

  “Yeah, we’re the same age. Weird family.”

  “Hey, you’re not the only one!” She turns her attention to the rest of the group, and we start grabbing boards to carry outside.

  Just as Taylor rushes in. “Sorry I’m late!” she says breathlessly to Arya.

  “We’re just starting. Grab a board!”

  It’s been a month since I saw Taylor. My breath sticks in my chest as I watch her. Her hair’s up in a messy knot on top of her head, and yeah, she’s wearing form-fitting pants again and a different bra top, this one lime green and black. She hasn’t noticed me yet. But, as if she feels my gaze on her, she turns and we lock eyes.

  My blood fizzes in my veins. I manage a smile. “Hey.”

  “Hi, JP.” She tilts her head. “What are you doing here?”

  “Uh…yoga?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  I grin. I’m still fizzing, my chest filling with it. “Yeah. I wanted to take another class. This time I won’t have that clown Harrison distracting me.”

  She laughs. “Yeah, he didn’t really seem into it.”

  We follow the group outside and across the sand to the water. I’m going to focus on the yoga. Not on Taylor.

  Apparently I’m the distraction, though, for others in the class, as women are whispering and eyeing me. I’m not the only male here; there are two other guys today, but I guess the women recognize me. I smile politely, then ignore them to follow Arya’s instructions.

  Ignoring Taylor is easier said than done, but I use the focus I’ve learned from years of playing hockey to block out the things that take away my concentration.

  “A main concept of yoga is being nonjudgmental,” Arya says when we’re out on the water. “Meaning both toward others and toward ourselves. A lot of our stress comes from being hard on ourselves.”

  This strikes me as true.

  “Our minds and bodies are one and connected,” she continues.

  Okay, here comes the woo-woo stuff.

  “Stress in one affects the other,” she adds.

  Okay, this I know is true. The mind is powerful.

  Determined to actually get something out of this, I focus on the various poses, starting with child’s pose and flowing through a series of movements including downward dog.

  “On the paddleboard you have to be more mindful of your balance,” Arya says in a gentle tone. “Where your hands and feet are.”

  It’s true, and that makes the focus even more important. One look at Taylor while doing Warrior 2 makes me wobble dangerously. I grit my teeth and resume my pose, trying to find that balance again and relax.

  I leave the class feeling good. Nice and calm and relaxed. That’ll probably last until I get on the freeway.
r />   Nonjudgmental toward myself and others. I won’t curse the stupid drivers on the freeway. Wait, that was judgmental. I mean, I won’t curse the drivers on the freeway.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” Taylor says after we’ve taken our boards back. “I didn’t think you were really into this.”

  “That was Harrison.” I throw him under the bus. “I felt good after, and I’m working on being more Zen.”

  Her lips twitch. “Ah. That’s good. Did it work?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “You’re ready for the party tonight, then.”

  “Ah…yeah.” I eye her. “Lacey told you about it?”

  “I’m invited.”

  It’s Théo’s birthday party tonight. His birthday was last week, but Lacey planned the party for tonight, a Saturday night both the Condors and the Eagles are off. We’ve had three Saturday games in a row, now a few weeks into the season. “I hope Lacey knows what she’s getting herself into. The Wynn family parties are usually a bit…uh…well, you know what happened at the wedding.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I’ll be on my best behavior. I can’t speak for everyone else. “How are you doing?” I ask, holding her gaze.

  “I’m fine.” One corner of her mouth lifts, as we both remember how upset she was last time we saw each other. “I found a new place. I’m moving in next week, which is good because our house sold right away, and the new owners take possession November first.”

  “Wow. Well, that worked out. What about Byron?”

  Her eyes shadow and her eyebrows slope down. “Looks like—” Her voice catches and she stops.

  “I told you I’ll take him.” My voice is low and intense. I’m pissed because she hasn’t contacted me about this when she’s clearly upset about it. “Why didn’t you let me know?”

  “I, uh…”

  “Where’s your new place?” I ask. “Is it an apartment?”

  “Yes.” She bites her lip. “On Frampton Avenue.”

  “I’m not sure where that is.”