Between a Jock and a Hard Place: A Romance Novella (3 page)

He looked amused. “No.” It came out
slowly.

She leaned forward again. “Did you know
that even the women dress up in those ridiculous Canucks shirts? As a matter of
fact I’ve heard that they sell as many to women as they do to the men.”

He seemed to be trying not to smile.
“Yes, I’ve heard that too.”

They were both silent for a few moments.
It felt comfortable, sitting here with him in the sunshine. She wished it could
go on forever.

Claire was the first to break the
silence. “Could I ask you something?”

He nodded. She liked the fact that he
didn’t always need to speak.

“Do you think there’s too much violence
in hockey?”

Something shifted behind his eyes.
“That’s a hot topic right now.” He looked into his cup, tossed out the
remaining liquid and crumpled it in one large hand. “Unfortunately, I don’t
think there’s a clear-cut answer. To lump every situation together under the
umbrella of violence doesn’t do justice to the individual cases.”

She snorted. “That sounds like some sort
of a slick, prepared statement.”

Was that a flash of anger in his eyes?
He placed both forearms on the table. “I will admit I’ve thought a lot about
it. After all, I am closely connected with the industry.” His gaze held hers.
Claire sucked in a breath of air but he didn’t seem to notice. He was on a
roll.

“Hockey is a physical game; that’s all
there is to it. There are body checks, and there is fighting. The players egg
each other on with what they call ‘trash talk’ and fights are inevitable,
sometimes even planned. If you’d watch a game you’d see the fans come alive
when there’s a fight. Even the players seem to approve. During a fight you’ll
see both teams standing up pounding their sticks against the boards.” He sat
back, seemed to deflate a little. “That’s the reality of the game. I’m not
saying I approve, but that’s the way it is.”

“But not all of the players fight. Tony
was saying the other night that Daniel and Henrik hardly ever fight. Why is
that?”

He looked exasperated. “Because the
Sedins are too valuable. We... The Canucks, that is, can’t afford to have them
out of the line-up. That’s why teams hire defencemen with muscle. There’s
always at least one ‘enforcer’ on a hockey team. Hit our top scorers, we’ll hit
you back harder. That sort of thing.”

Claire considered his words. “I suppose
I knew that, but it’s never been explained to me quite that well. Not that
you’ve changed my mind about the fighting. I still don’t like that part of the
game.”

“Who’s Tony?” He was toying with the
scrunched-up cup.

“Huh?” the abrupt change of topic
startled her. “Oh, Tony. That’s Zoey’s fiancé.”

He nodded. “And Zoey is your friend?”
One side of his mouth hiked up. “I like to keep the line-up straight in my
head.”

“Yes, she’s my friend.” Claire was
relieved to see him smile. “So how did you get that broken nose?”

He fingered the break. “You’re going to
love this. Hockey.” He held up a hand before she could say anything. “I ran
into my best buddy’s stick.” He touched it again and he smiled, reliving the
moment. “I can still hear the crunching sound of the bone breaking. Anyway, my
parents were away and I insisted that it wasn’t too bad, that I could tape it
up myself.” He grinned. “Well, you can see what a great job I did.”

Claire tilted her head to one side. “I
dunno. I kind of like it.”

“Sure you do.”

“Yeah, I do,” she said, suddenly
breathless. She made a show of looking at her watch. “Guess I’d better get
home. I have work to do. I just went out for a quick walk to clear my head.”
She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop.

“Before we leave could I ask you a
question?” He grinned. “Since we’re telling our life stories.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” She wished
he wasn’t so damned good looking; he had her at a disadvantage. “You can ask.
I’m not sure if I’ll answer.”

He acknowledged by raising his eyebrows.
“I was wondering about that married man.”

She looked at him for a long time before
she decided to answer. She’d brought it up, after all.

“It’s embarrassing.” She couldn’t meet
his eyes. “I didn’t know he was married when I first met him. He told me a
couple of weeks later, but he also told me a pack of lies.”

“Seems to me he’s the one who should be
embarrassed, not you.”

She shot him a quick glance, and then
looked away again. “No, I’m embarrassed because I believed him when he told me
he was getting a divorce. It’s only the oldest line in the world, but I
swallowed it.” She ran her fingernail up and down the Styrofoam cup, making a
pattern of ridges. “When I saw him with his wife and realized that they were
still very much together I thought I’d never be able to trust a man again.” She
looked into his eyes. “It’s been hard.”

“So, are you still in love with him?”

“What?” She reared back. “Bite your
tongue.” She smiled to soften the words. “No, I’m just wary when it comes to
getting involved again.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.” His
tone was gentle. “Thank you for trusting me enough to have tea.”

She nodded, remained silent.

He gathered up their litter and took it
to the trash bin before helping her back to the car.

“I enjoyed this,” he said as they drove
the rest of the way around the park. “Even if you are a bit feisty and
argumentative.”

“Am not!” She heard herself and laughed.
“Okay, maybe a bit.”

“I take it you live in the West End?”
they were approaching the densely populated area.

“Yeah, on Robson Street. Right at the
end. Where do you live?”

“I have a place on Bayshore Drive.”

She was tempted to comment that selling
sporting equipment must pay well, but managed to bite her tongue. “We’re almost
neighbours.”

They pulled up in front of her apartment
building and he jumped out and ran around to her side. “Here, let me help you,”
he said, offering his hand.

She tested her ankle by putting weight
on it. “Not too bad,” she said.

He walked her to the front door and she
fumbled for her keys. “They’re here somewhere,” she said, checking her pockets.

He pretended to study the intercom. “We
could buzz you, but then you’re not in, are you?”

She laughed. “That’s a line out of one
of the Bourne movies. But I suppose we could try.” She pressed 803. “No, I’m
not home.” She finally found the keys and turned to him. “Thank you for
everything, John. I enjoyed myself in spite of getting run over by that
cyclist.”

He leaned over and brushed his lips
against her cheek. “Me, too. ‘Bye.”

She closed her eyes to savour the
moment. When she opened them he was already at his car, but his cologne
lingered. He waved and drove off. She stared after him, wondering if she’d ever
see him again.

* * *

Jack Logan drove back to his condo deep
in thought. Why had he stopped to help her? And more to the point, why had he
offered to take her for tea? The answer was simple, really. He’d liked the way
she’d stood up for herself when that idiot on the bike ran her over. He liked
the way her red hair glowed in the sunshine. And yes... he liked what he could
see of her lithe figure underneath the loose sweats.

So why had he introduced himself as
John? That one was easy, too. He hadn’t seen any recognition in her eyes when
he helped her to his vehicle, and besides, it was his real name. That lack of
recognition was unusual in this hockey-mad town, and for once he thought it
would be refreshing to have a normal conversation with a woman. Being a hockey
player changed everything, no matter what level you were at. He was known for
being modest but his contract and his statistics didn’t lie. Jack Logan was the
highest-scoring defenceman in the Western Conference of the NHL, and one of the
most valuable players on the Canucks’ team.

It was a fact of life that women flocked
to hockey players. Even the least attractive of his team-mates had as many
women as they could handle. Jack smiled as he let himself into his condo and
checked his messages. He’d fallen into that trap in the early years, so he
couldn’t blame the young players. But even now he wasn’t sure if his current
girlfriend was dating himself or his jersey. Maybe he didn’t really want to
know.

Claire pushed the button for her floor.
In spite of the insistent throbbing in her ankle, she smiled at her reflection
in the mirrored elevator. Flushed and happy for the first time in ages, she
wanted to laugh out loud. Silly, perhaps, and yes, she may never see John
again, but she was alive again, and it felt good, thank you very much. The
elevator doors opened, and she limped down the hall.

She heard the ringtone the moment she
opened the door. Recognizing her parents’ number, she hesitated for a moment
before picking it up.

“Claire, dear, are you coming for
dinner?” Her mother was always unfailingly cheerful.

“I hadn’t planned on it, no.”

A startled gasp preceded her mother’s
next words. “But dear, Cam has a hockey game tonight.”

Claire glanced at the calendar and
groaned silently. It was there all right. Cameron’s team was playing Spokane
tonight. She couldn’t quite remember when they’d slipped into the habit of
having dinner together before going to the rink to watch her twin play. Of
course now that Cam was in the minors, the team had their game-day routine, so
it was just the three of them.

“Mom, I don’t think I can make it
tonight. I’ve had a really bad day and I just...” Her voice trailed off.

Silence from her mother. “Are you sick,
dear?”

She’d have to be sick indeed to miss one
of her brother’s games. She counted slowly to three. “No, but I’ve twisted my ankle,
and I should stay home and put it up. Sorry, but Cam won’t even know I’m not
there.”

“Your father will be disappointed, but I
know he’ll understand. Is there anything we can do for you?”

“No thanks, Mom. I’ll probably go to bed
early.” She touched the calendar. “I’ll be there for his next game on Thursday,
okay?”

“Okay, dear. Take care of yourself.” Her
mother still thought of her as a child, something Claire knew would never
change. “We’ll miss you.”

“Goodnight, Mom.” Claire disconnected,
wandered into her bedroom and lay down on her bed. Her back ached from bending
over the drafting board. She’d just rest for a few minutes.

* * *

The phone rang, jolting her awake. The
room was dark; she must have fallen asleep.

“Claire?” Her father’s voice was unnaturally
shaky. “Cam’s been taken to the hospital. We’re on our way there now.”

She swung her feet out of bed and looked
at the clock. By her quick calculations, the second period of Cam’s game should
be starting any time. “What happened?” she asked.

“We don’t know yet. He’s unconscious. He
was boarded and his head hit one of the stanchions.” Her father took a quick
breath. “They’re taking him to the General. We’ll meet you in Emergency.” He
disconnected without further discussion and she sat staring at the phone in her
hand. Whoever said that twins could sense each other’s injuries were wrong this
time. She’d slept through the whole thing.

* * *

Her hands trembled as she paid the taxi
driver and climbed out of the car. She knew that hockey was a rough sport...
some might even call it violent, but she’d never considered that same violence
would touch Cam. How ridiculous was that?

The doors of Emergency whooshed open and
she entered, looked around and spotted her parents. Her mother seemed to have
aged ten years and her father looked like he might never smile again.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked,
acknowledging her father and taking her mother’s hands in her own.

Her father stood up and started pacing.
“The Doctor was here a minute ago. They’ve taken Cam for an MRI. He’s still
unconscious.” His voice wavered. “He’d chased the puck into the corner and
passed it off already when this big bruiser slammed him into the boards.” He
closed his eyes as though to block out the image. “Cam just crumpled onto the ice.”
His opened his eyes again and looked around the waiting room as though
wondering what he was doing there. “He was so still.”

Claire nodded. There was nothing she
could say to ease the pain. They’d all seen Cam hurt before, but nothing like
this. She gave her mother’s hands a gentle squeeze. “Can I get you anything,
Mom? A cup of tea?” She looked up at her father. “Dad?”

He nodded. “Yes, tea would be good.” He
touched Claire’s mother on the shoulder. “Grace? Would you like a cup of tea?”

She nodded, gave her daughter a weak
smile. “Thank you dear; that would be nice.”

Claire brought back three cups of tea
and the vigil began. Her father paced, frustration leaking from every pore in
his body. Her mother sat quietly, lost in thought. The neurologist came back
shortly before eleven and informed them that Cam had been taken to a room. He
was still unconscious, but the results of the MRI were excellent.

“We have him sedated,” the doctor
reported. “You might as well go home and get some sleep. In cases like this we
like to keep them immobilized for the first few hours. Come back tomorrow
morning.”

They left reluctantly, and Claire’s
parents dropped her off at her apartment before going over the bridge. “We’ll
pick you up in the morning,” her father informed her. “That way we can all be
there when he wakes up.” He was speaking for her mother’s benefit; Claire knew
that, but she clung to his words. “Okay, Dad,” she said, raising her cheek for
the familiar kiss. “And I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”

He looked startled… angry perhaps. “I
don’t want to hear any more of that kind of talk. I know what you’re thinking
but there’s nothing you could have done to prevent it, so don’t go blaming
yourself.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to concentrate all our energies on
Cam. On helping him recover.”

She nodded tearfully and watched them
drive away. No matter what he said, she still felt guilty for not being there.

* * *

Cam woke up the next afternoon while
their parents were taking a walk in the hospital corridors. He saw Claire and
smiled. Then he pointed to the water glass and she held the straw to his lips.

“Just a couple of sips,” she said, when
he tried to take more. “I asked the nurse and she was quite adamant about
that.” She grinned at him. “I think she has a crush on you by the way.”

He turned his head and winced in pain.
“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” he said hoarsely.

“Do you remember what happened?” She
held her breath, praying that he hadn’t lost his memory.

“Oh, yeah. It was a late hit.” He tried
moving again. “Are Mom and Dad okay?”

“They’re right outside. I’ll go get
them.”

She found them opposite the nurses’
station, speaking with the doctor.

“...that will be my recommendation,” he
was saying, then looked up at her approach. “Hello, Miss Collins. I was telling
your parents that Cameron has suffered a concussion and that I’ll be wanting to
keep a close eye on him for the next couple of months.”

She saw the disappointment in her
father’s eyes.

“But he’ll be all right, won’t he?” she
asked.

“I believe so. Eventually. But even
minor concussions are serious injuries. Not only in their own right, but
because of the cumulative effects in the event of another concussion. We call
it second-impact syndrome.” He looked at her father. “I’ve already consulted
with the team doctor, and we both agree. Cameron won’t be playing hockey for
the rest of the season.”

Claire’s father started to walk away and
the doctor called after him. “Look at it this way, Mr. Collins. Your son is one
of the lucky ones.”

“Oh my goodness, I forgot. I came out to
tell you he’s awake.”

They all walked briskly down the hall.
The doctor gave Cam a cursory examination, and then straightened up. “You’re a
lucky young man, Cameron. You’ve had a minor concussion, but as far as we can
tell, there’s no long-term damage.”

Cam looked from the doctor to his
father. “When can I go back?”

Donald Collins cleared his throat.
“Well, son, it looks like you might have to sit out the rest of the season.”

Some of the sparkle went out of Cam’s
eyes but he soon recovered. “I kind of expected that, to tell you the truth.
They’re being so much more careful these days.”

Claire watched her twin absorb the news.
She knew him well enough to know that he was devastated, but trying to hide it
for his father’s sake. It was difficult to take solace from the fact that he’d
probably come back next year - especially since he’d been leading his team in
points. A setback like this could cost him his dream of playing in the NHL. Was
it any wonder she’d turned away from hockey? At least in tennis they didn’t try
to injure one another.

* * *

“Zoey?” Claire called her friend the
next morning.

“Claire! I heard about Cam, but didn’t
want to bother you until later. How is he?”

“He’ll recover, but it looks like he’ll
be out for the rest of the year.”

“It’s just not right. Don’t get me
started.”

“I hear you. Listen, Zo. Are you still
looking for someone to write a few blogs?”

“Why? Did you find someone?”

“I was thinking about me.”

“But you told me you don’t have anything
to say.”

“I didn’t the last time we talked, but I
do now.”

“I’m not following you.”

“I’d like to write about violence in
hockey, and how it’s getting out of hand.” She paused. “It would be
controversial, if nothing else. I mean, everyone I know has an opinion on the
subject.”

“That’s for sure. A blog like that would
have our readership split right down the middle.” Claire could hear the
enthusiasm building in her friend’s voice. “I think it’s a great idea. Are you
okay with making it anonymous?”

“For sure. As a matter of fact, I’d like
anonymity written into any agreement we make. For example, if I write about
Cam’s situation, I’d like to blog about it as if I don’t even know him. It
would be much more effective that way.” She had a sudden idea. “I could use the
thread of Cam’s story to tie in with any future blogs. It wouldn’t always be
about him of course, but I could report on his progress now and then. It could
make the issues seem more personal to the reader. You know, a sort of hook to
make them come back and follow the story.”

Zoey laughed. “You sound like a blogger
already. Are you sure you haven’t done anything like this before?”

“Quite sure. I have no idea how I’ll
find the time, but I’d like to do it.”

“Hey, look on the bright side. There’ll
be some extra money for that trip you’d like to take.”

“Call me crazy, but I hadn’t even
thought about the money aspect.”

“You’re crazy all right. Listen, I’ll
talk to my editor and get back to you.”

* * *

The week that followed passed in a blur.
Between visiting Cam, work, and meeting with the newspaper about the blog,
Claire could scarcely remember what day it was. She’d hammered out a loose
agreement with the newspaper, aiming for one blog per week.

She sat down at her computer and stared
at the screen. She’d heard of writers not being able to come up with anything,
but her problem was the opposite. She’d read a lot about hockey violence over
the past few days and those facts combined with Cam’s story made it difficult
to know where to start.

It was important that she get it right
because the newspaper had surprised her, informing her that if there was as
much interest in the blog as they anticipated, they might look for someone to
write from the opposing side.

“That’s all I need,” she muttered to
herself. “Some macho idiot whose idea of a good time is going to a fight to see
if a hockey game will break out.” But she acknowledged that a well crafted
opposing view would bring more attention to the issue.

Her opening salvo was critical. She may
not be an experienced writer, but she knew that she had to grab the reader’s
attention with her first sentence. With a groan of frustration she got up and
walked to the window. The sun had burned off the morning mist and the ocean
glittered with reflected sunshine. Maybe what she needed was a walk to clear
her head. Just a short walk along the seawall and then she’d come back inspired
and make a fresh start.

She might even see John. Not that the
thought of those broad shoulders or those dark blue influenced her choice of
destination. Not much, anyway.