Breakaway (10 page)

And then, along the boards in the corner near the Fins’ net,
Jason was scuffling for the puck with another player. First he got it, then the
other player stole it, then Jason, and he whirled around to skate around the
net and try to get the puck in. So close! The crowd screamed, Remi clutched her
hands together—and another Fin body checked Jason, knocking him to the ice.
Hard.

Another Fin took the puck and raced out of their end with
it, leaving Jason lying on the ice, still.

“Oh dear god.” Remi pressed her hands to her mouth, staring
at Jason’s motionless body. Then he moved and hunched up onto his hands and
knees and Remi’s stomach lurched when she saw the blood all over the ice
beneath him.

The whistle blew and play stopped while the Wolves all came
back to surround Jason. A man in khaki pants, T-shirt and runners came out onto
the ice, slipping and sliding his way over to Jason, who by that time was on
his feet and skating slowly toward the bench, holding his face.

Remi couldn’t breathe, her heart thudded so hard in her
chest. The arena faded into a blur and a distant buzz of sound as she watched Jason
leave, blood pouring from his face. Another player brought his stick and his
helmet, which had been knocked off him.

She looked wide-eyed at Delise. “Oh god. I hope he’s okay.”

A small crease marked between Delise’s brows and she put a
hand on Remi’s arm and squeezed. “He was walking and talking. He’ll be fine. It’s
not like they carried him out on a stretcher.”

“Oh god.” He was gone now and she had no idea what had
happened to him or if he was okay.

The rest of the game was a blur. The Wolves didn’t manage to
score another goal, ending the game with a loss, but the exciting fun had gone
for Remi. When the buzzer ended the game, she and Delise made their way out of
the arena, buffeted by the large Wolves’ crowd.

“Okay,” Delise said. “Where should we go for dinner?”

“Oh.” Remi took a breath of the crisp late afternoon air,
standing on Grand Avenue. “I don’t care.”

Delise looked at her sideways and one corner of her mouth
deepened. “You okay?”

“Of course! Why?”

“You seem kind of distracted.”

“I’m fine. Just wondering how Jason is.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What does that mean?”

“I thought there was nothing between you.”

“There isn’t.”

“You seem awfully upset about him being hurt. Which is just
one more reason why dating a hockey player is a bad idea.”

Remi tightened her lips. She knew it was a bad idea. Delise
didn’t have to keep telling her that.

Delise sighed. “Why don’t you just call him?”

“I uh…don’t know his number.”

“Oh. You better fix that.”

“If he wanted me to have it, he’d have given it to me.” They
started walking and Remi tucked her big turquoise scarf up higher under her
chin against the late afternoon breeze off Lake Michigan. “He has my number.”

“If he called your cell, you should have his number.”

“Hey, you’re right.” Remi pulled her cell phone out and
flipped it open, thumbing her way through incoming calls. There it was. She bit
her lip. Should she call him?

“Let’s go here,” Delise said, stopping in front of a small
Thai restaurant.

They went in and were seated at a small table near the
front. They draped their jackets over the back of their chairs and Remi set her
cell phone on the table and eyed it between studying the menu.

“Call him.”

“I have to give him time to get cleaned up,” Remi said. “I’ll
call him later. After dinner.”

Her stomach tight, shoulders tense, she managed to eat half her
pad Thai, but she barely tasted it. Focusing on conversation with Delise took
her mind off Jason for a while, until they emerged from the restaurant onto the
dark street and she remembered with a jolt all the blood and Jason being helped
off the ice.

Delise drove her home. “I’m sure he’s fine,” she said. “Athletes
are tough.”

Remi made a face and nodded as she got out of the car.

Jasmine sat in the living room watching television, wearing
cotton pajamas, her long, blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“Hey,” she said. “How was the game?”

“The Wolves lost,” Remi said absently, unwinding her scarf
from around her neck. She glanced at Jasmine. Damn. Her puffy eyes and pink
nose told her she’d been crying again. “Did you talk to Ethan?”

“Yes.” Jasmine sniffled. “He wants me to come back.”

“Oh.” Remi dropped into an armchair, slip-covered in creamy
canvas to match the sofa even though they were ancient and from a different
set. “And what did you say?”

“I told him I…I’d think about it.” She swiped the back of
her hand across her nose. “I love him so much, Remi. I want to go back and try
again.”

Remi held in her sigh. “Why do you keep going back to him,
Jasmine?”

“Because I love him! He swears he wasn’t cheating on me.”

“And you believe him?”

“Yes.”

Remi leaned her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Well,
then if you go back, you’ll trust him?”

Jasmine bit her lip and tears sparkled in the lamplight. “Maybe.”

“Maybe you should think about it before you decide to go
back.”

“I am!”

Somehow Remi had the feeling that this conversation was not
going to go well no matter what she said. She wished Jasmine would see that her
relationship with Ethan wasn’t healthy, but she seemed blind to it and only got
defensive if anyone tried to point that out to her.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her gloomy thoughts. She
frowned.

Jasmine sat up straight and put her feet on the floor. “That
must be Ethan.”

Remi rose and looked at her. “Do you want to see him?”

“Yes. No.” Jasmine scrubbed at her cheeks and smoothed her
ponytail as Remi went to the door. “I don’t know.”

* * * * *

Jason walked up to the house, the front window glowing
golden through the drawn curtains. In the quiet dark neighborhood, it seemed
like a beacon—inviting, homey, welcoming.

He stood on the porch beneath the light and paused.

What was he doing here?

After the game, the guys were going out and had invited him
along. For some reason, going somewhere like Rouge or another hot club with
groupies and puck bunnies appealed to him as much as a puck in the eye.

The game had sucked. He’d played like crap, couldn’t get
anything going and only their goaltender had saved them from getting their
asses really kicked.

The face of one person kept floating into his head—Remi. He
wanted to see her. He wanted to tell her he could play better than that. He
wanted to know what she’d thought of the game. So here he was, like an idiot,
standing on her doorstep afraid to ring the bell.

He pushed the doorbell.

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his long coat, still
dressed in suit and tie. He hadn’t gone home; after the coach had reamed their
asses for how they’d played, he’d gotten in his Jeep and driven straight here.

He heard the deadbolt click and the door slowly opened.

He smiled at Remi standing there, but her eyes went immediately
to his left temple. Oh yeah. He lifted a hand to touch the butterfly tape.

“Hi,” he said.

“You’re not Ethan.”

“Uh…no. No, I’m not.” Ethan? Who the hell was Ethan? “Did I
come at a bad time?” He was ready to turn and leave.

“Ethan…” A young girl with puffy red eyes and a pink nose
appeared in the French doors to the living room. “Oh.” Her face fell.

Jason looked from Remi to the young girl behind her, looking
so much like Remi, but obviously distressed about something. “Hi,” he said. “You
must be Jasmine.”

She frowned. “Yes. Who are you?”

He grinned and stepped forward into the foyer, hand
outstretched. “Jase Heller. Nice to meet you.”

She shook his hand, sending a confused glance toward her
sister.

“Sorry, Jasmine, it’s not Ethan,” Remi said softly. She
closed the door.

“I see that.” Her eyes filled with tears and Jason looked at
Remi. She gave him a strained smile.

“Come in,” Remi invited, leading the way into the living
room. She picked up the remote and turned off the television.

“I was watching that,” Jasmine protested.

“No, you weren’t,” Remi said. “You were crying about Ethan.
Maybe you could uh…go to bed?”

Jasmine frowned, looked back and forth between the two of
them, then turned with a dramatic sigh and disappeared down the hall.

“She’s still here?”

“Yes.” She blew out a breath. “But it sounds like she’s
moving back in with Ethan.” She shook her head.

Should he even take his coat off? “I guess I did come at a
bad time.”

“Oh, no! It’s fine. I just got home, actually. Delise and I
went out for dinner after the game.”

“How did you enjoy it?”

She stared at him wordlessly.

“Well?”

“It was awful!” she burst out.

“Yeah, we played like crap.”

“No, I mean…my god, Jason, that is a brutal sport! Look at
you!” She bit her lip and eyed his forehead again.

Disappointment filtered down through his body. Here he’d
been thinking she’d be all impressed. Instead, she was horrified. Great.

She was a teacher, he reminded himself. He’d gotten past
that fact enough to ask her out for dinner the other night after getting to
know her and how she treated the kids in her class, but still…she was
intelligent, educated. She probably thought hockey was a bunch of goons beating
each other up, chasing a stupid little puck around the ice. It was true—he
played a game for a living. How could he ever hope to impress her with that?

“I’m fine. It’s just a little cut.”

“You were bleeding.”

“Yup. That happens when I get cut.” He grinned again, holding
his arms out at his sides. “I’m tough. But if you want to kiss it and make it
better, that would probably help.”

She didn’t move. “I was going to call you,” she said, voice
a bit choppy. “To see if you were okay.”

“Well, then it’s good I came over to show you I’m fine.” He
still stood there in his coat. “But I can go…”

She rubbed her forehead, her distress diminishing as she
took in that he was okay. “No. It’s fine. Here. Let me take your coat.”

He smiled as he shrugged out of it, ignoring the twinge in
his shoulder from the hard check he’d taken from Sanders in the third. Probably
not good if she knew about that additional minor injury. She disappeared to
hang his coat up, then came back, rubbing her palms over her jeans. “Would you
like a drink? Beer?”

“Um. Sure, a beer would be nice.” He followed her to the
kitchen. “Some of the guys were going out after, but I…didn’t feel like it.”

“Because you lost?”

“Well. Yeah.” He was bummed about that for sure. “We haven’t
done as well as we should have this season and playoffs are almost here. If we
don’t win our next few games, we might not make the playoffs.”

Drowning his sorrows at a rocking club like Rouge again
would probably have been a better way to take his mind off the shitty game he’d
just played than sitting here in Remi’s house. But this was the place he wanted
to be.

“Oh.” She handed him a beer and kept one for herself. “I
guess that’s bad.”

“Hell, yeah.” He sighed as they walked back to the living
room and took a seat, side by side. She curled one leg under her. Damn, she
looked good in jeans. He wished he could have seen her at the game. “That’s
bad. That’s what it’s all about. Making the playoffs. The Stanley Cup.”

She nodded, eyes soft and warm. “Want to talk about it?”

He did. So he talked. And she listened. She was a great
listener and seemed to get his drive, that dark need inside him to fight to the
end for the win. Not literally fight. Well, sometimes he did, but it was more a
powerful need to battle through and come out on top. Some of her questions
amused him, but it felt good to talk about how crappy he felt, how he was
letting the team down, how the team was letting down the coach and the owners
and the fans—especially the fans.

“So if you win your next three games, you’re in?”

“Only if New York loses.” He grimaced. “That’s how close it
is. Dammit. We should have been way ahead at this stage of the season. Ah,
well.”

“You put a lot of pressure on yourself, don’t you.”

He considered that. “Yeah. I guess.”

“But you aren’t responsible for the whole team.”

“I’m a part of the team. We’re all responsible for how the
team does.”

“And you hate it when you don’t play well.”

“Of course I hate it!” He shook his head, the image of his
high school English teacher Mrs. Wong flashing into his head, the damning
message she’d beaten into him through that junior year. “I have to be good.”

She nodded and he wanted to tell her more, but the stuff
backing up in his brain was some kind of stinging shit and talking about it
wasn’t easy. Which was why he didn’t. Ever.

“When’s your next game?”

“Tuesday night.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll still be there Wednesday for the reading program,” he
said. “Don’t worry.”

She nodded.

“Then we go to Boston next weekend.” He paused, then the
craziest thing came out of his mouth. “You should come with me.”

Her eyes popped open. “To Boston?”

“Yeah. The game’s Saturday night. We could make a weekend of
it.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“I…I…just can’t. That’s crazy.”

He shrugged and picked up a strand of her golden hair,
rubbing it between thumb and fingers. “It’s not crazy. It’d be fun.”

She shook her head. “I am so out my league with you. I don’t
have money for stuff like that, Jason, and I…”

“I’ll pay for it,” he interrupted. Christ, what kind of scum
did she think he was, that he’d invite her like that and not pay for it? “I
wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t going to pay your airfare and you can stay with
me.”