Chasing Stanley (44 page)

Like so many New York cabbies, this guy seemed intent on breaking the land record for speed. Jason had barely collected his thoughts before the cab glided to an expectedly smooth stop in front of Delilah's building. Jason pulled a wad of cash from his wallet and held it out to the driver.

“No, no.” The cabbie waved the money away. “Tonight you're a hero. This is on me.”

“At least let me tip you,” Jason insisted, peeling off two ten dollar bills and pressing them into the driver's hand.

“You're too generous.”

“Tonight I can afford to be,” said Jason, sliding out of the cab. He rapped the roof of the cab twice. “Drive safe now.”

The cabbie waved and drove off.

Jason paused, looking up at Delilah's window. Her light was on, which was a good thing; he'd been so distracted with celebrating and trying to get out of Met Gar, that he'd forgotten to call to say he was coming to fetch Stan. He pulled out his cell, then put it away. It was idiotic to call when he was standing right in front of the building. Better to just go up and face the accusation of impulsiveness. At least he'd have an excuse.

The night doorman, Vito, broke into a huge grin as Jason entered the lobby. “Way to go, man! You guys rocked!”

Jason grinned. “We did, didn't we?”

“Hell, yeah!”

“Can you buzz Delilah?”

Vito jerked a plump thumb toward the ceiling. “Go on up. She had a feeling you'd come by for Stan. She's waiting.”

“Oh.” Jason found himself oddly pleased by this piece of information. “Okay.”

Energy still ricocheting through him, he decided to take the stairs. There was something comforting in the fact that Delilah knew him so well, she'd anticipated his wanting Stanley with him on this, his night of nights. His teammates had to be at Snatcher's by now, since it was only three blocks from Met Gar. He'd call for a limo, chat with Delilah, and then he and Stan would head back to midtown. The thought didn't excite him the way it should.

He was just getting ready to knock on Delilah's front door when he heard the sound of heavy doggy breathing on the other side. How Stanley knew it was him was a mystery, but he always did. It was one of those weird, psychic pet things defying explanation.

Delilah opened the door, smiling at him brightly. “Congratulations!”

Jason flushed with pride. “Thanks.” He bent down to briskly rub the top of Stanley's head. “It's all thanks to you, big guy, isn't it?” He knew it was nuts, but Jason was dying to pick up Delilah and spin her around, so giddy did he feel about winning. He resisted the urge, noticing instead how excited
she
looked. Her eyes were bright, her cheeks pink.

“I've been watching the end of the game on TV,” she told him. “It was amazing.”

“Tell me about it.” Her enthusiasm unexpectedly moved him. Two weeks ago she knew barely anything about hockey. Now she seemed genuinely fired up. “I wish you . . . and Stan had actually been there to
see
it, you know?”

“Me, too,” Delilah confessed. “But you told me to leave in the middle of the third, so that's what I've been doing.”

Jason just nodded. What could he say to that?

“Can you stay a minute?” Delilah asked shyly.

“Sure.”

“Good.”

Jason wondered what was up as she hustled into the kitchen. A few seconds later, she returned with a bottle of champagne. “I know you're going out tonight with your teammates,” she began quickly, “but I thought it only right that Stan and I toast you.”

Jason was speechless. This was the last thing he ever expected. He wondered: Would
he
be generous enough to toast an ex-girlfriend's triumph? Probably not. But his heart was nowhere as big as Delilah's. Looking at her now, he couldn't help but catalogue all the wonderful things about her. Her kindness. Her sweetness. Her willingness to always go above and beyond for those she cared about. Even her twitteriness could be endearing, depending on the situation. To use one of his mother's favorite expressions, they'd broken the mold when they made Delilah. Jason had spent the better part of the spring thinking that might be a good thing. Now he wasn't so sure.

“Oh!” Delilah tapped an open palm to her forehead in a gesture of forgetfulness. “Glasses. Hang on.”

She disappeared back into the kitchen. Jason heard the sound of her rifling through cabinets. When she reappeared, her high color was gone.

“Guess what? I don't have champagne glasses.” Her hands twisted together. “This is so embarrassing. I mean I should have checked first. But I was so excited that as soon as the limo dropped me and Stan off I hustled to the liquor store around the corner for champagne and I didn't even stop to think and now—”

Jason instinctively reached out, putting an index finger to her lips. “Relax,” he murmured. How warm her lips felt. Warm and plump and soft. Suddenly self-conscious, he pulled his finger away. “It's not a big deal.”

Delilah looked disappointed. “But I wanted to toast you.”

“You don't need champagne glasses to toast me. We can use something else.”

“I have juice glasses,” Delilah offered embarrassedly.

“There you go,” said Jason.

Delilah returned to the kitchen a third time. It was unseasonably warm for early June, which explained why she was wearing her walking shorts and a T-shirt. Jason's mind flashed back to the first time they'd met; she'd been wearing the same outfit when she'd approached him to take command of the situation with Stanley. God, she'd been a little spitfire. He'd been intrigued. But as he was soon to learn, she only let out that side of her personality when it came to animals. Because he cared, he thought he could help her overcome her shyness. Now he could see he probably hurt more than he helped. Delilah emerged from the kitchen with two tumblers.

“Delilah, I'm sorry I dragged you into social situations that stressed you out,” Jason blurted.

“Oh.” Delilah looked taken aback as she held out a glass to him. “Where did that come from?”

“I don't know,” Jason admitted, feeling like a jerk. Clearly his postgame giddiness was affecting him in unexpected ways.

Delilah's expression was uncertain as she held up her glass. “Shall we toast?”

“After you say you forgive me for telling you that one time that you needed help,” said Jason. Suddenly, it felt like the most important thing in the world that she know she was fine just the way she was.

“There's no need to forgive you,” Delilah said softly. “I do need help.” She swallowed nervously. “I've been doing a lot of thinking, Jason. And you were right: I do have some issues.” She looked flustered as she glanced away. “But I'm taking care of the problem. There's this doctor on the Upper West Side who specializes in social anxiety and panic disorders. I'm going to see him next week. I don't want it to hinder my life anymore. Because it has.” Her eyes began filling up. “You know what I mean.”

Jason put down his glass. “C'mere,” he said, opening his arms. Delilah hesitated. “Please,” he coaxed, surprising himself.

Delilah put her glass down and moved stiffly into Jason's embrace.
She doesn't trust me,
Jason realized. The thought saddened him tremendously.

“I think it's really great that you're going to talk to someone, Delilah,” Jason told her, heartfelt. “That takes a lot of courage. I'm really proud of you.”

“I'm sorry I embarrassed you at the New Year's Eve party,” Delilah continued tearfully. “That was wrong. I can't believe I did that. When you see Tully tonight, will you tell him how sorry I am?”

“I'm not seeing Tully tonight. Or anyone else.”

Delilah looked up at him in confusion. “I thought you were going out with your teammates.”

“I thought so, too,” said Jason, pulling her closer. “But I'm not. I'm staying here with you. This is where I want to be tonight.”

He let himself sink into the realization he'd just given voice to. Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that this was how he'd celebrate his first night as a Stanley Cup champion. But the heart knew what it wanted, even if it sometimes took the brain a while to catch up. Jason wanted Delilah.
She
was what had been missing.

“Jason.” Delilah pulled away, sounding alarmed.

“I know what you're thinking. That I'm being impulsive again. That I'm not thinking straight. But you know what?” Jason felt his heart swell. “I feel like this is the first time I
am
thinking straight. I'm not worried about competing with Eric, or proving myself on the ice, or winning the Cup, or making sure I'm out having a great time because hey, I live in New York, and that's what you're supposed to do when you're a young, single guy. My eyes are wide open.”

“But—but—we don't work,” Delilah sputtered. “You know that.”

“I
don't
know that.” He had to make her see. Make her understand what was just now becoming clear to
him.
“Do we have different temperaments? Hell, yeah. But that's not insurmountable.” He paused, his words trying to keep pace with his brain. “I think I expected things to be perfect. But it's dawning on me that there's no such thing as perfect.” He looked at her sheepishly. “You have to forgive me for that. I'm a guy; I'm a little slow on the uptake when it comes to these things.”

“So, what are you saying?” Delilah asked, her expression guarded.

“I think—with a little patience and a willingness to compromise on both our parts—we can make this work.” He pulled her to him. “I love you, Delilah. I want to be with you.”

Delilah rose up on tiptoes, planting a soft kiss on his mouth. Jason drew her to him, kissing her more deeply. The postgame fever twisting through him had burned away, replaced by a calm sense of certainty he wasn't sure he'd ever experienced. It was all going to work out. He knew it. He
felt
it.

“You and me, Delilah,” he whispered. The heat coming off her body made him want her. He moved to kiss the soft, warm flesh of her neck. That's when Stanley pushed himself between them, his tail wagging happily as he stood there, waiting to be petted.

“You, me, and Stan,” Delilah amended. Her expression was amused as she caught Jason's eye.

“And Stan,” Jason agreed with a contented sigh.

“Okay, big guy,
it's showtime.”

Delilah couldn't resist smiling as she and Jason led Stanley into Dante's. She was determined not to dwell on the last time they'd been here, and she'd been a babbling fool. That was then, she reminded herself, and this was now. Now she wanted to be here—not only for Jason, but for herself.

She glanced over at Jason, so handsome in his jeans and tennis shirt—the same shirt he'd been wearing when they'd met! Part of her was still in shock that they were actually back together. This morning, while Jason slept, Delilah had crept out of the bedroom to call Marcus so he could confirm she wasn't dreaming.

The three of them entered the banquet room and for a moment, all conversation stopped. Then the Blades players began applauding wildly, their chants of “Stan-ley! Stan-ley! Stan-ley!” growing louder and louder. Delilah glanced down at the hero in question; as always, he seemed completely unfazed as he stood sniffing the air, no doubt attuned to the wonderful, comforting smell of Italian food.

“Promise me you won't give him any table food,” Delilah said to Jason above the din.

Jason looked crestfallen. “Not even one meatball? The boy earned it. He helped bring us the Cup.”

Delilah shook her head, but her smile was affectionate. “If you must.”

“Bring Stanley around to meet everyone!” Barry Fontaine called out.

“Yeah!” echoed others.

Jason turned to Delilah. “Shall we?”

Together they began a circuit of the room. Delilah could see that many of the people there were surprised to see her.

Approaching the first table, Delilah recognized Michael Dante and his wife from her previous visit to Dante's. The wife was no longer pregnant. In fact, it was hard to believe she'd ever given birth at all, so trim was her figure. Sitting next to her was a little girl who was staring at Stanley, terrified. Meanwhile, a little boy who was the spitting image of Michael had scrambled out of his seat, making a beeline for Stanley's tail, which he began pulling.

“Stop it, little Anthony,” Michael warned. His face lit up as he spotted Delilah. “Hey! Good to see you!”

“You, too,” said Delilah.

Michael commenced introductions. “This is my wife, Theresa, and my daughter, Dominica. The little guy who doesn't have his listening ears on tonight is my son, Anthony.” He leaned in to Theresa. “This is Jason Mitchell, the guy I told you about. And this is his girlfriend, Delilah. She's the one who snuck the dog in and out of Met Gar.”

Theresa smiled at Delilah in admiration. “You're a brave woman. It's nice to meet you.”

“You, too,” said Delilah. She decided to be bold, try some conversation. “I think—the last time Jason and I ate here—you were pregnant.”

“When was that?” Theresa asked.

“Sometime in the fall.”

“Then I was.”

“The baby is home with her grandma,” Michael explained, scooping up little Anthony. “Enough with the dog's tail.”

Dominica, meanwhile, had slid out of her seat and was standing by her mother's chair, chewing on her index finger. “You can pet him,
cara
,” Theresa urged. “He won't bite.” Dominica took a step toward Stanley, then abruptly changed her mind and rushed back to cling to her mother's leg. Theresa sighed, looking at Delilah as if to say, “Kids! What can you do?”