Cold as Ice (9 page)

C
arla gets to the rink before the practice starts. She had sent the PR department a request for an interview with Steve, but he hadn't gotten back to her, so with two coffees in hand and a paper bag loaded with cream and sugar hanging off her fingers, she decides to play nice to get Steve talking to her.

“Where are we supposed to meet?” Gary asks, following behind her as she searches for the coach.

“Uh, here, somewhere,” she says, glancing every which way.

“He's not expecting you, is he?”

“Why do you think that?” she asks, turning around to face him.

“You're usually more organized.”

“This spot looks good for the interview with Devin,” she says.

“Does he know we're interviewing him?”

“As far as I know, unless he's changed his mind. He did promise,” Carla says.

“If he stands you up this time, I'd give up on him. He's not worth your time.”

“Steve!” Carla calls when she spots him moseying along the outside rink in skates and a team jacket.

He makes eye contact. Carla hustles toward him with a raised cup in her hand.

“Hi!” she says, clearing her throat. “I'm Carla Sinclair from Channel Five.”

“Yes, we've met before. A few times.”

“Right. Well, I brought you a cup of coffee.”

“You're not trying to poison me before practice, are you? Or get me to say something I shouldn't?”

Carla shakes her head and laughs.

“I'm kidding.” He takes the cup. “Thanks. I suppose you want something from me.”

“Answer a couple of questions.”

“Question period is after the game. We have one tomorrow night.”

“Yeah, but there are always so many people. I'm talking to Miller after practice; thought I'd talk to you first, just five minutes,” she says, holding up a hand.

“Two questions?” he asks, eyeing her.

“Four.”

“Two. I have to get on the ice.”

“Okay,” she says, giving in. “Two.”

“Shoot.” He blows steam from his cup and takes a sip.

Carla takes out her pad and flips to the questions that are most important. Gary gives her a microphone and tells Steve to sidestep so that the plexiglass is behind him. Players trickle onto the ice and Carla takes her position. She counts down and gives Steve a nod of reassurance. “We're close to play-offs,” she says. “What is the team focusing on to ensure a good run?”

“We have a good team. It's that simple,” Steve says with a half smirk. “We acquired Devin Miller and Jared Landry, two outstanding players who have made a difference for our team.”

“Come on,” Carla taunts. “Why do you think they've made an impact? The team was doing fine without them.”

“Really? Stats don't lie.” Steve puts a hand on his hip.

“Couldn't it have happened without paying a big price tag?”

“And get what we have? Not at all,” he says. “Miller has exceptional intuition. When the puck's coming his way, he gets control of the play. And Landry, he's been scoring almost every game. They're great additions.”

“If you're so confident of Landry's scoring, why don't you use him for shoot-outs?”

“Some players do better in a game,” he says and pauses. “Now that's four questions. I have a practice to run.” He steps past her. “Thanks for the coffee.”

Carla wanders over to the boards, watching the players filter onto the ice one by one. Carla spots Devin stepping onto the ice with his white helmet in hand and then scooping it onto his head, not bothering to snap on the chin strap. She watches him skate a lap and then carry a puck to one corner of the ice, stopping to chat with another player. Their group is getting bigger and Steve makes his way to them, talking and telling them what to do.

Devin stays in his place with the other defensemen while the others split up into groups and begin their drills.

“Do you want me to get some shots of this?” Gary asks, adjusting his camera.

“That would be great.” She doesn't bother to look at him, staring through the plexiglass at the guy whose lips she would love to taste. She takes a deep breath and exhales, causing the glass to steam up. She can't have him. She
shouldn't
want him. He's not good for her. He travels all the time, doesn't seem to want to be a husband, not like she's looking for one right now. She pouts. Carla had that chance with Timothy; who's going to want her now? She doesn't even know if she can have children. It kills her to think about it.

Carla watches Devin skate around the ice. As he passes the corner where she's standing, he catches a glimpse of her and smiles.

Her toes arch in her pumps. A tingle runs through her body. He skates by again and smiles again. She smiles back, trying to keep her lips closed, but she feels all goofy and immature. Her insides turn. She can't have him, she reminds herself.
Get over it! Nothing will become of it.

After practice, Carla waits for Devin by the bench. Players walk off the ice, saying hello to her as they pass by. She is oblivious to the men walking by. She has no interest in any of them right now, except for Devin.

“Hi!” he says, catching her attention.

She looks up at him with a cheery grin and puts her hands in her coat pockets.

“Where do you want me?” he asks.

“I have a spot over here, away from the crowd.”

“Not as crowded as our last practice. There were people standing all around the rink, and the stands were pretty much full.”

“How do you like playing in Vancouver?” she asks, leading him around the corner where two chairs await them.

“So far so good.” He stops at a chair. “Is this my spot?” Devin asks, helmetless, standing tall in his white practice jersey, leaning on his hockey stick and sweating profusely.

Carla hands him a fresh towel with the station's logo on it. It's amazing what she can stash in her purse. She doesn't want to carry two separate bags, one holding a hand recorder, notes and pens.

“Right here,” Carla says, pointing with her notebook and taking a seat. Devin dries his face and neck, keeping it in his hand while Gary takes his stick and leans it up against the wall beside him.

Carla sits up straighter, making sure her skirt is covering her thighs and that her blouse isn't revealing any skin. She adjusts her two necklaces and combs her fingers through her hair to fluff it up. “Thanks for doing the interview.”

Devin sits in the chair beside her. “As long as you play fair, I'm all yours.”

Carla freezes, digesting his comment. “I do play fair.”

Devin gives her a smirk. He sits down, legs spread apart, his hands between them against the chair.

Carla hands him a water bottle.

“Thanks.” Devin unscrews the top and drinks half of it.

“How was practice?” she asks, watching him move the bottle away from his wet lips. His face is clean shaven, and the sweat runs down his face to his chin.

“Are we starting already?”

“No, just warming up.”

“I'm good to go,” he presses. “Practice was good.”

Carla nods at Gary, who's playing around with the lights. He steps behind the camera and counts down, holding up his index finger until he's ready, and then flags his hand to indicate that he's taping.

Carla looks into the camera with her hand on the microphone. “The Warriors are back from a week-long road trip, finishing with two wins and two losses. Coach Steve Morrow says they needed to tighten up on defense. I have Devin Miller with me.” Carla turns her legs slightly.

“Devin, obviously you're not the only defenseman responsible for how the team played. What do you think was lacking in your team's performance?”

“Well, I don't think anything was lacking. I think we just needed to score goals. That's what wins games.”

“I noticed that practice went a little smoother than the last time; is that because you're gelling as a team?”

Devin smirks. “Anytime you throw in a player with a developed team, it's going to take a bit to get used to.” He shrugs a padded shoulder and takes a sip from his water bottle.

“There's good indication that your team will make the play-offs. How prepared are you?”

“I'm as prepared as the rest of my team. It's a mental game. Right now, we're focusing on each practice and game. When the play-offs happen, then we'll concentrate on what we need to do to win,” he says, making eye contact before looking at the camera and then at his almost empty water bottle.

“You came here with thirty-three points and you're already at thirty-seven points.”

“You sound surprised,” he says.

“I am! Do you think being traded is what's helped you refocus your game?”

He laughs. “No, I think getting chances with the puck has helped.”

“I want to switch gears and talk about growing up.” Carla pauses, looking down at her notes and then at Devin, who swallows hard. He plays with the bottle, putting the lid on and then taking it off, and repeating it.

“Your mom,” Carla continues, “has been an inspiration to you. How so?”

“She's always been there for me, even when hockey wasn't a popular sport. I loved the game then as much as I do now, and she helped me achieve my goals. She was a single mom and made sure that I played hockey. She didn't have to. It was a sacrifice, but we made it.”

Carla watches Devin take his last sip and tighten the lid on the empty bottle. A question about Keith is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't bring herself to ask about him.

“Who influenced you to play hockey?”

He shakes his head. “I love the game. . . .” He pauses. His mouth moves sideways. “I learned to skate early on. There was a rink advertising they needed players. My mom thought it would be good for me to join.” Devin fiddles with the bottle.

“Did you have a male influence for playing hockey?”

He shakes his head. “Family.” He presses his lips together.

“Not an uncle? Your dad?”

She watches Devin shake the empty bottle in his hands like he's drumming a beat. Has she made Devin uncomfortable?

Devin shakes his head slowly, avoiding her gaze.

Carla ends the interview with a quick sign-off.

“What the hell was that?” he asks, throwing the empty water bottle down.

She watches him stand, taller in skates, over six foot two inches.

“What?” Her eyes widen with worry.

“What's the fascination with my personal life?”

“I don't really care.”

“Sounds like you do, or you wouldn't have asked.”

“Sorry.” She lifts a shoulder. “It's easier for fans to connect when they know more about a player.”

“Nobody needs to know my business. I'm here to play hockey.”

She nods to agree, even though it would be better if he was more relaxed.

His face softens and he musters a grin. “Okay?” he says, all friendly, and then walks off, taking long steps toward the dressing room.

Carla observes him with a twist of her lips. “What just happened?” she asks Gary.

Gary flicks off the lights and walks with a hunch, picking up the black cord as he moves toward the outlet to unplug it. “I guess the guy doesn't want to talk about his private life.”

“No way!” She hands him her microphone. “One reporter asked him about his relationship with some girl he was seeing and he was happy to tell her that the relationship was going well.”

Gary shrugs and carries on with his cleanup while Carla scrolls her cell phone, checking for messages. She helps pack up by making a pile of stuff to take to the station vehicle. She makes a couple of trips, carrying out the small cooler of water, a bag of extra cords and her microphone.

“Carla! Wait!”

She turns around to face Devin, showered and dressed in a suit and tie. How did he get ready so fast? His hair is still damp and she can smell his shampoo.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you,” he says, walking toward her in shiny black leather shoes. He stops, puffs out his chest. “It's just that I want to focus on hockey and not my past, you know?”

He's incredibly hot, Carla thinks, looking past him to see who is around them. The hall is crowded with people and players are walking every which way. “We all have a past,” she says, choosing her words carefully. “But fair enough.” Her eyes wander past him and she spots his coach giving him a quick nod as he passes.

“Now that you have your interview, when are you free to take me out on the town?”

Carla looks at the dirty mat beneath their feet, avoiding Gary, who is unraveling cords and looking her way every few seconds. “Oh.”

“That was the deal.”

“Okay. Remember the night at Buckley's? What do you want to see?” she asks.

“Your city.” He laughs. “I'm dying to see it. I've heard about the big ball.”

She laughs. “Science World.”

“Okay. And Gastown, is it?”

Her face flushes. “Anything specific?”

“You know, the landmarks.”

She stares at him, blinking.

“Look, you need to get to know me; then you might change your mind about me.”

What did he want her to think about him? “I'm not sure about that.”

“Come on.”

“Even if the fans don't like you, you're playing on their team. What does it matter, anyway? It's hockey; you're not being adopted into a family.”