Hip Check (New York Blades) (24 page)

35

“Wow. That was . . .
uskomaton
.”

“I can guess what that means,” Michelle chuckled as Esa pulled back the quilt and slipped into bed beside her, drawing her near. The way he was smiling at her, so affectionately, as if it were the most natural thing in the world that they should be lying together like this, lulled her into a sense of safety. There was no way you could be held tightly by a man this strong and muscular and not feel safe. The soft light of the night table lamp cast shadows across his cheekbones and the high gloss of his hair. How could someone so unmistakably male be so beautiful at the same time? Not handsome, beautiful. Gorgeous. Hot. Michelle got the feeling there weren’t enough adjectives to describe him. Not only that, but if she kept thinking about it, her hunger for him was going to make an inconvenient reappearance.

Esa pulled back, kissing her shoulder. “I love having sex with you.” He paused. “And more,” he added awkwardly.

Michelle felt an odd swooping inside her. Was he professing love? That was impossible. Her mouth felt dry as she asked, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Spending time with you,” he managed. “And Nell. Just—things. Real things. Things, like I told you earlier, that scare me.”

Michelle cupped his cheek. “What scares you?”

“That I don’t know who I am. It’s never been who I am. It’s never been what I wanted.”

“Looks like Nell changed that.”

“Not just Nell,” he whispered with a languid kiss. When he finished he pulled back just enough that Michelle was able to see the anguished look on his face. “You’re going to have to help me. I don’t know how to do this.”

“Don’t you remember what I told you? Neither do I.”

“Yes, you did tell me that.” He looked determined. “I want to be the best there is.”

Michelle whistled low. “Okay, time out. Stop right there. This isn’t sports, Esa. You’re not competing to be ‘the best.’ Just be you.”

“I can compete against myself,” he pointed out. “To be the best boyfriend and uncle.”

“Please don’t. Just be you.”

Esa looked befuddled as he shrugged. “Okay.”

“In all your macho, arrogant wonder,” Michelle teased.

“And am I permitted to ask you to continue as
you
are?”

“Well, that depends,” Michelle returned nonchalantly. “If it’s complimentary, of course. If not, then keep it to yourself.”

“Mmm,” said Esa, running his thumb slowly over her bottom lip, “of course it’s complimentary. Keep loving Nell the way you do while still keeping her on—what’s the expression—‘the straight and narrow.’ Whatever it is you’re doing with her, you’re doing it right, Michelle.”

“It’s not just me,” Michelle said softly.

“No.” Esa refused to accept it. “It is. One day I’ll be there, but I’m not yet. Let’s not pretend.”

Michelle just nodded. She didn’t agree with him. She thought Esa was doing pretty well for someone whose original feelings were resentment and inconvenience. He wasn’t completely comfortable yet with Nell, but that wouldn’t happen until he felt at home with this new version of himself he claimed not to recognize. Michelle wasn’t going to get all schoolmarmy and push him. He’d figure it out. She hoped.

Esa yawned and stretched his arms above his head, then settled back down, Michelle cuddling in the crook of his arm. “So, Nell,” he said. “Am I sleeping in here tonight?”

“Sure,” Michelle said quietly. “I think this is where you should sleep every night. This is where she’s used to me being.” She paused.

“You can stay until six. Then you can go back into your room and I’ll wake Nell at six thirty.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to hit her with too many things at once, Esa.”

“All right,” he grumbled. “Do we tell her about us? She’ll be able to tell.”

“I can just mention it casually when I walk her to school in the morning. I’ll tell her the truth: that we’re dating.” She snuggled closer to him. “Or maybe I won’t even have to mention it. She’ll just see it for what it is, and it’ll be fine.”

“And if she comes to ask me any questions, I’ll send her to you.”

“Esa!”

“I was joking!”

“Half joking.”

“All right, half joking,” he admitted, kissing the top of her head. “To make things easier, I’ll just sleep in my own room tonight. We can figure out logistics after Nell knows.”

“Okay.”

Michelle felt a pang of regret as Esa climbed out of bed, slipping his jeans back on. So what if Nell’s alarm went off and she came into the room and he was there? But she couldn’t. Not yet, at least.

Michelle Beck and Esa Saari. She nearly succumbed to a barking laugh. Getting involved with someone like him was the most uncharacteristic thing she’d ever done in her life, and that wasn’t even taking into account that he was her boss.

“Good night, beautiful Michelle.” Esa leaned over, his mouth tenderly skimming hers before turning out the night table lamp. “I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Quite all right,” said Michelle, grinning. “Some things just can’t wait.”

36

“No hat on
your head, no chocolate kisses.”

Nell scowled at Henry, the doorman, but did as she was told, yanking her black beret down over her ears. It had become a tradition that when Nell left home for school, Henry, thin as a straw with a face like hewn rock, would give her a couple of chocolate kisses (“Real American candy”), and ask her about her previous school day. It was bitter cold, surprising for early December. Michelle was glad he made the chocolate contingent on the hat.

Henry nodded approvingly. “That’s what I like to see. You don’t want your ears falling off from the cold.”

Nell rolled her eyes. “Your ears can’t fall off from the cold, Henry, unless you get frostbite.” Her eyes lit up. “And when that happens they turn all black! It’s soooo gross!”

Henry looked appropriately horrified. “It sounds it.”

“It
is
.” Nell looked gleeful. “Sometimes they have to amputate!”

“I’d rather have them fall off.”

“Me, too.”

Henry regarded Michelle warmly. “How are things with you?”

“Great.”
I’m sleeping with Esa, who I know you hate, because you think he’s a lousy tipper at Christmas.
“You?”

Henry grinned, giving Michelle the thumbs-up. “Couldn’t be better.” He’d obviously resolved a few thorny issues with his girlfriend.

“That’s what we want to hear.” Michelle fastened the top button of her peacoat, turning up the collar before slipping her gloves on. “All right, Henry, we’re off.”

“Have a good day, ladies.”

“Bye, Henry.” Nell pushed through the front door.

“She seems good these days,” Henry noted to Michelle when Nell moved out of hearing range. “Chipper. Seems to have adjusted.”

Michelle smiled proudly. “She’s doing really well.”

“Thanks to you.”

“Her uncle, too. He’s doing his best.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he is,” Henry agreed reluctantly. “I can’t imagine what it must be like to have no responsibilities and then BAM! Here’s this kid on your doorstop—a girl, no less.”

“Exactly,” Michelle murmured with a polite smile. “Have a good day, Henry.”

She and Nell began the walk to school. Nell’s expression was unmistakably cross.

“Okay, you’ve got my attention,” Michelle said lightly. “What’s wrong?”

“How come I have to wear a hat when it’s cold and you don’t?”

Michelle whipped out her own beret from her coat pocket. “Foiled.”

Nell’s shoulders sank.

“I don’t see why you don’t like your beret. I see lots of girls at your school wearing them.”

“I just don’t like hats!” Nell kicked at a small crumpled napkin some litterer had left on the sidewalk. “My mum hated them, too. She never made me wear one. Ever.”

“Well, I am, so deal with it.”

“You’re so mean sometimes, Michelle!”

“I know,” Michelle teased. “Very mean. The meanest.”

Nell blew out a puff of frustration, but she didn’t reply. Michelle knew just the way to turn her mood around.

“I’ve got some great news. I think you’ll really like it.”

“Is it about a new computer?” Nell asked eagerly.

“Nell, you don’t need a new computer! We’ve been over this.”

“Is it about getting an iPad?”

Michelle couldn’t hide her shock.
“What?”

“Everyone in my school has one,” Nell insisted. “Except me.”

Michelle frowned dubiously, pulling her coat collar even closer to her neck to ward off the unseasonably cold breeze flowing up the avenue. “I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!”

“Well, an iPad is something you need to talk to your Uncle about. Maybe as a Christmas present. C’mon,” Michelle urged, surprised by how eager she was for Nell to guess the surprise. “I know you can get it. I’ll give you a hint: it’s something you’ve asked about a few times. Something you’ve dreamed about.”

“Hhmm,” said Nell, tapping her lips thoughtfully. Suddenly she gasped. “Are you and Uncle Esa getting married?”

“What? God, no!”

Nell’s face fell, leaving Michelle cursing herself for the vehemence of her knee-jerk reaction. “That’s something people do when they’ve been together for a really long time, but I still think what I have to say will make you happy,” Michelle said, backpedaling. “The news I wanted to tell you was that your uncle and I are seeing each other.”

“Like he’s your boyfriend now?”

“Yes.”

Nell was practically skipping down the road. “Does this mean we’re a family now?”

Michelle hated putting a dent in her joy, but felt she had to before Nell started to let her imagination run away with her. “Not exactly. Your uncle is your uncle and I’m your nanny.”

“But I can pretend! And then when you do get married we’ll be a proper family!”

Michelle smiled weakly. “Right.”

She could go round and round with Nell: We’re not going to get married. But you might. That’s not likely, honey. But you don’t know. Round and round, and there would be no point to it, except to diminish Nell’s happiness. Just let her have it for now, Michelle told herself. There would be time enough later to adjust explanations depending on how things played out.

“I didn’t want to go to school today, but now I do!” Nell declared.

“I know you’re not a fan of Mondays.”

“But this is a special one! Will Uncle Esa be home when I get back from school?”

“Actually, sweetie, he won’t. He has a game tonight.”

“Oh well.” Nell looked disappointed for a moment, but it didn’t last long. “I feel really, really happy! Do you feel happy?”

Warmth zipped through Michelle’s body. “I do, sweetie. I really do.”

* * *

San Jose was
getting to every loose puck, winning every battle. At first, Esa thought it was just him, that he was having an off night. But as Coach Dante rolled the lines and the defense pairings changed, it became obvious everyone was out of sync. They were getting outskated, outhit, and outhustled. Every pass they made was just a little off, either out of reach or forcing the recipient to break stride, slow down, and lose all momentum. They had no puck possession time, repeatedly being whistled for offsides or icing. It was only thanks to a couple of posts that they got out of the first period only down by two goals.

In the locker room Coach Dante played cheerleader, telling them they’d weathered the storm and were ready to get back in the game. He took to the white board, which he rarely ever used, to sketch out what San Jose was doing to throw off their break outs. He circled the locker room, patting players on the shoulder, or tousling their hair, telling them all that it didn’t matter how you started; it mattered how you finished. Esa could feel some energy and enthusiasm bubble up in the team. Rory started singing some unintelligible Gaelic war song and the rest of them laughed. Clearly everyone felt like they’d get things back on track. They took to the ice for the second period, convinced they’d be able to come back and take charge.

They were wrong. Only two minutes into the period, Eric misplayed a San Jose dump in, resulting in a turnover. To keep it from turning into a scoring chance, he pulled down the San Jose winger who had broken toward the slot. Coach Dante encouraged Esa and Rory, who he sent out to kill the penalty, to turn it around. They almost did. Esa won a battle along the half boards and got behind a pinching defenseman. Racing up the left wing with the puck, he had two steps on the other San Jose point man. Rory flew up the right wing, turning it into a two on one. When Esa got to the top of the circles, he snapped a wrister that beat the San Jose netminder . . . and clanged off the crossbar. The puck rebounded past Rory and was scooped up by a back-checking San Jose winger. With both Esa and Rory trapped, San Jose came up ice on what turned into a four on two. A slap shot was redirected by a winger and found the back of the Blades net. Just like that they went from almost getting back into it to being down by three. The building and the team deflated. They played the rest of the second period as if skating in mud. The only reason they didn’t give up any more goals was that they were so boring they probably put the San Jose players to sleep.

In the locker room after the second period, Coach Dante the cheerleader was gone, replaced by Coach Dante the psychopath. Screaming at them all for their lack of focus, their lack of passion, their lack of brains, and their lack of balls, he reamed them all out both individually and collectively. They sat in silence as their beloved coach, known for his unfailing effort when he himself was a player, told them they weren’t fit to wear the Blades sweater. He ended by telling them to go out and try to recover from how they’d embarrassed themselves.

They did play better in the third. Ulfie threw a bone-crunching open-ice check that got the crowd back in the game and gave some life to the bench. Eric Mitchell partially atoned for his earlier giveaways by making a nice pass to his brother, who cut to the side of the net. Jason put away a one-timer to finally get the Blades on the board, making it three to one. But San Jose was content to dump the puck in and sit back and play the trap. When San Jose got a delay of game penalty with three minutes left, Coach Dante pulled the goalie and, desperate for more offense, put Esa on the point for the six-on-four power play. With time running out, Esa one timed a slapper which was blocked by a San Jose forward. The puck headed toward center ice, where it was gathered in by another San Jose player who, once he crossed the red line, nonchalantly shot the puck into the empty Blades net. The remaining minute went quickly, with most of the action being in the stands, as the few remaining Blades faithful filed out of Met Gar.

* * *

“I’d say let’s
get shit faced, but I don’t think it would make us feel any better.”

The glum truth of Eric Mitchell’s statement barely elicited grunts of agreement from Esa and his teammates. The game against San Jose was over and they were at the Wild Hart. Esa hoped the warm pub atmosphere—the taste of the Guinness, the comforting sight of the regulars on their bar stools, the jukebox that hadn’t been updated in at least thirty years—might offer some comfort. He was wrong. If he and his teammates had been smart they’d have just gone home. But stupidly, almost like robots who were programmed and couldn’t do anything else, they’d gone to the traditional watering hole. The regular patrons at the Hart left the Blades alone, win or lose. But tonight there were a few Blades fans who’d decided they needed to convey their dismay on a more personal level, and had made the trip uptown to the Hart.

They were respectful, up to the point. What pissed Esa off was the way they recited a laundry list of what the team had done wrong, followed by descriptions of the plays they should have made. Sometimes it felt like every fan in New York thought he should be a commentator on
Hockey Night in Canada
alongside Don Cherry. The Blades thanked their critics through gritted teeth. Once the rabid fans realized they weren’t going to get anything other than robotic responses from the players, they left.

“We have to have at least one round,” Ulf announced, breaking the silence.

“He’s right,” said Rory. “We can’t park our arses here and just boo-hoo without ordering something. Especially since—”

“‘The owner’s my wife’s uncle,’” the Mitchell twins recited in unison.

“Fuck off,” said Rory. “It’s true. I can’t afford to look bad.”

“I don’t know, you looked pretty bad on the ice tonight if you ask me,” said Eric.

Rory’s entire body sank with wariness. “Don’t start, Mitchell. We all sucked. We’re all culpable for what happened, yourself included. So allow me to repeat myself: fuck off.”

Rory’s uncle-in-law swung by the table, his expression grim. “Drinks are on the house.”

“You don’t have to do that,” said Eric.

“No, I don’t,” Joe O’Brien agreed dryly. “But it’s clear as day you fellas are hurtin’, so just accept it as an old man’s gesture to try to cheer you a bit.”

“You’re not old, Mr. O.,” said Jason.

“People who lie go to hell, Jason Mitchell. You just remember that.” Joe looked around the table. “You boys want any food?”

“Only if that’s on the house, too,” Rory joked.