Out of the Game3 (20 page)

Yeah. Not a conversation he relished having. She was right. Getting married was a big decision, not to be made lightly, and obviously he wasn’t ready either, but at least he was on record for trying to do the right thing.

Chapter Thirty-Two

For the next month, Claire felt like a plane circling the airport in a holding pattern. The pregnancy was going smoothly. She felt wonderful, but tired. She hadn’t experienced any morning sickness to speak of. Nothing more than mild queasiness when she smelled hamburgers cooking. That had been a fear. Nausea was one of her least favorite things.

Professionally, she and Jeremy had agreed to do another auction next season for the Rangers, but turned the Toronto Maple Leafs down. The baby would be her main priority by then and she couldn’t commit to three events. Perhaps in a year or two, but not next season.

Today, she was meeting Erin for lunch at a new café on Paseo Loco. The owner/chef was currently in the hospital with a serious case of pneumonia, and Erin wanted to support her friend’s business.

The café, Cups, was adorable. The color scheme of lime green and black was hip and trendy. There was art for sale on the walls, and it was nice stuff. They arrived around two, so the lunch rush had died down. Claire liked the menu too—an assortment of soups and lettuce cups, something she’d only encountered in Asian restaurants, and usually only one flavor. Cups had five to choose from and all of them sounded delicious.

When the food came, the young woman who delivered it greeted Erin warmly.

“Claire, this is Savannah. Savannah, this is my sister, Claire. Savannah is the new manager here. Calder—you know, Hart’s brother—flew her in from New York to take over when Becca got sick.”

“How
is
Becca?” Savannah asked Erin.

“She’s getting better and better and a lot of it is because she’s not worrying as much about the restaurant. So whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”

“Speaking of which, I’d better get back to work. Nice to meet you, Claire. I hope you’ll come in again.”

Savannah had only just left when Erin laid her hands on the table and leaned forward. “When are you due?”

Claire blinked, confused at first, then she realized with a sinking feeling that Erin had figured out she was pregnant. Trying not to look too shamefaced, she asked, “How did you know?”

“When I bumped you in line, it wasn’t that hard a bump, but you reacted like I’d punched you in the boob. That made me suspicious, but you just confirmed it.”

Claire winced. She should have pretended she didn’t know what her sister was talking about. Too late now.

“Is it Alex’s?”

“Of course it’s Alex’s.”

They stared at each other for a long moment. Eventually, Erin’s face fell. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her sister’s voice sounded small.

Claire sighed. She loved her sister, but sometimes she could get preachy and Claire could imagine what she, as a nurse, might have to say on the subject of unexpected pregnancy. In her mind’s eye she saw the tilt of Erin’s head, indicating Claire should have known better or made wiser choices in men and in birth control. Even worse, Erin had warned Claire about getting involved with Alex way back in July and the well-earned “I told you so” would be the elephant in the room.

“I was afraid of what you’d say.” That was the truth, just not the whole truth.

“Really?” She seemed genuinely angry, but then her expression softened. She stirred her chicken noodle soup thoughtfully. “Okay. I can see that. You didn’t want a lecture.”

“No. No one ever does.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to have it.”

“I assumed that. What about Alex?”

“He’s being very supportive. He’s actually excited about the baby and he asked me to marry him.”

Erin’s mouth dropped open. “Really? That surprises me.”

“I told you, he’s a good man. But I told him the divorce was still too fresh and I needed some time. There’s no way I’m jumping right into another marriage, even if I’m pregnant.”

“Do...do you love him?”

Slowly, Claire nodded her head. “I do. I really do, but even though he says he loves me...” This time she shook her head. “I don’t quite believe it. I think maybe
he
believes he does, but I just don’t know for sure.” She looked up. “How do you know? How did
you
know it was real with Tim?”

Erin put her spoon down. “I’m not sure. Something in his eyes when he told me? Or his voice? He just seemed so sure about it.”

Claire gave a small laugh. “Well, that is definitely not how Alex said it. But he’s committed to this, us, right now. He’s actually been wonderful.”

“You know what? I’m so glad to hear that. I really thought he was a lost cause, that he’d be a boy-man forever, but maybe he just needed the right motivation.”

They shared a moment of sisterly love and then Erin giggled. “You realize what this means, don’t you? We’re having babies together! How great is that?”

Claire smiled. “It’s terrific. Honestly. I’m so glad.”

“Oh my God, let’s go shopping after lunch. Are you going to find out the sex? Do you plan on breastfeeding? If you don’t have an OB yet, let me know. I can definitely make some recommendations.”

While sad their parents weren’t alive to see their grandchildren, Claire sent up a silent prayer of thanks that at least she had her sister. This wasn’t how she’d always imagined motherhood would be, but everything was going to be all right. Her baby was going to be surrounded with love no matter what ended up happening with Alex.

* * *

That night a couple of hours before the game, Alex was in the player’s lounge, nibbling on almonds, studying the scouting notes from the morning skate. This season, the team had provided each player with a tablet programmed with an app called Team Up. It was still in its infancy, but a San Diego software designer asked the team to try it on for size. So far, so good. It was pretty easy to use.

“Hey, I was looking for you.” Tim sat down next to him. “Erin and Claire had lunch together at Cups today.”

“Yeah? I knew she had something going on with Erin this afternoon. I forgot what it was, though.”

“Seems you and me have something in common.”

Something in Tim’s tone made Alex look up from his tablet.

“Dude. Did you learn nothing from what happened with me and Waverly?”

Fuck. Tim knew Claire was pregnant.

“Tim, we were using protection. It failed. And keep your fucking voice down.”

“What are you going to do?”

Alex shook his head. “Play the game tonight. Go home. Hopefully get laid.”

“Stop being an asshole. You know what I mean.”

Alex turned the tablet off. “Keep going the way I’m going. Look, I’ve asked her if she wanted to elope, she said no. Coming out of a bad marriage, she’s scared. And to tell the truth, I’m relieved she doesn’t want to get married.”

“Do you love each other?”

Alex stood abruptly. “Let’s go to the training room. I’ve got to burn off some nervous energy.”

The training room was empty except for Fischer who was riding one of the bikes.

“Hey, Fishy,” Alex said, “Tim and I need some privacy.”

“Sure, Sully. I was pretty much done anyway.”

Fischer left. Alex turned on some music then picked up two dumbbells and started doing curls. “So, here’s the deal. I told her I love her, and I’m...eighty-five percent sure I was telling the truth. I mean, she’s...” He paused and let his arms go slack. “She’s different. And she’s out of my league. So far out, it’s ridiculous.”

“But you guys look happy together.”

“Yeah, we are. It’s weird how easy it’s been. We just complement each other and she doesn’t try to change me, because Lord knows I can’t be changed. But...marriage...” He started pumping again, this time working his triceps. “The trouble with marriage is that it’s so limiting.”

Tim sat on a weight bench and laughed.

“I’m serious, Tim. It’s been easy to stay monogamous so far. I just haven’t been interested in any other women. But that’s not something I’ve been doing on purpose, you know what I mean? What if someday, I
do
get a hard-on for someone? What then?”

“You don’t act on it.”

Alex scoffed. “But what if I can’t help it? What I do something stupid and ruin everything? What if I break her heart like her ex did?”

“Alex, you just don’t. You have to make a conscious decision—a
commitment
—not to cheat, no matter what.”

Alex shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I don’t know if I’m capable.” He glanced at Tim. “What do you think? Do you think I can do it?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think. This is something you have to decide and do for yourself. Ask yourself this question, is Claire worth it? If some hot chick walked in here, stripped naked and asked you to fuck her, would it be worth it if it meant losing Claire?”

“No.” Alex shook his head.

“What if that happened two days in a row?”

“No.”

“How about every single fucking day? What then? Because you know as well as I do that’s what it might come down to.”

Alex shoved the dumbbells back into the rack in exasperation. “Fuck. I don’t know! No one can know how they’ll react for the rest of their life.”

“That’s the thing, though.” Tim said solemnly. “It’s
not
a reaction, Alex. It’s a choice.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Alex and Tim were leaning against the wall of the corridor outside the Barracuda dressing room where their teammates were warming up with some soccer. It was one hour before Game Seven in the last round of the Stanley Cup Western Conference Semifinals
.
Although the players looked loose and relaxed, excitement crackled in the air. It was do-or-die tonight. Either the Kings were moving forward to play for the Cup or the Barracudas were. It all came down to one game. Fucking Game Seven.

Tim’s phone rang. The game stopped as he looked at the screen immediately. “It’s Erin.”

“Thar she blows!” someone exclaimed.

“This is awesome. I’m down for today,” Mac said. Other voices chimed in.

A large poster had been hanging in the player’s lounge for the past five months. On it was a grid with a list of names down the left side and several categories across the top, categories like “date of arrival,” “length of labor,” “height,” “weight,” and even “number of times Erin curses Tim.” If Erin was in fact having the baby now, someone stood to win a few thousand dollars.

As Tim answered the call, a hush fell over the corridor.

“Hey.” Pause.

Alex watched Tim carefully. He was hoping this wasn’t “it.” He had predicted the due date was tomorrow.

Tim smiled. “Okay, I will. I love you too.” As he slipped the phone in his pocket, he said, “Stand down, boys. She was just calling to wish us luck.”

Claire was about to leave for the game when Erin called.

“Sis, it’s time.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Need I remind you I’m a labor-and-delivery nurse? Yes I’m sure.”

Claire laughed nervously. “Right. Stupid question. I’m on my way.” She grabbed her keys and her purse and headed for the elevator. “Did you call Tim?”

“Just to wish him good luck.”

“So you’re really going to let him miss the birth of his child?” The elevator arrived and she stepped inside and jabbed at the P button several times.

“Yes, I am. It’s Game Seven of the Stanley Cup Semifinals. His entire team is counting on him. If he’s not there, one hundred percent, mentally and physically, they could lose. Do you think I want that on my conscience?”

“Erin, it wouldn’t be your fault. You can’t choose when to have your baby.”

“It doesn’t matter. I would love for him to be with me, believe me. That’s how I always imagined it, sharing that special moment with my husband, but then again, I never expected to marry a professional hockey player. Basically, the baby will be born whether Tim’s there or not, but if he misses the game or plays badly because he’s thinking about me and the baby...”

“Okay, I get you. You’re taking one for the team,” Claire said as the elevator arrived at the parking level.

“That’s exactly right.”

* * *

Claire wished she could have a glass of wine to calm her nerves, but sitting in one of the labor-and-delivery rooms of the Good Samaritan Hospital and five months along herself, that wasn’t an option.

Erin lay on the bed, a cup of ice chips on the rolling tray table within reaching distance. The anesthesiologist had just left after administering the epidural, and Erin assured her that from now on, it would be a breeze. Like magic, Erin’s pain disappeared and Claire knew she would be ordering one of those for herself when the time came.

On the television was, of course, the game. They had the door closed because she and Erin tended to yell at odd moments and they didn’t want to disturb the mommies who might be resting. Even so, there was a wailer a couple of doors down who apparently didn’t deal with pain well. That or she did
not
request an epidural.

Occasionally, a nurse would enter to check on Erin’s progress. Halfway into the third and final period of the game, they announced she was in transition.

“Damn it,” Erin said, muting the TV, but not turning it off.

As the doctor and nurse entered, masked and gloved, Erin worked the controls on the bed to a steeper incline. Claire stood and pushed her chair toward the wall at the nurse’s urging.

“What’s transition?” Claire asked Erin. “What does that mean?”

Erin popped an ice chip into her mouth and smiled. “It means, my dear sister, it’s show time.”

* * *

At the Mesa Arena, the Barracudas trailed by two. Neither team had scored for more than twenty minutes. The third period was half over and if they didn’t turn things around soon, Alex and his teammates were going to be hitting the golf courses tomorrow.

No one on the Barracuda bench was ready to give up. Alex knew every single one of them would dig deeper and find the energy, find the focus and leave everything they had on the ice. It came down to concentrating on the next shift and winning it. Ten minutes was plenty of time to flip the game. Theoretically, they could score two goals in as many minutes, but the Kings defense was on high alert now. They knew all they had to do was hold fast and keep the puck out of their zone. Sure, an insurance goal would be ideal, but not essential.

“Come on, boys. Let’s get a fucking goal!” someone called from down on the defensive side of the bench, probably Dev.

Alex felt the tap on his back indicating the coach wanted him to spell Fischer. Jason and Joe Rutherford would be going out with him.

Jason barked, “Fordy, you cover 12. Stick to him like glue. Sully, when we get into their zone, get open near the half boards and I’ll—”

Alex didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. Out of the corner of his eye he saw teammates to the right of him reacting but when he turned his head, it was already too late. The puck struck him high on his right cheekbone. Pain exploded and he fell backward against someone behind him. He couldn’t see after that; his vision went black for a moment then came back blurry. People were shouting, grabbing him by the arms. He couldn’t focus. He struggled to sit up but the pain made him nauseous.

One of the trainers bent down. “Alex, talk to me.”

“I can’t
see
.” Alex’s eyes were open. He blinked hard but everything was fucked up—lights and shadows but nothing distinct, and he could barely speak through the pain.

People were helping him to his feet. Another wave of dizziness rolled through him as he saw blood on the front of his jersey, black against the navy blue. Someone pressed a towel to his eye, as he threw up then blacked out.

* * *

When he came to, he was on his back in a bed. He could only see out of his left eye because the right side of his face was two inches thick with bandages. He was hooked up to a hundred machines, monitors and an IV drip.

“Alex!”

Claire rushed to his side. Her face taut with worry, she took his hand and squeezed it.

“Hey, Cream Puff.” He looked at the wall clock—5:00 a.m.

“How do you feel?”

He felt stupidly groggy like he always did when he was on painkillers. “I’ve been better. Did we win?”

“You know, I didn’t believe them when they told me that was the first thing you’d ask.”

“Did we?”

“Yes. The Barracudas are going to be playing for the Cup.”

His mood suddenly improved a zillion percent. “That almost makes it worth getting hurt.”

He touched the bandages gingerly. He couldn’t feel anything but a dull ache. There must be some Grade A shit in that IV. He knew something was wrong with his eye and even though he remembered his vision being fucked up just before he lost consciousness, he thought he’d be all right.

He’d blacked out a couple of times before. Once from being boarded. Another time from a bad collision in the corner. He hadn’t gone to the hospital after those times, but while this appeared to be serious enough to check him in, he didn’t anticipate a long stay. Guys got puck struck every night.

“So what happened after they took me away? Who scored?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t watch. I was too worried about you. I’m still worried. Do you want some water?” She poured a cup and handed it to him.

“Everything’s going to be fine. You shouldn’t worry.” He drank a couple of swigs. “Phlegmy makes sure we have the best doctors available. A few days of rest and I’ll be back out there playing for the motherfucking Stanley Cup.” He sighed. “With a face shield, I guess.”

“You
guess
?” Her voice was low, but shrill. “Why weren’t you wearing one tonight? This is the type of thing those visors guard against, isn’t it?”

“Look, visors make it hard to see—”

“So does a crushed eyeball!”

“—and the CBA says I don’t have to wear one if I don’t want to.”

Exasperated, she pulled her hand from his grasp. “You do realize how childish you sound right now, right?”

“Claire, calm down. It’s not good for the baby.” He didn’t know if that was true or not, but it sounded good. “I’m telling you, everything’s going to be fine. We hockey players are tough. In fact, we’re almost indestructible. We get hit? We get back up. We get injured? We go back out and play through it. You’ve seen it and you know me. When have you ever known me to get down about something?”

She frowned.

“Never, right? Or if I have, not for long. That’s what makes me a great hockey player—the ability to shrug stuff off—like lost games or slumps or what have you. I’ve also always been a fast healer. Not as fast as Wolverine, but faster than most. Now, what did the doctors say?”

Her angry frown slowly got replaced by her concerned frown and he relaxed a little.

“They won’t tell me anything. I’m not a relative.”

“What about Erin? She can get the low-down on my diagnosis.”

“Erin’s resting right now,” Tim said, entering the room. He glanced behind him furtively.

“Tim! Buddy! What the hell are you...?” Then all the pieces came together. “Fuck me. She had the baby, didn’t she?”

“It’s a boy,” Tim said with a small smile.

“Dude! Congratulations!” They high-fived and Alex noticed the force of Tim’s slap was weak. Asshole was treating him like an invalid, which technically he was, but that didn’t mean everyone had to act like it.

“How is he? How’s Erin?”

“Erin is in the doghouse.”

“What?”

Tim glanced at Claire, who looked guilty. “And you’re sitting right outside,” he said to her.

“I don’t understand,” Alex said.

Tim went on to explain how Erin had gone and had the baby while Tim was playing the Kings. “So, she went into labor and didn’t bother to inform me. Me, the father of her child. Jesus Christ.”

“She didn’t want you to play badly,” Claire said in her sister’s defense. “She knows how much the Cup means to you and the team.”

Alex could actually see Erin’s point. In one of the
Star Trek
movies—the original Khan one, he thought—Spock said something about the needs of the many outweighing the needs of the few, meaning his imminent death was worth it if it meant millions could survive. Sure, the Stanley Cup Conference Semifinals weren’t a matter of life or death, but the idea was the same.

“Plus, you won,” Claire said. “You even scored one goal and two assists. Do you think that would have happened if you were thinking about Erin in labor? I don’t think so. And what if you hadn’t been there at all? Do you think the Barracudas would be going to the Final?”

Tim scowled. “But what kind of father isn’t there for the birth of his own son?”

“Soldiers,” Claire said. “They miss births all the time, but that doesn’t make them bad fathers. It’s what you do from now on that’s important, Tim. One moment—that the baby won’t even remember—does not a good father make. Erin is the only person to whom your presence would have made a difference, and she sanctioned your absence.

“And don’t think it didn’t kill her to do it. Of course she wanted you to be there. But you know what? Winning the Cup is a team effort and she’s a team player. As your wife, she felt an obligation to the team—the guys you work with and love like brothers. She loves you so much, she didn’t want to make you have to choose between her and the team, and you know what? I think that’s amazing.”

Alex saw tears forming in Claire’s eyes and he reached out and took her hand.

“So forget about not being there tonight and enjoy the fact that you have a healthy wife who loves you and a son who will grow up proud that his dad is a two—maybe three-time Stanley Cup champion. Erin gave you an incredible gift and if you can’t see that, you’re hopeless.”

Tim stood there, dumbfounded. “I wasn’t looking at it like that. Shit.” He took a deep breath and raked both hands through his hair. “Everything you said is the utter truth.”

“You bet your ass it is,” Claire said.

“I probably owe her an apology. Maybe more than one.”

“I’d say so.”

Figuring the show was over, Alex said, “Okay, well I guess Erin won’t be acting as my medical liaison any time soon, so I’ll have to call the nurse to find out what happened with my eye. Like if it’s still there or if I’ll have to go all Jack Sparrow and wear a patch.”

“They won’t tell you anything,” Tim said. “They can’t. Only the doctor is authorized to tell you the diagnosis. It’s hospital rules or legal stuff.” Tim rubbed his hands together briskly. “So, I gotta get back to Erin. See ya later.”

Alex frowned. Tim’s exit seemed...strange. Like maybe he knew something and he didn’t want to tell Alex. And that could only mean something might be seriously wrong.

He didn’t say anything to Claire, though. He meant what he’d said before. He really
didn’t
think worrying was good for the baby, and as demonstrated by Erin, when you loved someone, you did your best to remove worry from their life.

So he pretended to yawn—carefully so as not to pull on any stitches he might have under the bandages. “So, I’m sure the doctor’ll come check on me in the morning. In the meantime, I want you to go home and get some rest. You owe it to the baby, okay?”

She looked uncertain, but nodded. “Okay.”

“And don’t worry. I’m going to be fine. Say it.”

“You’re going to be fine.”

If only he believed that.