Play On (3 page)

After plucking a hot dog fresh from the barbeque, stuffing it in a bun, and lathering mustard and ketchup on it, she headed farther away from the food table and closer to the water.  All this talk of death brought up memories of her mother even though her mother wasn’t technically dead.  It wasn’t long after signing Emma up for those classes did her mother leave, abruptly and without warning.  Emma couldn’t really remember her mother, only that she had pretty blue eyes and the same wheat-colored hair her daughter now had.  When she was in elementary school, she just told everyone that her mother was dead.  It was much easier than trying to come up with an answer to the question she didn’t know the answer to and would inevitably be asked by her naïve and most of the time tactless peers: Why did she leave?

To this day, Emma didn’t know.  Growing up, she remembered the various stages she went through as a child in response to her mother’s abandonment; at first, she was sad.  She would sit up and wait for her mother to return and kiss her on the forehead, tuck her in, whisper goodnight to Emma in her whimsical voice, and every night, she would cry herself to sleep because her mother never came.  Next, she thought that maybe if her mother could see what a good daughter she was, she would return so she would leave out aced tests and pictures and cookies she made.  When that didn’t work, she became angry and frustrated.  These new emotions happened to coincide with puberty and getting her first period, along with Emma having to go to a new school for seventh grade.  Everybody else’s mothers were there for them at probably the most awkward stage in her life.  Why wasn’t hers?  She got through it, and even though it was more uncomfortable than it normally would have been due to the fact that it was her father who took her to get her first pads and her first training bra, and actually sat down and had The Talk with her. 

The night of her high school graduation, something just snapped in Emma.  To this day, she would never admit it out loud, but sitting in her royal blue graduation gown under the blaring sun, waiting for her name to be called,
her eyes sought out her mother’s figure.  Though she wasn’t sure just what her mother looked like nowadays, she felt that when she saw her, Emma would just know.

But she didn’t show.

It wasn’t as though Emma had expected her to, but a piece of her heart was crushed, and from that moment on, she accepted her mother was never going to show.  She wasn’t going to attend any of Emma’s recitals.  She wasn’t going to be there when Emma graduated college.  She wasn’t there for Emma’s prom and wouldn’t be there at Emma’s wedding.  And once Emma realized that, she stopped caring about her mother.  But occasionally, her memory would come back and Emma would allow herself to wonder just why her mother left her, if maybe she thought about her daughter every once in a while…

“I hate these things.”

A low, soft spoken voice jarred Emma out of her thoughts and caused her to jump a little.  Luckily she had long-since finished her hot dog so chunks that might have otherwise been occupying her mouth weren’t at risk to spew out into the nearby ocean.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Emma turned her head to get a good look at whoever it was that spoke to her.  Her brow raised on its own accord when her eyes met with clear, blue irises.

“You didn’t frighten me,” she told him, returning her gaze out at sea.  “I just startle easy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and took another step closer so he stood at Emma’s side.  “You’re Winsor’s daughter, aren’t you?”

Emma looked at the hockey player sharply.  “You know my father?” she asked, slightly suspicious.

Even though it didn’t surprise her to know that people and players associated with the team were familiar with Jeremy Winsor, she was still cautious when people approached her with her father at the forefront of the conversation.  She wasn’t exactly sure what they wanted, but most of the time, it had to do with money.  And even though she couldn’t for the life of her remember what this player’s name was or what his position was or whatever, she knew he was a Gulls player.  Which meant he had his own money, which just confused Emma as to what he wanted with her in the first place.

“Everyone knows your father,” he said, glancing down at her.  “He’s practically as recognizable at a Gulls game as Gil is.”

Emma continued to stare at him, still not understanding the point of the conversation.

“Right, well I recognize you from the games,” he continued.  He shuffled his feet a couple of times, looking at his toes buried beneath the sand.  “Just wanted to say hello…”

By the tone of his voice, Emma could tell she had thrown him off and probably made him uncomfortable.  “I’m Emma,” she said after a long moment of thinking how to remedy the situation even though she hadn’t meant to be so cold. 

“Kyle,” he replied, taking her offered hand and shaking it.  It felt surprisingly warm, maybe a little moist due to the heat, and much bigger than hers was.  “Kyle Underwood.  I play for the team.”

“I know.”  Of course, Emma wasn’t keen on revealing that that was all she knew about him.  “So why do you hate these things, exactly?  I thought people felt good about giving to charity.”

“Oh, I do,” he said, looking at her.  “It’s not that.  I just hate all the awkward conversations that people expect to have with you.”

Emma grazed her bottom lip in order to keep a retort from spilling out of her mouth.  He obviously didn’t recognize the hypocrisy of his statement. 

“So I wanted to escape.”  Emma wasn’t sure if he was finishing a previous thought or was compelled to add it on for her benefit.

“And how’s that going for you?” she asked him, and then prayed to God that he didn’t use some kind of cheesy pick-up line like, ‘Well, the view’s definitely better.’

Surprisingly enough, he lifted his right shoulder and let it fall before angling his torso in his direction.  “It could be better, I suppose.  I don’t know.  If I was at the beach, I’d rather be lying down on towel, soaking up the sun, maybe reading.  I’m not a very social person.  I kind of like to do my own thing.”

Once again, Emma refrained from asking just why, if he was as unsocial as he claimed to be, he was he talking to her, initiating the forced conversation he had just said he wanted to avoid.  “You’re a hockey player though,” she pointed out.  “Aren’t you supposed to interact with your fans and the press and all that stuff?  You know, be famous?”

Kyle surprised her again by rolling those clear, blue eyes.  “Okay, I know this is going entirely cliché, but fame isn’t why I got into playing hockey,” he told her, and for whatever reason, she decided to believe him.  “I like the feeling I get when I’m on the ice, when I’m throwing an opposing player into the wall, when I’m shooting the puck.  I do the press stuff because that’s what the job requires me to do.  I interact with the fans because without them, I wouldn’t get to live my dream.  But really, if the money and fame and all that other stuff didn’t come along with playing, I’d still play.”

“You seem very dedicated.”  Because, really, Emma wasn’t exactly sure how to respond to such an unexpected bout of passion.

He didn’t comment on Emma’s observation and instead, shifts his weight before saying, “So are you really into hockey?  You come to all the games and you have been, for a while.”

“Oh no, it’s not me,” Emma said in a rush, feeling her face heat up at the prospect that he actually noticed her presence.  He didn’t think she was some kind of stalker, did he?  “My dad’s the fan.  I just go to the games with him.”

Kyle gave her a look – a cross between confused and interested – and cocked his head to the side before crossing his arms over his chest.  “It sounds like you’re very dedicated to your father,” he said and then chuckled.  “That came out wrong, didn’t it?”

Despite her best efforts, she found herself chuckling along with him.  “No, I get what you’re saying,” she said.  “Um, yeah, I guess you could say that.  We’re both busy but we try to make time for each other, and somehow, our commonality is hockey.  I grew up coming to games and events and stuff.  I guess it’s just how we bond.”

“You’re lucky,” he commented.  “My father didn’t want me playing hockey, thought it would be a waste of my time.  Even now, even though I’m playing for an NHL team, he still sees it as a habit rather than a career.”

“I’m sorry.”  Emma knew her voice sounded off; whenever people told her personal things, she could never find the right things to say to make them feel better or supported.  Instead, she stuck with formal apologies or silence, hoping it would ease her discomfort at the personal nature of the conversation as much as it would ease the speaker.

Kyle shrugged, shaking his head as though it was no big deal.  “I have my mom, you know?”

Obviously the question was rhetorical, but the words stumbled out of Emma’s mouth before she could stop them.  “No,” she murmured.  “I don’t know.”  She glanced up and saw that he was about to say something much like her own tacky apology, and if anything made her feel more uncomfortable than people sharing their intimate details of their life, it was being on the receiving end of one of those bullshit apologies.  Which was why, under normal circumstances, she didn’t talk about things like that. 

“You kind of sound like you have an accent,” she said, hoping to change the subject before he could say anything.  His eyes caught hold of hers, and for a moment, Emma felt as though he could see through her cool exterior, as though he knew what she was doing. 

“I’m from Canada,” he replied, causing Emma to release a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding.

He knew what she did and let her get away with it.

Before anything else could transpire between the two, Kyle’s name pierced the low murmurings of the crowd that had gathered.  Both figures turned to see the only player Emma recognized by sight and actually knew the name of; Matt Peters, the Gulls’ team captain.  She could see the many tattoos crawl up and down his arms, sliding in and out of the loose material of the v-necked shirt he was wearing as gestured for his teammate to come over to where he was at.

“There are some people who want to meet you,” he called.

Kyle nodded but didn’t respond.  He turned to Emma and gave her a grin that seemed to have some sort of affect on her heart because it jumped out of its normal beating pattern.  “It was nice to meet you, Emma Winsor,” he said, and now that he mentioned it, Emma could detect the subtle Canadian accent laced through his voice.  “I’ll see you around.”

Though it was a statement, Emma still felt compelled to answer.  “I’m sure you will,” she said.    

3
.
 
Even now, with her bare feet swallowed by the warm, smooth sand and the sound of the small waves crashing into the shore, Madison Montgomery could not believe she was at the beach for the first of several charitable events the Seagulls hosted before, during, and after their hockey season.  The disbelief did not stem from the fact that she was there, present, or that she was at a hockey-related beach party.  It was that she was there as a Gulls Girl, dressed in nothing but a micro bikini, doing most of the brunt work due to her ranking as a rookie.

When Madison came out to California from a small town in Michigan, she never would have thought that she, out of all people, would apply for the position of a Gulls Girl.  Not that they were bad or immoral or anything like that.  In fact, she regarded Gulls Girls and similar ice girls for different hockey teams to be much classier than cheerleaders and Hooters girls.  They didn’t have to cheer or dance or do anything blatantly exploitive; all they had to do was scrape ice off the rink during breaks as fast as they could throughout a game while maintaining a big smile and looking pretty.  Sure, their outfits were revealing and the makeup could be a little dramatic, but nothing compared to the short skirts or the face paint cheerleaders wore.  And while it was practically a requirement that she portray a coy happiness and perhaps engage in flirtatious banter when necessary, she didn’t have to on constantly.

She heard about the auditions through a bulletin board she happened to pass while exploring the campus of the University of California, Irvine, and after reading the requirements and expectations, she realized that maybe she could give it a try.  She didn’t actually think she’d be called back for an extensive interview, and on top of that, get the position, especially since one characteristic that was necessary was passion for the Gulls.  Even more than that, she didn’t expect to have to provide her academic transcript, but one of requirements to get and maintain a position as a Gulls Girl was to have a grade point average of at least a 3.0 if they were students.  After talking to other Girls, Madison learned that the owner of the Gulls, Ken Brown, implemented that himself, which meant that every other team’s ice crew didn’t have to keep up with their studies on top of work.  This seemed to frustrate a lot of the Girls, but it made Madison respect the owner even more than she might have; intelligence was just as much of a requirement as was good looks.  Still, it was just a job, and that was that. 

Hockey had never been important to her, but her father was really into it so she just channeled one of his long rant-like explanations about why he loved the Detroit Kings so much, making key changes such as the team name, when asked about what made her enthusiastic about being a Gulls Girl.  But in past few weeks, as she spent more and more time with her fellow Girls, who really were passionate about the Gulls, the excitement at the start of the upcoming season rubbed off on her.