ERIC
We'd lost the game to Phoenix in overtime. When we got home and played Florida, we barely scraped out a win. Chicago beat us easily because we completely fell apart out on the ice. We'd come home for a game against Vancouver on St. Patrick's Day, where we managed to scrape out a shoot-out win, but we didn't deserve it. We'd played like shit through three of those four games.
Well, three and a half, actually. If Florida had managed to capitalize on the chances we'd allowed them, they could have beaten us handily. Lucky for us, they hadn't.
One of the biggest problems, at least according to Scotty (and for that matter, according to me) was that I wasn't scoring. I could complain about how he kept changing my linemates, but the truth was it had nothing to do with that. I've always been able to score no matter who I was playing with—my whole career. I'd been able to in peewee, in high school, in college, and in the pros. That was one of the main reasons I'd been given the big contract I was currently trying and failing to live up to.
I might have been letting all the stuff with Dana get to me, but I didn't think that was the case. On the ice, at least, I'd been able to focus on the job at hand. More likely I was letting the pressure of trying to get the team back into the playoffs get to me.
Also, Hammer told me I was squeezing my stick. He was probably right. It was really hard to stop doing that once you start, though.
Everyone goes through scoring slumps in the league. It happens. If you somehow get to the end of your career without a slump like this happening at key times, you're considered to be a clutch performer, a real leader. When you hit a slump right when your team needs you to pull through the most? They say you choked.
I wasn't oblivious. I knew what they were saying about me, the national hockey media. The Storm had been on a downhill slide ever since I'd become captain, and they were pointing to my struggles right now as evidence I that couldn't cut it when it mattered. It was easy to put the blame on my shoulders instead of looking at any of the other mitigating factors involved—the poor management over the last few years before Jim Sutter came in, the multiple coaching changes, the constant roster turnover.
I needed to play better. Absolutely. I needed to lead better. But I wasn't the only problem. I couldn't believe that. If I let myself believe that, I might as well call it quits today, hang up my skates, and not look back.
No matter how I looked at it, though, this was not a good time for me to have a scoring slump. Not when every game could be the difference between the Portland Storm finally getting back into the playoffs or not. Not when we had so many guys injured and out of the lineup, when we were depending on so many rookies and AHL-level call-ups to fill those roles.
And it kept getting worse. We lost Pasha in the game against Chicago. He'd been racing for the puck and got tangled up with a Blackhawks defender, then went into the boards with his leg at a really awkward angle. He tore his ACL and was due to have season-ending surgery right after Casino Night.
That meant one of our best goal scorers was gone. That meant another call-up was on his way.
In last night's game, Razor twisted his ankle. Just a high ankle sprain and not a break, at least, but he was still going to miss at least a week.
There was only a little over a week left in the season.
Razor hadn't become the type of scoring defenseman everyone said he would become. Not yet, at least, but it was still just his first season in the league. The kid could move the puck well and get it out of our end and into the offensive zone pretty quickly. We needed him, and now we didn't have him.
And all of that meant I needed to be scoring, more so than ever before.
We were still right in the thick of the playoff race.
Somehow, Calgary was falling apart more than we were. They'd lost six straight and had pretty much been eliminated from the race. If Phoenix didn't pick up at least a point in every game from now until the end of the season, they'd be out, too. But we were still fighting tooth and nail for that eighth spot with Vancouver, Dallas, and Nashville.
All signs pointed to the final playoff spot not being decided until the very last day of the season. Maybe even the last game of the season. Which, coincidentally, we would be playing at home. By the time our game started, most of the others going on that night would have already been decided.
I couldn't let myself think too far ahead, though. I couldn't worry about that last game of the season when we still had four others between now and then. And we had Casino Night tomorrow.
"Don't forget, tomorrow night is not optional, and it is black tie. Brush up on how to deal blackjack, boys. And remember, it's about raising money. Let's make the fans happy." Scotty tossed a stack of pamphlets on a table near the front of the room—most likely containing blackjack rules. "Study up if you don't already know how."
It had been another rough practice. For a while, I'd thought Scotty was going to put us through a bag skate, kind of like that famous scene in the movie Miracle. I don't think bag skates ever have the sort of effect the movie tried to make you believe they could. At least none of the ones I'd ever been through had. Pretty much they just wear you out and piss you off. They're not really a way to bring a team together, but that doesn't stop coaches from thinking maybe this time it will.
It was too late in the season for that kind of thing, anyway. That's an early-to-mid-season trick coaches pull when teams aren't performing on the ice. With just a little over a week left in the season, it wouldn't make a ton of sense. But then again, it felt like Scotty was grasping at straws. It'd been a rough first year on the job for him, and it wasn't getting any easier.
Scotty cleared out of the dressing room, and the other coaches followed after him. They didn't seem to want to hear the groans coming from the guys. I couldn't blame the coaching staff for that. We'd been on a skid, lately, and the last thing some of the boys wanted to do was dress up and play nice for people. Yeah, it was for charity. It was for a good cause. But the timing was awful.
I made a mental note to talk to Jim Sutter about that sometime after we were done for the year. It would make a hell of a lot more sense to do the big charity events earlier in the season, when we weren't so beat up and broken down, sometime when we didn't need to conserve every spare bit of energy we could for a big push to the end.
Babs looked over at the stack of pamphlets Scotty had put on the table and sat down on the bench beside me. He started taking off his skates. "I've never played blackjack before. Don't have a fucking clue."
"You don't have to play blackjack," I said. "You just have to learn how to deal. It's easy. Besides, the people coming are there more to see and talk to us than they are to really play the games. Let 'em see your dimples, and you'll have the most popular table."
He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. One of these days, the kid would have a clue. For now, it wouldn't hurt anything for him to not understand his own appeal.
It was an annual event here with the Storm—our big fundraiser for the Storm Foundation. We all got dressed up and talked and schmoozed for the night, and in return people paid a lot of money for the opportunity to be there. There were other things going on during the course of the night, too: a silent auction with things like getting to go on a road trip with the team next year, a video game booth where they could compete against a few of the boys, that kind of thing. Babs was auctioning a day where a kid could take him to school instead of the prom date we'd tried to talk him into. And of course, there was plenty of food and drink for everyone.
I usually enjoyed myself at these things. They were a good way to interact with the fans and just be normal for a change, to have real conversations and not feel like we had to recite from a script of appropriate responses.
No pressure. At least not for me.
"Maybe we should practice tonight," Babs said. "Dealing."
"Yeah. Soupy can probably teach us both a thing or two." That'd be something we could do to all hang out together, me, Soupy, and Dana. And Babs, too.
I'd been trying to find things to do where Dana and I weren't always kicking Soupy out so we could be alone. It hadn't been easy.
"You mean maybe I can kick both your asses, right?" Soupy sat down across from us, getting out of his sweaty gear. "And the answer is yes, I can."
I'd let him have that one, for now. It felt more normal than things between us had been lately. "I need to make a stop before we go home, though."
We finished cleaning up, and the three of us headed out to my car. Laura Weber had told me about Dana's dress for tomorrow night. I wanted to get her some jewelry to go with it. Nothing too elaborate or flashy. She'd never wear something like that.
Something simple. Classic.
For some reason, I kept thinking about a cheap vending machine locket I'd given her when we were kids. I had been hoping to get an egg with gum in it but instead I got the locket. I had no clue what I going to do with something like that, so I put a picture of a hockey goal in it and gave it to her.
But she'd worn it for years.
I figured it had finally fallen apart at some point. It was just cheap plastic. It wasn't designed for that kind of use.
I could get her one that was, though.
DANA
Once I'd put on a bit of lip gloss and mascara—Laura had insisted I had to at least wear that much since Casino Night is essentially a red-carpet event—I tugged down on the bottom of my skirt. That didn't really help it cover any more leg, though, and it made me feel like I was going to bust out of the top at any moment. I tugged the bodice up again, cursed Laura and Sara, and then made my way downstairs.
All three of the guys were waiting for me in the living room, dressed to perfection, when I got there. Seeing three good-looking men in tuxes isn't an everyday occurrence—not when you're surrounded by hockey players. Yeah, they wore suits to travel and all, but this was something else entirely. I did a double take.
Babs gave me a sheepish grin but quickly turned his head away.
I couldn't make myself look at Brenden. Not while I was dressed like this. I didn't want to see the dissatisfied, overprotective brother look I knew he'd have on his face. With the recent brief road trips the team had been on, he'd become more of a grouch than ever when it came to the time I was spending alone with Eric.
It couldn't be easy for him. He had always been my protector, the one who kept me safe except for that one time when he wasn't there. I knew he blamed himself, in much the same way Eric did, even though neither of them were to blame. Now the responsibility he'd taken on himself was passing to someone else, at least for the time being. And in some small way, he thought he needed to protect me from Eric.
None of that touched on how it must feel as though I was stealing his best friend away from him.
I wanted to tell him it was only for a little while longer, another week or so. Once I went back to Providence, he could have his best friend back. I'd be at home nursing my broken heart. Things could go back to normal for him, and he could pretend that this had never happened.
But he didn't want me to tell him those things. Brenden would rather sulk and glare and make sure everyone knew how unhappy he was about certain things. I couldn't very well deny him of the opportunity to do that.
Eric pulled me into his arms as soon as I was within his reach. I had already started feeling those anticipatory shivers I always got around him well before I came downstairs, and they only intensified once I was near him. They seemed to never stop these days. After that night in Phoenix, I was always anxious to be with him, to touch him and explore, to let him touch me. We hadn't had another night quite like that one since—the Storm had hit another rough skid, and I had been almost as busy as he was with helping to prepare for the players' wives' St. Patrick's Day event and a few other similar things for tonight.
At least that was all nearly complete. The raffle had been a resounding success at the game two nights ago, even though the Storm lost on the ice. And after tonight, we'd be able to put Casino Night behind us. Then our focus would be strictly on getting the guys through the final push toward the playoffs.
It felt good to have a moment to just be in his arms. I rested my hands on the outsides of his rib cage, delighting in the sensation of the smooth tuxedo jacket beneath my fingertips.
He held me for a minute, his strong arms making me feel warm and treasured, and he pressed a kiss to my temple. "You look beautiful."
I opened my mouth to deny what he'd said but stopped myself before I did. "Thank you." It shouldn't be so hard to hear those words. To believe them. I never used to have a hard time with it, if Dad or Brenden or Mom would tell me. It was just one of many things that had changed for me, like a switch that had been flipped.
He was helping me discover a means to flip it back the other way. It was getting easier, but I didn't know if it would ever feel normal again, if it would ever feel okay.
Eric released me but reached down for my hand. I thought we would be leaving, but instead of leading me toward the garage, he took me into the kitchen. A long, narrow black box was on the bar, with a thin blue ribbon tied around it.
I wanted to back away. He'd already given up so much for me, given me more than he should have. I couldn't accept jewelry from him. I was nearly panicking, almost couldn't breathe, and just because of a gift he was giving me.
It didn't make sense. He'd spent more than just a little bit of money on me in the five weeks I'd been here. He'd paid for all my expenses, bought me the dress and shoes I was wearing. He'd paid for everything, and I'd let him. If I could allow all that, what was so different about a piece of jewelry?
His hand squeezed mine, and he reached for the box with his other. He held it out to me. "Laura told me you'd be in blue."
The urge to shake my head, to tell him I couldn't take anything like that from him, was almost overwhelming. All I wanted to do was race back up the stairs, change into my yoga pants and T-shirt, and stay home with a book with my door locked.
"Just open it, Dana," Brenden said.
I swallowed and took the box. After removing the ribbon, I flipped open the lid. It was just a simple chain, white gold with a few small sapphires and diamonds. It couldn't have been more uncomplicated, more delicate, more elegant.
"I thought it suited you," Eric said quietly. He took it out of the box and moved behind me. I felt his fingers brush my hair to the side. Then he draped the chain around my neck, and I stopped breathing. He fastened it behind me and kissed the top of my shoulder. "They didn't have a locket."
It was just hanging there around my neck, but I felt like it was clawing into me, strangling me. I reached up, grabbed it, tried to rip it free from my neck.
Strong arms came around me, trapping mine against my chest. "It's okay. I've got you."
"Take it off." I tried to pull my arms free, stretched my hands to reach it, but he shifted his grip and trapped my hands. "No," I said, frantic, crying. "Take it off me. Let go."
"Fucking let her go." Another voice.
More hands on me.
"It's the necklace. Get the necklace off her."
"I said to let her the fuck go."
I kicked. Clawed. Had to get away.
They had my arms. Hands at my neck, near my face.
I got a hand free. Made a fist, pulled my arm back. Punched like Jonny had taught me. Kept my wrist straight. Put as much force into it as I could.
"Shit, Dee."
I swung again. They caught my arm.
"It's off. Dana, it's off."
This couldn't happen. Not again.
I squirmed, kicked. Fought until I didn't have any more fight. Couldn't stop crying. Couldn't breathe.
But then it was Eric's voice I heard in my ear. "I have you. I won't let go. No one's going to hurt you." Soft. Soothing. Over and over.
I collapsed against him, exhausted.
He carried me to the sofa, sat down with me in his arms, and he held me.
My breathing slowly leveled out, and my heartbeat became more normal, less erratic.
"I'm sorry," I said once I could speak again.
"Shh." Eric stroked my hair, kissed my temple. "No apologies."
Brenden cleared his throat behind us. "Dana?" He sounded scared.
He hadn't seen me have an attack like that in years. No wonder he sounded scared.
I was scared, too. I hadn't felt quite like that—like I was back in that dirty janitor's closet, about to be raped—ever, other than that one time. Not until now.
I turned my head to him.
He held out a damp cloth. His hand was shaking.
In the kitchen, Babs was putting ice in a zipper bag. His eye was red and swollen.
"Oh, God." I'd never hurt anyone before. No one but myself.
"Take it. Your face—you have mascara running."
I took the cloth and wiped it over my face. When I pulled it away, Babs handed me a bag of ice and sat down in one of the recliners across from us holding another one to his eye.
"For your hand," he said. "You've got a mean right hook, Dee. Jonny'll be proud."
I wasn't proud. I felt sick to my stomach.
Eric kept running his hands over my arms, my hair, soothing me. "I usually know what brings them on," he said a minute later. "Your panic attacks. I can feel them coming. I didn't see this one until it was too late, and I still don't know what triggered it."
Brenden sat down too, his eyes on me.
I shook my head. "Don't we have to go? You'll be late."
"Then we'll be late," Babs said.
Even he was joining in this time, ganging up on me. There was no getting out of this one. No escaping it.
I swallowed, took a breath. "So, I guess you remember the locket you gave me..."
"You know I do, kid," Eric said, confirming it again even though I already knew it. He linked his fingers with mine and rubbed the pad of his thumb over the back of my hand. But he'd called me kid again, painfully reminding me of the rift that would always be between us.
I steeled myself against that pain and forced myself to plow through a different form of it. "I always took it off when I played. It got tangled in my hair and screwed with my focus. I would take it off and leave it inside the boards at the bench, with the water bottles and all. I forgot it that day. I didn't want to leave it behind. I'd never see it again if I did. So I went back for it before we got to the dressing room."
He didn't say anything, just kept rubbing my hand with his thumb.
I looked away.
His lips came down, kissed me on the temple. I wanted to stay just like that, never move.
My hand hurt more than I'd realized earlier. I guess the adrenaline coursing through me after my panic attack had dulled it a lot, made it so I didn't realize just how bad it was. I flexed it while I watched the guys working their tables.
Eric was talking with the group sitting with him, smiling and laughing and doing all the things he was supposed to do, but I could tell he was distracted. His gaze kept flashing over to me at the little table Laura had snagged for the two of us and Sara. I tried to smile and reassure him, but there was only so much reassuring I could do from this distance.
A few tables over from him, buried in the middle of the crowd, Brenden was in his element. I knew he'd been pretty shaken up by what he'd witnessed, but dealing blackjack and talking up season ticket holders was right up his alley. He'd always been confident and comfortable at these types of events. They brought out the best of his personality. It was good to see him shaking off some of the negativity he'd been carrying around since his arrival in Portland—seeing him looking more like himself.
But it was Babs who kept drawing my attention tonight. His eye was red and swollen where I'd punched him, and that only seemed to draw the women in around him even more than his dimples normally would. His table was easily the most popular in the room, constantly full, pretty much entirely of young women who were flirting with him like crazy. He couldn't stop himself from smiling, but I knew it was embarrassment fueling the smile. He was too adorable for his own good, and the black eye he'd be sporting to finish off the regular season had only added to his appeal. It gave him a little bit of a bad boy vibe, even though that couldn't be further from the truth. Made him seem a little mysterious.
It was probably a good thing tonight was a school night and Katie Weber had been left at home with her younger siblings and a pile of homework.
A waiter was passing by us with a tray filled with wine glasses, and Laura waved him over. She handed him her empty and took a new glass. Sara did the same, but I shook my head.
"I've had all I can handle." With more than just alcohol. For the last half hour or so, the three of us had been hashing out the final plans for when I would leave. I didn't think I could face Eric, or really any of the guys, once they knew I was actually going to go. It would hurt too much despite the fact that I knew it was the right thing to do.
Eric still saw me as Brenden's kid sister. Earlier tonight had proven it.
"Spoilsport," Laura teased. She reached over and got another glass from him before he walked off. "Just in case."
I laughed. "Is that for me or for you?"
She shrugged.
Sara leaned over and set her glass down on the table. "Are you really sure about this?"
They both thought I was crazy. They were convinced that Eric loved me as much as I loved him, that he wasn't just playing the part and doing me a favor because I was Brenden's kid sister.
I knew better. "I'm sure." I couldn't deny that our relationship had changed, but the type of change I wanted was impossible. It was too much to expect of him.
"Surely they could extend your leave a little longer, though," Laura objected.
We all knew there was an expiration date for this arrangement. I'd changed my flight to a few days sooner than it was initially scheduled. It wasn't about my leave coming to an end. Not so much. There was only so much time I could afford to take off work, only so much time I could afford not to be earning my salary. Only so much time I could afford to fall deeper and deeper in love with Eric each day.
I had to cut the strings before I couldn't make myself do it.
"I've got to get back home. Back to my job, my apartment. Back to my life." I gave them a little smile, even though smiling was the last thing I felt like doing. "I'll stay in touch with you, though. Both of you."
The thought of getting through my heartache without at least being able to call them and talk was more than I could bear.
Laura finished off the first of her two glasses of wine. She frowned at me. "You're really not going to let us talk you out of this?"
I shook my head.
"Okay." Sara reached over, took my hand, and squeezed it. "I'll take you to the airport that day. But I'll be really pissed at you the whole time."
And I loved her for it.
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