Chapter 11—Doing Normal

The next ten days zoomed by, and Drew managed to hold it together, keeping his hands off Marina except during their figure skating practices and upping his game on the ice. The game thing was gradual, but the coaches noticed, even if he was still stuck on the second line. The Marina thing was excruciatingly painful, and his dick hated being on such a short leash.

The Sockeyes had fought a hard series against San Jose and were leading three games to two.

At the end of the third period of Game 6, the San Jose goalie slid across the ice on his stomach in the opposite direction of the net, and Rush snatched the puck from their defenseman. He passed to Gibs, who sliced the puck across the net through traffic into Drew’s waiting stick.

His teammates had set him up perfectly. He was in the perfect scoring position. Open net. Ten feet away. No defenders in sight. It was a gift of heaven. All he had to do was slap the puck into the net to send Game 6 into overtime and give the Sockeyes a chance to win the second round in six games and earn a much-needed rest.

Drew hit the puck with his stick and watched it go airborne, realizing in mute horror he’d put too much on it. It grazed the top of the net and fell harmlessly behind as the final buzzer sounded.

Drew stared at the empty net in open-mouthed shock. All around him, San Jose players streamed onto the ice and celebrated tying the series on the Sockeyes’ home ice. Seconds ago, the crowd in the arena had been deafening. Now you could hear a puck drop.

His teammates stared at him in disbelief, many of them shaking their heads as they shuffled from the bench area to the tunnel, never once looking back at him. Drew avoided speaking to anyone as he fell into line. At least the crowd wasn’t booing him, though he deserved it.

Coop waited for him in the hallway outside the locker room. His face was expressionless. He motioned for Drew to follow him down the hall where nosey ears couldn’t hear.

“Sorry,” Drew muttered.

“That was a shot a pee-wee player would’ve made, but I don’t have to tell you that.”

Drew swallowed and wiped his sweaty face with his jersey. “I fucked up.”

“Your head isn’t in the game. That’s why you’re not first line, and if I were Coach, you might be riding the pine or on the third line after that move. We need every player on this team to dig deep and find reserves they didn’t know they had, to perform a miracle on ice.”

Drew didn’t point out the obvious. There had only been one true miracle on ice, and this team wasn’t the one who’d pulled it off. He doubted Coop would appreciate his observation.

“You aren’t giving us everything you have. I don’t know where the fuck your head is, nor do I care what you plan on doing after the season ends. Hockey is a team sport, and you’re still on this team. We fucking need you because without contributions by every member, we don’t stand a rat’s chance in hell of taking this thing any further than round two.”

Drew nodded and lifted his head, forcing himself to look Coop in the eyes. He wouldn’t continue to be a coward. He’d own up to his problems.

“Are you in or are you out? Because if you’re out, if your heart isn’t in this, I’d rather Coach benched you for the remaining games and played a kid we just called up.”

“I’m in,” Drew said through gritted teeth.

“Good.” Coop nodded briefly and without another word, turned and entered the locker room, slamming the door behind him for effect. A few guys glanced from Drew to the door and quickly entered, not wanting anything to do with Drew’s bad mojo.

Drew closed his eyes briefly, knowing he had to go in there and face every one of them. He could see their condemning gazes now. They considered him a liability. A bad luck charm. The storm cloud ruining their sunny day.

The worst of it was that they were right.

“You have reached a new low. You’ve embarrassed the hell out of me in front of my friends.”

Oh, fuck.

Drew whirled around to confront his father. He should’ve known the man wouldn’t be able to stay away for long.

Stafford was madder than Drew had seen him in a long time. He was practically breathing fire. His face was so red he looked ready to detonate, and his big hands were fisted so tightly that his knuckles had turned white.

He couldn’t think of a smart retort, so he said nothing.

“Maybe you should be putting on sequin jumpsuits and figure skates. I never thought I’d see the day when a boy of mine prefers to do those whimpy-assed spins and jumps over playoff hockey.”

Frustration welled up in him, bringing him to the boiling point. “You’re right, Dad, I do love figure skating more than hockey. I find it a hell of a lot more rewarding because you aren’t there every step of the way criticizing my every move. I could never please you, and I’ll never be good enough because I’m not David. No more. I’m done with this bullshit.”

There. He’d said it. He waited for detonation, but it didn’t come. Stafford frowned, looked confused, and backed up a step. He blinked several times as if trying to get his bearings on uneven turf. His father never backed down, and Drew rarely challenged him.

“I had no idea you felt that way.”

Stafford suddenly looked ten years older. His face turned an unhealthy gray, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. Drew wanted to take it all back, to apologize, and grovel for his father’s approval like he always did. This time, he refused to cave and held strong.

“I do feel that way.”

“What about Dave? What about his last request? Doesn’t that mean shit to you?”

“Dave would understand.”

“I guess I have nothing more to say to you. You’ve made your position clear. I was trying to help because I want the best for you.” Stafford was manipulating him, and Drew saw it for what it was, even though he had to exercise extreme restraint not to give in.

“I don’t need your help, thank you.”

Stafford appraised him one final time, sighing, he strode away, a man too proud to admit he was wrong. Drew watched him go, his insides grinding in turmoil.

He could only think of one place to go and one person to go to.

The only person who’d understand, and the last person he should confide in.

* * * *

Marina left the arena after the loss, the series tied three to three.

Everyone was grim-faced and not talking much. She needed some ice time by herself. Skating had always been her therapy. She drove to the SHAC and let herself in with her keycard. Minutes later, she flipped on the middle bank of lights and stepped onto the ice.

She pushed off, allowing herself time to feel her blades gliding across the fresh surface. Finishing a few perfect figure eights, she skated to one corner and built her speed, executing a damn good triple before the boards on the diagonally opposite side. She may not be in championship form, but she was good enough to perform for and wow a crowd, if they’d forgive her transgressions long enough to enjoy her talent.

Forgiveness would take time, and time may be the one thing she didn’t have. If her gig with the Sockeyes didn’t work out, then what? Would a nearby facility take a chance on her, letting her teach beginners? She’d start at the bottom. She wasn’t too proud to take on anything they asked of her. All she needed was a break. The Sockeyes had given her that break.

This was her ice time, not time to be fretting about the future. Things would work out. She had to believe in herself. Clearing her mind, she ran through her routine, the one she’d been working on for a few months and choreographed herself. As she came to the end of the program, she prepared herself for another triple and pushed off. She had the height and the rotation, but on landing, her skate went one way and her ass another. She slammed to ice and slowly picked herself back up.

That one had hurt.

She heard clapping and turned, not surprised to see Drew sitting in the bottom row of bleachers. He was grinning. She skated over to him, hands on hips, breathing hard.

“Nice job,” he said.

She couldn’t tell if he was sincere or pulling her leg.

“Especially the ass landing,” she said.

“Especially that. Once you’ve perfected it, maybe they’ll name it after you. The Marina Ass-First Landing.”

“Maybe they will, or maybe they’ll call it the Dead Man’s Landing.”

“Dead Man’s Landing? Why?”

“Because that’s what’s going to happen to anyone who laughs at me when I stick that particular landing.”

“Oh.” He sobered for a moment, but he couldn’t stop the grin from reappearing.

She stopped at the boards and leaned on them. “Good to see you smiling. That was an unfortunate shot at the end of the game.”

“I wouldn’t quite call it unfortunate, more like piss-poor, fucking stupid, total crap. Yeah, something like that.”

“Drew, missing an easy shot happens to everyone. I bet it’s happened to your dad.”

“Not that he’ll admit.” Drew’s face was set in a determined expression Marina had never seen before. She sat down on the bench and unlaced her skates. He didn’t move, just sat on the bleachers and waited, for what she didn’t know.

Finally, she looked up. “Is something wrong?”

“Besides losing the game for the team tonight and letting everyone down?”

“Besides that.”

“I want to ask you something.”

“Ask away.”

He scooted next to her and watched her unlace her skates. When she straightened, he blew out a long breath and squared his shoulders. Marina waited, intrigued.

“Don’t you ever get tired of doing the right thing?” he asked.

“Yeah, but the one time I didn’t, it ended in disaster.” She sighed, having a good idea where this conversation was leading and not sure she would be able to say no.

“Would you go out with me?”

She squinted at him, certain she’d misunderstood him. “What?”

“Would you go out with me? To dinner?” he repeated.

“Dinner? We’ve been to dinner before.”

“This is different. I need you tonight. I can’t put it into words, but you’re the only person I want to be with. This is something I want to do with you.” His gaze was mesmerizing in its intensity, and she struggled between what she should do and wanted to do.

“Like on a date?”

He nodded. His serious gaze held hers, while he clenched his hands in his lap.

“Drew, we’ve had this discussion. You know I can’t date you.”

“Yeah, but maybe just for tonight we could pretend nothing else matters and enjoy each other’s company. How about dinner, maybe dancing?”

“Dancing? In public? I don’t think it would be appropriate.”

“Oh, fuck appropriate.” He slammed the palm of one hand on the bench and made her jump.

“Drew.”

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I’m fucking sick and tired of people telling me what I can’t have and what I should want. For once, I’m going with my gut, and it’s telling me that we could be special together.”

“We already are,” Marina muttered.

“Yeah, we are, but we could be more.” The hope in his voice was so endearing her heart ached. She couldn’t turn him down, and right or wrong the romantic in her insisted she go for it.

“Just tonight? One night? After that we go back to being work colleagues?”

“Whatever you want.” He grinned like a kid on Christmas morning.

“This isn’t a good idea.” They could never go back. The farther they traveled down this road, the harder it got.

“It’s the best one I have. You’re driving me crazy. I can’t stop thinking of you, and it’s affecting my game. Maybe I need one night of normal.”

She opened her mouth to say no and then run like hell, only the words caught in her throat, and she was nodding. “I could use a night of normal, too.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

She chewed on her lower lip, unable to answer. He put a finger on her chin and raised her head. His hazel green eyes searched hers.

“I’m tired of doing what everyone else thinks is right. I want to do what I feel is right. Maybe I’ve been so miserable for so long because I wasn’t listening to me, but my parents, my coaches, my teammates.” He stopped and shrugged. Placing his hands on either side of her face, he lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, a soft kiss full or promise, tentative in its sweetness, yet powerful and confusing. Marina slid her arms around his waist and kissed him back. He pulled away too quickly.

“Will you?”

She nodded. “It’s such a bad idea.” Yeah, it was such a bad idea she was seriously considering it.

“It is, probably, but will that stop us?”

“What if Coach found out? And what if your parents found out?”

“I didn’t ask them to dinner. Just you.” His hundred-watt smile was contagious, and she gave him a quick hug. He hugged her back, nuzzling her neck, but not going any further.

Drew struck her as a man who took his time, thought things out, didn’t make rash decisions. Marina, the queen of rash decisions and poor choices, appreciated those qualities, even though she’d made another bad decision. She was going to do this, as stupid and irresponsible as it was.

She couldn’t be seen out with Drew. They’d have to go somewhere no one would recognize either one of them and damned if she knew where.

None of her internal arguments were heard over the voice in her head screaming for her to spend an evening with Drew.

She wanted to do normal.

Just one night.