Chapter 16
Wandering around Bath. People come here to learn about Jane Austen and to tour the old Roman baths, but I stumbled upon a small museum off the tourist paths. And there was a painting, a man weeping over his bride. I stared at it for hours. I couldn’t tell you why.
~ Adventurous Amanda, November 2013
Stupid away games. She wanted to spend the night with Ben, especially after last night, and preferably wrapped in his arms after a bout of sex that left her boneless. He’d proved to excel at that over the last fourteen days, but who was counting.
She was. Two glorious weeks where they’d shared a bed more nights than not, and two of those nights apart were last night and tonight, when he wasn’t in the same state. Sirens should be screaming in her head that they were going too fast, but only calmness remained. That should freak her the hell out, but for some reason, she couldn’t muster up the panic.
But now he was in Edmonton and she was alone.
She snorted. That was an outright lie. She’d give anything to be alone, but right now she was about to walk through the front door of her house, knowing that her mother was on the other side, prepped with some commentary to drive her insane. Or relationship advice. Or to talk about last night. Amanda shuddered. She did not want to talk about last night. Thank God, Ben’s trip was a short one. He’d left yesterday afternoon for a game tonight, and he’d be back tomorrow.
To top that off, she’d had a shit day at work. Betsy had shot down every idea Amanda had for the blog because it’d entailed Amanda traveling—not far—but outside of the office for more than forty-eight hours, and Betsy needed her there. Just up to Portland and back. Two days max. But Betsy had nixed it.
Amanda had hoped that her string of articles last month would help her get a step up, but she was beginning to believe they’d done the opposite. That Betsy wouldn’t dream of moving her to a different department, or make her a full-time staff writer.
She did not want to have to look for a new job, but she needed to start putting feelers out. She refused to fetch kale smoothies for the rest of her life. She had more to offer than that. She planned to polish up her resume tonight during intermissions. She might not enjoy job hunting, but it was quickly becoming obvious that a new job was her only option.
And she wanted to talk about it with Ben. To get his opinion. That never happened. The only male opinion she’d ever sought out was her grandfather’s.
“There you are,” her mother called out, as Amanda dropped her keys into the bowl next to the door.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, bad day? Looks like it. You look so tired,” her mother said, gesturing to Amanda by circling her outstretched hand.
And the torture never stopped.
Amanda tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not the best day, I don’t want to talk about it. And of course I’m tired,” she glared at her mom. “I didn’t sleep well. You were—noisy.” She shuddered again.
Her mom chuckled, not looking sheepish in the slightest. “Sorry about that. I’ll try to keep it down next time, but we’re all adults here,” she said with a small shrug.
“Are we?” Amanda muttered.
“It’s a shame you don’t sleep like the dead, like me. And I still don’t know why you won’t bring that gorgeous man back here. Ben, right? I think I’m having a hot flash. I’m too young for that,” she said, fanning her face with her hand.
Seriously?! And no, she wasn’t bringing him back here for her mother to—shudder—overhear.
“I can always go to Kurt’s house. He’s—” she trailed off, grinning, “amazing.” The last word coming out as a sigh.
A sigh Amanda had heard one too many times last night. So freaking wrong.
“You could move in with him,” Amanda replied.
“Oh, honey. It’s way too soon for that. And I’m having fun with our girl time,” she said, walking over to Amanda and wrapping her arm around her daughter. “I missed having you around.”
Amanda itched to snap back that she hadn’t missed it. Hadn’t missed watching her mother cater to the men in her life, mold herself to echo their likes and habits. But she kept it to herself. Her mother never listened anyway.
“Now, where is that yummy man of yours?” her mother asked.
“He’s at an away game. A game I’d like to watch tonight, in peace,” she muttered. Preferably wrapped in the jersey he’d just given her, as she yelled at the TV.
“Of course. I could stay and watch. I never realized how hot hockey players were when they’re on the ice,” her mother said.
“Don’t you have plans tonight?” Amanda asked, gesturing to her mother, who was currently standing there in a fitted dress with a low V-neck. But it didn’t look trashy. Her mother was beautiful and knew exactly how to play up her assets. Amanda’s gaze continued down, spotting a great pair of heels—that were hers.
“Nice shoes.”
Her mother popped her heel up and looked down. “You don’t mind if I borrow them, right? They go perfectly with this outfit.”
“It’s fine,” Amanda grumbled.
“Do you want to come out with me tonight? It’s just going to be me and Kurt, but I bet he could bring some friends along,” she said.
“You aren’t trying to hook me up with Kurt’s friends, are you?” she asked, incredulously.
“Of course not,” her mother said with a wave of her hand. “I just didn’t want you to be the third wheel. Not that you would be, of course.”
“Of course,” Amanda echoed.
“I just thought it would be fun to go out. Maybe some dancing, and a few drinks?”
“No. I’m staying in to watch the game. Go have fun with Kurt.”
“Do you actually like watching, and not just because he’s playing?” her mother asked, her head tilted to the side.
“Yes. I mean, I enjoy watching because he’s on the ice. But I like the sport, too.” Imagine sharing a common interest with a man because you actually held that interest on your own. It pained her that it was something her mother never understood. Why she couldn’t stand on her own two feet and not rely on men in her life to support her? How she didn’t have her own dreams or goals was beyond anything Amanda could fathom.
“Okay. If you’re sure.” Amanda didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her mother’s tone. God. She was an asshole, and her frustrations with her mother were showing.
“Sorry. I’d just rather stay here and watch the game. I had a long day. Is Kurt picking you up?” she asked, softening her tone.
“He texted that he was running late so he’s sending a car.”
The wistful tone of her mother’s voice baffled her. All traces of sadness were gone and replaced with what? Adoration for a man who was too busy or self-important to pick his date up on time, so he sent a driver instead? Amanda didn’t get it. She never would.
Their goals were definitely different, and she wondered how long it would last this time. How long would it be before her mother moved out again, but never on her own?
Her mother’s cell phone dinged.
“Oh, that’s my car. Maybe we’ll go back to his place so I don’t wake you again.”
She did not need a reminder of that.
“Have fun tonight.”
“I always do,” her mother said, before the front door shut behind her.
Amanda pushed thoughts of her mother aside and grabbed her Strikers jersey from her bedroom, and a beer, and then settled in on the couch to wait for the game to start. She chuckled. Was she turning into Penny? Or Ben? Getting sucked into their crazy superstitions. As if wearing Ben’s jersey would somehow help him win, when she had nothing to do with his skill on the ice.
Or maybe it was because he’d given it to her. Too bad it didn’t smell like him. She’d have to rectify that. Not that she wanted a smelly game day jersey. Just that subtle warm scent he always had. He better have plans for a sleepover tomorrow night. She missed his bed, and him in it, wrapped around her, kissing the back of her neck while she brushed her ass against him.
She fought back a shudder. It was no use getting riled up tonight since he was in a different country right now. Stupid away games, she huffed.
Since she wasn’t in the mood to watch the pre-show with the sports analysts—she hadn’t gone that far—she turned on her laptop to work on a new blog post that she’d planned to post tomorrow.
She’d been lax on her posts—she blamed the hot sex that left her boneless and mindless—and she’d had more unsubscribes than she’d liked. Tomorrow’s topic was what to do in Napa aside from visit more wineries than anyone could count. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but one could only drink so much wine or take so many tours of vineyards.
She’d convinced Ben to go with her last weekend, and since he steered clear of having more than one drink a night during the season, she’d wanted to figure out what else they could do in a day. Skyline Park offered amazing views and a great hike. Not that they hadn’t stopped at one of the vineyards before heading back into the city. But it’d had an art gallery attached, so they weren’t just drinking. She’d pitched the article to Betsy, who’d shot it down, stating people only went to Napa for wine, so Amanda had kept the piece for her own blog.
She’d gotten a few great shots to add to the post, but she’d promised not to show any of Ben. No matter how adorable he’d looked in his hiking gear—holy crap, that ass in hiking pants was worth the steep inclines they’d encountered along the way—she’d always made him go first so he could plot their course. Like the path wasn’t clear already. He’d just smirked and led the way.
“What do you guys think you need to do tonight to secure a win?” The on-ice reporter’s voice cut through her dirty thoughts, and she glanced at the TV to see the source of her hot flash on the screen.
God, he looked amazing, holding his helmet, his hair slick and pushed back as he smiled at the camera. He was getting better at his interviews. The deer in headlights look was fading. As was his underlying anger. Those fathomless eyes looked right through her, and she shivered down to her toes. What that man did to her body with just a look.
She hugged her arms around her waist and snuggled into the couch as warmth overtook her. She swore he winked at the camera before skating off. She told herself that the wink had been for her. She was definitely not sleeping alone tomorrow night.
Ben tapped his stick on the ice, letting Baz know he was open. They were back on home ice, in the waning seconds of the second period, and Florida was up by two. The Strikers’ third place spot in the division was precarious with Anaheim creeping up behind them again. The screen above the second level of seats posted the scores from the other games tonight, and Anaheim was up by two against Carolina. Carolina was tough this year, but Ben would put money on Anaheim winning their game, which meant that the Strikers needed to win theirs.
Baz found a lane and shot the puck to Ben. It bounced and wobbled and Ben stretched to capture it as Florida’s top two defensemen closed in on him. Having no clear lane to get on net, Ben knocked it back to Dom. The kid drew back and slapped it right past the goalie. The buzzer sounded at the same time as the goal siren, and Ben held his breath, waiting for the ref to announce the goal.
The refs reviewed the tape as every guy on the ice and along the benches watched the play on loop on the jumbotron over the ice.
“Fuck, that’s close,” Baz said, his arm propped on top of his stick.
“That was in before the buzzer,” Dom grumbled, his eyes never leaving the jumbotron as they watched the puck inch across the goal line while the clock counted down to point one seconds. It had to be a goal. They needed this goal. It would be amazing for the morale in the locker room if they went in only one behind. And goals scored in the final seconds of a period could frustrate the team scored on, which would benefit the Strikers, as well.
Finally, the ref skated to the middle of the ice and flipped on his microphone. His arm went out. Just one. And the guys shouted.
“We have a good goal,” the ref announced, and Ben’s teammates slammed into a hug, Dom in the middle, cheers and back slaps all around.
Ben caught Bugsy’s smile before the man headed down the tunnel. At least the pep talk wouldn’t be as awful now that they were only down by one.
He glanced into the stands, and there she was along the boards, screaming her head off with the rest of the crowd. He ripped off his helmet and a glove to run his hand through his hair. She loved when he did that. Always complaining about how she could never see his face, that he even skated his warm-up with his helmet on. Every time he said it was for safety, she scoffed. And then she’d grin and reassure him about safety first.
She caught him staring at her and waved. He waved back, hearing the snickers from his teammates.
“Harty’s doing the exact same thing,” Ben grumbled, catching Harty’s raised hand before he headed down the tunnel. He couldn’t wait to have her in his arms again. Not that it’d been that long since he’d kissed her goodbye this morning before she left his condo to go to work. He’d tried to convince her to come back for a nooner, but she’d reminded him about his no sex within twelve hours of the game rule. He never should’ve told her about that. She made him question his superstitions. At least they’d won their game a few weeks ago when he’d caved on that rule. Ten and a half hours was still safe, maybe he’d convince her to try for nine hours—or eight.
He shook his head. What the hell was she doing to him?
“Those online pictures were adorable,” Baz called out.
“Penny and I are adorable, asshole,” Harty called back, nudging Ben’s shoulder as they sat next to each other in the locker room while some guys disappeared to change or take a shower. Twenty minutes was quick, but some guys needed new gear before each period, and a fast rinse down, if they could get it.
Ben tossed his jersey into the bin in the middle of the room, and guzzled a bottle of Bio Steel.
“Not talking about you, Hartless,” Baz said, a grin on his face that Ben never trusted.
“I think I’ve proven that I’m not heartless,” Harty grumbled. The man hated that old nickname and reminded the guys to call him Harty any chance he got.
“I’m talking about Cheesy and the reporter,” Baz said. Ben froze, a stream of pink liquid soaking into his already drenched pads.
“What are you talking about?” And please don’t remind him that Amanda was the media, he’d just gotten over that.
“Anyone have a phone?” Baz called out, and one of the assistants handed over his own phone. “You know you aren’t supposed to have this in here. No taking naked pictures of us and posting them online,” Baz teased, and the assistant just glared at him. Everyone was used to Baz’s nonsense.
“So, I was scrolling through a few message boards the other night, and I stumbled across pictures of our Cheesy and his girlfriend. Can we call her your girlfriend yet? I mean, it’s the first girl you’ve kept around for longer than a second.”
“Really, Baz. Just show me the damn pictures,” Ben bit out.
“We really like her, so go you,” Baz said with a fist pump, and Ben resisted the urge to put his fist in Baz’s face.
“Pictures,” he said, holding out his hand for the phone.
“So I was scanning through the Bunny Hop social media page.”
“The what?” Harty asked, laughing.
“It’s where the bunnies like to talk about us online. All good, for the most part. I created a fake bunny persona so I can infiltrate their club,” Baz said, wiggling his eyebrows, and Ben shook his head.
“Phone.”
“Here it is. Just swipe,” he said, handing the phone to Ben, who quickly scanned through a dozen pictures of him and Amanda from their trip to Napa the other weekend. Dammit. This was not what he wanted. Why did they even care? He glanced at a few of the comments. Some were nice. The vast majority were rude and almost vicious. He didn’t remember anyone taking pictures of them, but he’d been preoccupied with Amanda.
“Most of the pictures of you are recent and with her,” Baz said. “They’re chattering because you’ve never been so snuggly with one girl.”
“Snuggly? Really?” Harty said, and smirked.
“Direct quote. And not mine,” Baz said.
Ben scanned through the pictures again. They did look pretty snuggly with her hand in his back pocket as he kissed her. That’d been after their hike. He’d loved that she’d taken him to a place where people drank all day, and knowing his one drink a day rule during the season, she’d found stuff for them to do that didn’t require booze. Of course, he’d sampled a few wines at one vineyard. She’d said they didn’t need to, but they were in Napa after all, so he’d had to convince her. It was perfect.
He should be annoyed by the pictures, but he knew it was just part of being a professional athlete. And the pictures didn’t bother him nearly as much as he thought they would.
“Guess this happens. Glad they didn’t get anything too compromising,” he said.
“If you guys are done with your chit-chatting. Why is there a phone out in the locker room? You know the rules. Really, Ben?” Bugsy called out when he stepped into the room.
“It was an emergency, Bugs,” Baz said, grabbing the phone from Ben and handing it back to the assistant.
Bugsy glared at Baz. “I doubt that, but if the gossip girls are done, we need to talk about how we’re going to win this game.”
Baz gave the coach a salute and sat down. Ben just shook his head. How Baz’s neck wasn’t strangled by management on a regular basis was beyond him. But Baz was that player that was great in the room. The glue that held the team, even with all the pranks and nonsense. And on the ice—well, the man was anywhere and everywhere you needed him. An elite defenseman and the envy of other teams.
He wouldn’t offer up Baz in a trade for the world. No matter how much Baz liked to irritate the shit out of Ben.
“Hey Cheesy, you with us?” Bugsy asked.
“Yep. And I’m ready to win this game,” he said.
“Damn straight. We clinch tonight as long as we win in regulation. Giving away points isn’t an option tonight, and you all know this. That goal in the final second was key, and we need to build on that. Let’s hope their momentum is down when we hit the ice and that we can keep it that way.”
***
An hour later, with a shorthanded goal on Harty’s stick, they skated into the post season with a regulation win and Anaheim’s miraculous loss to Carolina. The team flooded the ice and merged into a massive group hug. Ben couldn’t fight back his grin if he tried—not that he wanted to.
“That’s fucking right,” he yelled to the guys. They’d busted their asses to get here, and they deserved their third-place spot in the division. And if Calgary lost their last two games, they’d be in second place.
“All the way to the end,” Finn yelled, as the entire arena erupted with chants of We want the Cup.
Then a microphone was handed to Ben. He hated this part—the end of the season captain speech. He pushed his sweat drenched hair off of his forehead and skated in a circle, taking in the filled arena. Very few fans had bailed to beat traffic. One of the benefits of having the arena so close to public transportation in a city that thrived on it.
His gaze landed on Amanda. He swore he could hear her shouting his name over the thunderous fans. He took in a deep breath, and addressed the fans.
“Well, we did it,” he paused as the crowd roared, clapping. Some banging on the glass. “Thank you for your support.”
He kept the rest of the speech short, and they raised their sticks to the crowd before exiting the ice.
He couldn’t wait to celebrate with his teammates and Amanda.