“I understand. Go. And be careful.”
“Will do. “ I take her hand, craving a physical connection. But I know if I kiss her right now, I won’t leave. And the time’s not right for that. Plus, I don’t know if it’s something she wants. So the brief touch will have to do. “Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it. Talk to you soon.”
After a long night dealing with law enforcement and getting Cole bailed out and settled, I’m awakened the next morning to my cell blaring the 1970’s classic “Rock and Roll,” otherwise known as theHeysong. These days, it’s mostly associated with hockey score celebrations, so I made it the ringtone for all of my hockey contacts. Maybe not the best idea when you’re in the middle of a deep sleep. I grab the phone from the nightstand to silence the noise and take the call, although my head is still pounding with the beat.
It’s Stone Anginelli. Although he’s a team owner, he’s also a friend and neighbor since we live in the same building.
“Stone,” I mumble, then clear my throat. “How’s it goin’, man?”
“Hey. Just wanted to thank you for taking care of Cole last night. The PR team will need to do some damage control since the media seems to take pleasure in publicizing an incident whenever a player does something stupid.”
I raise up and lean back against the headboard. No way I’ll be able to get back to sleep now. “No problem. I know what it’s like to be young and dumb and have some money in your pocket. Thankfully, those days are behind me.”
Stone chuckles. “Your young and dumb days may be behind you, but media scrutiny is not. Have you been online this morning?”
What the hell is he talking about? “Uh, no. I’m not much for social media.”
“Well, you might want to start paying attention. There’s images of you in Pelican Point, and even though you’re not pictured with anyone, it wasn’t difficult to pinpoint your location. Elise Kinney’s place. Social media has you two engaged already.”
Damn. This is the type of attention neither one of us wants or needs. “She’s gonna hate that.”
Stone says, “If I’ve learned anything from Desirae, it’s that you can’t expect a woman to assume anything. If you truly care about her, keep the lines of communication open.”
A while later, I get a text from Coach. He doesn’t mention Elise specifically, but reminds me that it’s best to avoid distractions for the sake of the team. He also asks me to mentor Cole through the aftermath of his arrest.
After visiting with Cole and sharing some of my experiences and youthful mistakes, I’m hoping I can make a difference with him, both on and off of the ice. Surprisingly, it’s satisfying to embrace the role of mentor, taking my title of team Captain to a whole new level.
Elise and I still haven’t spoken since I was at her house. Despite the advice from Stone, we seem to be stuck in an awkward silence. At least it seems awkward to me, since I don’t know what to say to her at this point. Do I text? Call? Play it cool and wait for her to make a move?
As I’m trying to figure it all out, I run into her working near the team entrance tunnel.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry about the photos catching you at my house.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m sorry they brought your name into it. Knowing how you feel about publicity with athletes and all.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says, although I sense the tension in her body. To change the subject, I ask her about what she’s working on.
“This is my most ambitious project for the arena. I want to create an immersive tunnel for the team’s entrance to the ice—highlighting the evolution of the Blades from inception to where you are now—making a run for the Cup.”
She shows me her sketches—a pictorial timeline of the past five years, from the initial plans for the team, to the decision on the name and the logo, our accomplishments from each season, and where we are today. The history of our team is illustrated through the growth of a tree, from seed to sapling, culminating in a full tree of life. Freaking brilliant.
“This is amazing,” I say to her, still not sure about how to deal with the subject of the public invasion into our lives.
“Do you have any suggestions from a player’s point of view? Have I captured the spirit of the team properly?”
I can definitely ease her mind about her work. “It’s perfect. The way you use ice and nature to create meaningful art—you’re really talented.”
Her smile lights up the tunnel and hopefully melts any chill remaining between us.
The next night we’re playing a critical game against Atlanta. I’ve got the puck, the chants of the crowd pressing me on.Frost! Frost! Frost!From out of nowhere, an Atlanta defender slams me into the boards. My shoulder gives out completely, the pain so intense it literally brings me to my knees. My teammates immediately shield me from further contact and guard the puck. The crowd that was enthusiastically shouting my name mere seconds ago falls silent. The whistle of the ref stops all play,and the team doctor and Coach come rushing over. With some assistance from my fellow players, I slowly stand. I don’t need to explain anything. They know it’s my bum shoulder.
Back in the locker room, medical staff cut off my jersey and remove my shoulder pads before giving me a cursory exam, but I already know what they’re going to say.
“Jax, we’ll send you for an MRI tomorrow to confirm, but you’re most likely looking at surgery and months of rehab. Your season’s done.”
