Across the Line (In The Zone) (26 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

The Barracuda PR machine held a press conference a couple of days later, after practice. Management invited all the players to attend, but hadn’t made it mandatory. Calder was proud when, as he’d expected, every single one of them stayed behind to participate.

Usually the players wore color-coded jerseys at the morning skates to indicate which guys they’d be practicing with. For the presser today, they all put on the same color. The PR guy, James Atwater, had wanted them to look like one unit, literally, standing behind Hart when he made the announcement.

It went well. Hart weathered the storm for about fifteen minutes before Atwater broke it up. Afterward, the reporters scattered to write their stories and Hart, Calder, Tim, Alex and a couple of other guys went to visit Jesse Kimball in the hospital with only the ‘Cuda Cam crew and a nurse accompanying them.

When they entered the room, Jesse’s eyes got as big as hockey pucks and the machine that monitored his pulse showed a decided uptick.

Hart stepped close to the bed. “Hey, Jesse. I’m Hart Griffin. This is my brother, Calder, and some of our teammates...” Hart introduced the rest of the guys who had come along. Mrs. Kimball had her phone out and was taking pictures.

Jesse grinned and slowly held out a hand which Hart carefully gripped bro-style. “I know who you are. I know who all you guys are.”

“We came to tell you how sorry we are about what happened to you,” Hart said.

“Thanks. But it wasn’t your fault, you know.”

Hart scratched his head. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, if I had done the brave thing a long time ago, like you did, maybe the hockey community would have been more accepting by now.”

“Wait a second.” Jesse’s uninjured eye narrowed. “Are you telling me that...?”

Hart nodded. “Yes. I’m gay. And I just held a press conference to announce it to the world. By now it’s all over the league.”

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. He stared at Hart. “But that’s...” He shook his head.

“I couldn’t sit on the sidelines anymore, not when guys like you were taking the heat all alone, without support.”

“I have support,” Jesse said. “My mom and dad, my friends, my teachers, my coach.”

“I probably would have, too, but I still couldn’t do it. I didn’t want anyone to...think less of me. People had expectations for me by then, like they had an imaginary NHL jersey just waiting for my name to be put on it, and I felt like I had to fit myself into it, even if it meant denying who I really was.” Hart sighed. “The hockey part of me took over and kept the gay part of me in the closet.

“Then when I got signed, I was afraid to do anything that would jeopardize that. I thought if the league ever found out, teams wouldn’t pick me up when contract deadlines rolled around.” Hart sat with his elbows resting on his knees, his head bent. “Maybe that’s why I ended up having the success I’ve had. I always figured that if my secret ever came out and I was too damn valuable to the team, they wouldn’t be able to get rid of me.”

No one spoke. Calder, of course, had already heard some of this, but this time he found himself even more understanding of what Hart must have endured all those years. It must have been a nightmare to keep a secret like that, to live in fear like that. He thought about all the lies Hart must have had to tell and he felt sorry for his brother, sorry that he couldn’t have helped him. If Hart had told him, “Hey, Calder, I’m gay, but I don’t want anyone else to know,” he would have kept the secret. It still sort of pissed him off that his brother
hadn’t
reached out to him, but nothing was going to change that. Like Becca had said, all they could do was move forward, as brothers.

“So, I figure, we can’t be the only gay hockey players in the world. There are more of us out there who are afraid of the repercussions of coming out and I wanted them to know, wherever they are, that they’re not alone. And now that I know my team is behind me—”

“Damn right we are,” Alex said.

“I want to be that role model for kids like you, coming up. You know about the league’s stance on homosexuality, right?”

Jesse nodded. “I researched it. The league and the players have it in the contract that guys can’t be discriminated against because they’re gay.”

“That’s right. That helps. But if I’m out there—” Hart chuckled at the pun, “—actively playing, in the public eye, showing that it’s possible to be a gay player in the NHL, it’ll prove it can be done. Guys don’t have to choose between being gay and playing hockey. You can do both.”

“Yes, you can,” Mrs. Kimball said firmly. “That’s what we’ve been telling him. But he kept saying he wasn’t sure. No one had ever done it before, or if they were, they weren’t letting anyone know about it.”

“Hart let everyone know,” Alex said. “The video already has one hundred thousand views. It’ll probably be a million by tomorrow.”

“Anyway,” Hart said, “that’s what I wanted to tell you. I’m proud of you. I’m here for you. I mean it. If you ever need to talk about this, I’m going to give you my cell number.”

Jesse gasped. “No way,” he whispered.

Hart asked him for his phone so he could input his number. “Just keep in mind that I may not be able to take your call. I might be busy playing or at practice or something. But just leave a voice mail and I’ll get back to you. You and I are friends now, okay? I want us to be friends.”

“I...sure. Sure, we can be friends,” Jesse stammered.

Later, Calder questioned the wisdom of giving the kid his phone number, but Hart shook his head. “I meant what I said. That kid went through hell. Call it guilt, call it whatever you want, but I feel like I need to do something more.”

“Cut yourself a break, Hart. You’re doing something now. That message will get out,
is
getting out. Remember what Alex said? One hundred thousand views, and that was half an hour ago.”

“You think Riggs has heard yet?” Hart asked. “If he has, he’s probably gloating, walking around telling anyone who’ll listen that he was right.”

Calder glanced around to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard. “You know what? Fuck him. Fuck Riggs. It really doesn’t matter what he says. I say fuck him.”

Hart smiled wryly. “You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather not.”

Chapter Forty-Seven

Becca opened her eyes to see it was five o’clock in the morning. She was, as usual, wide awake. Her brain was too busy for sleep and unfortunately had no handy on/off switch. These days, her thoughts kept her up late and woke her up early. She didn’t even need to set an alarm.

She tried to slip out of bed quietly, so as not to bother Calder. He had only gotten in a few hours ago from a three-game road trip, two of the games back-to-back, but he reached out to snake an arm around her waist before she could escape.

“...not going anywhere, woman.”

He pulled her to him, spooning up against her. His voice was raspy and she could tell he was only half-awake. “Missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He kissed the back of her neck and she felt his cock stir against her bottom. Although she had a ton of things to do today and was eager to get started, his hand on her breast felt so good. Heat flooded her lower body as he teased her nipple with his fingers while licking and nibbling on her shoulder.

“Missed you this much,” he whispered, nudging her with his erection.

“You missed me a lot.”

He chuckled silently.

Flush with desire, she hooked her leg over his and arched her body in a wordless invitation. He didn’t hesitate. Smoothly, he angled his cock and slid into her with a groan.

“Love you so much,” he said, as he took up a slow, steady rhythm. “Love coming home to you.”

They moved together, letting the feelings build. When her climax came, his hand pressing on her clit, she shuddered. He came soon after with a prolonged moan, his hot breath against her neck.

“Love you, Becks,” he murmured again, already half-asleep.

She smiled, wondering if when he woke up, he’d remember the encounter at all.

After showering, she checked her email while her bagel toasted and saw one from her insurance company. She immediately opened it and saw that they’d finally approved payment on her claim. Although there was still no word on the cause of the fire, she had been cleared. Hallelujah. The check was to be sent by the end of business Friday. That was the good news. Of course, there was bad news. The amount they’d approved wasn’t nearly enough and she had more bills due—
before
Friday.

The toaster dinged just as Calder hurried into the kitchen, fastening his pants as he walked.

“What’s up?” she asked, surprised to see him out of bed. She’d expected him to sleep until eight at least.

“I forgot Hart’s shooting that PSA thing today and he convinced me to do it with him. I was supposed to be at the BIC five minutes ago. Can I take this coffee?” He didn’t wait for an answer, just poured it into one of the travel cups.

“You just got home a few hours ago. You need your sleep. Don’t you have a game tonight?”

“Yes. We’re playing the Leafs but I’ll just take a longer nap. Can I have this bagel too? Thanks.” He hustled toward the front door.

“Hey, I wanted to ask you something,” she called, following.

“Can’t talk now. Call me later. Love you. Bye.”

The door shut and she decided she’d transfer the money now and talk to him about it later.

Weeks ago while he was on a road trip in Canada, she’d needed money on the spot and hadn’t been able to get a hold of him. It turned out that he’d lost his phone for two whole days. As a result, she’d almost had a serious delay because the floor guy wouldn’t pour the concrete unless she could pay. If the floor wasn’t set, the subsequent projects couldn’t go forward, and it wasn’t as if her contractors could just put all their other jobs on hold because Becca had a setback. It had the potential to be a major nightmare, but at the very last minute, Calder phoned just to check in, and she was able to get the funds
and
her floor.

That’s when he’d just added her name onto his account, allowing her full access to his money. The man was too generous for his own good. From that moment on all she had to do was say, “Calder, I need three thousand dollars for—” and usually she wouldn’t even have to finish her sentence. He’d wave a hand and say, “Fine.” This had happened so many times, she knew he wouldn’t have a problem now, especially when the insurance money was finally on its way.

* * *

Calder was running on empty. The bagel wasn’t cutting it. Thankfully, Hart had arranged for the team chef to make breakfast for everyone involved in the PSA.

Now that Hart had gone public about his sexuality, he seemed to be trying to make up for lost time. He and Jesse Kimball had teamed up with a web designer to set up a site where athletes from all sports, male and female, could get advice on how to come out to family and friends, how to deal with bullying, and read true stories about how others had done it. They were calling it Coming Out Strong.

He’d also volunteered to appear in the public service announcement they were shooting today, promoting the idea that hockey was a sport everyone can play, no matter their sex, race or sexual orientation. Even the physically handicapped could play. Sled hockey was a well-established sport with leagues.

The media fervor over Hart’s announcement a week ago hadn’t quite died down yet. It seemed as if every time they went on the road, the local sports reporters wanted to know how things had changed for him since he’d come out. Calder could have answered those questions himself by now. Generally, not much had changed. Players chirped at him on the ice, and sometimes those insults took on a gay-bashing slant, but that wasn’t anything new. Calling a guy gay was as routine as accusing him of having weak ankles, a small dick or a weak shot. Hart didn’t react any differently to the gay chirps.

Today, Calder and Hart, and some of the other guys were helping with the PSA video. Some of the players from the visiting Toronto Maple Leafs heard about it and volunteered to be in it too. After they finished filming, Calder grabbed a quick breakfast and hit the ice for practice. He did some physical therapy for a strained muscle, ate again, then got caught on his way to the parking lot by a determined reporter for the
San Diego Tattler
, Rochelle Narritt. She’d caught wind of the whole story of Cups and was always sniffing around for relationship gossip about the players.

Rochelle asked how they met and he summarized their encounter on the plane, then ensuing long-distance romance, the fire, and how afterward Becca moved to California to be with him and to open her restaurant with his help. Calder gave the interview, thinking Becca would appreciate the extra PR.

“This is perfect, Calder. My readers are going to eat this up.”

By then he was dead on his feet. He drove home, went straight to bed for his pregame nap and was asleep almost before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

A week later, Calder was checking the mail, saw the bank statement and opened it. There had been a mix-up with a check he’d written months ago for a local halfway house. They’d lost the check so he’d written a new one. Then someone found the original and they’d...what had happened? Fuck, he still couldn’t figure out what went on, but bottom line, they’d asked him to make sure they hadn’t gotten double the original donation.

As he scanned the statement, he noticed Becca had transferred a rather large amount. Of course, that wasn’t unusual. He was used to her accessing his money for Cups; that was nothing new. What
was
new was that she hadn’t okayed it with him beforehand. He studied the statement for the charity checks and found they had indeed deposited both checks, but at this point, he really didn’t care if they ended up with twice the money. It wasn’t worth the hassle to ask them to reimburse him.

He laid the statement down on the counter and made himself a sandwich. As he took his lunch to the table, he picked up the statement again. The fact that Becca had taken the money without notifying him bothered him more than it should have. It reminded him of Perri and how she’d spent his money like he was printing it in the basement. Intellectually, he knew Becca was nothing like Perri, but it still irked him that she’d helped herself—he checked the statement—a week ago and never thought to mention it.

He went to the bathroom and took a shower. He was supposed to meet Becca at Cups in an hour. They’d delivered the tables and chairs this morning and she wanted him to see how the place was coming along.

Truthfully, it was the last thing he wanted to do. He was, embarrassingly, a little jealous of the café. He felt as if he was in a love triangle—him, Becca and the new Cups. She spent so much time there that he often felt neglected. Which was bullshit. He wasn’t a fucking child who needed constant attention, but a little TLC would be welcome. What was the point of her moving in with him if they never spent time with each other?

He told himself that once the restaurant opened, things would settle down. The monkey would be off her back and she’d be able to finally breathe. Until then, he would grin and bear it. He’d known she was a workaholic from the beginning, even if he hadn’t really seen it in action until she came to California.

When he walked through the door of the new Cups a little before two, he realized how much she’d gotten done since the last time he’d been there. It was really beginning to look like a restaurant. The walls were painted the signature lime-green with black accent stripes. She had artwork propped neatly against one wall, ready to be hung. And that concrete floor did look cool. He had to admit she’d been right about that. She beamed when she came out and saw him.

“Doesn’t it look great? Do you love the booths? I didn’t have booths at the old Cups. They were too expensive, but I splurged a little on these. What do you think?”

“Looks great, Becks. Everything looks great.” With the bank transfer fresh in his mind, he wondered just how much those booths had cost.

“Come into the kitchen. Do you remember what it looked like before? Wait, close your eyes.”

She led him blind to the back of the house. When he opened his eyes, it looked a lot like the old Cups’ kitchen, but with more room. As she gave him a tour and described how they’d laid it out for maximum efficiency, he was impressed.

“I never knew there could be so much strategy hidden in a kitchen.”

“And look at my office. It’s
huge.
”

She took his hand and dragged him to a room that was twice as big as her office in Ithaca. Feeling frisky, he nudged the door shut with his foot. “I have fond memories of your old office.” He put a hand on her waist and pulled her so they were thigh to thigh. “Especially the desk.”

She pushed at his hands and twisted away from him. “Calder, be serious. There are contractors all over the place.”

Undeterred, he said, “Then let’s go home. Can’t you give these guys the rest of the day off? If I push it—skip my nap, skip the meal—I can show up at six. That would give us a good three hours. We could go home and fool around, or grab an early dinner, walk on the beach...spend some quality time together. Remember what that is?”

She did look truly torn, but her drive to work won out, as usual. “God, I really would love to, but I can’t. Everything’s been going so smoothly, I don’t want to jinx it.”

Disgruntled but not surprised, he went back out front to get a better look at the artwork.

He’d expected her to put the same kind of pictures on the wall as she had in Ithaca—photographs of lettuces matted and framed in black. As he drew close, he saw that these were not photographs at all. They were original paintings. He wasn’t an art connoisseur, but he thought the cityscape looked familiar.

“Hey, Becks, who’s the artist here?” He pointed.

She held up a finger, finished her conversation with one of the workers, then came over to the art wall. “I think it’s Bernetti.” She pulled a small iPad out of her back pocket and pulled up a note. “Yes, Carla Bernetti. Do you know her work?”

“Remember Tim and Erin’s wedding at Fleming’s house? I think she did a painting that’s hanging in his dining room.”

“Yes, she did. I remember Carla mentioning that because I’d talked about how you were on the Barracudas.”

“So this is an original?”

“No, I paid someone to copy her work. Of course it’s original.”

Calder frowned and said a little sharply, “That couldn’t have been cheap. Dillabaugh has fairly expensive taste in art.”

Becca raised her eyebrow. “What’s that tone?”

“That tone is...I don’t know, one step shy of angry.”

“Angry? What are you angry about? You don’t like cityscapes?”

“Very funny. No, I’m angry about the bank statement I got today which showed a mysterious transfer of four thousand dollars last week.”

She winced. “Oh, that was me. I’m sorry. I meant to tell you, but I just forgot.”

“It makes me wonder if I should maybe take a look at your expenditures.”

“
What?
”

“Because suddenly, you’re getting expensive booths and original artwork. I understand Paseo Loco is trying to be an art enclave, but that doesn’t mean you—”

Becca held her hand up. “No. Wait just a damn minute. Let’s go back to where you said you thought you should take a look at my expenditures. What the hell does that mean? Suddenly, you don’t trust me? Are you suggesting I’m spending too much money?”

“Maybe I am.”

Her eyes narrowed. “For your information, I did not pay for that art. It’s going to be for sale. But even if I did, who are you to say what I can and can’t spend money on? Have you ever run a business? No.
You
play hockey. You play a game for a living.”

Calder felt like his head was going to blow off his shoulders. He clenched his fists so tightly that if he’d had some carbon in there, he could have made diamonds. He noted some of the workers had paused to watch the unfolding drama, but that didn’t stop him.

“No, I haven’t ever run a business and the fact that I play hockey for a living has no bearing whatsoever on this conversation. What
does
have bearing is that it’s my money you’re spending. In fact,” he said, spreading his arms in a sweeping gesture, “I think legally, all this belongs to me.”

Watching Becca’s reaction was like seeing an explosion in reverse. All her emotion got sucked back inside her until all that was left was a tightly shut door with ten locks, a security chain and alarms and shit.