Fresh Ice (5 page)

Sally was the stereotypical personal assistant. Young, fresh like a new rose, still tightly closed, dew rolling off the bud. Quinn’s stomach churned as her face, so sweet, so trusting, crossed his memory.
She’d be twenty-four now, wouldn’t she?

No, she’d be twenty-two.

That’s how it started: A simple lie on a job application. A high school graduate, too poor to afford college, looking for a job that would support her and give her a leg up, that’s all it was. Though why such a sweet girl like Sally ever wanted to be a personal assistant to someone like him, Quinn never knew.

Five years ago, Quinn signed with the Predators, and was the hottest thing in town. His arrival gave a struggling team a shot of energy, and Quinn capitalized on it by giving great post game interviews.
Well, that and a hell of a lot of personal appearances.
His appearances started to overwhelm the front office, so they suggested he have a personal assistant, a suggestion the womanizing Quinn relished.

I would never have touched her.
Quinn brushed water away from his face and mentally repeated the mantra he swore to whenever he thought of Sally.
Had I known she wasn’t twenty-one, I would never have touched her.

Even I have boundaries.

Age, he knew, was about the only boundary he had back then. There wasn’t much female skin that didn’t carry his fingerprints in those early days in Nashville. At thirty-three, after knocking around the NHL for more than a decade, he was finally where he wanted to be. Money, fame, and an endless supply of fans were all his. He was on top of the world, and everyone wanted to be near him, Sally most of all.

She was twenty-one, her application said. She was twenty-one and very happy to join him on all of his appearances. She was happy to run his little errands, to fetch him coffee, to be his personal attendant. He was the king in her world. It was his god-given right to have her, and she was entirely too willing.

Looking back, Quinn should have known. He should have read the signs and known that Sally wasn’t quite everything she said she was. But he was drunk with power, drunk with lust, and just plain drunk. Everyone, everywhere, wanted to buy him a drink, and he was quite willing to accept. After all, to refuse would be to offend his adoring public.

Every night became a party for Quinn, with Sally at his side always ready to drive him home after he’d drunk himself into a stupor. It was Sally who bore his weight as he staggered into his apartment, and it was Sally who eased his shoes off and tucked him into bed with gentle hands.

It was Quinn who crossed the line.

Guilt tore through Quinn and he crossed his arms over his stomach to keep from throwing up in the shower.
It still makes me sick to think about it…what I remember of it.

Cloudy images floated in his mind. He remembered so little of that last night, which wasn’t new. He never remembered much when he was drinking. Something as simple as a couple glasses of wine could turn out the lights on his memory, and that night there was far more than a couple glasses of wine.

The party had already gone on too long, that much he remembered. Sally tried to get him to leave, begged him to leave.
But I was too busy being the huge hockey star. I couldn’t leave when there were drinks being bought for me.

And then…

And then she told me about the baby.

Suddenly Sally’s face was there, in
the shower with him, everywhere, in front of him. Quinn closed his eyes and crumpled to the floor of the shower, guilt burning him with every drop of water.

“Quinn, I’m pregnant.”

Those three words should have sobered me up. But I was so impressed with myself. I bought a round for everyone in that damn place and announced it to the world. And what did I say, what did I insist on?

I had to drive her home. She couldn’t drive in such a delicate condition, I wouldn’t hear of it. So I drove.

And my drunken ego got her killed.

Now he slumped on the floor of the shower, unable to wash away the film of filth that clung to him since that night. How long he sat there, he didn’t know. He didn’t care. The hot water depleted and chilled, he turned off the stream and stepped into the bathroom. His robe was warm on his chilled, wet skin. Wiping the mirror clear of steam he looked at himself.

Serena saved me. She was there at the hospital before the police. She was the one who knew Sally wasn’t yet twenty. She was the one who covered up the whole sordid thing so completely that even the people in the bar, even the people I bought celebratory drinks for, couldn’t recall even seeing me that night. She was the one who insisted I needed medical treatment immediately, so immediately that the police didn’t get a shot at a sobriety test until I was well on my way to being sober.

How she did it all so quickly, Quinn never asked, and preferred not to know.

She couldn’t save my hockey career, the Preds insisted I retire. But Serena saved everything else; my reputation, my lifestyle. She gave me another avenue to fame and fortune in Nashville. All I had to do was everything she said.

Their arrangement stopped feeling sexy quickly and started feeling more like slavery. It was a trade off, as she reminded him frequently: His top shelf life in Nashville for his obedience to her.

I now live a filthy half life, doing whatever Serena wants me to do, whenever she wants me to do it.

The filthiness of his obedience to her took on a whole new meaning the day she found where her former skating partner, Jason Masters, had been hiding since the day she was humiliated at Nationals.

I had a hand in ruining the life of a man simply because he crossed Serena. And now he’s dead, and his widow is destitute.

No one can save me from that.

Quinn shivered at the thought, and tied the robe more tightly around him as he left the bathroom.
A trip to Chance’s is clearly in order.

***

An hour later, Quinn set his glass down and stared at the rows of bottles on the other side of the bar. There was something mesmerizing about the promises each bottle offered glimmering in the half-light of the bar.
How easy would it be to just sail away again?

“You want something else, Quinn?”

Quinn tore his gaze away from the bottles.
Of course I want something else. I want to forget everything the way I used to. I want to be the life of the party. I want the last three years to never have happened.
“No, no thanks, Chance. Just another ginger ale.”

“Comin’ up.”

The music from the stage downstairs annoyed him. Quinn swirled the ice in his glass and looked over the railing. Chance’s place, aptly named “Second Chance’s” after Chance’s first bar burned to the ground in a grease fire six years earlier, was a cavernous two story affair, dance floor and stage downstairs, bar upstairs. Quinn came because he liked Chance. They went way back, and Chance was one of the few who didn’t constantly beg him to be ‘his old self.’ Quinn liked Chance, but he rarely liked Chance’s choice of music acts. “What the hell is that, Chance?”

“Ginger ale, what you asked for. I know it’s not the special brand of ginger ale your pampered ass is used to, but it’s what I’ve got.” Chance didn’t look away from the television screen above the bar. Quinn was the only patron sitting at the bar, everyone else was the respo
nsibility of the downstairs bartender, and Chance, Quinn knew, was a man who didn’t like to step in and take on more responsibility than he had to.

“It’s called Vernor’s, and that’s not what I’m talking about. What is that infernal noise down there?”

“That, my friend, is music.”

“That’s what we’re calling music now? Some guy sobbing on his guitar?”

Chance threw a glance over his shoulder. “Leave the guy alone. He’s a local kid. Sings sad folk songs. The girls seem to like him.”

Quinn held up his glass for a refill. “What girls? There’s no one in here but you, me, and sad sack down there.” Quinn studied the musician more closely. “And he’s hardly a kid. If he’s a minute younger than I am, I’ll eat whatever fried mess you’re calling today’s special.”

“He’s a guy who comes in here a lot to write music. Name’s Collier James. He doesn’t bother anyone, and he does not have a bad voice. He and a group of guys travel around those Renaissance fairs during the summer and sing drinking songs or whatever. During his off time he comes in here and works out material.”

“He’s annoying me.”

“You could always go someplace else.” Chance turned his attention back to the ball game.

“What, and miss all this great customer service?”

“Well if you feel that strongly about it, then by all means don’t be here Saturday night.”

“Why not?”

“His band’s my opening act. I got three on stage Saturday night and his band is first up.”

“You can’t be serious. You think the under aged college co-eds are going to buy your watered down drinks and listen to that guy?”

Chance frowned at him. “First of all, every person that walks through that door has proper I.D. Second, girls like this guy and they bring their boyfriends to listen to him and the boyfriends can’t listen to him without drinking. It’s what you might call a circle of life.”

“I notice you didn’t say anything about watering down the drinks.”

Chance twisted his face into an expression Quinn could only assume to be a smile. “Hey, this isn’t a non-profit organization.”

Quinn rubbed his temples.
Do not get to Chance’s before nine.

“You know, you could help me out in that department.”

Quinn looked up from his glass. “Which department would that be? The watered down drinks, the kitchen, or the music?”

“Smart ass. No, you know you used to get up on stage with the bands and really get the crowd riled up. You were a star.”

“That’s the operative word, Chance. I’m not a star anymore.”

“Bull
. You know very well you’re still one of the hottest sports figures in this town.”

Quinn shook his head. “I’m not sure what you want from me, but I doubt I’m going to like it.”

“It won’t be that bad. Just get on the stage between acts and tell the crowd how awesome this place is.”

“I’m not going near the stage if that guy is on it.”

“Okay, so be here around ten. Introduce the headliner.”

Quinn sighed. “Fine. I’ll be here.”

Provided Serena doesn’t have me tied up.

He looked over the railing at the singer again and cringed.
Not sure which is worse.

Izzy set her suitcase on the bed and looked around the room. The room felt too large. She realized she’d never had her own hotel room. She sat on one bed, then the other, feeling just the tiniest bit wicked. Outside her window Jenna and Mikayla’s giggles floated as they dragged several cases into the room they were to share for a night before they could move to their dorm room the next day. Sean and Adele had the room between hers and the girls’.

Sitting on the bed, Izzy realized she was the odd wheel. For the first time since she was a child, she didn’t have a partner and everyone else did. The idea was exhilarating and frightening at the same time.

Here I am, back in Nashville.

Not sure what I expected. Border guards?

She smiled at the thought. As they’d gotten closer to the city, Izzy flashed back to the night she and Jason left.
I was so scared. It felt like the world was chasing us with pitchforks and torches.

She frowned. “Why were we so scared? Sure, my parents were furious, but Jason’s parents were okay. We were out of skating, the Olympics were gone. Why did we run in the middle of the night?”

Jason woke me up. “We have to go. We have to go now.”
Izzy heard his voice as if he were sitting next to her in the room, not an echo two decades old.

“Where are we going?”
Izzy pictured herself as she had been; sixteen, obviously pregnant, still sleepy.

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll change our names and we’ll be safe.”

Izzy blinked at the memory. “Funny. I never asked what we’d be safe from.”

Why didn’t I ask that?

I didn’t have a choice. I let Jason take me to Wisconsin to live and work and raise a child under a name that wasn’t mine. And I never asked why.

I’m not afraid to be here. I’m…home.

The feeling was unexpected, and undeniable.

“Mom?”

Izzy looked up from her reverie at Jenna, who stood in the doorway. “Oh, are you two settled?”

“Yeah. We thought we’d hit that Irish pub across the street for dinner and then go down to the District for some music. Wanna join us?”

“Sounds good to me. But I’m a little tired from the drive, so maybe I’ll just come back here after dinner.”

“You okay?”

Izzy forced a smile. “I’m fine, Jens, just tired.”

Jenna nodded. “Is it weird, being back?”

Izzy glanced past her daughter out the door to Demonbreun Avenue.
Just down the street is the Sommet Center where I skated…but they don’t call it that anymore. It’s Bridgestone Center.
“Maybe. I’m sure I’ll see a lot of changes this weekend.”