Fresh Ice (8 page)

If Serena wanted immediate revenge, she was sorely disappointed.

Serena got a job as station manager at WNSH. That, of course, was a cover for her real intentions. She caught the eye of the aging station owner, Burkes Chapman. As the rest of the world prepared for another Winter Olympics, Serena Shipley married a very silent part owner of the Nashville Predators, and the richest man in Nashville.

She hated sitting with Burkes at the games.
Quinn smiled at the thought of the lovely Serena standing in Burkes’ cloud of cigar smoke and bourbon.
Old Man Chapman adored her…almost as much as his cigars and those Civil War pistols he has displayed in his owners’ box at Bridgestone Center. He gave her everything she wanted.

Except that gold medal.

The first time Quinn saw her, he was finishing his final game with the Predators. It wasn’t common knowledge to the fans, but the writing was on the wall. The Preds tired quickly of his bad boy image, and wanted to trade him. Quinn didn’t want a trade. He was done getting passed around the league like a bad joke. By then he’d fallen in love with Nashville.

It’s not that hard, even after everything, to remember how regal she was, looking down from the owners’ box. She was the queen. We were just part of her kingdom.

He must have made an impression on Serena as well, because a week after he retired, Quinn received an invitation to an owners’ event. Burkes was there, jovial country boy that he was, and Serena was on his arm. A brief conversation with the two of them, and the next thing Quinn knew he was the WNSH color commentator for Predators’ games.

Then Burkes died, and Serena took over.

And then Sally.

“Quinn Murray, what…the…hell are you doing here on a Sunday?”

Quinn shook himself to attention. Benny glared at him from the studio door. “I guess this should put to rest any ideas you have that I get special treatment from the boss, right?”

“Not really. I bet she’s tweaked because of your moment in the spotlight last night.”

Quinn smiled. “You are living proof that even a blind horse finds the gate once in a while.”

“You’re the horse that should have put on blinders last night, dude. I saw Serena. When are you going to get that she is never amused when other women drool on you?”

“She gave me an earful after I took her home.”

“I’ll bet. But dude, seriously, you could have mentioned the station once when you were on stage. She probably wouldn’t have minded quite so much.”

“I wasn’t there to promote the station. I was doing a friend a favor.”

“Your good deeds will kill you one day, my friend.” Benny adjusted his chair. “Yeah, well, you are owned by WNSH and you aren’t supposed to be going out into the public without express written permission from the headmistress. You know that.”

Quinn stood and stretched his arms over his head. “I just forgot.”

“At least tell me you noticed some of the prime women that were there. At least tell me you’re not completely dead inside.”

The image of Isabella Landry, standing in the balcony, came to his mind. The idea of someone like Benny staring at her like a piece of meat made Quinn’s stomach roll. “And you wonder why you can’t get a date, when you talk about women like that.”

“That’s a yes!” Benny raised his hand for a high five. Quinn responded with little enthusiasm. “You spotted someone and you’re trying to be cool because she’s classy, right? Although what a classy chick would be doing in a place like Chance’s is beyond me.”

“You’re a pig, Benny. And it’s time for you to go to work. The game I was airing is almost over.” Quinn pointed to the control board as he walked out of the studio.

Izzy opened her eyes and r
eached for her cell phone.
Five-thirty? It’s five-thirty in the afternoon? I slept all day?

She pushed back the covers, welcoming the invigorating chill her deep freeze settings on the room AC gave her. A quick shower further brought her back to life. She studied her reflection in the mirror as she blow dried her hair.
Something’s different about me.

I look hopeful.

It’s the lottery ticket. That and the first real sleep I’ve gotten since Jason died. I’m not worried about money so much.

It’s more than that.

Quinn Murray’s face flashed through her mind.
Those beautiful eyes.

Izzy turned off the blow drier and smiled at her reflection. “And about three hundred women screaming his name. Let’s move back to reality, shall we?”

Izzy blinked at her reflection. “That’s right. I’m talking out loud to myself now. Clearly I need something to eat.”

Her first step into the steamy Nashville afternoon ended any illusions she had about keeping her hair tidy.
How many mornings did my mother straighten my hair with that vicious iron?
She shook her head, feeling her hair curl in the humidity.
I sort of liked it curly.

She walked downtown, and found herself standing in front of Second Chance’s. In the softening daylight, the place seemed entirely too quiet, so unlike the night before when the building throbbed with music, and an energy Izzy ached to feel again. Stepping inside the dimly lit building did little to convince her Chance’s was open, until she saw a sparse collection of patrons sitting at various tables near the bar upstairs.

The ambiance of the place perfectly suited Izzy. She climbed the stairs, replaying the glance she shared with Quinn, wondering what the connection was between her husband’s funeral and a packed bar a thousand miles away.

She took a seat at the bar, and surveyed the place more closely. The scattered customers, as diverse as they looked to a casual glance, all had one thing in common; they were all doing something that looked work related. At one table, a woman sifted through stacks of manila files. At another a man read a book about software design. In a far corner, Izzy saw two college students, one tutoring the other. In the darkened booth across from her…

Collier. Collier James.

It can’t be.

Izzy studied the man as closely as she could without drawing attention to herself. His sandy brown hair was shoulder length and his shoulders were far broader than she remembered, but as he looked up from his stack of papers to signal the waitress, there was no mistaking his cheerful features or steel gray eyes.

Collier’s father, Izzy’s skating coach, paired them when they were very young. Collier wanted little to do with the world of skating, and it didn’t take long before he convinced his father that skating wasn’t for him. While his father paired Izzy with another boy, Collier spent his days blissfully reading books, playing his guitar, and eating whatever he wanted to eat.
How much did I envy him those long autumn afternoons when he’d take a backpack of books to the tree house in his yard, and just eat cookies, drink chocolate milk, and read until his father came home from coaching me through eight hours of compulsory figures?

Now here she was ten feet away from her best friend. She ached to call his name. But the cold hand of reality stopped her as the bartender approached and asked what she wanted to drink.

“A glass of pinot noir, please,” she murmured without looking away from Collier, “and a glass of ice.”

If the bartender thought her order odd, he didn’t let on to her.

Nineteen years earlier Collier was the first person who knew she and Jason slept together. His reaction, she remembered, was the first step on the long fall from grace.

The bartender set two glasses in front of her. Izzy put an ice cube in the wine glass, and took a sip. The deep red wine could not stop the flood of memories tugging at her heart.

The last time I saw Collier, he was furious. I’d never seen him that way.

“You did what?” Even now, in a bar a lifetime away from that morning in Coach’s office, the tremor of anger in his voice was vivid.

“I slept with Jason. Two nights ago. He said it would prove we loved each other and make our performance that much better.”

Collier’s normally peaceful face was a hot shade of
red then. “So you just did it? Izzy, he’s old…he’s almost twice your age!”

“He’s my partner.”

“What does that have to do with it?”

“Jason says all partners sleep with each other. He did with that Serena.”

“Oh yeah, take Jason’s experience with Serena as the guide.”

Izzy had been confused by the whole conversation. “What’s your deal? This will help us, don’t you see? It’ll make us better!”

“No, it won’t. It won’t make you a better skating pair. It won’t make you anything other than yet another teen girl who gives in to a slimy old bastard.”

Izzy remembered, with shame, her petulant pout. “So what do you care?”

“Because I love you.”

I didn’t know anything about love or relationships then. I may not now.
“I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

“I’m not talking about friends. I love you. I love you the way you think you love Jason.”

He was the only one to call me Izzy back then. And he only did it when he really wanted to talk to me about something secret.

I should have known how serious he was. I didn’t. I was so young. I had no idea how much it hurt him. I was such a stupid, egotistical child.

“Who said I loved Jason?”

“Well, if you don’t, then you’re a whore.”

I threw a skate guard at him for that.
“Collier Braden James! You take that back.”

“Take it back? What do you think people are going to say when they hear about this? You’re sixteen. He’s thirty.”

“Twenty-six.”

“Whatever. You just gave yourself away. For what?”

“To make myself a better skater! To win!”

Collier grabbed her by the shoulders then, and shook her lightly. “It’s not all about skating! Some day skating is going to be gone, and you’ll be left with this one decision, this one stupid, bad decision, and it will be all you have.”

How could he have known so much? He was only eighteen. But he knew exactly what would happen.

Collier walked out then, walked out of the room and out of her life. He moved away to live with an aunt, so he could go to school in Memphis. Jason hustled her out of Nashville. Sipping her wine Izzy wondered for the millionth time how different her life might have been had she stayed in Nashville, had she not slept with Jason, had she loved Collier back.

Had I been able to make different choices, would I still be sitting here right now?

She turned on her stool and stared at the nicked up bar.
I disappointed so many people and damaged so many lives because of what I did.
She drained her wine glass and set it on the bar.
I’m not ready to face any of it until I have the right words.

She slipped off the bar stool, catching the heel of her sandal on a rung of the stool. The end result was her lying on the floor, and Collier looking down at her with a mix of amusement and concern.

“Miss, are you…” Collier squinted for a beat, looking confused. “Izzy? Izzy Landry?” He helped her up. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“I-I was having a glass of wine. Waiting for some friends.”
That’s it. Be as lame as you possibly can.
“They are late.”

“Well look at you,” he
took a step back and studied her. “The years have been kind to you Izzy, that’s for certain. Won’t you join me until your friends arrive?” He pointed to his booth.

“I…sure.”
Smooth, Izzy. Good job.

He sat across from Izzy and studied her for a moment. “So where’s Jason?”

“Dead.” Izzy hoped Collier heard more emotion that she put into the single word. She doubted it, however. “He-there was an accident this spring.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” His voice was soft, comforting, like she remembered. But there was something in his eyes, something less than sympathetic. “I mean, I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thanks.”

“He was-,” Collier tapped his fingers on the stack of spiral notebooks in front of him. He seemed to be unable to find the right words. “It’s been a long time.”

This could not be more awkward.
“It has. So, how’s Coach?”

“Also dead. Had a stroke a couple years ago.”

In spite of herself, Izzy laughed out loud. She shook her head, but was unable to stop laughing. “I’m so sorry, Collier.” She took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, that was so wrong of me to laugh.”

Collier’s smile was warm. “Take heart. We haven’t seen each other in forever, and we open with a dead husband and father. We can only go up from here.”

“One would seriously hope anyway.”

Collier picked up a pen and toyed with it. “So what brings you to Nashville?”

Despite her misgivings, Izzy answered truthfully. “My daughter, Jenna. She’s moving in to Vanderbilt this weekend. She got a volleyball scholarship.” Izzy watched Collier count in his head. “Yes, the rumors were true. You were right…about pretty much everything back then.”