On the Surface (In the Zone) (22 page)

“Congratulations. I’m Steve, by the way.”

They shook hands. “Look, Steve, I’d appreciate it if we could keep this on the down low. I haven’t asked her, and the media being what it is these days...”

Steve nodded and lowered his voice. “You got it. Lori’ll help you pick something out, and I’ll run interference with any fans who want to take a picture or get an autograph.”

Lori pulled out a key as they walked toward the proper section. “Any particular shape, Tim? Round, marquise, princess...?”

WTF
. He blinked at her. “Princess is a shape?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said, smiling. “I’ll get an assortment.”

She made quick work of pulling out trays. Initially, he felt overwhelmed. There were so many to choose from. And the lingo... Lori sounded like she was speaking a foreign language.
This particular cut maximizes the dispersion
. Sounded like goddamned physics, and he’d hated physics. Yet, because this was likely one of the most important purchases he’d ever make, he asked questions and listened to the answers. Lori knew exactly how to narrow down the choices and together they determined Tim wanted a round-cut diamond in platinum. He preferred prongs to a bezel setting. In the end, he bought a 1.5 carat round brilliant cut with a bead-set border for one simple reason.

It reminded him of a hockey puck.

Chapter Thirty

The weather in Chicago was cold and windy, about fifty degrees, but Erin thought it felt a lot colder. She was glad she’d bought a heavy coat.

In the taxi, Tim took her hand and squeezed it gently as they pulled away from the curb. Their plane had been delayed, which meant going directly to the hotel and checking in, changing clothes, then heading straight to the arena.

“Relax,” Tim said. “They’re going to love you, especially my mom. Don’t be afraid if she bombards you with questions.”

“Are you kidding me? Oh my God. I’m going to be sick,” she moaned, letting her head fall back.

Tim chuckled and put an arm around her. “No you’re not. It’s going to be fine.”

The moment of truth arrived much too soon. The cab pulled up to the entrance of the United Center, home to both the Chicago Bulls basketball team and the NHL Blackhawks. Tim pulled out their tickets and it wasn’t until they passed through security that someone recognized him. A few people approached, wanting to meet him. Others were downright rude, expressing a wish that he go back to San Diego, but using harsher language. Tim took it in stride, accustomed to this type of treatment. Erin, on the other hand, wanted to shout retaliatory insults to the jerks.

“We have tickets near the home bench, but my parents sit below the press box. We’re going to go meet them first.”

Knowing that once the game started, his parents wouldn’t want to chitchat, Tim had arranged to meet them forty-five minutes before the puck dropped. His mom and dad looked so cute. His mom had a red knit cap on over her chin-length, dark hair. His dad went bareheaded. Other than that, they looked alike, two tall middle-aged people in jeans and Blackhawks jerseys with
Hollander
across the shoulders. She and Tim had opted to wear street clothes.

“Mom, Dad, this is my girlfriend, Erin. Erin, my parents, Sharon and Richard.”

Sharon hugged her. “We’re so excited to meet you, Erin, so glad you could come to Thanksgiving.”

“I have to say, it’s the most unconventional Thanksgiving I’ve ever been to, but hockey plus anything’s got to be fun,” she said.

Tim’s dad laughed. “Erin, you need to move here to Chicago where we
know
hockey. San Diego, probably one in a hundred people is a fan. Here, it’s more like ninety-nine out of a hundred, and that one lone outlier is an infant who doesn’t know any better.”

“UNCLE DIM!” A little girl, about seven or eight, and her mother came bounding down the steps. Following close behind was the dad. He looked worried, his hand extended ready to grab either member of his family if they took a tumble. The little girl attached herself to Tim like a leech in a hockey jersey.

Tim chuckled. “Well, if it isn’t Sappyfeet,” he said, ruffling her hair.

“You can’t call me that anymore,” she said, craning her head to look up at him. “I’m much faster now. My coach says I must take after you. You should see me. Can you come to my game on Saturday?”

Tim detached the girl from his legs and said to Erin, “This is my niece, Rachel, my sister, Stephanie and her husband, Dan. Guys, this is my girlfriend, Erin.”

Erin glanced at Tim. “Did she call you Uncle Dim?”

Stephanie said, “That’s her pet name for him. When she was a baby she had a hard time with the
T
sound.”

“That’s right,” Tim said. “And just for the record, she’s the only one who gets to call me that.”

Erin chuckled. “And what sport do you play, Rachel?”

“
Hockey
.” As if there were no other sport worthy of playing.

“I should have known,” Erin replied.

Anyone looking at Stephanie and Tim would know they were siblings. They shared many of the same facial features and even had a similar smile. All three newcomers wore jeans and Hollander Blackhawk jerseys. Looking around she saw probably ninety percent of the people who’d arrived so far were wearing Blackhawk gear of some kind. In San Diego, she saw more of a seventy percent ‘Cuda gear, thirty percent street clothes ratio.

She remarked on that and Tim said, “The ‘Hawks have won five Stanley Cups. Everyone loves a winning team. Plus, they’re one of the original six clubs of the NHL. San Diego isn’t a hockey town. Yet.”

“Have the Barracudas won the Cup before?” Erin asked.

“Nope.” Tim shook his head. “They made it to the Conference Semifinals a couple of times.”

“But you guys are having a heck of a season so far. A lot of that is due to your scoring, Tim,” Dan said.

Tim smiled. “Thanks. I just hope I can keep it up.”

“Tough break losing Griffin,” Stephanie said. “He’s been hot the last five games or so.”

Calder Griffin, an up-and-coming forward, had just blown his knee out during the Minnesota game. Erin had hated watching it happen live. It upset her to see a Barracuda hurt so badly, especially a guy she’d met and liked. They’d heard unofficially he was out for the remainder of the season. If he was anything like Tim, he was likely overcome with bitterness and anger right now.

Tim sighed. “It sucks more for him than it does for the team. We’ll rally. Guys’ll step up. But he’s stuck watching from home.”

“Do you like hockey, Erin?” Rachel asked.

“I didn’t used to,” she admitted. “But now I love it. It’s the most exciting sport ever.” She went on to gush about Tim’s goal and two assists last night and everyone in the family smiled, especially his father. “I swear,” she went on, “I don’t know how he does it. Sometimes that puck moves so fast I can’t even track it.”

Stephanie talked about how she had tried as a little girl to play street hockey for fun with him, but couldn’t compete. “Dan stinks at it too.”

“Thanks, honey. Love you too,” Dan said with a chuckle.

Stephanie looked down at her daughter. “But Rachel is a monster on skates.” She held a hand up to her mouth and said, “Don’t tell her, but Dan’s going to try his hand at building a backyard rink next weekend.”

Rachel started bouncing up and down. “I can hear you, Mom. Really? Next weekend? I thought I had to wait until next month.”

“I finally got Uncle Josh and Uncle Brian to commit. Weather permitting, we’ll build the foundation next Saturday.”

“DADDY! I love you! Thank you thank you thank you!” She bounced with even more enthusiasm than before, which Erin wouldn’t have thought possible. But her joy was contagious. All the adults were smiling now.

Richard said, “Rachel has talent. You can see it even now. Reminds me so much of Tim. First time he got skates on he played like a miniature Gretzky.”

Tim coughed. “Give me a break, Pop. I don’t even play like Gretzky now.”

“Well, maybe not until you were thirteen did you start playing like Gretzky.” Richard turned to Erin. “When we go back to the house, I’ll show you his trophies. They’re all up in his old room.”

“Otherwise known as The Shrine,” Stephanie said out of the side of her mouth.

Tim shook his head. “Christ, it is
not
a shrine.”

“Is too,” Stephanie said.

“It’s really cool,” Rachel told Erin. “Lots of cool memory beelia.”

Stephanie put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “
Memorabilia
.”

“Sounds great.” Erin gave Tim a devilish smile. “I would love to see The Shrine.”

“Anyone up for a beer?” Dan asked, then he cast a strange look at his wife who smiled.

“I’d love a Sprite,” she said.

Tim and Dan and Rachel made a beer/Sprite run, and they all made small talk until the game was about to start. Tim greeted old friends of his parents, couples who had also held season tickets since before the Stone Age. Just before the players skated onto the ice, Tim took Erin to their seats just to the left of the Blackhawk bench. Tim got a few nodded greetings from players, but it was game time, not the social hour.

The Blackhawks had an exceptionally strong team. According to her research, they excelled at keeping the pressure on their opponents and they were fast on their feet. But The Blues had a goaltender whose record was among the highest in the league, and they had three or four experienced forwards who could usually find a hole to score through.

A couple with two small children sat next to her. The kids both had on red jerseys and every time the music came on, they leaped up and danced in the hope of being caught on camera. If a struggle for the puck occurred nearby, they slapped the glass with the flat of both hands and shrieked with glee at the players involved.

Erin adored them. The little girl looked so innocent with her two missing front teeth. When the first period ended, Erin told the mom, “Your kids are adorable.”

“Thank you,” the mom replied. “They’re not bothering you?”

Erin laughed and nodded at Tim who had just told her he was going to get food. “Not at all. I’m a pediatric nurse. I love kids.”

The kids, Katie and Dylan, had no problem making friends with Erin. In the space of five minutes they communicated what seemed like their life history. They were fighting for Erin’s attention with a string of groan-worthy school-age jokes when she felt the presence of someone next to her.

An usher in a black suit jacket and red striped tie bent at the waist and said, “Pardon me, Ms. Collier. Could you please come with me?” His voice rumbled in a deep bass.

Katie and Dylan stood still, their eyes wide, mouths open. “Is Erin in trouble?” Dylan asked.

Twisting in her seat, Erin asked “What is this about?”

“Mr. Hollander would like you to join him,” the man said with a patient smile.

Her phone vibrated. Tim’s text showed on the lock screen,
Usher
coming
to
get
you
.
Plz
go
with
.

“Oh, Tim sent you? Okay.” As she picked up her purse, she thought maybe he wanted to introduce her to some big shot in the Blackhawk organization. The owner maybe.

As she got out her lip gloss for a touch-up, she glanced up toward the luxury boxes. Thank goodness she was wearing her nice jeans.

“This way, Ms. Collier.”

He led her through some double doors and down a set of stairs that went to the ice level, not up to the premier boxes. Interesting. As she passed the giant Zamboni machine, she noticed people staring at her as she walked past. Some of them were whispering. Above that she wondered why she wasn’t hearing anything else.

At the Mesa Arena back home, all sorts of fun and games went on during intermissions—fan bowling, trivia and amateur scoring contests. But that type of gimmicky activity was usually accompanied by a slick announcer and loud music. Maybe they did things differently in the East.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“This way, Ms. Collier,” was all he said.

He guided her to a red carpet she hadn’t noticed before that had been rolled out onto the ice about thirty feet.

She glanced at the usher, confused. “I thought I was meeting Tim—Mr. Hollander.”

“You are,” he said with a sweeping arm gesture.

That’s when she noticed the lone man skating in lazy circles on the ice, his hands clasped behind his back.

She gasped and took a few steps onto the carpet to get a better look.

Tim. It was Tim.

He looked up and saw her. He smiled and her heart melted.

“Go on, Ms. Collier. Go all the way out.”

In daze, she headed toward the end of the carpet. As she cleared the overhang and the arena appeared, she faltered. From this perspective, the building suddenly seemed colossal. She felt like an ant. An ant in a refrigerator.

Tim glided over, looking so damned handsome. He’d changed into an impeccably tailored gray suit with a white rosebud in his lapel and his lucky ice-blue tie. She fleetingly noticed how his skates ruined the fall of his trousers, but then her eyes met his and all she saw was his familiar face, expressive eyes, the half smile he gave her so often.

Confused and apprehensive, she paused at the halfway mark. She felt thousands of eyes on her, a decidedly prickly and uncomfortable feeling. She didn’t envy Tim this intense focused attention from so many people at once. And she still didn’t know why was down here to receive it.

A voice boomed over the vast speaker system.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THE VIDEO SCREEN. WE HAVE A SPECIAL GUEST WITH US TONIGHT.”

Erin glanced up and saw a video montage of Tim in a Blackhawk jersey scoring and checking—

“FORMER RIGHT WING FOR THE CHICAGO BLACKHAWKS FROM 2001 to 2013.”

—dodging and weaving with the puck—

“WINNER OF THE MAURICE RICHARD AWARD IN 2003 WITH FIFTY-SEVEN GOALS IN THE REGULAR SEASON.”

—accepting a strange-looking trophy of a hockey player surrounded by what looked like those metal panels people held up to their faces to tan with—

“AND TWO-TIME STANLEY CUP CHAMPION, TIIIIIM HOLLANDER!”

That garnered confused applause, a few catcalls. No one threw anything onto the ice, thank goodness. No empty pint cups or trash. Most people had left their seats in search of food, beer or bathrooms. Many of those left weren’t paying attention at all.

“Go on, Ms. Collier,” the usher urged. “You’re supposed to meet him out there.”

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TIM’S NOT HERE TO REMINISCE. HE HASN’T BEEN TRADED BACK TO CHICAGO.”

On wobbly legs, even though she had the carpet under her feet, she walked the rest of the way. She kept her eyes on Tim so she wouldn’t be reminded of all the people who didn’t seem to understand, any more than she did, what she was supposed to be doing there. She stopped right in front of Tim. About six foot seven in skates, he seemed gigantic. She met his tender gaze just as the announcer said, “HE’S HERE TO ASK A VERY SPECIAL LADY A VERY SPECIAL QUESTION.”

Suddenly unable to breathe, she tried to speak, but nothing came out. Her heart was pounding so hard she wouldn’t have been surprised if it was rattling the glass around the rink. She broke into a sweat, even though it was probably in the fifties.

Tim had a microphone. He tapped it to make sure it was on.

Oh, God. She couldn’t gather her thoughts. They were pinballing around the inside of her cranium.