On the Surface (In the Zone) (28 page)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

It was March and strangely, it was raining. Tim probably hadn’t seen more than six rainy days since he’d moved to San Diego. He wasn’t complaining exactly, but he found himself welcoming the change. He never thought he’d enjoy a break from sunny skies, but living in paradise spoiled a guy.

He didn’t even bother with an umbrella as he got back into his car. He put the bag of deli food on the passenger seat and then headed home. His original plan had been morning skate, looking at video, lunch, then a workout at Power Play, but nobody could find the tape they were supposed to be studying, so that got canceled. Then the lunch plans fizzled out and Tim decided to surprise Erin. He had an extended road trip coming up and he felt as if he had to stock up on Erin time now before he left. And besides, if he got lucky, he might be doing a completely different type of workout after lunch. Or maybe even before.

He was whistling as he got off the elevator, but stopped when he got to the door. Quietly, he unlocked the door and crept inside. Just as carefully, he shut the door, then started tiptoeing to the kitchen. He heard the TV on in there. But she wasn’t there.

He set the bag down and went the opposite way. He didn’t see her in the living room and was checking the office when he heard her. Crying.

What the fuck...

“Erin?” Concerned now, he strode down the hallway. He hoped nobody had died or something. “Erin, what’s wrong?”

She came out of the master bathroom, surprised, like he’d planned, but not in a good way. She looked...guilty, like she’d been caught indulging in some secret vice. But she was clearly upset. Her eyes were puffy and she had a wadded up tissue in her hand.

“Tim, I—I thought you were having lunch with Jason and Alex.”

“That didn’t pan out,” he said, going to her, peering at her face to confirm that she had indeed been crying, was still crying, since tears were still leaking out of her eyes. “What’s going on?”

She shook her head. “Nothing. I just...” She turned toward the bathroom, then back to him. “It’s...you know...” She trailed off.

“No, I don’t know,” he said, trying not to be irritated. It bothered him to see her upset and he wanted to do something to fix the situation, whatever it was. Inaction wasn’t an option.

She shrugged and moved past him to walk down the hall. “I just feel a little blue. It’s...my period. This is normal. It’s just hormones.”

His ass it was hormones. He knew Erin. She had never exhibited mood swings, not in the ten months he’d known her.

“Oh, look, lunch,” she said in a falsely bright voice. “This is so sweet, Tim.”

He stood in the doorway of the kitchen, scowling. “Erin. Please tell me what’s wrong. I’m going to keep asking you until you tell me, so you might as well tell me now.”

She wiped her nose with the tissue and looked at him, her mouth tight and a frown to match his on her face. “You’re not going to like it and after I tell you, you’re going to wish I hadn’t told you.”

“Well that’s a great fucking way to start the conversation.”

Part of him really wished he’d skipped lunch and gone to work out. He sincerely hoped she wasn’t pregnant.

“I didn’t start the conversation,” she said. “You did.”

“Fine. Whatever. I started it. Just tell me what’s going on.”

“A position opened up in labor and delivery while you were in Chicago last month.”

He blinked in surprise and relief. “That’s great! Holy shit. That’s what you’ve been waiting for all this time.”

“I decided not to take it,” she said, turning to the brown bag and taking out the food.

“What do you mean? I thought—” Then he realized.

God, what a dumbass he was. Of course she didn’t want to take it now. She’d have to put on a happy face on every day at work while other women had babies right and left. Not the ideal job for her anymore.

She waited until he met her gaze, then shrugged. “Yeah. That.”

Fuck. He felt like the biggest asshole in the world. What could he possibly say? Not a fucking thing.
Nothing
he could say, barring “I changed my mind. Let’s go make a baby right now,” was going to make the situation any better.

She unwrapped the sandwiches and since she seemed set on eating the lunch, he got plates and glasses. Iced tea for her, Pro-Water for him. She sighed as they sat down. He looked at his big fat turkey on rye and pushed it away. He had zero appetite now.

“So, like I said, I’m going to stay in pediatrics. With the wedding in just a few months, I have so much to do and moving to a new department would be really stressful and I also remembered I wouldn’t be working with Tammy anymore either, which would suck. So, I’m turning it down. It’ll be fine.”

Chapter Forty

A couple of days later, after a loss to the Ducks, he left on the longest road trip either of them had had to deal with since they’d met. On the schedule were the New York Islanders, the Devils in Jersey, then back to New York again against the Rangers, then Buffalo, the Coyotes in Phoenix for a back to back, then home. Six games, ten days.

In the elevator on the way to the airport, his phone rang—Bob Jellinski, the equipment manager.

“Hey, Tim, I hope I caught you in time. We need some more of your special tape. I didn’t see any on your sticks and no one can find the reserves.”

“Shit, I forgot to tell you. I’m gonna try a game without.”

Back in January, Tim had run out of kiss tape and when he’d approached Erin for replacements, she’d sat him down on the couch for a talk.

Well, maybe she’d sat
on
him, on his lap.

Making it hard to concentrate on what she was saying.

“Tim, you don’t need those kisses.”

He hadn’t been able to resist cupping her breasts since they were right there in front of him. They both had the afternoon and evening free, and Tim had plans that included lots of sex and the occasional bite of food to keep up his energy.

“You’re probably right,” he’d said, savoring those soft mounds of flesh. “But it can’t hurt for you to give them to me anyway.”

“Yes it can. We’ve had this conversation before.” She’d taken him by the wrists and put his hands aside. “It hurts your confidence.”

“I disagree.” He’d sighed, realizing she wasn’t in the mood for fun and games at the moment. “When I have that kiss on my stick, it’s like...like you’re with me there, on the ice.”

She got that thinking expression on her face where her mouth tightened and a line appeared between her eyebrows.

“So, if it’s a home game and I’m there, you don’t need the kiss tape at all.”

“No, I guess I don’t.”

“Why is that?”

He let his head fall back and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t like to overthink shit like this, not when the solution was such a no-brainer. It took, what, less than a minute for her to kiss twenty pieces of tape. It actually took him longer to properly apply the tape to his stick than it did for her to press her lips to it.

“Jesus, I guess it’s because you’re there in person, watching me, rooting for me. Knowing you’re there motivates me to do my best. Better than my best. I want you...” He sighed again. “I want you to be proud of me,” he’d mumbled, half hoping she didn’t hear him.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “That’s so sweet,” she said. “And I am proud of you. I’m so proud I want to ask people on the street if they like hockey just so I can tell them that you’re my fiancé.”

He grinned. His heart swelled up inside. He reached for her breasts again, thinking the problem had been resolved, but she fended him off.

“Not so fast. Let’s go back to the motivation thing because I think we’re onto something. You said when I’m at the game, you’re motivated to perform. And I know I just set you up for a really prime sexual innuendo, but try to restrain yourself. We’re talking about me motivating you for hockey. Is it because I’m watching you?”

“Yeah.”

“What about when I’m watching you live on TV when you’re on the road? Because you know I watch every game I can.”

His lips curved into a smile. “If I know you’re watching, that works too, but not as well. I can picture you in front of your TV yelling and clenching your fists.”

“Okay, good. What about when I have to work and I record it on my DVR?”

He shook his head. “Not so much.”

“Not even if you think about me watching afterward, watching your every move closer than your coach does?”

He chuckled. “Impossible. No one watches us more closely than Marchand.” When she gave him a look, he lifted one shoulder. “I guess we could try that. I could try that. When I’m in the dressing room, I could visualize you scrutinizing my play afterward, make that part of getting my head in the game. Maybe that’ll work.”

“What if I wait until you get home to watch the game? We could watch it together.”

“I like that idea,” he said, nodding. That might be a cool welcome home routine. “I’ll try it.”

But he hadn’t implemented the agreed upon mental routine right away. He had five kiss tapes left and he kept those until they wore off, instead of replacing them after every game, like he’d been doing before. Even though he protected them with clear tape, shit happened. The double layer of tape got scraped off. A couple of sticks broke. One got lost.

Now, apparently, he was down to the last one, the one he’d saved in his wallet for emergencies. Considering the state of their relationship right now, if it would make her a little happier to “cure” him of his superstition, he was going to give it his all. The Barracudas were high enough in the standings where, if his play went into the crapper because of the experiment, they’d still be all right, and Tim would take that one piece of emergency kiss tape, slap that sucker on his stick and find some other way to cheer her up. He loved her and her happiness was always a top priority, but the playoffs were approaching quickly and his team was counting on him now for twenty-plus minutes of solid play.

“No special tape?” Jellinski asked, bringing Tim back to the present.

“No special tape. Not for the New York game anyway.”

“Okay. You’re the boss.” Jellinski hung up.

As the team boarded the charter, Tim tried to put aside his worries. He had a lot of them. Most had to do with Erin. He was worried about being away from her for so long. Ten days was a long time. Usually after four, he was missing her so much he had trouble focusing on anything but her when he wasn’t actively playing hockey. Even though the odds were extremely slim, he worried that jackass Dr. Prepper might notice the team’s road schedule and make a bonehead move. He might even hear about Tim’s stance on kids somehow, maybe from one of her friends, and have another go at Erin, casually mentioning that he was keen on fathering a dynasty of little tennis-playing wieners just like him.

By the time Tim was settled in his seat, he was in a bad mood. Visions of Erin and what’s his name, married with children, kept appearing in his brain like pop-up ads. He knew that wasn’t going to happen. He knew she loved him and had zero feelings for that other guy, but that didn’t stop the thoughts from coming.

Once the plane reached cruising altitude, the flight attendant got on the intercom and said, “All right, fellas. Today’s movie is
Maximum Quarantine
.”

Tim had heard of that one. It was a popular thriller about a virus outbreak at the Center for Disease Control. Unfortunately, the star was named Tom Holland, and every single fucking time that guy came out with a new movie, Tim got shit about it. Today was no exception.

“
Maximum Quarantine
, starring our very own Tim Hollander!” That came from Booth MacDonald, always a joker. Hearty laughter followed.

Mac went on in a movie trailer voice, “
He’s
a retired hockey player turned virologist.
She’s
a nurse whose sponge bath skills are in hot demand...”

Hoots and catcalls.

Except for Tim.

“Hey, fuck you, Macky,” he said, half rising out of his seat and directing his comment toward the front of the plane where MacDonald was sitting. “That’s my fiancée you’re talking about. Show some fucking respect.”

Heads turned. Jaws dropped. Tim rarely blew his stack like that. He could take a joke better than most. In fact, thinking back, he probably hadn’t ever shown most of these guys this side of himself. He’d been pretty even keel since he got traded. But the hell with them. Enough was enough. He’d been in the hot seat ever since his over-the-top proposal on Thanksgiving three months ago. Knowing Erin had agreed to be his wife made him mostly tease-proof. But the lack of sleep combined with the unsettling and unfamiliar feeling of being at odds with Erin, caused him to blow. It was long past time for them to find someone else to rib.

Pulling out his laptop, he loaded up one of his
Game of Thrones
DVDs. Nothing like some sword and dragon shit, not to mention the topless girls, to distract a guy from reality. He had the whole first season in his carry-on, more than enough to get him to New York without talking to anyone.

By the time they landed, he’d calmed down. Jason and Alex gave him questioning looks, and Tim shrugged. Nothing more needed to be said. If Tim needed to talk, he’d talk, and his friends would be there for him. Otherwise, everything was chill. The team boarded a bus for practice at the Islanders Iceworks, a facility similar to their home Barracuda Ice Center. Tim pushed himself hard and even did some extra time working on shooting backhand.

Back at the hotel, he ate dinner with some of the guys at one of those Japanese teppan places, where the chefs, knives flashing, cook right in front of the customers and flip bits of food into their mouths. Afterward, they moved into one of the bars to watch the last couple periods of the St. Louis-Los Angeles game. During intermission, he texted Erin. She was at work by then, so she didn’t reply immediately. He told her he’d landed safely, had a good practice and dinner and was heading to bed soon.

He watched Alex talking it up with a young woman. Used to be, the only NHL players who didn’t have to share a room were ten-year vets and guys with over six hundred games under their belts, but with the relatively new collective-bargaining agreement, no one but entry-level guys had to share a room. Personally, Tim had liked the company on road trips. Roommates watched each other’s backs and made sure they made it to stuff on time. But guys like Alex, who played the field with enthusiasm, embraced the new policy and the freedom it gave them. When Tim eventually went up to his room, he felt a twinge of regret for the old roommate days.

* * *

He played solid in the Islander game with his stick looking like everyone else’s, tape only on the handle and the blade. They lost, but he’d gotten two assists and come close to scoring six times. It had been one of those games where they’d played very well, but the other team played better.

A couple of nights later, he scored a tying goal that turned the tide for the game, kick-started his team’s momentum and they ended up winning, 6-2. All that with the barebones stick. After that, he relaxed. Erin had been right. The kiss tape was irrelevant. It was the woman herself who made all the difference. That realization made him all the more anxious to return home to her. Like the rest of the guys, he enjoyed the simplicity of hockey, food and sleep, with no distractions. On the road, priorities were clear. Play hard. Win games. But now, a large part of him wanted to be home with the woman he loved. He missed sharing his day with her, listening to the triumphs and losses of her day, and ending with fucktastic sex and a good night’s sleep.

He adjusted the strap of his carry-on. Next stop, New York, part two. Five more days.

* * *

To distract herself from Tim’s absence, Erin tried to keep busy with the wedding plans. Elliott Fleming, the owner of the Barracudas, had generously offered the use of his breathtakingly gorgeous estate. She’d attended a party there to celebrate the birthday of the Barracudas’ general manager a month ago. Tim had mentioned their engagement and before she knew it, Fleming was insisting they hold the wedding in his backyard.

Despite the fact that her own marriage was all but finished, Claire had taken on the challenge of planning the type of glittery, elegant wedding that appeared on the society page of the local paper. Erin thought it was weird that Claire acted as if the cheer of Erin’s wedding cancelled out the heartache of her divorce. Erin had hinted around that she was there to listen if Claire needed her, but her sister always changed the subject.

She also met with hospital administration and told them she wanted the position in labor and delivery after all. It had taken a lot of soul searching to come to that decision, but in the end, she realized that she needed to follow through on her dream. labor and delivery had been her goal right from the start, before she’d even finished nursing school, but when the time had come to get a job, the only one available was in pediatrics.

So, she’d waited and now her patience had paid off.

Yes, she’d be surrounded by tiny, newborn babies and women experiencing the miracle of giving birth. That would be both a joy and a source of frustration, and yet, wasn’t any job? No matter where she worked, she’d encounter ups and downs. And she didn’t think she could respect herself if she gave up on a goal she’d worked so hard for just because it was going to be difficult. She regularly told her patients that one of the best ways to deal with their own problems was to focus on and help someone with theirs, and it worked. Kids who hated chemo suddenly found it not to be as bad when they were helping another kid face it for the first time.

She needed to put her money where her mouth was and do the job she’d been trained for.

When Tim got home and she told him about her decision, he hugged her.

“Are you sure?” Concern wrinkled his forehead.

Like being in his arms again, it felt right.

“Yes. I’ve thought it through. I want to do this. I want to work in labor and delivery.”

His face relaxed and he pressed a cheek to the top of her head. “Then that’s what I want for you too. As long as you’re happy.”