On the Surface (In the Zone) (30 page)

Chapter Forty-Six

The next day dawned gray and dreary. Erin woke in the big bed, missing Tim more than ever, even though he was only a few miles away, not across the country or even in a different country. In an attempt to self-soothe, she rolled over to his side of the bed and buried her face in his pillow. The smell of him filled her nostrils and she exhaled, a little less forlorn. She hated feeling cut off from him. That’s what going to bed angry did. It strangled the emotional connection between a couple. She wanted to call him but was afraid to disturb the rest he needed so badly.

More than a little tired herself, she decided to make some coffee. She turned on the TV in the kitchen for company and after dumping the grounds in the filter and pouring in the water, she stood and watched the coffee dribble into the pot.

Last night, he’d acted like a jerk, but she understood why. People recovering from concussions were often easily upset and fatigued. So she needed to cut him a lot of slack. A hell of a lot. Also, Tim’s life as a hockey player was so deeply ingrained that when it was threatened, as it was last night, he fought back. She actually loved to see him so fulfilled by what he did for a living. What she didn’t love so much was his double standard in the fear department.

Her phone blew a horn like an old-time car from the thirties—
wonka wonka
—signaling a text from Tim.

Do
you
have
time
today
to
listen
to
some
groveling
?

Even though the information was only pixels on her cellphone screen, she felt the connection between them flutter back to life. Like Snow White, it had only been sleeping. Thank God.

He wasn’t the only one who needed to grovel. She needed to apologize for throwing the child issue in his face. She’d made her decision to go into the marriage knowing it would just be the two of them forever. She’d expected to have doubts and wistful moments—she wouldn’t be human if she didn’t—but she’d also promised herself not to let on to Tim about them. It would be dishonest of her to wear him down little by little, like that form of torture where water dripped on a guy’s forehead, plop plop plop, until he broke. That was the type of game-playing that destroyed marriages, and no matter how much she wanted children she would never resort to that.

* * *

Tim glanced at the clock. Nine-thirty a.m. Sighing, he put Fox Sports West on the TV for the background noise. The team would be at practice by now in Vancouver. He was glad they’d had an immediate road trip. It spared him the visitors. He got a boatload of well-wishing tweets and texts from his teammates, not to mention the fans, but he’d much rather deal with that than face the guys in person.

He’d fucked up big time. The Barracudas had lost and it was his fault. His grab for the hat trick had been selfish and greedy. He felt deeply ashamed. Alex had been feeding him chances to score all season, and what had Tim done? Had he returned the favor? Hell no. He’d tried to take all the glory for himself, ahead of a team win. Alex didn’t hold it against him. Hell, his motto was Everyone Screws up Once in a While, which was exactly what he’d texted. Locke had sent one word,
Dude
. That had said it all. It communicated sympathy for the injuries, disappointment in Tim’s play, and the knowledge that the topic was now done with and they’d move on.

Great friends.

But they were men. They didn’t need or want to talk about it. Erin, on the other hand, needed and deserved to hear him take responsibility for his shitty behavior.

His phone vibrated, startling him.
I’ll
be
there
in
half
an
hour
, Erin texted.

Some of the tension that had been gripping his body drained away. He’d been worried she wouldn’t come. Last night, as badly as he’d behaved during the game, he’d been ten times worse afterward with Erin.

In all fairness, and like she kept reminding him, he had a grade-three concussion. Was it any surprise he hadn’t been thinking straight? No. But he’d been aware at the time that he was acting like a jerk. She had every right to be afraid for him. If their roles had been reversed, he would have been scared shitless. But what had he done? He’d belittled her fears when he should have soothed them. He should have admitted to her that he had those same fears, multiplied exponentially. That’s what couples did. They shared shit.

He looked out the window and saw familiar gray skies. He also saw the roof of a lower level of the hospital and part of a parking lot. Lovely.

If he was going to ask her to suck it up and deal with him playing a dangerous sport, he couldn’t do any less. He forced himself to think about what she’d said just before she left last night. It stung now as much as it had stung last night. She couldn’t have been more on the money about the situation. He wanted to have his cake and eat it all by himself, not sharing a bit of it with the woman he loved. What kind of asshole did that?

He
loved
Erin. He loved her with everything he had. He’d even told her he’d do anything to make her happy.

But that had been a lie.

He was willing to do everything
but
make a baby with her. And why? Because he was afraid. It all boiled down to that. He, Tim Hollander, was a fucking coward.

It was funny because he’d always considered himself a pretty brave guy. Hockey was not for sissies. To play in the NHL, you had to be willing to lose teeth, break bones, rip tendons, dislocate joints, and then go back the next night and risk it happening again, eighty-two times a season.

But when it came to being a father—something billions of men did 24/7, 365 days a year—he cowered in the corner and refused.

Waverly’s words came back to haunt him. “
You were never a coward on the ice.
Don’t be one off it.
”

Damn it.

He sighed and let his mind wander into fatherhood territory, a place he’d zealously avoided ever since Mollie had died. With trepidation, he pictured Erin, deftly managing breakfast for a small brood. He was there, helping pour milk, dishing out strawberries. She was feeding their infant daughter spoonfuls of pureed banana. There were two small boys at the table, barking at each other about something trivial—so-and-so got the bigger pancake or this superhero was cooler than that superhero. As he dealt with them, his eyes met hers briefly and they both shared one of those everyday moments that over the years, added up to the type of marriage he’d always wanted but had been afraid to hope for.

He muted the TV. Hoping was pretty useless, he reminded himself. Hope was what you did when there was nothing left to do. Well, fuck it. He had a hell of a lot more living ahead of him. He certainly wasn’t going to look back as an old man full of regrets, wishing he’d had the courage to be a dad after all. There was no reason he couldn’t have it all—a professional hockey career, a loving wife and a family.

All he had to do was get out of the doghouse, which was easier said than done. He’d been a major shithead. Again.

His phone vibrated again. Alex had sent him a link. He clicked on it.

“Hollander Out Indefinitely,” and a short article summarizing the run-in with Hickey and how Tim’s absence would negatively affect the Barracudas’ chances to qualify for the playoffs.

Tim smiled grimly. If the media thought the Barracudas were going to flounder just because Tim wasn’t playing, they were dead wrong. The team had focus and they were just hitting their stride. If Marchand was smart, and he was, he’d put Gibs with Alex and Jason. Gibs could handle more minutes than he was currently—

The door opened. Erin came in. At the sight of her face, he actually felt physically better, as if the cells of his body had been biding their time, not bothering to get to work healing until she’d made an appearance.

He wanted to get up and take her into his arms and bury his face in her hair, but he couldn’t even hobble to the fucking bathroom by himself.

“You want to sit?” he asked, gesturing lamely toward the chair.

Putting her purse on the ground, she shook her head and came closer, standing close to the bed near his hip. She had her arms wrapped around her middle.

“I hate it here,” he said. “I want to come home.” He sounded like a little boy but he didn’t care.

“I
want
you to come home.” She bit her lower lip.

“Even though I was a shithead last night?”

“Even though.”

He held out his hand and she took it. It felt so good, the skin to skin contact. His cells got even busier and his heart felt lighter. She was like his own personal Zamboni, smoothing over the rough patches of ice like magic.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I did a lot of thinking, like you suggested.”

She met his gaze. “Oh?”

“I decided that we have to face our fears together.” He glanced away, out the window. The clouds were breaking up. “I hate that that sounds like a greeting card, but I need you. I pretended that I wasn’t worried about the concussion, but I am.”

The tightness in her expression softened. “And I wasn’t asking you to quit hockey.”

“I know you weren’t.”

“I would never do that,” she declared. “There are a lot of decisions we’re going to make together, like buying a house or where we’re going on vacation. But deciding to retire, that’s up to you.”

“But the truth is,” he said, “the decision might have been made for me last night.” He felt sick to his stomach at the thought of never playing professional hockey ever again. He’d always expected to know it was his last game so he could mentally prepare.

“Hey, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since you got hurt. Let’s see what the test results are first. No matter what, we’ll take it slow and let your brain heal completely. The worst thing you can do is force it by going back too soon.”

“Okay.”

“But you have to promise me that you’re not going to get all macho and insist that you’re fine, like you did at the game after that first hit.”

“Oh, you caught that?” Then he nodded. “Of course you did. You have Jedi nurse powers.”

Her beautiful mouth curved up into a smile.

He felt encouraged as he rubbed his thumb back and forth over her soft skin. “I realized something else last night.”

“Oh?” she said again, her eyebrows raised.

“I realized you were right. I was asking you to watch me play, knowing I could be injured at any moment, but I wasn’t willing to make any sacrifices myself. So,” he said, swallowing the fear clogging his throat, “if being a mom means that much to you, I’m, ah, willing to help you out.”

The moment he said it, he felt better, clearer, more alive. As if his ears had finally popped. Or as if he’d been driving with dirty windshields for years because he was fucking afraid of the squeegee. Now that he’d conquered that irrational fear and cleaned the window, he could finally really see. There were fucking trees and flowers and angels singing and all that sunbeams shooting through the clouds shit, and he felt stupid for not having done it before, but at the same time proud that he’d done it all.

Erin smiled as tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. “You’ll help me out?” She laughed softly. “What does that mean?”

He reached out and brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “I can’t believe I have to explain to a registered nurse how babies are made.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but ended up lowering the side rail on the bed and hugging him instead. A sense of total euphoria engulfed him and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. It was strange to consider their roles might be reversed in the next year or two, with Erin in the hospital bed, recovering from childbirth but glowing with happiness and pride, and him standing there blubbering, overwhelmed and awed, as he held their perfect, precious newborn baby. The possibility not only blew his mind, it filled his heart with something he hadn’t felt or wanted to feel in a very long time.

Hope.

And it felt pretty damn good.

Epilogue

“I’m home.”

Surprised, Tim went to kiss his wife hello. She’d been Mrs. Hollander for two months and he still got a kick out of thinking of her as his wife.

“Hey, I wasn’t expecting to see you until later tonight. I thought you were working until seven.” He pulled her into his arms and brushed his lips across hers.

Looking as cute in her nurse’s scrubs as the day he met her, Erin smiled and set two plastic grocery bags full of stuff on the floor so she could hug him. “I got someone to cover the last bit of my shift.”

“Is everything okay?” he asked, letting her go. “Let me get those.” He picked up the bags and they went to the kitchen.

“Everything’s fine.” She got a bottle of water from the fridge. “I just thought we might go to dinner.”

“I was going to grill some chicken, but we can go out. No, I’m good,” he said when she offered him a bottle.

“We haven’t been to Gaetano’s for a while. I might be in the mood for lasagna.”

He grimaced. They’d unofficially made Gaetano’s the go-to place for minor celebrations and he wondered if he’d forgotten an important commemorative date, like the eight-month anniversary of their first kiss or something. He sure as hell wasn’t going to ask. He’d play it cool and listen for clues in her conversation.

“Gaetano’s sounds good, but I’ll have to pass on the lasagna. I can’t eat that heavy tonight. Camp starts tomorrow, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right. I can’t believe it’s been a year already.” Smiling, she leaned a hip against the kitchen counter as she drank. “Right about this time last year, I was in San Francisco with Tammy.”

“Cyberstalking me.”

“I was not cyberstalking you. I was...performing a background check. You hockey players have reputations, you know.” She pointed her water bottle at him. “Seriously though, how do you feel? You think you’re ready?”

He did, even though there’d been a couple of weeks there in July when he’d done practically zero training.

After all, a man couldn’t exactly train during his honeymoon two-to-three hours a day—not and stay in his wife’s good graces. Plus, the Tahitian resort Erin picked out was a relaxation destination, not a keep-in-shape-so-you-can-play-motherfucking-professional-hockey-when-you-get-back resort.

So when they returned to San Diego, he got an all-clear from his doctor that he was free of concussion symptoms and his tibia was as good as new, then began a strict diet and exercise regimen. Which didn’t include lasagna with ten pounds of pasta, ricotta and mozzarella and an equal amount of buttery, cheesy garlic bread.

“I feel really good. More ready than last year actually.”

“Really?” She took a bottle of shampoo out of the bag and put it on the counter. “Why is that?”

“Because I have my beautiful wife to encourage me and help me eat right. And give me nightly aerobic workouts.” He came up behind her and slid a hand under her breast, gave it a soft squeeze.

“Mmm.” She relaxed against him, which he took as a good sign. He put both hands on her and thumbed her nipples until they were stiff.

“Come on, Mrs. H. Let’s get naked. Work up an appetite,” he said into her ear.

Her breath had quickened, but she pulled out of his grasp. “Later, Tim. I really want to put this stuff away.”

Confused and a little irritated at this sudden onset of OCD behavior, he got busy emptying the sacks. The sooner they finished, the sooner he could get to the fun stuff.

“No, I’ll get that one,” she said, hastily pulling one of the bags away from him.

That’s when he saw it.

A small box peeking out of the bag she’d grabbed.

“Hold on,” he said in his no-nonsense voice.

She froze, her arm outstretched.

“What is that?” he asked. Same tone.

“Um. Eggs.”

He narrowed his eyes and pointed. “No, that. On top of the eggs.”

“Oh, this?” she said, all innocent-like. “It’s, ah, a pregnancy test.”

Now that she’d confirmed it, his stomach cramped. “Holy shit. Are you...? Do you think you might...?”

Her smile was hesitant. “I—”

“Wait a second,” he interrupted. “Were you planning to take the test without me, without telling me? Is that why you were grabbing the bag?”

“No!”

“Because there’s no way you’re going to go hide in the bathroom and pee on that thing without me!”

He winced as she stared at him. “That didn’t come out right.”

“I know what you meant.” She sighed. “Listen, I wasn’t trying to do it in secret. I just didn’t want to come home and blurt it out. I mean, we haven’t been trying all that long and I wasn’t sure if you...”

“Hey.” He put his hands on her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “You may not be sure, but I am. I want you to get pregnant. I want us to make a baby together. Why the heck do you think I’ve been jumping on you every night like clockwork?”

“Because you like to?” she said with a weak laugh.

“Pfft. That’s just icing on the cake.” He put on his serious face. “Look, I know I started out dead set against the idea, but things have changed.
I’ve
changed. I need you to believe that.”

He waited as she searched his face then slowly smiled. “I believe you. Do you believe me when I say I was going to tell you about the test?
Before
I took it? Because that’s why I suggested Gaetano’s. You know, just in case we got the answer we wanted.”

Ha! He hadn’t forgotten an important milestone after all.

He grinned. “Of course I believe you.” He glanced at the small box still inside the bag. “Should we do it now?”

She pressed her lips together, a little excitement sparkling in her eyes now. “You really want to?”

“Hell yes.”

Ten minutes later, they were sitting on the bed, holding hands, waiting. They had ninety more seconds before they could view the results. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so anxious. Maybe at the draft, back in 2000.

They’d left the test on the counter in the bathroom because Erin had heard that was a good idea.

“It’s supposed to make the wait less excrutiating. You know...a watched pot never boils.”

Well, it still felt pretty damn excrutiating.

The alarm from his phone went off, startling them both. They looked at each other.

“Go get it,” she said. “I’m too nervous. I might drop it.”

“Okay.”

“But don’t look at it without me!”

He frowned at her over his shoulder.

He glanced at the stick only long enough to mark where it sat on the counter. Then, by touch alone, he picked it up and put it behind his back. His heart was pounding as he returned to the bed where he sat so he could wrap an arm around her shoulders.

“I’m afraid,” she said.

Even though he was too, he shook his head. “Don’t be. If it’s negative, it’s not the end of the world. It just means we keep trying, and frequent sex isn’t that big of a hardship, is it?”

Her smile was restrained. “No. I guess not.”

“Okay. Ouch.”

Her smile got bigger. “I’m just teasing you.” She took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Steeling himself against a negative result, he brought his arm around to the front.
Please let her be pregnant.
He still had that mental image of their family at the breakfast table—him managing the two boys and her feeding their baby girl. He’d shied away from that image before. Now he embraced and yearned for it with his whole heart. He actually found himself wanting a big family. Five kids. Maybe six.

Six, he realized, could be a hockey team.

He’d have to discuss this with Erin, of course. They’d have to move to a bigger place with a backyard, maybe a pool. A tennis court was perfect for street hockey when an ice rink wasn’t available. They would need to find a community with good schools, an easy commute to the BIC, the airport and the Mesa Arena...

But first things first. Had to get her pregnant first.

Bursting with ideas and hope, he looked down at the stick.

He turned to look at Erin.

He closed his eyes.

He smiled.

* * * * *

Please enjoy this excerpt from the next book in
Kate Willoughby’s
IN THE ZONE
series.