Authors: Kate Willoughby
People applauded.
“Now, the Barracudas have never done anything like this before. It was my idea to try to make hockey players into artists, but a very clever pair, Claire Marzano—”
“Go, Claire!” Alex yelled.
Her face heated up again.
“—and Jeremy Fenton—”
“Go, bro!” shouted Hart.
“—produced one of the most elegant, successful and creative fundraisers the Barracuda organization has ever had.”
More applause, then Fleming spoke again. “Now the busy bees in the front office have been hard at work tallying the numbers, and I was extremely pleased to get the initial totals. The beautiful programs are still on sale in the team store here in the arena and online. If you haven’t gotten one, you should. I think they’re going to be collector’s items. Anyway, minus expenses, the Barracuda Art Auction raised a grand total of...just under ninety-three
thousand
dollars.”
The applause and cheering was much louder this time. Claire gasped and covered her mouth. She and Jeremy hugged.
Elliot approached them.
“That’s a shitload of money,” Alex said. “I can’t believe it.”
“I can’t either,” Claire said. “But we couldn’t have done any of it without the players. You should all be proud of yourselves. I don’t think the bids would have gone as high as they did unless the artwork was top-notch.”
“Which is why I would very much like to see this become an annual event,” Fleming said, looking to Claire and Jeremy. “And I hope you two will agree to run next year’s auction.”
“I’d love to,” Claire said, her hand over her heart. She turned to Jeremy.
“Schedule permitting, that’s a yes for me too.”
“There’s something else,” Elliot said. “Ted Macmillan, head of business operations for the New York Rangers, asked me if I thought you might be interested in putting on an art auction for them. I told him you might, so expect a call, probably tomorrow. He wants to do it before Christmas.”
“That is very tight timing, Elliot.” Jeremy said.
“Agreed, but I have no doubt you can surpass what you did for us. Pockets are deep in New York and Macmillan wants to one-up the Knicks with fundraising this year.”
She looked at Jeremy. “We’ll talk.”
He nodded.
After Elliot, Hart and Jeremy left, Alex hugged her again, lifting her off the floor briefly.
“Shit, Cream Puff. I’m so proud of you.”
“I can’t believe it. Almost a hundred thousand dollars,” she exclaimed.
“It’s fucking amazing. We should celebrate.”
“What do you want to do?”
His brilliant blue eyes flashed. “Let’s eat something that’s really bad for us.”
She laughed. “What about your diet?”
“Ha! Screw my diet.”
She put her arms around his neck. “Then here’s what I think. You up for a burger run? Does a cheeseburger, fries and a shake sound good to you?”
“You are speaking my language. Vanilla for me? Strawberry for you?”
“Perfect.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
A couple of weeks after the auction, Alex was on the first game of a two-game road trip—the Hurricanes and the Panthers. After the morning skate and a big meal, it was naptime. He and Calder found each other waiting for an elevator in the hotel.
“So,” Alex said, “I heard you and Becca moved in together.”
Calder stuck his hands in his pockets. “Yeah.”
“How long have you been seeing her again?”
Calder frowned. “Since June.”
“June? Shit.” That was only a month longer than he and Claire. “Have you, ah, talked about the future?”
Calder gave him the eye. “Have you been talking to my mother? Did she put you up to this?”
Alex laughed. “No.”
“No. We’re just taking it one step at a time. She’s got her hands full with the restaurant. Really full,” he added. “In fact, I barely see her anymore. She probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Alex remembered Calder’s chef girlfriend was opening a small café. He opened
his mouth to chirp him, but Calder pointed a finger at him. “Don’t even fucking start. I’m not exaggerating. I’m trying to be understanding and supportive, but I’ve spent my whole life being second fiddle and I gotta tell you, by now it’s getting pretty old.”
Later that night, Alex lay in bed trying to get his body into relax mode. It wasn’t always easy coming down from playing an intense game. A group of them had gone out after for sushi—which Alex couldn’t stomach, so he got grilled fish instead—and Calder asked the restaurant manager about the hours required for running a restaurant. He hadn’t liked the answer.
Now that Claire had accepted the job to do an auction for the Rangers, her time was limited, and Alex understood why Calder had been such a baby about his girlfriend’s busy schedule. It sucked when your girlfriend was too busy to give you the attention you were used to and thought you deserved. If you said something, you were a selfish, misogynistic asshole. If you didn’t, you ran the risk of your dick atrophying.
Truth be told, it actually boggled his mind that they were still together. It felt as if both of them were just happily cruising down the relationship highway, knowing they were going to run out of gas sometime, but unwilling to look very closely at the fuel gauge.
Still, she made him proud. He honestly liked that she was feeling useful and was making a name for herself in the hockey world. He supposed that if he wanted to keep her as a girlfriend—and he did—he had to suck it up when she had something else to do besides attend his games, have sex and cook healthy food for him.
* * *
When he returned from the trip, the regular season was in full swing and it wasn’t as hard as Alex had expected to deal with Claire’s work. The most difficult part turned out to be her getting so familiar with the New York team. It irritated him that she knew the Rangers by name and could trot out little details about their personal lives.
“Oh, did you know Henrik Lundqvist has a twin brother?” she asked him one night while surfing the internet on her computer. “He doesn’t play hockey.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
And I don’t really care.
“But Marc Staal has
two
brothers who
both
play professional hockey.”
“Yeah, I
did
know that. The Staals are pretty well known as a hockey family.”
“Oh, and he proposed to his high school girlfriend on Christmas Day. Isn’t that romantic? I’m going to see if I can find out how he did it. Maybe I can find a winter scene for him to paint...”
“Can someone just kill me now?” he muttered.
She looked up. “What? Did you say something?”
He slumped lower into the couch and looked up at the ceiling. “I thought you were going to teach these guys how to paint, not write biographies about each of them.”
She cocked her head at him and smiled.
“What?” he asked, sort of snarling.
“You’re jealous.”
He scoffed. “Am not.”
“Are too.” She got up and came to straddle his lap.
His mood immediately brightened as he put his arms around her and nuzzled her breasts. If his nose had to pick a favorite place, it would be her cleavage.
“I think in order to be jealous of someone,” he said, “I have to be worried he’ll take you away from me, and I know for a fact that neither of those assholes has a chance with you.”
“Oh, really. Why not?” She lifted her shirt over her head and dropped it on the ground. Hot damn. His dick started waking up.
“They’re married.”
“So?”
“I know you would never mess around with a married man.” He smiled when she reached behind her back and unhooked her bra.
Yes.
“You’re absolutely right. But beyond that,” she said, shrugging off the bra, “I’m very happy with you and I have no personal interest in any other hockey player, even the single ones.”
With his mouth full of tit, he didn’t answer, but later, when he was in bed cuddling with her after some spectacular sex, he recalled what she had said and fell asleep with a contented smile on his face.
* * *
The next day, the two of them were sitting on the beach about fifty yards from his house, watching the sunset. November in Southern California meant a daytime high of sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, which was shorts weather in Canada but Claire wore a thick sweatshirt.
The Barracudas had four days off at Christmas. Alex had figured Claire would be busy with her family but if she asked him to come along, he planned to say no. He wasn’t about to step into that minefield.
Oh
,
who’s
this?
How long have you two been seeing each other?
Are we going to hear wedding bells soon?
But it turned out she was going to be solo too.
“My brothers aren’t coming to California again, since they were just here for the wedding,” she told him, “and Erin and Tim are spending Christmas with his parents in Chicago. They said I was welcome to go along, but I didn’t want to intrude.”
“And your parents...aren’t with us anymore. I think that’s what Tim said.”
“Right.” She gave him a sad smile and a slight shrug. “They died in a car accident when I was nineteen. One of their tires blew out on the freeway.”
“Shit, Claire. I’m sorry. That had to be rough. How old was Erin? She had to be in high school still, right?”
“She was fifteen. Dan and Jake were both eighteen.”
“So, at least your brothers were old enough to take care of themselves.”
“Legally, yes. But both of them had just gotten accepted to Emory with the intention to go into law. Erin had her heart set on going to nursing school after she graduated. I was a little panicked about how I was going to pay for all that.”
“What about you? Were you in school? Did you have a job?”
She looked at him for a moment then sighed. “All right, I can see that it’s time for my life story.”
“If you don’t want to talk about it...”
“No, it’s better if you know. I probably should have told you a long time ago.”
Told him about what
,
exactly?
This was starting to sound like another sort of minefield.
“When my parents died, the life insurance only paid for the funeral expenses and part of the mortgage.” When he frowned, she held a hand up. “I know. Poor planning, but that’s neither here nor there. Vic and I had been going out for a while and it was a huge surprise when he asked me to marry him. At first, I wasn’t sure, but he kept pushing me, and when the twins didn’t get any of the scholarships they applied for, I convinced myself I was in love and said yes.”
“But you weren’t in love.”
A moment passed. “I don’t know. Looking back, I don’t think so. I did care about him. I still do. He has a good heart and he had a lot of money. He wanted to help me and he did. He paid for all three of their educations and provided me with a beautiful home, clothes, jewelry, basically anything I wanted, but—this is going to sound terrible—it wasn’t enough. For either of us.”
Alex focused on a boat in the distance. The thought of Claire living with that enormous debt over her head, day in and day out, made him quietly angry. No wonder she had ended up a caricature of herself. Her marriage had been nothing more than ten years of obligation. The kicker was, Vic had ended up unhappy too, despite his altruistic motives.
“At least you didn’t have kids to complicate everything.”
“He didn’t want kids.” She sighed heavily. “Still, I thought we could make it work if we tried hard enough, but it didn’t.”
“Claire, the only way it could have worked was if you won the lottery and paid him all the money back. Then the relationship would have been more equal.”
She frowned. “Since when did you become an expert on relationships?”
“I don’t have to be an accountant to know two and two don’t equal five. You two needed to have a conversation where he completely absolved you of the debt and you accepted that you didn’t owe him a thing.”
“For your information, we
did
have that conversation.”
“But you kept conforming yourself into his image of the perfect wife anyway.”
“Are you...are you saying that...?” She gave him a hard look then stood, picked up her towel and started shaking the sand off it with sharp snaps of her wrists. “You know what? I thought I wanted to spend Christmas with you, but I’ve changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d rather be alone than be with a...a Dr. Phil wannabe.”
“Give me a break, Claire. Are you serious?”
By now she was making her way across the sand back to his house. The sun had gone down and the light was grayish, the air damp and heavy. He got up too, grabbed his towel and folded up the chairs.
When he caught up to her, he said, “Claire, come on, what’s wrong?”
“You’re making it sound like it’s all my fault, that the reason my marriage failed was because
I
was stupid enough to try to make my husband happy.”
“That’s not what I was saying at all. Don’t put words into my mouth.”
She yanked the sliding glass door open and stormed inside. He dropped the chairs on the patio and followed her. She was really pissed. Normally she would have hosed off her legs and feet rather than track sand into his house, but not this time. If he hadn’t seen her go into the hallway, he could have followed the trail she left behind.
By the time he got to the bottom of the stairs, she was flying down them, her purse on her shoulder, her overnight bag in hand. He stepped in front of her, his heart in his throat.
“Claire, wait. Put your bag down. Don’t go. Come on, let’s talk about it.” He reached out for her, but she leaned away. She’d never done that before, and it hurt him.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear any more blame from you.”
She pushed past him and left.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Claire got into her car, fuming. Where did he get off passing judgment over her marriage when his idea of a good relationship consisted of sex, breakfast and a pat on the ass as he said goodbye?
Thank God she was leaving for New York tomorrow. She had been looking forward to the trip, one, because she was eager to see if what they produced would be as of high quality as what the Barracudas had done. Two, she liked going to the theatre as much as she liked movies and she and Jeremy had plans to go to at least two Broadway shows. Now she had another reason—it would put some distance between her and Alex.
After checking behind her for cars, she put her Prius into reverse and drove to Erin’s. She needed to be with someone who would be on her side and sympathize when she recounted what Alex had said to her. Plus, her sister made really good comfort margaritas. If Tim was there, they’d have to kick him out. She didn’t want him going to practice tomorrow and telling Alex everything they said.
Ten minutes later, she pulled up in front of the Hollander abode, a beautiful Spanish style two-story. There were lights on, so that was a good sign. Just as she was ringing the doorbell, a car pulled up and parked—a sleek black Mercedes coupe.
Damn it!
She turned around, furious again as Alex got out of his car.
“Do you not understand that I don’t want to see you right now? When women go off in a huff, you’re supposed to let them go cool down.”
He scoffed. “What, is that in some rule book somewhere? If so, I didn’t read it. There’s no way in hell I’m letting you go off to New York with this shit on the table. Hey, Tim.”
Claire whirled to come face to chest with her burly brother-in-law.
“What’s going on?” Tim asked.
“Nothing,” Alex said. “Claire and I are having a private conversation.”
“On my doorstep.”
Alex shut his car door. “Technically, I’m in the street.”
“Which is why you should take this inside. It’s not very private if all my neighbors can hear you. Next thing you know, the whole thing’ll be on Twitter.”
Alex glanced at Claire. “Your call.”
Her lips pressed together in frustration, she went inside.
Erin was in the entry. “What’s going on?”
“Alex and I are having a fight.”
“And you’re doing it here because...?”
“I didn’t mean to bring it here.”
“You drove here by accident?”
Claire glared at her sister who held up her hands in surrender. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand what’s going on.”
“Alex and I had a fight at his house. I left. I decided to come here and talk to you about it, and he followed me.”
“Oh, I get it now. Sorry. Margaritas in order?”
“Please.”
In the kitchen, they pulled out what they needed. Erin was pulling four glasses out of the cupboard when Alex and Tim walked in. Claire crossed her arms.
Tim pointed at the distinctively shaped glasses. “What are those?”
“We’re making margaritas,” Claire said. “It’s what Erin and I drink when we’re upset.”
“I thought you drank apple martinis when you were upset,” Alex said.
She cast him a withering glance. “That’s different.” Then she caught Tim giving Erin a similarly pointed frown, which her sister returned.
“You know what’s really good for you is orange juice,” Tim said in a weird tone. “That’s good for whatever ails you.”
Claire scoffed and poured tequila into the blender. “Tim, I don’t have a cold. I need an adult beverage.”
“Erin’s having orange juice,” Tim said, taking a carton of the stuff out of the refrigerator.
Erin jerked her head toward the hall. “Erin’s going to have a talk with her husband in the other room.”
Claire looked at the newlyweds facing off. Tim gave in and walked away with Erin.
“What’s up with them?” Alex asked.
Claire turned back to the margaritas. “I don’t know.”
“You need more tequila,” Alex said and poured in a few more glugs.
A few moments later, she poured two very strong slushy drinks. Alex lifted his glass to clink and she turned away. Obviously, she was still flipping mad.
“Claire, come on. You misunderstood me before.”
“I don’t see how I could have. You said it was my fault my marriage disintegrated.”
“If I did, I didn’t mean to. I was trying to...” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “What you told me made me angry—angry and sad. Every time I think about you spending ten years trying to make yourself into a person you weren’t meant to be, I feel twisted up inside.”
Something made her turn around. He went on, encouraged.
“If Vic truly didn’t expect anything from you in return for saving your financial ass, then I have to respect him for that, but at the same time, I still hate his fucking guts for making you feel inadequate.”
Her smile was sad. So was her sigh. “That wasn’t his fault. I’ve always felt inadequate.”
“What? Why?”
“You want me to list the reasons? Wow. Okay. I barely passed high school. Unlike my esteemed siblings. The highest wage I ever made was $6.50 an hour.”
“So? I barely passed high school too.”
“You make a gazillion dollars—”
“Money isn’t everything.”
“—and you’re good at hockey. What am I good at? Nothing.”
“That’s bullshit,” Alex said. “You fundraise like a son of a bitch. You’re a great cook. And you know a ton about art.” He put his glass down and walked over to her. He wanted to touch her, but was uncomfortably afraid she’d pull away again.
“You’re brave and open-minded,” he went on. “You’re out-of-bounds creative. You’re a go-getter—”
She was blushing and holding up a hand. “Okay, stop it. That’s enough. I get it. I get it.”
“One more thing,” Alex said, this time cupping her cheek. “You’re worth a lot more than whatever amount of money Vic forked over. A hell of a lot. And you deserve a man who recognizes that and cherishes you for what you are.”
And he realized too late he’d said too much. Just from the look on her face, he could tell. He felt as if he’d just shown all his cards in the middle of a high-stakes game of poker. When she put her glass down and lifted her face, he had no choice but to kiss her even as his mind was frantically searching for a way to backpedal.
He meant what he’d said, but it was clear she thought he was the man who was going to do the recognizing and cherishing, or maybe that he already did.
“Hey,” Tim said as he reentered the kitchen. “Go have your makeup sex somewhere else.”
They broke apart, Claire blushing, Alex glad to be spared any sort of declaration Claire might have been on the verge of making.
“Sorry,” Claire said.
“Everything okay now?” Erin asked.
Alex glanced at Claire, still uneasy in the pit of his stomach.
“Yes. Everything’s fine,” she said.
“Good, because Tim and I have something to tell you.”
“Erin’s knocked up!” Tim exclaimed, his arms shooting up in the air.
“What?” Claire gasped. “Oh my God!”
The two sisters hugged and Alex caught Tim in a bro-style handclasp and hug. “Congratulations, man. I’m really happy for you.”
“When are you due?” Claire asked.
Erin exchanged a loving glance with Tim. “In the spring.”
“When ninety percent of all NHL babies are born,” Tim added.
Claire looked confused. “I don’t get it.”
“Players...you know...tend to get
busy
during the off-season,” Tim said.
Claire laughed. “I’m going to be an aunt!” she exclaimed. “I’m going to spoil that baby so much!”
Erin pursed her lips. “Oh no you won’t.”
“Oh yes I will. Watch me. We’re going to get mani-pedis together. I’m going to get her a kitten and a princess hat and—”
“It might be a boy,” Alex pointed out and Tim bumped his fist.
“In which case, I’ll get a puppy. Boys need dogs, and mini motorized monster trucks.”
“And hockey equipment,” Alex said.
“Amen, bro,” Tim said, “but for the record, my niece is a crackerjack forward, so boy
or
girl, my kid’s gonna play hockey.”
* * *
Later that evening, Claire followed Alex home. She seemed to have forgiven him for what he’d said before on the beach.
At his house, they went upstairs and had sex. It was good, but...his heart wasn’t in it. They were both aware she was leaving in the morning, not to return for seven whole weeks. He’d been dreading this trip ever since the dates had been finalized.
She joked with him about his funky mood, that the shoe was on the other foot now. “Now you’ll see what I’ve been going through when you go away on your road trips.”
He couldn’t argue with her. He’d been on six road trips since he’d started seeing Claire. He used to look forward to them. He always had fun challenging a team in their own house. That part hadn’t changed. What was different was the pull he felt toward home. He hadn’t really felt that before. Now, every time he left San Diego, he longed to come back. The puck bunnies would come on to him and he felt nothing. Zero. Zip. Nada. Maybe amusement at the lengths they’d go to or the things they’d say, but that was all. And the coming-home part? Fuck. He often drove straight to Claire’s from the airport, sporting a hard-on the entire time.
Now, he’d be the one sitting at home, waiting.
And wondering how she was doing to fill her off-hours.
He imagined her helping the Rangers with their paintings, leaning over the table to examine the artist dossiers she and Jeremy had worked so hard on. He thought about how one of them might ask her what she was doing for dinner...
“Hey,” he said, “I want you to be careful around those motherfucking Rangers. They will be all over your ass at the slightest provocation.”
She lay in his arms, one of her legs draped over his. “I thought you weren’t jealous of them.”
“I changed my mind,” he said without skipping a beat. “Don’t wear anything low-cut or provocative. In fact, why don’t you dress like a man? Do you have any manly clothes? Maybe that really thick sweatshirt you were wearing today.”
“Stop it,” she said with a laugh. “I’m not going to dress like a man.”
“Then I’m going to tell my buddy Westrup to spread the word that you’re off limits. He’s a guy I know from way back. Me, Tim and Jason Locke were all Rangers with him once upon a time.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yeah. So, Westy’ll spread the word.” He gave her breast a proprietary squeeze.
“I think it’s cute, by the way.”
“What?”
“That you’re jealous.”
“It’s not jealousy,” he said. “It’s called being smart. I know hockey players. I know what a knockout you are. You put those two things together, it’s like a match and gasoline.”