Authors: Kate Willoughby
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Claire didn’t have a spare moment to herself in New York. The Rangers Events Coordinator, Elizabeth Ferraro, met them at the airport. She was a young woman with a brisk walk and a small tablet computer in her blazer pocket.
“We have a suite for each of you reserved at the Residence Inn a couple of blocks from here. Full kitchen, grocery delivery, the works. But I’m taking you directly to the studio space we’ve rented first. All the art supplies you requested are there, ready to be unpacked. Claire, I have a meeting set up for you with Saul, the graphic designer who’s doing the catalog. He has some preliminary sketches I think you’re going to like. That’s at four. Jeremy, you’re welcome to sit in.”
“I actually have work to do on
my
sketches,” he said, because they were not having the Rangers trace the outlines from projections of prints, like the Barracudas had done. The players would still have lines to follow and would basically be painting by number, but instead of copying the paintings, they’d taken works of art and given them a New York touch. Van Gogh’s
Starry Night
had the city’s skyline instead of a cypress tree in the foreground. Piet Mondrian’s grids and brightly colored rectangles would reference the streets surrounding Central Park. But although Claire had helped him choose pieces and brainstorm ideas, Jeremy was doing all the drawing—right onto the canvases. It was daring, but if they could pull it off, it would blow everyone’s socks off.
“That’s fine. There’s a large selection of canvases for you to choose from, like we talked about. The store said we could return whatever we didn’t end up using.”
They pulled up to a nondescript, two-story office building in Westchester.
“Now, the Madison Square Garden Training Center is only a mile away. We wanted to make it as easy as possible for the players to zip on over after working at the rink, because unfortunately, not all of them were happy about this,” Elizabeth said. “But a few of your current Barracudas used to be Rangers, and they’ve been talking to some of their old teammates, so there is
some
positive buzz within the team about the project.
Outside
of the team, the reaction has been outstanding. The event is already sold out with a waiting list.”
Great. Claire both loved and hated that bit of news. The excitement about the auction boded well for the amount of money they’d end up raising, however, the pressure was on now, as it hadn’t been in San Diego. New York was a city bursting with culture and she hoped its denizens weren’t disappointed with what the players made.
* * *
The first day of painting went well. Alex’s friend, Keith Westrup, was in the first group. He was lean and tall, with big sideburns and a bigger voice. She could just imagine him and Alex playing on the ice together. In fact, Kevin told her some stories about the good old days that Claire wasn’t sure were completely true. At least, she hoped they weren’t, otherwise Alex’s liver must be shot to hell.
When Jeremy didn’t need her, Claire discussed details of the auction itself with Elizabeth—venue, Master of Ceremonies, menu, and so on. The woman knew her business. By the end of the day, Elizabeth had a more comprehensive list of what needed to be accomplished and when. After circulating photos of his work via cell phone, Westy shared the comments he got from his teammates and Claire was amused at the trash talk. It seemed hockey teams were largely the same no matter what coast they played on.
And so it went for the next three weeks. It took longer to get through the painting phase because the Rangers had a weeklong road trip smack dab in the middle of it. Claire took that opportunity to play groupie and fly to Columbus to meet Alex and then follow the team to St. Louis before returning to New York. Also, although most of the players got personally invested in their creations, just as the Barracudas had, the paintings were more involved.
“I am impressed,” Todd Doran, owner of the team, said when he looked at the final finished collection. “The idea to go with a New York theme was brilliant.”
“That was Claire’s idea,” Jeremy said.
She demurred. “It was Jeremy’s teaching that got the players to bring the idea to life.”
“My favorite is this one.” Doran pointed to an Impressionistic canvas with blurred brush strokes. “It looks so much like Monet’s, except you can easily recognize the Brooklyn Bridge.” He peered at the signature. “Lundqvist. It figures. I have half a mind to bid on it myself. I mean, half these guys could take up painting when they retire.”
After that, she focused solely on the auction itself. Organizing a high-class event in New York was much more complicated than it had been in San Diego, and where Elliot had pretty much given her carte blanche, the Rangers management questioned everything. So many people were involved in getting a green light that eventually she had to start being pushy because they were running out of time. It was hard, too, because Jeremy had gone back home and she was alone. And lonely.
She talked with Alex as often as she could, but it didn’t help much. Although New York City was exciting, she longed to go home. She was tired of freezing weather, tired of eating alone, tired of the stress that came from trying to impress a beloved ninety-plus-year-old organization.
By the time the night of the auction arrived, Claire was beside herself with anxiety. It was funny to think that now she had a reputation on the line. Elliot had talked up the first auction so much, there were high expectations, but it was clear after the first few people arrived, that they’d nailed it.
Jeremy returned for the big night and Elliot came with him. Elliot even pushed the bidding up on a couple of paintings. Lundqvist’s raised the most money—an astounding twenty thousand dollars. The bidding for the rest of the paintings all went into four figures. Even as bad at math as Claire was, she knew they’d outdone the San Diego auction by a long shot.
It turned out to be one of the best nights of her life. The sense of accomplishment she felt was unparalleled. And this might only be the beginning. What if there were more teams interested in this type of event? What if she and Jeremy literally took this show on the road and made a business out of it? Maybe they could branch out to other sports. Maybe they could raise money for causes
they
chose by handpicking celebrities to create the art. Or maybe even real artists. Or both. Her head was spinning with the possibilities when Elizabeth Ferraro came up to her.
“What’s up?” Claire asked.
“Do you happen to have a tampon? I got my period a little earlier than I expected and I didn’t think to bring one in my little evening purse.”
Claire shook her head. “I—” She stopped, midsentence, then recovered. “Sorry, I don’t.”
“Damn,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure the hotel has some, but they’re probably like ten dollars each. Thanks anyway.”
Claire smiled wanly as she tried to recall when
her
last period had been. She’d been so caught up in the auction that she’d forgotten all about it.
Trying not to panic, she thought hard. It had been...a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, hadn’t it? Yes. That meant she was a week late.
Disturbed, she put the entire topic on the back burner as she said the rest of her goodbyes. She accepted the congratulations of all the Rangers executives, a kiss on the cheek by Henrik Lundqvist, and a team jersey, signed by all the players. If she hadn’t been so worried about her late period, she’d have enjoyed the thought of teasing Alex with it when she got home. Instead, she might have something more serious to spring on him.
She found a pharmacy open late at night and bought a home pregnancy test. When she got to her room, her hands were steady even though inside she was an emotional mess.
How could this have happened? Alex always used protection. He was understandably strict about it. Again, she searched her memory and when she checked the stick and saw the positive result, she wasn’t all that surprised. Against all odds, she was going to have a baby. Alex Sullivan’s baby.
Lord help her.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Alex couldn’t wait until Christmas. He had the perfect gift for Claire.
The
Perfect Gift.
He was not the greatest shopper in the world. He did the bulk of his Christmas gift-buying at the liquor store. His friends and the men behind the scenes—coaches, equipment managers, trainers, etc.—usually appreciated primo liquor. Tequila, wine, or whisky. Because it seemed weird to get the women who worked for the team booze, he gave them gift certificates to spas. That usually went over well, and it was easy. Two stops and he was done. The liquor store even gift-wrapped.
If he happened to be dating someone in December, jewelry was his go-to gift item. Ladies always appreciated a bracelet, earrings or a necklace. Nothing too expensive and never a ring. Rings carried implications other types of jewelry didn’t.
But he didn’t want to get Claire a go-to gift. He wanted to give her something personal. They both loved movies, so he thought about getting her a bunch of DVDs, but he dismissed that as lame. Cookbooks? She liked cooking and was always trying out new recipes on him...No. That seemed like he was indirectly getting a gift for himself, since he’d be the main beneficiary of the cooking.
This thoughtful gift-giving thing was hard.
Then one day, just before she left, he got a great idea.
Actually, he stole the idea from Dustin DeVries.
They’d been working out together in the gym at the Barracuda Ice Center and Dev had said, “So, I hear your girl is going to New York.”
Dev was doing squats with a barbell across his shoulders. Alex was on the ground working his abs with a fifteen-pound disc.
“Yeah. She and Jeremy are going to put an art auction on for them like they did for us.”
“It was a really great idea. Your soup can was cool.”
“Thanks.”
Dev replaced the barbell on the rack. “What’d you think of mine?”
Alex recalled the painting Dev had done of a California pool. “I thought it was one of the better ones, actually. It was nice and clean. Straightforward.”
“Thanks. I liked it too. In fact, I’m making another one—but of
my
pool—and giving it to my mom for Christmas. I’ve been trying to get her to move out here to San Diego and I thought this might help. If she looks at a painting of California every day, she might cave.”
“Yeah, good idea.”
Great idea
, Alex had realized later. He could paint something for Claire—he even knew the subject matter. The gift would be
highly
personal.
When the evening of December 23 finally rolled around, the Barracudas all bid goodbye to each other after their afternoon game. Having chosen to spend the holiday at in “their” Angels Landing cottage, he and Claire flew to Vegas and rented a car like they had before, but she seemed preoccupied on the drive. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought she was gazing at the scenery, but since the sun was almost down, there was little to see.
He started to think something had happened in New York. She’d been...weird ever since she got back, like she wasn’t comfortable around him anymore or wanted to break up with him. That wasn’t likely though. If she were going to do that, she’d have done it before they got on the plane.
As the car sped across central Nevada, a crazy idea popped into his head. He dismissed it immediately as highly unlikely. But the more time passed during which Claire didn’t sleep or speak, the more the idea took root in his mind. By the time they crossed into Arizona, he had to know or go insane.
“Claire, did something happen in New York?”
She glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t know.” Now that he’d opened his big mouth it seemed ridiculous. “Like with the Rangers. I told Westy to watch out for you, but he couldn’t be with you all the time...”
“They were all perfect gentlemen.” She said. “As gentlemanly as hockey players can be, anyway. Why?”
He lifted a shoulder and checked his rearview mirror for cops, because he was going ninety. “I don’t know. Seems like something’s bothering you,
been
bothering you.”
If she’d been a clam, he would have heard her shells snapping together. She had her hands in her lap, all tight and clenched.
“No, nothing happened,” she said again.
“Then what’s going on? Something is. I can feel it. You’ve been building a little invisible igloo around yourself ever since—”
“I’m pregnant.”
“—you got...” He paused. Processed. Reacted. “What the fuck.
What
did you say?” He considered it a win that he hadn’t swerved off onto the shoulder.
She made a choking noise and repeated, “I’m pregnant.”
This wasn’t a joke.
“I suppose it would be stupid to ask how this happened.”
“I think it was when you ripped that condom with your teeth.”
Shit. He remembered doing that. They had both been starved for each other after a particularly long road trip. He’d practically thrown her on the bed and ripped her clothes off. When he went to snatch a condom from his nightstand, he swore...
“
What’s wrong?
”
“
It’s nothing.
The lube leaked all over the drawer.
”
He’d been on his knees
,
struggling with the little packet.
“
This thing is slippery as fuck.
”
“
Let me...
”
“
No
,
I’ll get it.
”
He’d put it between his teeth and ripped.
“
There.
Got it.
”
That had to be it. He must have torn the latex and neither of them had realized.
“Are you positive? Maybe your period’ll come. Maybe you’re just really late. It happens.” He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself.
“No, I went to the doctor. I’m sure.”
He wanted to hit the steering wheel. Fuck. Fucking lame-ass condoms. Fucking teeth. Irrationally, he found himself wishing he was missing his incisors like Dustin fucking Brown so this wouldn’t have happened.
“I knew you wouldn’t be happy about it,” she said.
“Do you honestly expect me to be happy? Are
you
happy?”
“I don’t know. I think I’m just numb. I’m worried. I’m afraid. I’m a lot of things, but I don’t really think happy’s on the list.”
That was a relief. He was similarly stunned. Inside her, life had begun for a tiny little being that was half him and half her. As for Alex? The world as he knew it had just come to an end.