Authors: Ginger Rapsus
Brandon was angry enough to bite the head off a cobra. Money couldn’t replace that gold ring. It had been his grandmother’s wedding ring, with her initials carved inside. And it was 14 karat gold. He once looked inside the band and saw the hallmark.
Would the bitch sell that ring? To some crummy pawn shop? How would he ever get it back?
Brandon’s hangover pounded harder, and he felt nauseous.
Greta’s long day was coming to an end. She’d had her share of crabby customers, and a young couple who walked into the store just before quitting time and asked to see every diamond ring in the place.
Just before she signed out for the day, she spotted another customer coming up the walk. A young man, with long dark hair, unshaven, looking like he’d just tumbled out of bed. He wore a denim jacket that looked about fifty years old, and jeans to match.
He wasn’t paying attention to where he was walking, and stepped right into a wad of well-chewed gum that someone had left on the sidewalk.
He swore, and scraped his foot against the rough walkway. His favorite shoes gummed up. The lost ring. What else could happen this day?
Greta watched him enter, and hoped he wouldn’t stick around. She wanted to go home.
“Look what I stepped in!” Brandon said to her.
Greta stared at him. “Er, can I help you with…”
“Yes, I’m…well, I am looking for a ring. A lost ring. A gold ring.”
“This isn’t a pawn shop. There’s one on the next block, at Archer and…”
“Look, I need this ring back. It was my grandmother’s.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have sold it.” Greta didn’t like his demanding attitude, and she really wanted to leave the store now.
“I didn’t sell it. It was stolen.”
“Did you file a police report?”
Brandon didn’t think of that. “Not exactly.”
Greta sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Do you have this ring? Maybe she sold it, or…”
“She? Do you know who stole it? Maybe you could just ask for it back.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll go out and hit the bars on Rush Street every night to look for her.”
Greta rubbed her head. “Let me get the story straight. You picked up a girl in a bar, took her home, and she left with a valuable ring?”
Didn’t this guy have a brain?
Brandon came up close to her face. “Yeah. That’s right. I need that ring back. Did she sell it?”
“I have no idea. This store has plenty of gold rings. Can you describe it?”
“Fourteen karat gold.”
“That really narrows it down.” Greta had enough of this guy, and began turning off the light, preparing to lock up. She wanted this guy out, and fast.
“Can I look at…”
“Look, you’ll have to come back some other time. This store is closed.”
Brandon rolled his eyes, and sighed. “I need to…”
“You need to leave right now, before I call security.”
“It smells in here. Zach, when did you last shower?”
“About an hour ago,” Zach replied, in his Canadian accent. “Look who’s talking. Vyto, don’t they have soap and water in Lithuania?”
The Chicago Ice Bandits’ big Lithuanian goaltender laughed at him, showing a mouthful of missing teeth. “You make me laugh. Big shot. Came back from the Olympics.”
“And here’s my partner in crime. Morning, Brandon. You look none the worse for wear.”
Brandon yawned. He hadn’t had much sleep since returning from the Winter Olympics, in all the excitement of losing both his fiancée and his prized ring.
“Wake up, dude. Back to work today. Lots to practice. We have appearance to make tomorrow, and big game that night.” The goaltender grinned again. “Both of you wear your medals tonight, and fans go crazy.”
“Eat your heart out, Vyto.” Brandon looked around his locker. He hoped that maybe he’d misplaced the ring, that it was somewhere in his locker. But he wouldn’t leave a gold ring in his locker, here, at the Arena.
“What you looking for? Your teeth?”
“No, Zach. It’s…it’s a long story.”
Zach put on his Ice Bandits sweater, the home version in deep blue, with silver trim. “Get with it, Brandon. Like Vyto said. Practice today, morning skate tomorrow, then the three of us go out to that hospital to visit the kids. And a game at seven.”
Brandon dug out his equipment and slowly got dressed. “Busy day. Again. Where is that hospital, anyway?”
“South side of Chicago,” said Vyto, lacing up his skates. “To see sick kids is sad and depressing. But they good to us. They ask for autograph, and hug you and kiss you.”
“Too bad we can’t find a hospital with all young ladies,” added Kyle MacDonald, the Ice Bandits’ team captain.
Zach prepared to go out on the rink. “Snap it up, Brandon. Duty calls.”
Take your mind off things, Brandon, he told himself. Get dressed. Skate. Go visit sick children. They have worse problems than you do. Keep busy. Play your hockey games and lose yourself in the heat and the competition. The Ice Bandits had the best record in the NHL, by two whole points, with the rest of the season to go, not to mention the playoffs.
Lose yourself in your games, Brandon, and you’ll be okay.
Brandon felt better as soon as his skates hit the ice. He loved to skate. Game or not, he loved the feel of skates, perhaps more than he enjoyed walking on his own two feet. After all, he could skate practically before he could walk.
The other Ice Bandits came out, one by one, for their practice on this day; Zach Lambert was there, and Dale Wallace, Mike DeBerry, and Kyle MacDonald. The Olympic break was over, and now, it was back to business. And it was bound to get crazy. Late February—he never could remember dates—and all of March, a few days in April, and then the playoffs. The second season. And that’s when things really got interesting.
Zach skated to the end of the rink. “Hey, Sparky! Wanna race?” He called to Brandon, using the nickname he’d picked up as a young phenom.
Brandon took off like a puck out of hell.
He felt a lot better out on the ice. The rink was where he belonged. Brandon loved the feel of skating, and how he became unaware that he was on skates as he played his beloved game. The interaction of the team and all his guys made him forget Terri and the ring and his various aches and pains. No one but his buddy Zach knew what happened at the Olympic Village. Brandon told him, but didn’t go into much detail.
Coach Jacques LeFebvre, known as Coach Jock, watched his players intently. He spotted every little change, every change of speed and puck handling, and wasn’t afraid to speak up and tell his men exactly what needed to be done, what could be better. He expected everyone to do his best, every time out. “Always play your best,” he told the players, “then everyone can see how good you really are.”
Brandon and the others skated off the rink, sweaty and tired, but Coach Jock wasn’t finished yet. He addressed his team.
“We have the rest of the season to go. And it’s a lot of season. Tonight, we play Milwaukee. Yes, an expansion team, but they can beat you. If you slack off, if you assume you are better than they are, you will not win. You can never assume anything in this game.”
“You’re telling me,” said Dale, the big enforcer who had been with the team for five years, through a lot of lean times.
The guys fidgeted as Coach went on. They knew a video of the Milwaukee Thunderbirds was coming. Brandon made up his mind to watch and concentrate. He’d play the game the best he could. If he didn’t, there were half a million guys ready and willing to take his place. Then after the video, there was a long workout ahead of him.
Brandon would put his all into his game. It was all he had, after losing the one he trusted the most. He could trust his game and his team, but not a woman. Never again.
“I tell you, Greta. I was ready to throw that son of a bitch out the window. If I set the place on fire, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“Okay, Ma. Now I know what to get you for your birthday. A new toaster.”
“And I bought that thing on sale. I should know better. You know the toast is done when the big puffs of black smoke rise up. Then you throw away the black toast, and you start all over.”
Greta sighed. Her mother and her housekeeping troubles.
“Hey, Ma. I saw a new kind of toaster. You can see through it, and watch the toast burn.”
“Greta, please don’t be smart. That toaster drives me crazy.” Then she changed the subject abruptly, as she did when she didn’t like the conversation. “How’s work? How’s the jewelry business? I hear gold is out of sight.”
“Yes, it is. We’re pretty busy.”
“You be careful in that store. All kinds of crazies in the world. You could get robbed. Are you ever in the store by yourself?”
“No, Ma.” Greta didn’t want to tell her about the guy who came in and demanded his gold ring. Mom might nag her to quit her job. “We have good security.”
“You be careful, honey. I always worry about you. By the way, how’s your girlfriend April? Did she get married yet?”
“No, Ma. She isn’t even seeing anyone.”
Greta’s mother sighed. “What is it with these girls and their careers? I was married and already had you by the time I was your age. And she’s a nurse. I bet she meets lots of good-looking doctors.”
“Ma, real life isn’t like that. Everyone is so busy.”
Greta finally hung up, after a lecture on why she, and April, should get married.
Ma was right. The world was full of crazies. She wished everyone would leave her alone, to live her own life the way she wanted.
Greta liked her job. She enjoyed jewelry, and creating and selling new styles and pretty things for her customers to wear. There were hassles—there were in any field—but she liked her work, and wanted to keep doing it as long as she could.
She especially liked working with gold. The yellow metal always meant wealth, but that wasn’t her only reason. Gold was malleable, soft, and able to be manipulated and formed and molded into whatever shape she wanted.
Gold did what she wanted and expected it to do.
Not like people. Particularly men people. She didn’t want to get married to some guy who told her what to do.
“Look at April. Since when do you wear all that eye makeup?”
“Since three Ice Bandits players come to visit.” April walked quickly to the nurses’ station. “When are they coming?”
Karen, the nurse manager of the unit, looked at her clipboard. “They should arrive about twelve noon, but they’ll probably be late. Each one will visit one floor. Brandon Taylor will be on our floor.”
April smiled. “Good! He’s cute. And one of the best defensemen in the game.”
Karen continued, “After seeing some of the kids, the three players will go to the auditorium and talk.”
She went on as Greta entered the area. Greta ran up to her friend, pushing her blond bangs out of her eyes. “Jesus! This place is hard to find. I couldn’t get a parking space. Then I couldn’t find the front entrance. I tried asking directions, but everyone ignored me. Including security.”
April saw Karen, her boss, glaring at them, and she spoke up. “My friend Greta said she’d meet me for lunch today.”
“You picked a good day. Three Ice Bandits hockey players are coming.”
“I wouldn’t know any to see them.” Greta looked for a place to sit down, and hang up her winter coat.
“Put your stuff in the conference room,” April told her. “Come on, I’ll show you.”
Greta walked down the long hall, following April. She heard a child cry, then scream. She looked around.
“They’re drawing blood on that patient. Little ones don’t like being stuck. Neither do big people!” April showed Greta the conference room; the room was spacious but nearly every inch was cluttered. There was a row of lockers on one wall, a table covered with papers, pens and alcohol wipes, and shoes scattered all over the floor. “Hang up your coat anywhere you want, wherever there’s room.” There was an area way in the back with wooden pegs on the wall to hang coats, but some of the pegs were missing, and the good ones were all used. One or two coats lay on the floor, among some shoes and cardboard boxes.
“I didn’t know some hockey players were going to come. Maybe this isn’t the best day…”
April looked in the mirror, primping her hair. “It’s all right. We have a good looking one coming here. It’s about time you met someone, Greta.”
“You sound like my mother. I’m not in the market. And I don’t know if I want a hockey player anyway. They’re tough, and always fighting.”
“And lots of them are cute and rich.” The girls heard a commotion from the station. The special guests had arrived.
“They’re here! The three players are here! Let’s go!” April all but ran back to the station.
The three young men, clad in blue home jerseys and jeans, stood out among the female nurses, the nurse manager, and some visitors who had come to see the players. Zach and Brandon wore their newly earned gold medals from the Winter Olympics; the large medals gleamed on their broad chests. “I no have medal,” said Vyto, “but you see me wear the Ice Bandits symbol, with much pride.”
Brandon, six foot two in regular shoes, towered over the petite nurses’ aide who asked for his autograph.
“Brandon Taylor. Look at him. He’s better looking in person.”
Greta took a good look at the Ice Bandit, and recognized him. But not from hockey games.
He was the guy who came into her shop asking for his missing gold ring.
“Come on, Greta. Meet a real live…”
“April. I met him before. Remember I told you about that jerk who came into the store?”
She didn’t pay attention, as she joined the crowd around the players.
Brandon signed his name—his handwriting was worse than a doctor’s-- and chatted with all the hospital workers who wanted to talk to him. Always agreeable with fans, he tried to accommodate all of them.
Then he spotted Greta.
She looks familiar, he thought, then he recalled the day at the jewelry shop, and the girl behind the counter who threw him out the door.
Bold as a hockey player should be, he approached her.
“Ever find that gold ring?” They both said at once.
Greta laughed despite herself. She had to be nice. She was at April’s workplace, and she didn’t want to embarrass her best friend.