Seduced by the Game (40 page)

“Please, don’t apologize.
This wasn’t your fault. You didn’t know. And even if you did, it’s not your
responsibility, it’s mine.” His tone is more forceful when he says that. He
shakes his head instead of rattling off excuses. The fact that he doesn’t try
to justify his behavior makes me more sympathetic toward him. He looks down at
his feet, and he speaks quietly again. “We’re going to think about things and
decide what to do in a few days.”

I nod. I do feel a little
sorry for him; he looks so sad and dejected, and my first instinct is to soothe
and support him. It’s the “mother hen” instinct in me. But I’m also a southern
belle with loads of self-respect, and I don’t think I want to cut him any more
slack. I’m finished with our conversation, so I say, “Well, I hope that
everything works out for you.”

He shrugs. “Thanks. See ya
later.” And then he leaves my office.

* * * *

Thursday’s game against
Detroit is a good game for the Comets. We come out strong, and I’m playing
well. By the end of the first, we’re up by two goals—both of which I’m on the
ice for. The spirits of the team are up, which means a lot considering we
thought we played well against the Monarchs and still lost. Even though we’re
up, we try not to get ahead of ourselves. It helps to have a lead, but that
doesn’t mean that we’re safe. Not against a team like Detroit.

We win. It feels fucking
great to win. The Comets collectively snap a five-game losing streak, so I’m
doing my job here by helping them win. Individually, I play a fucking great
game. I’m a plus-three, the only one on the team to get such a ranking, and I’m
also the second-highest one on the team in ice time, only following behind
Rockwell. I even get an assist, my first point as a Comet. It’s a step in the
right direction. I feel like a part of the team, but most of all I don’t feel
quite like a bargaining chip. The Tornadoes’ general manager had told me that
on Monday that he had told several inquiring teams that I wasn’t up for
sale—and the only reason I got traded was because it was for a guy they had had
their eye on, and the Comets had asked for me by name. Back then, I hadn’t
believed him. But now, I believe it. I feel it. I feel valuable, like my new GM
knew what he was doing and knew that I’d fit in here and make the difference
they were hoping for.

I enjoy the trip to
Detroit for more than just the W we earn. It also gets me a reprieve from
Dallas and all that that implies, as well as time to do all the thinking that
Corinne wants me to do. Our schedule on the road is regimented, and I try not
to think that that’s all George’s doing. But I think about her when we get on
the plane to Michigan, when a bus picks us up from the airport, when we get to
the hotel, when I walk into my room, and every other time my life is influenced
by a decision that George has made for me. I think it’s crazy when I realize
how much she’s involved in my new life now—between the team stuff as well as
the way she tried to help me out mentally and emotionally with the trade—and I
didn’t even know she existed a week ago.

On Friday, we have
practice at the arena. I expect to see George there at some point, but I don’t.
And I don’t make a concerted effort to go to her office. I figure that she’s
either busy or avoiding me, and in either case I can’t blame her for staying
away. But still, I want to thank her, because I feel like I wouldn’t have been
a force on this team without her initial help. Even though we’ve done things we
weren’t supposed to and it spilled into many facets of my life, she has also
been a positive influence on me when I really truly needed it. I can’t forget
about that.

While we were on the road,
it was easy to not worry about the guys finding out. Even though George and I
hadn’t discussed it, we knew that we should keep our little tryst a secret. It
would complicate things unnecessarily. And I have no idea how my teammates
would react to hearing about it. Would they be mad that the new guy came in out
of nowhere and scored with George? Or would they be happy for her that she got
some action, regardless of who gave it to her? I still haven’t figured out how
she fits into the equation in relation to the team, because they treat her like
one of the guys—seen in their interactions with her around the rink and with
guys like Harris and Klingensmith—but they also kind of act like protective
older brothers—like how they kept other guys at bay at the bar.

I go all day without
seeing her on Friday because we don’t go out as a team, since we have an
afternoon game on Saturday, and I don’t like the way it makes me feel to not
see her. Even though I’ve only been in Dallas for a few days, I’ve associated
her with the rink and with the city. I really don’t like not seeing her because
I miss out on her calming, light, fun presence. I miss her smile and hair and
the way her eyes light up and the way she looks at me and the way she makes me
feel.

So I call Corinne on
Saturday morning; I don’t need any more time to figure out that our
relationship is over. She agrees.

“If you didn’t want to be
with me, Bryan, then you just should have said so instead of cheating on me. I
still can’t believe you did that. I know that we were having some problems and
things weren’t the same as they used to be, but that’s no excuse to cheat on
me. How many times has it happened?”

“None! That was the only
time, Cory, I swear. How many times do I have to tell you that I’m so sorry
about that?” I ask her, feeling exasperated. On Tuesday night, I had not been
at my finest. I’ve decided, though, that I feel worse about not entirely
regretting my decision. “I didn’t realize that we weren’t...working. I wasn’t
looking to be with anyone else, but it happened. Cheating wasn’t the only
problem we had though, you know? This just opened the door to let us talk about
it all. I feel like you weren’t honest with me by not telling me that you hated
Raleigh. What was going to happen when everything was packed up and it was time
for you to come down to Dallas? Were you going to come down and just be
miserable here and not talk to me about it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t
know what was going to happen.” Corinne sighs. “But I guess we don’t have to
wonder about that anymore, because it doesn’t matter.”

“I guess it doesn’t,” I
reply, and that is the end of that conversation—and the end of my five-year
relationship.

* * * *

It’s tough to not go to
the locker room after the practice. I want to go and congratulate the guys on
their win in Detroit, and I want to watch the practice on Friday, too. I
usually do, and it’s one of the high points of my work days to take a break
from the phone and the planning and watch the guys skate around and practice
for forty-five minutes to an hour.

I’m avoiding all of them
just because I’m trying to avoid Bryan. Some of the guys stop by my office to
say “hey” and see what’s up with me because I didn’t go to practice. I greet
them and ask how they are, and they talk to me for a little while. As soon as
they press me to find out why I didn’t show up to watch them, I simply tell
them I’m very busy and that I have to get back to making calls for the upcoming
road trip. I think that they can tell that something’s up, but they don’t push
me, seeing as though they don’t know how to handle this kind of situation. As
they like to say, I’m one of the boys, meaning I don’t partake in
passive-aggressive behaviors or beat around the bush. I’m typically an open
book, but right now they can’t read me, so it confuses them.

The truth of the matter is
I don’t know how my guys would respond if they ever found out about the
one-night stand I had with Bryan. None of them has ever tried anything with me,
but I like to think that that’s because I made it very clear from the get-go
that I was a professional, and I never planned on engaging in that kind of
behavior with them. The day I walked into that locker room and was introduced
as the new Director of Team Services, I firmly shook their hands, looked them
squarely in the eye, and made myself appear to be dominant. Between that and
busting their balls, I think it helped to cement the dynamic of my relationship
to that group of hockey players.

And I don’t talk about my
romantic relationships around them, but that’s mostly because I don’t
have
romantic
relationships anymore. I’ve been on some dates here and there, but they don’t
stick because, so I’ve been told, I’m too dedicated to my job, and also because
of my job and my involvement with a group of twenty-some men. It’s totally
sexist and I hate it, but I love my job too much to sacrifice it for a
relationship with some guy and a chance at romance.

So my Comets have
absolutely no way of knowing what’s suddenly wrong with me or why I’m holing up
in my office instead of being social with them. Thank goodness that the team
has an afternoon game on Saturday so I don’t have to make up an excuse of why I
can’t hang out with them that night. Before they head out for warm-ups, I pop
my head into the dressing room and give them my usual “Good luck, y’all” before
the game against Nashville. Two points would mean a lot to the guys at this
point in the season.

And they get those two
points in a great game. They battle hard for the victory, coming back from
behind and winning the game 3-2. The best part is that Bryan gets an assist on
the game-winner as well as his first goal as a Comet. It’s a dirty goal, but it
counts, and that’s all that really matters. I know that he has to be proud of
himself. Lord knows
I’m
proud of him, just like I am proud of each of my
boys, but I really feel so happy for him because I could see how worried and
miserable he was. This has got to make him happy—not only because he’s fitting
in so well so soon after the trade, but also because the fans are so evidently
appreciating his efforts and glad to have him here. They think that the general
manager is a fucking genius and that we got the better end of the deal.

I’m so swept up with
emotion that I can’t help myself when I see the guys after the game. I
congratulate them all on the win and their tireless effort on the ice, but I
give extra attention to Bryan. I don’t even realize I’m doing it until after I
touch his arm and squeeze it softly. “Great game. And congrats on the goal.
Surely the first of many to come.”

He smiles at me warmly,
and I forget that I’m not supposed to stand this close to him. Yesterday, I had
purposely tried to keep my distance from him, but it’s like I’m drawn to his
side as soon as we’re in the same room, like I’m the iron to his magnet. I had
planned on saying that little spiel and then ducking out to head home, but Adam
approaches us. I can see that he looks down at my hand, which is still on
Bryan’s arm, so I clear my throat and let go of our newest defenseman.

“Great game, Harris. Well,
I’ll see you guys on the flight on Monday to Phoenix,” I say, trying to
extricate myself from the situation.

“Aren’t you coming out?
We’re all going for a big, nice dinner,” Adam explains. He’s looking at me
carefully and inquisitively.

I know that if I say no,
then he’s really going to think something’s up, and I can tell that he’s
already suspicious. I have to relent. “Oh, okay.” But I try to make up for it.
“I didn’t realize you guys had plans. I’ll probably have to go change first.
Where are we going?”

“Don’t worry, that’s
fine,” Adam responds, gesturing to my jeans and Comets shirt. Meanwhile, the
guys are all in their suits. I start to shake my head, wanting to insist that I
go home before I can join them, but he refuses to accept that answer from me.
It’s like he knows that if I leave, I won’t meet them for dinner. “I’m telling
you, it’s fine. Come on, you’re riding with me.”

I sigh, not at all pleased
with this new change of events, but I don’t feel like I have a choice, so I
follow Adam out to his car.

* * * *

I try to concentrate on
all the endorphins and feel-good chemicals coursing through my veins after that
game against the Predators. In order to do that, I try to focus on the great
game that I played. That goal probably shouldn’t have been a goal, but what the
hell—a goal counts, so I’ll take it. I’ve got ten on the season now, which ties
the high that I had set a few years back at UND. Who knows, maybe I’ll even
surpass that total and set a new personal best. Maybe I’ll even hit the
forty-point mark and have the best season ever.

I’ve gotta focus on that
because hockey’s the only thing I’ve got going for me now. I should focus all
my energy on the team and how I could help them make the play-offs. At the rate
we’re going, we should be able to clinch a spot before the end of the season.
That’s a lot of work to look forward to. I think about all that as I drive to
the steakhouse where we’re all supposed to meet for dinner and some team
bonding, I guess.

In the lobby of the
restaurant, I watch as Harris slides out of his suit jacket and holds it out
for George. Harris laughs and says, “Here. You know, if you wanna be dressed
up. If you’re worried that they won’t let you in.”

“Uh,” she says
skeptically, hesitating enough that Harris puts it on her. She looks kind of
like a wire hanger with hair because the jacket hangs off her. Except she’s
much, much prettier than a wire hanger.