"I have not—"
"Do the words ‘No one but degenerates play hockey and I won't have my son turning into one’ sound familiar?"
Emily flushed pink with embarrassment.
Eric leaned closer, resting his forearms on the table. “Come to think of it, you were pretty judgmental the other night, and you didn't even know I play hockey. You thought I was just a drunken troublemaker, didn't you? Whooping it up on a Sunday night for lack of anything better to do."
Emily's color went from pink to red.
"Tel me, Doctor, do you pigeonhole al your patients like that?
Treat them with the same self-righteousness you showed me when they don't measure up to your standards?"
"Of course not!"
"Then as much as I hate to say this, you're a hypocrite, Emily.
You're supposed to treat your patients equaly, but—"
Emily's palms hit the table. “I'm a hypocrite? Who got drunk and started a brawl, spent the night in jail and less than a week later preached about how bad drugs and alcohol are to a room ful of impressionable little kids?"
"Hi, Mom. We're back."
Emily jerked her head around. Robbie and Glen stood beside the table. Robbie's confused gaze skipped back and forth between his mother and Eric, but Glen only had eyes for Eric.
"Wow,” he said, awestruck. “It's realy him. Can I have your autograph, Mr. Cameron?"
Emily wanted to scream in frustration. Instead she snatched up her coat and the check and stood. Daring Eric to move even an inch with her look, she addressed her son.
"Robin, when you're through making intro-ductions, I'd like you to meet me outside. Alone."
"You didn't tel me you knew him, Mom."
Emily couldn't tel whether her son was more impressed or excited.
She paid for their movie tickets and ushered him through the turnstile. “I don't know him. He came into the ER Sunday night—"
"Robbie's eyes widened. After the game?"
"No, after a—what game?"
"The Saints against the Wild. See, there was this big fight between Eric and the Wild's main goon, and—"
"Wait a minute. How do you know al this?” She didn't recal alowing him to watch any hockey game Sunday night.
"Mom. It was the Saints against the Wild,” he said, as if that explained everything. “Everyone was talking about the game at school. Anyway, they said the Wild guy started the fight, then Eric got thrown out of the game and the Saints lost."
"Because of him? Because he got thrown out?"
Her son nodded vigorously. “Because he couldn't play no more."
"Any more,” Emily corrected. “You mean he's that good?"
Robbie roled his eyes in exasperation. “Mom, they traded four guys for him just so the Saints could get into the playoffs."
"And now they won't be going,” she mused, and wondered if frustration was the reason he'd gotten involved in the brawl. That didn't make his actions right, but—
"Sure they wil. The playoffs don't start until April."
Emily didn't ask him to explain. Hockey didn't interest her. Al she needed to know about it was one of its more meddlesome proponents wouldn't be bothering her or her son again.
She scanned the lobby, making sure their shadow hadn't folowed them. To her relief, Robbie had emerged from Paisan's alone, and the last she'd seen of Eric Cameron was his wel-formed backside as he headed into the video arcade with Glen Simms skipping along beside him.
Stil, she couldn't shake the feeling he wasn't through with her yet.
She wasn't wrong. Five minutes into the film, she felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Seconds later a large, hatless man smeling of pizza, peppermint and new leather eased into the seat to her left.
"Hi. Miss me?” he murmured into her ear.
She didn't miss the way Robbie wasn't surprised by the turn of events. She glared at him until he looked her way. Spotting Eric, Robbie smiled from his aisle seat and shrugged.
"Traitor,” she muttered, then turned back to Eric. “What do you think you're doing in here?"
He grinned. “That seems to be your standard greeting.” Ignoring her scowl, he removed his jacket and turned his attention to the screen.
“I've never seen a Harry Potter movie. Glen recommended them highly, so I decided to join you once I made sure he hooked back up with his parents."
"I thought I—"
"Shh, Doctor. That's the problem. You think too much. Now why don't you relax and enjoy the movie. I hear the vilainess in this is a real witch."
Emily snapped her mouth shut and sank into her seat. Eric settled deeper into his, clasped his hands over his waist and crossed his legs, bracing his right ankle on his left knee. The position brought his right thigh close enough for her to rest her hand on it ... if she were so inclined.
She was not.
She tried her best to ignore him, but found it impossible. His occasional deep chuckles reminded her he was there. Clearly the two-hundred-plus pound hockey player was enjoying the film as much as her sneaky little son, if not more.
The two had more in common than conspiracy, she decided next.
The two had more in common than conspiracy, she decided next.
Like Robbie, Eric seemed to have trouble sitting stil. Every few minutes he shifted restlessly, his arm or leg sometimes brushing hers as he tried to find a comfortable position in a seat that hadn't been designed for a man of his size. The contact was innocuous enough
—his attention never strayed from the screen—but he must have bumped or brushed her at least a dozen times. Her awareness of him increased until it surrounded her like a cloud.
A thundercloud.
Through it al, he seemed oblivious to her darkening mood. As soon as the credits roled, Emily sprang to her feet, colected her gloves and coat, then helped Robbie into his, despite his protests he could do it himself. She froze for a moment when Eric eased her coat out from under her arm and held it for her, but managed to slip into it more graciously than Robbie had his. Moving toward the exit, she heard someone behind her whisper Eric's name, then someone else.
As they spiled into the lobby she noticed a group of twenty-something men in the ticket line nudging each other and grinning at them like crazy. She looked at the marquee to see what else was playing. No way that group was coming to see Harry Potter.
"Yo, Eric! Awesome fight last night, dude!"
"Put those Flames right out, man."
"Old Brodzac won't be able to skate for a week."
"About time somebody kicked his ass."
"About time somebody kicked his ass."
Emily would have sworn Eric looked embarrassed. “C'mon,” he muttered, blocking her view of their rapidly growing audience as he ushered her and Robbie toward the exit. “Let's get going before the parking lot gets jammed."
Or before we get mobbed, she thought, reflexively catching Robbie's hand. But as soon as they stepped outside, the cold air cleared the fog in her brain. What was she thinking, alowing Eric Cameron to use her and Robbie as a smokescreen to avoid his fans?
"Wait."
She'd stopped so abruptly Eric nearly bumped into her. “What's the matter? Did you forget something?"
The genuine concern in his voice made her hesitate—but only for a moment. Dinner was over. The movie was over. If Eric Cameron was looking for a family, he'd have to look somewhere else. Hers wasn't available. “No. I think it's time we said goodbye."
He took in her determined stance, shot her an annoyed look. “Fine.
But I'm not leaving you two alone until I know you're safely on your way home. Is that a problem?"
Emily couldn't have felt more foolish. Robbie groaned in embarrassment. “Nice play, Mom."
She turned away and as the three of them—no longer moving as a single unit—crossed the parking lot, Emily knew she owed Eric an apology. But she couldn't come up with one that wouldn't compromise her need to keep him away from her and Robbie.
Feeling trapped and angry she unlocked the driver's side door and wrenched it open, then turned back to see Eric offer Robbie his hand.
"I had a great time, Sport. Thanks for inviting me."
Robbie took his hand and offered a subdued, “Sure."
"Take good care of your mom, okay? You were right. She's something special."
Shame swamped Emily. She'd been a shrew most of the night and they al knew it. She couldn't miss Robbie's disappointment as he climbed into the seat behind hers. His hero hadn't said anything about seeing him again. She met Eric's guarded expression, and again felt the need to apologize, to make things right.
She couldn't. To encourage the man would be a mistake. A mistake she couldn't afford to repeat.
"Good night, Emily,” he said quietly. “Thanks for the pizza, and the company. I enjoyed it."
He seemed so sincere, so kind. So ... harmless. Their eyes locked and she inexplicably waited for him to say something more. Do and she inexplicably waited for him to say something more. Do something more. What, she had no idea. But now that their evening had finaly come to an end, it somehow felt unfinished.
His cel phone rang and Eric checked it, but didn't answer it.
Instead he stepped back and jammed his hands into his new-smeling leather jacket pockets. She wondered if he might have bought it that week, since she didn't remember him having a coat or jacket with him in the ER. Then again, he probably had a closet ful of coats.
But the soft black leather suited him. She couldn't imagine him wearing anything else. She wondered again about that night, and what had caused the fight that had brought him into her ER.
"You'd better get going,” he said, “That was my ride. I told him to meet me in front of the Road House at nine."
Emily recognized the name of the restaurant and bar. Of course.
Disgusted with herself for even considering waffling, she said, “I see. Good bye, then."
She turned away and slid behind the wheel, then shut the door behind her with a firm bang. Stil, she noticed he waited until she had the Suburban's engine smoothly running before turning away.
Feeling like she didn't know her own mind any more, Emily fiddled with the heat control and puled herself together for the drive home.
She told Robbie she was waiting for traffic to thin, let several cars pass behind her, then slowly backed out of her parking spot.
pass behind her, then slowly backed out of her parking spot.
As she hit the brakes, she spotted Eric in her rearview mirror. He walked toward the mal, his hands stil in his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched, his breath creating cloud puffs as it hit the frigid night air. He looked tired and alone, and moved as if he were in pain. Remembering his bruised ribs, she wondered if that was why he'd been so restless during the movie. She wondered if he might have re-injured them during that “awesome” fight the night before.
And now he was going out to drink again?
Lord. Didn't the man have any sense?
You're determined to think the worst of me, aren't you?
She shifted into drive and tried not to think of him at al.
* * * *
"Hey, how's it going?"
"Al right. I'm just trying to catch up on my paperwork."
"I see the flowers stopped coming."
"Yes, thank God. I was beginning to—"
The phone rang, interrupting her. She motioned for Sarah to stay and picked up the receiver. They'd long since ironed out the wrinkle in their friendship caused by Eric Cameron's visit. As for the man himself, Emily hadn't heard from him since she and Robbie had left him at the mal four nights ago.
"Dr. Jordan."
It was Robbie's principal, Dr. Manzelrod. “I'm sorry to disturb you at work, Dr. Jordan, but we need to talk. Your son's been in a fight with Glen Simms."
"Robbie? Fighting? With Glen?” Impossible. The boys were best friends. “Are you sure?"
She was. Both boys were sitting in her office, Glen nursing a split lip, Robbie sulen and refusing to speak to anyone. How soon could she get there?
"I'm on my way.” Her mind spinning, Emily left the hospital. Robbie in a fight? She stil couldn't believe it. He knew how she felt about fighting. About aggressive behavior. She'd made it clear to him the first time she'd caught him in a push and shove match on the playground. It had to be a mistake. An accident, at best.
Twenty minutes later Emily knew better. It hadn't been an accident at al. Her son had hauled off and hit his best friend when he'd refused to believe that Eric Cameron had said that Robbie had the makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to makings of a born hockey player and promised to convince her to let him join the Mites Hockey League.
* * * *
Usualy she forced herself to face her fear of heavy traffic head on.
She knew it was the only way she could hope to overcome her fears, but the stress of the past few days with Robbie was taking its tol.
The counselor at the women's shelter had told Emily her traffic anxieties stemmed from feelings of being trapped, of being unable to control her environment—of being unable to escape the danger that lurked outside her door. Traffic tended to bring out the worst in people and the impatient, angry looks on some drivers’ faces reminded her of the look on her father's face—just before he would fly into one of his rages.