Across the Line (In The Zone) (16 page)

“How does that translate into soup?” Hart asked.

Calder grinned, his chest puffed up with pride. “Tell them.”

“I braise the beef in the beer, make a beef and lobster stock, add cream, more lobster, potato, lots of pepper...”

“Holy crap. That sounds great,” Jeremy said.

“I told her she should name it after me. You know, like they do at delis where they name sandwiches after famous people.”

Hart chuckled. “I don’t think a lot of people would want to order Calder Soup.”

“That’s what I told him,” Becca said. “Besides, I don’t have fancy names for my food. I just name it what it is.”

“Well, then maybe you should start a wall of fame and my picture could be the first one.”

“What could Hart’s soup be?” Jeremy asked as they moved into the kitchen.

“He can’t have a soup. He can have a lettuce cup,” Calder said.

Becca rolled her eyes at him then turned to Hart. “What kind of food do you like?”

Hart had taken a big bite of one of the Antipasto Lettuce Cups and pointed to the platter. “This. This is awesome.”

“Thank you.”

“He likes fried chicken,” Jeremy said. “The Southern kind, dipped in buttermilk batter, like Jenny makes.”

Hart, his mouth still full, nodded enthusiastically.

“Our mom makes killer fried chicken,” Calder added. “I think she adds hot sauce or cayenne because it has a kick to it.”

Becca looked around. “Do you guys have a pen and paper? I want to write this down so I don’t forget.” Hart pulled a drawer open and got out a pad and a pen. Becca started scribbling. “A fried-chicken lettuce cup sounds awesome. I don’t know why I never thought of it before.”

* * *

The rest of the evening passed with less animosity. He and Hart were able to remain civil when the other two were there to referee. Calder felt embarrassed that Becca was seeing him behave like such a little dick. He should have followed his first inclination, which was to deliver the box, make up an excuse and get the hell out of there. But no. Becca wanted to stay, so he stayed. He couldn’t goddamn refuse her anything.

Finally, after three hours, they finally left. In the car heading back to his place, Becca said, “That was fun.”

“For you, maybe,” he grumbled as they pulled out into traffic.

“Oh, come on. It wasn’t that bad. You just had that one little tiff.”

Calder slanted a look at her. “I don’t have tiffs.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said with a laugh. “You had a manly quarrel. Only it wasn’t so manly. It was a little juvenile, if you ask me.”

He tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. He wanted to say that Hart had started it by trying to tell him how he could have avoided blowing out his knee, but that sounded juvenile too.

“Do you two always go at each other like that?”

He shrugged. “Depends.” He sighed. “We just push each other’s buttons naturally. He can’t help telling me what to do, and I can’t help telling him to fuck off.”

“You’re going to have to try to get along better now that he’s a Barracuda.”

“Don’t remind me,” Calder said glumly.

“What did you think of Jeremy?”

He glanced at her. “He was okay, for an art history teacher. I guess that explains all that artwork propped up against the walls.”

“How long have they been together?”

“Been together?” He laughed. “You make it sound like they’re a couple.”

“Aren’t they?”

Calder scoffed. “Hell no. They’re friends. Hart said so.” He glanced at her. “He’s not gay, for Christ’s sake.”

She said nothing.

Frowning, Calder looked at her again. She had her thinking face on.

“My brother is not gay,” he said more firmly. “I’ve known him all my life. I think I’d know if he was gay.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

At first, it looked as if she was going to say something, but she ended up shaking her head. “Nothing.”

But later after Becca had fallen asleep, he thought about what she’d said and got all irritated again. His brother was as straight as they came. Calder would bet money on it. A lot of money.

Sure, Hart cared about his appearance, but so did Alex Sullivan. Sully spent more time in front of the mirror than he did in the training room some days, and Sully had more girls on a string than all the other single guys on the team combined.

Plus, Calder knew for a fact his brother liked girls. Hart’d had a girlfriend in high school. Marla? Marleen? Something like that. Calder remembered her as being very cute. They went to the prom together. His mom had the picture framed on the mantel to prove it.

So the whole idea was ridiculous. What was Becca basing her assumption on? The fact that they were sharing an apartment? That was total bullshit. He knew a lot of single NHL players who lived with teammates. Drew Doughty and Trevor Lewis up in L.A. shared a place. Bozak and Kessel of the Leafs roomed together. That was four guys right there off the top of his head. Those guys weren’t gay. They were just great friends.

Guys were fucking allowed to have friends and not be considered gay.

Jesus.

He rose up, punched his pillow a couple of times and went to sleep still irritated.

Chapter Twenty-Six

By the time training camp rolled around in September, Calder was in better shape than he’d been before the injury. The physicals on the first day proved it. Damn, it felt great to be back. His team greeted him warmly—lots of pats on the back, gruff words, nods and helmet butts. The coaching and training staff seemed pleased with the work he’d done over the summer. He felt strong and ready. Even Hart’s presence didn’t throw him. The media cornered him and he gave one or two interviews. He tried to keep focused on his own play and what he felt he could bring to the team now that he was back. If the reporter asked about Hart or how Calder felt about Hart, he gave a PC answer he’d prepared ahead of time.

“Hart’s a great player. His record proves that. He can only be an asset to us and I think together we can make a solid run for the Cup this season.”

All that was the truth. What he didn’t mention was how his gut churned when he thought about playing second fiddle to his big brother every night. How he beat himself up over the resentment that bubbled up whenever he saw some of his friends joking around with Hart, welcoming and including him in the group. Locke threw a party—rented a big-ass boat and took the team fishing, then brought them all back to his place to cook the catch. Calder had hinted around that he might skip it and fly east to see Becca, but Locke pulled him aside.

“Look, I know you have it tough right now. Your woman is in New York and you’re here, but summer’s over. You need to make the team your priority. Guys’ll notice if you don’t come, and with you being out for so long...”

Calder held up a hand. “Okay, okay. I got the message. I’ll be there.”

And of course, Hart had caught the biggest fucking fish. The guy still had the Midas touch. Calder plastered a smile on his face and congratulated him while tamping down his feelings of jealousy. He couldn’t help but think how much more fun the boat trip would’ve been if Hart hadn’t been there making him feel like a bench warmer on his own team. Considering the season hadn’t even started yet, Calder wondered if he should find a sports psychologist. Were his feelings of inadequacy and the rivalry with his brother going to affect his game? He fucking hoped not.

He also kept finding himself watching his brother for signs of gayness. Admiring glances when a teammate took his shirt off. Lingering touches. Shit like that.

Didn’t happen.

Of course.

He hadn’t noticed anything weird in the dressing room either. Or the showers. No wayward, unexplainable erections. No covert glances at other guys’ junk. In fact, Calder himself was the one doing the watching in the shower and when he realized it, he shook himself hard, like a dog drying off, and got the hell out, hoping no one noticed.

* * *

A couple of weeks later, the Barracudas were on a chartered flight to San Jose for the first game of the preseason. Calder sat next to Booth MacDonald, the Barracudas’ starting goalie. Booth, a highly respected member of the team, was a wall in net and not much got past him. He also had a wicked sense of humor and had quite the reputation for playing jokes, which was exactly why Calder had asked for his help. The tie caper he’d finally dreamed up wouldn’t fly unless he had backup. Stuff like leaners—propping up a trash can filled with water up against a buddy’s hotel room door, knocking and running like hell—those types of jokes could be done solo. For a prank of this caliber, it took...well, a team. Lucky for him, he had one.

Ding.

The seat belt light went out, signaling they were free to roam the cabin. Booth and Calder looked at each other and bumped fists.

Holding the butt-ugly tie Calder had bought at that men’s store in Ithaca, Mac got up and strolled down the aisle toward the front of the players’ area.

“Okay, guys. Listen up,” Mac said, turning to face everyone like a flight attendant, but wearing a Barracuda T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. “It’s time to give Fishy the tie.”

Calder and Mac hadn’t been able to give a heads-up to everyone about the prank, but the guys all knew Mac. When he said or did something crazy like this, he was up to something, and unless you wanted to be on the butt end of his next joke, you went along with it. Plus, it was always funnier to see the thing played out to its conclusion.

Rookie Ryan Fischer looked up. “Give me what tie?”

“This tie.” With a flick of the wrist, Mac unfurled the orange tie with the goalie masks all over it. Calder had roughed it up a little so it didn’t look brand new.

Fischer didn’t say anything. He didn’t reach for it either. Calder didn’t blame him. It looked like an accessory for a hockey clown Halloween costume.

“This tie is no ordinary tie,” Mac said. “Do you know whose tie this is, kid? It’s the great Kurt Wolfheim’s tie.”

Hall of Famer Kurt Wolfheim was one of the original Barracudas from back in 1967 when the league expanded. He was the first Barracuda to score a fifty-goal season and his franchise record for consecutive games played still stood. Not only was his name on several NHL trophies, his jersey hung in the rafters of the Mesa Arena.

Mac went on, “And it’s a Barracuda tradition for a rookie to wear it for good luck.”

Fischer still hadn’t said anything and Calder imagined him mentally recoiling from the idea of appearing in public wearing that monstrosity.

“You’re bullshitting me,” Fischer finally said, with a respectable amount of confidence. Calder gave him credit for that.

Mac raised his eyebrows. “Are you calling me a liar, Fischer?”

Fischer cleared his throat. “No. I...I just think you’re mistaken.”

“You know what’s a mistake, kid?” Alex Sullivan yelled from the back of the plane. “Calling a dickhead up from the AHL who doesn’t show respect for one of the greatest hockey players that ever lived.”

Calder said loudly, “You got that right.”

“Come on, guys.” Fischer rose halfway out of his seat so he could look around the plane. “This is a joke, right?”

In on the joke, Sullivan spoke again. “No. This is not a joke. Pasta, you wore it last year, right? You and Whiner shared it. Forty-one games apiece.”

Last year’s rookies “Pasta” Primavera and “Whiner” Weinrich, both in on the joke, confirmed that. “If I had to wear it, he has to wear it,” Primavera said.

Fischer took the tie with obvious reservations. “I’m supposed to wear it
all year?
”

“All year,” Mac said, stony-faced. “Otherwise, you fuck up the team mojo.”

* * *

Directly after landing, they checked in at the hotel and had the rest of the afternoon free. A bunch of the guys went to lunch together at this great Chinese place. San Jose had a lot of great Chinese places. Hart got invited to go along.

“The more people you have, the more food you get to try,” Alex Sullivan said. “Family style.”

So ten of them sat at a large round table with a white tablecloth. The waitstaff set three pots of tea on the lazy Susan. Some of the guys got beer. Calder drank tea. After they’d all ordered a huge amount of food, Mac looked around the table.

“Fellas, we’ve got a problem with Fischer and the tie.” All the guys at the table were in on the joke.

“No shit,” Calder said. “He’s suspicious.”

“You think he’s gonna wear it?” Alex asked.

Calder shrugged. “Probably, but under protest.”

“Which is completely unsatisfactory,” Mac said. “I want that guy to be loving on that tie like a celebrity and his fucking Academy Award.”

“No kidding,” Calder said. “We’ll have to convince him. Provide him with incontrovertible evidence.”

“Wow. That’s a long word, Griff,” Alex said. “Six whole syllables. I’m impressed.”

Calder chuckled. “And what the fuck, Alex, you can count past five now. I’m so proud of you.”

Alex laughed. Mac shook his head. “Let’s not get distracted. We’re talking about Fishy and the tie. Anybody have any ideas?”

Hart coughed. “What about the man himself? Wolfheim. Can you call him and have him back you up?”

Calder and Mac exchanged a glance. “Holy fuck,” Mac said. “I don’t know Wolfheim personally, but there’s got to be someone around here who does.”

Hart spoke up again. “Dillabaugh knows him. They played together from ’70 to ’77.”

Calder almost choked on his tea. “Marshall Dillabaugh, our GM?”

“The very same.”

“You’re sure about this?” Calder asked.

“Absolutely.”

Alex rubbed his hands together gleefully. “We are fucking golden, then.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next day, Becca was in her office trying to get some paperwork done before the lunch rush when Savannah poked her head in.

“Um, I think your parents are here.”

Becca’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Well, they didn’t come right out and say they were your parents, but they look a lot like you and they asked if you were here. What do you want me to tell them?”

Becca wished she’d gotten a camera installed so she could see for sure. Her parents had never, to her knowledge, come to Cups, but as unlikely as it might be, it wasn’t impossible.

“I’ll come out. Give me a second.”

She stood and checked her appearance, cursed when she saw a stain on her shirt. She ripped it off and pulled a fresh one from a drawer. Giving herself a pep talk, she walked toward the swinging door and pushed through it. This would be just like facing unhappy customers, except these customers just happened to be members of her own family.

Sure enough, there stood her mom and dad. Her mom looked elegant in cream-colored slacks, a tan blouse and some low heels, pearls around her neck. Her dad, a little less so. His cowlick was sticking up in the back. He wore a short-sleeved golf shirt, chinos and wingtips. He looked lankier than she remembered. Neither was smiling.

“Well, this is a surprise,” she said. She didn’t come around the counter. The situation was awkward enough without having to add an obligatory and unnecessary hug or air kiss, neither of which her parents indulged in.

“We came to congratulate you on the prestigious review,” her mother said. “Unfortunately, we had to get the news from a friend.”

Becca inhaled slowly in an attempt to smooth down the feathers that that little jibe had ruffled. It wouldn’t help to point out that she hadn’t called to inform them because they’d never shown an interest in her restaurant. They hadn’t even come to the grand opening. So, she said nothing.

Her mother gestured toward the menu. “Why only one Chinese item?”

Becca glanced up to remind herself what was on the specials board today. The Kung Pao Chicken Lettuce Cup.

“Mom, it’s not a Chinese restaurant. My customers like all kinds of food. I like to try to offer a variety.”

“The Kung Pao is a popular special,” Savannah piped in.

Trust Savannah to literally rally behind her.

“And we have lots of other Chinese things,” Savannah went on. “The Hot and Sour soup. Three or four different wonton soups. That lettuce cup with the kimchi—”

“That’s Korean,” Becca said, before her mother could.

“Oh, sorry.” Savannah flushed. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Cups has something for everyone. That’s the fun of coming here. There’s something different every day.”

Her mother didn’t bat an eyelash. “There are no waiters.”

“It’s a new kind of restaurant, Mom. We do a lot of lunch business where people have a limited amount of time. Coming to the counter to order and pay is a lot faster.”

Her mother kept her mask of indifference on. Out of the corner of her eye, Becca noticed Savannah giving her a look, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“Can I get you guys anything, Mom? Dad? It’s on the house. Anything you want.”

“We’ll try that Kung Pao and the Chicken Noodle,” her mom said. “You have rice?”

“No,” Becca said. No apologies. She refused to feel bad about the lack of rice on the menu. She glanced at her dad. “Pop, is that what you want? Kung Pao and Chicken Noodle?”

It wasn’t unusual for her mother to do all the talking. She was pushy, her mom. She made all sorts of decisions for them both and only once in a while did her dad speak up. Becca had never been sure if it was because he agreed with her decisions or if he was cowed by her.

“I want clam chowder. And a roll,” he said in his quiet way.

“Coming up,” Becca said. “Have a seat.” She got two beverage cups and set them on the counter. “Help yourself to a drink.”

Becca turned and went in the back so she wouldn’t have to watch her mom confront the self-serve beverage dispenser.

“Maybe I should have told them you weren’t here,” Savannah said in a low voice.

“No. It’s fine.” Becca gathered the ingredients for the Kung Pao. “It’s totally fine. Could you get me a couple of really perfect lettuce leaves? No blemishes, no bruises, no brown at all.”

“Sure.”

“And do me a favor. Make sure they’re not bitter. If they’re bitter, crack open another head.”

Becca cooked the filling quickly with an eye on every detail that her mother might pick apart. She fished out a couple of oversize pieces of bamboo shoot. She tasted it, tossed a little more sauce on it, tasted it again. Good. She examined the lettuce leaves Savannah had gotten and nodded with satisfaction.

“Okay, get the soup and I’ll fill these and we’ll be good to go.”

She laid the lettuce in the paper boat then carefully spooned the filling inside. She tossed the sprinkle of chopped peanuts and slivers of green onion on the top, rearranging a sliver or two to make it all more harmonious of a composition. As she finished, Savannah came over with two foam cups of soup and two warm, buttery yeast rolls.

“I made sure there was a bunch of chicken and clams in them,” Savannah said.

“Great,” Becca said as she arranged it all on a black tray. “Thanks for your help.”

By then other customers had entered the restaurant and Savannah went to help them.

“Here we are,” Becca said, placing the tray on the table. “The Kung Pao Chicken Lettuce Cups, the Chicken Noodle Soup, and Clam Chowder. And rolls.”

Her mother sniffed the food but said nothing.

“That smells good,” one of the new customers remarked.

Savannah explained what it was while Becca stood by her parents, waiting for some sign of approval or even just hunger. She told herself her food was tasty no matter what her mother thought, but her stomach cramped anyway as she waited for the verdict.

Her dad bit into roll and chewed. He nodded. “Good.”

Her mom picked up the lettuce cup and took a careful nibble. “Spicy,” she said, putting it back down.

“Kung Pao is supposed to be spicy,” Becca said. “Try the soup.”

“Soup is good too,” her dad said, having already dug in.

“Thanks, Pop,” she said.

They said nothing else, so Becca walked away, feeling like a child who had just brought home a less than stellar report card. She went to the kitchen to fill the orders that Savannah had just taken and focused her mind on the food. It didn’t really work. She replayed the entire encounter in her head. They were never going to gush over anything. It was stupid to expect them to change, and that made her more angry than anything. That she
knew
better than to get her hopes up.

“Two double Cs, a chowder and a lobster bisque.” She pushed the food into the pass-through.

She was cleaning the grill when Savannah came in once more.

“Calder’s parents are here now,” she said. “So’s Eddie.”

Her cook pushed through the door with a nod. “Hi, boss.”

“I’m glad you’re here. It seems to be visiting day.”

He looked puzzled and Becca shook her head. “I’ll explain later.”

Out front, her parents were still there. At the counter, Calder’s parents, Jenny and Bill, beamed at her.

“Becca, honey! We weren’t sure you’d be here, but we took a chance anyway,” Jenny said, holding her arms out for a hug.

Calder’s dad hugged her too. They were huggers.

“Have you heard from Calder lately?” Jenny asked. “He never calls me.”

“We talked last night. He and some of the other guys are playing a trick on the rookie.”

At William’s urging, she recounted the tie thing that Calder had described. As she spoke, she noticed her parents cleaning up their area. Her mom took a napkin and wiped the table, even though there was nothing on it. Becca hoped they would slip out quietly.

“And they’re actually getting Wolfheim to help?” Bill asked.

“I think so,” she answered. “I haven’t heard for sure.”

Unfortunately, by then her parents were standing nearby, politely waiting. Calder’s mom and dad smiled and glanced at them.

Becca cursed her luck. “Mr. and Mrs. Griffin, these are my parents, Dr. and Dr. Chen. Mom, Dad, the Griffins.”

That’s all she said. She didn’t elaborate about Calder, hoping she’d get away with just that, but with her luck today, it wasn’t likely.

Jenny stuck her hand out. “What a nice surprise. It’s a real pleasure to meet you. Your daughter is such a wonderful girl. You must be so proud of her, owning her own restaurant and being so successful at it.”

Becca pressed her lips together.

“She always liked cooking,” her mom said.

“And our boy has always liked eating,” Bill said.

“They’re a perfect match,” Jenny said. “Bill and I are hoping to hear wedding bells soon. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to see some grandchildren out of them?”

At this, her mother’s eyebrow shot up and she turned her head slowly to give Becca a dragon stare to end all dragon stares.

An awkward silence hung in the air until her mother cleared her throat. “Yes, well, we must go. Thank you for lunch, daughter.”

After her parents left, Becca gave a nervous laugh. “So, hey, that was fun.”

Biting her lower lip, Jenny looked at Bill. “I’m sorry, Becca,” she said. “I didn’t realize...”

Becca shook her head. “It’s all right. Don’t worry about it.”

“Your parents want you to marry a Chinese boy?”

Becca shrugged. “My parents want me to do a lot of things.”

“It’s the nature of the beast,” Bill said. “Ask Calder how much I wanted him and his brother to play hockey.”

“But they love hockey. That’s the difference,” Becca said. “You would have allowed them to go in a different direction if they’d wanted to.”

“That’s true,” Bill said. “But I would have cried myself to sleep.”

Becca laughed halfheartedly.

“I gather they weren’t crazy about your opening Cups?” Jenny asked gently.

“An understatement. They wanted me to be a doctor, like them and like my two sisters.”

“Well, it’s a well-known fact that too many doctors spoil the broth,” Bill said with a wide grin. Calder’s dad had a corny sense of humor that was endearing. “We think your place is top-notch and we’re constantly telling people to come here.”

“Thanks, you guys. I appreciate it.”

“And as much as I’d like to see you and Calder walk down the aisle,” Jenny said, laying her hand on Becca’s arm, “if you two decide it won’t work out, that’s your business. I’ll be sad, but I’ll deal with it.”

Becca pressed her lips together and nodded. Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Calder’s parents were so loving and supportive. They’d all but adopted her as the daughter they’d never had. In fact, Becca was surprised Jenny hadn’t come with a tin of cookies or an article clipped out of a magazine, or a scarf she’d knitted herself. Oddly, their visits helped her feel closer to Calder. It was nice to be able to talk about him with them and see how much they loved him.

They ordered their food then. Bill tipped them a ten, as usual. It started to get crowded, so Becca couldn’t visit any longer, which was too bad. She’d wanted to tell them she’d finally met Hart.

She’d really liked the older Griffin brother but had seen the friction between the brothers flare up more than once during the evening. Hart could be condescending and Calder rose to the bait every time. She, of all people, understood the frustration that came with being constantly compared to one’s sibling, but she hoped that their rivalry didn’t spill over into the rink too much. Calder had enough to worry about, trying to come back after his injury. And when he found out Hart was gay...?

She shuddered.

Because Hart was living with Jeremy as a lover, not as a roommate. Becca was positive of that. At first, she’d only been suspicious. Hart and Jeremy had the buddy act down pat and she’d almost been convinced she was wrong, but at one point during the evening, the two of them were alone in the kitchen while she and Calder were in the living room. She happened to be looking out the window, but caught their reflection in the glass instead. They’d had their heads together far too closely for heterosexual men. And when she’d visited the powder room, she glanced at “Jeremy’s room” on her way down the hall and it looked more like a guest room than a room that Jeremy actually lived in and used every day.

But she didn’t argue with Calder in the car that night about it. He didn’t want to listen and she wasn’t going to push the issue.