Chasing Stanley (22 page)

Back on the ice, he and Eric met up along the boards near New York's blue line. “Delilah offered to blow me on the way back from her mom's,” Eric jeered, tipping the back of Jason's helmet up so that the front was covering his eyes.
Ignore it,
Jason told himself as he headed back to the bench. But his fury grew.

The Blades scored on a power play at the end of the second and took a 1-0 lead into the dressing room. Jersey, led by Eric, came out for the third on fire. But despite carrying the play, they couldn't score on David Hewson. Midway through the period, the Blades scored on a counterattack to make it 2-0 with about twelve minutes left.

When there were eight minutes to go, Ty barked for Jason's line to get back out on the ice for a face-off at center ice. The Blades got control and dumped the puck deep. Jason raced in after it. His stick had barely made contact when Eric cross-checked him from behind into the boards.

“Delilah says you suck in bed,” said Eric as the ref blew his whistle.

“Fuck you!” Jason howled, hooking his brother between the legs with his stick so he couldn't skate away. Before the linesmen could get between them, the two brothers started circling one another, dropping their gloves. “You upset I can get it up and you can't? Delilah says—”

Bam! Bam! Jason punched Eric with two quick right jabs before Eric could finish his taunt. Panting, he went to hit Eric again, shocked by how exhausted he suddenly felt. Eric grabbed his jersey and connected with a short left to the chin. They both grabbed at each other's shoulder pads, each determined to thwart another blow from the other. Jason glanced down; there was blood on the ice.
Good,
Jason thought.
I nailed him.
The crowd was roaring. Jason felt like a gladiator in the ring.

“I can't wait to find out how sweet she tastes,” Eric murmured in Jason's ear.

Jason roared and, rearing up, threw Eric to the ice and jumped on top of him. At that moment, the two linesmen jumped in and pulled them apart. Jason could hear the sound of hockey sticks being banged against the boards as both teams' players “voiced” their support.

“Good go, boys. Now both of you get the fuck off the ice,” one of the refs scolded. The crowd cheered as Jason pushed the linesman off him and stormed off the ice to the locker room. It wasn't until he was inside that he realized some of the blood was his.

Jason lowered the ice pack he'd been holding to his stitches and stared at Ty, who had just invited him to step into his office. Since all his teammates had been patting him on the back for not taking any shit from Eric, Jason assumed Ty was about to do the same.

“Sit down, Jason.”

He did as Ty asked, working hard not to look dumbfounded. He'd played his guts out, and when push came to shove, proved no one could get away with cheap-shotting him, not even his brother. So why was he being punished?

“You played pretty well tonight,” Ty started, throwing a Nerf basketball into the small hoop set up in the corner.

“Thank you.”

“But I could have used you the rest of the third period.”

Jason didn't know what to say. They'd won, hadn't they? What difference did it make?

“What you did tonight was dangerous,” Ty continued.

“I don't understand.”

“You made it personal. This is a team, remember? But you let your brother play you like a cheap violin.”

Jason slumped, defeated. Ty was right: Eric had intentionally gotten up his nose in the hopes he'd lose his cool, and he'd succeeded. It was so obvious that Jason was mortified.

“I don't care if your brother killed your pet pony or is fucking your girlfriend. When you're on the ice, only one thing matters: doing what we have to to win. What you did actually set us back. It fractured people's concentration.”

Jason squirmed with frustration. “I was taught not to take any crap.”

“And that's admirable. But unless you get the okay from me, keep your gloves
on
.”

“I see your point,” Jason grumbled, “but I don't get why you're benching me next game.”

“Because I'm a prick,” Ty answered glibly, shooting another hoop and scoring. “You buy that?”

“No.”

“Then you tell me why.”

Jason frowned. He was getting tired of answering Ty's rhetorical questions.

“You want to teach me a lesson,” he recited, bored.

“Bingo.” Jason tensed as Ty bounced the Nerf ball off his head. “I want you to sit on the bench, and watch your teammates play, and see how they all put the team first.”

Jason couldn't hold his tongue any longer. “He speared me, Coach!”

“And if he wasn't your brother, then maybe—
maybe
—you could have made a case for going after him. But he knows you, Jason.” Ty spun the Nerf ball on his index finger. “He knows what buttons to push, and you played right into it. You think that's good?”

“No,” Jason muttered.

“I've told you before: you're a good hockey player, Mitchell. You might even be a winner. But until you curb your impulsiveness, neither of us is ever going to know for sure, are we?”

“ C ' mon
,
let's get
the hell out of here.”

Jason's gruffness surprised Delilah. She'd done as he'd instructed, waiting patiently for him in the Green Room after the game. She was still trying to process the game itself; having never seen one before, she'd been amazed at how fast the action was. She could barely keep up, but she felt stupid asking Kelly Fontaine, or any of the other hockey wives/girlfriends, what was going on. They all seemed to know, cheering certain calls in unison and booing others. It felt like they were speaking a foreign language.

They'd been cordial to her before the game. She was pretty sure she hadn't sounded like a complete idiot when they asked her what she did for a living. People immediately wanted advice about their own pets, and Delilah was always glad to help, because it saved her having to talk about herself.

Her eyes had been glued to Jason every time he was on the ice. She couldn't believe the speed at which he was able to skate. It must feel like flying.

Delilah also couldn't believe how tough he was. Every time he hit someone or was hit by someone else, her heart would stop. Rationally, she knew it was part of the game, but emotionally, it was hard to watch.

The way he and Eric had gone after each other was particularly upsetting, the more so because the surrounding crowd seemed to enjoy the fact they were beating the hell out of each other! Delilah didn't get it. When neither appeared for the final half of the third period, she worried. She was relieved when Jason finally appeared in the Green Room, though the stitches in his chin did give her a little jolt.

“Are you all right?” she asked. She moved to touch his face, but Jason jerked his head away.

“I'm fine.”

“The game was fun to watch,” she offered lamely.

Jason snorted. “I bet.”

“Kelly Fontaine seemed nice,” Delilah continued. Jason shrugged like he didn't care.

Bewildered, Delilah grabbed her coat. “Where are we going?” she asked in what she hoped was a cheerful voice.

“Home.”

“But I thought—”

“I changed my mind. I'm tired, and you'd probably just sit there and not say a word anyway, so what's the point? Let's just go home.”

The air fell still. Delilah reached for her purse, deliberately avoiding Jason's eyes. She'd seen this movie before, starring her parents. It had a very long title. It was called, “I'm angry about something that's happened to me, so I'll lash out at you. I'll make you feel bad to make myself feel better.” Delilah hated that movie. Were she her mother, she'd snarl back and storm off the set. But she wasn't, and so she just kept her head bowed, intent on getting home without incurring further wrath.

 

 

At the dog
park the next day, Delilah laid out the previous night's scene for Marcus. Leaving Met Gar, she and Jason had cabbed back to their neighborhood in silence. When Delilah screwed up the courage to tell him she thought he should stay at his own place that night, Jason didn't protest. He had kissed her before leaving her, true, but it felt perfunctory. Now she was worried.

“So, what exactly are you asking me?” Marcus asked, keeping an eye on Quigley, who'd lately taken to scrapping with a Great Dane four times his size.

“Do you think he hates me?” Delilah asked pathetically.

“No. I think he had a bad night, and he took it out on you. Call him on it. He should apologize. And if he doesn't, well, then you have something to worry about. But right now? Don't make a mountain out of a molehill.”

“I just hate the way it made me feel. It was like bad déjà vu. I shut down.”

“For the nine hundredth time, the two of you are not Sy and Mitzi. Thank God.” Marcus rose abruptly. “Excuse me,” he called out to a young woman on a cell phone whose Doberman was attempting to mount Daisy, an aging cocker spaniel whom Marcus walked, “but we don't
do
humping at this dog park, especially not before ten a.m.” The woman made a face, but she did pull her dog off Daisy. “Stupid little girl,” Marcus muttered under his breath as he sat back down. He broke off a piece of his corn muffin and passed it to Delilah. “You've been holding out on me.”

“What?”

“The
sex
,” Marcus practically shouted in her face. “How's Jason in the sack?”

Delilah blushed. “Great.”

“Really great, or ‘anything's better than my last boyfriend who thrust five times and was done' great?”

Delilah choked. “Really great.”

“
Mazel tov
. You deserve it.” Marcus licked corn muffin crumbs off his fingers. “I have some good news of my own.”

Delilah perked up. “Yes?”

Marcus looked like he was about to burst. “Remember I told you I was auditioning for that new musical based on the life of Dr. Phil called,
My Mustache, My Self
?”

Delilah clasped her hands together excitedly. “Yes?!”

“Well, I got it!”

Delilah threw her arms around Marcus's neck. “That's wonderful!” Her voice was unnaturally high and loud, so much so that Sherman, Shiloh, and Belle all came racing to her side, worried. “It's okay, guys,” she assured them as she petted them. “Mommy's just excited.” She squeezed Marcus's arm. “I'm so proud of you. Really.”

“You might not be when you hear what I have to say next.” Marcus smiled uneasily. “Rehearsals begin this week, Lilah, and they're intensive, because they want to get this show up before Christmas. I'm not going to be able to help you out anymore.”

Delilah had always known this moment would come. But now that it was here, she was unprepared for how sad she felt.

“I'm sorry to be leaving you in the lurch like this—”

Delilah stilled Marcus's apology with a wag of her index finger. “I don't want to hear it. You've been waiting years for this. I'll be fine.”

In her mind she was already reconfiguring her day, trying to work out how she'd do double duty. It would be hard, but not impossible. The hard part would be coming up with a suitable replacement. Unlike
some
dog walking services, Delilah wasn't about to hire just anybody. Whoever worked for her had to really care about the animals. It had taken her months and countless interviews to find Marcus. She had no doubt the same would be true when it came to finding his successor.

Marcus's eyes were misty as he gazed into the middle distance. “This could be it, Lilah. My big break.”

“It could,” Delilah agreed breathlessly. She was so proud of him! He'd worked so hard and had never given up hope. He was finally being rewarded!

“This show is going to be a big hit,” Marcus continued, trancelike. “You know how I know?” Delilah braced for her friend's latest canine communiqué. “Little Cha-Cha appeared to me in a dream—you know, Ginny's Cha-Cha who died in August?”

“I
know
who Cha-Cha is, Marcus.”

“Anyway, he had this big silver sombrero on, and there was a blue light around him. He jumped up onto my lap and said, ‘Prepare for all your dreams to come true, compadre.' So I
know
.”

“I wish Cha-Cha would appear to me,” Delilah murmured, half joking.

“You don't need Cha-Cha,” Marcus admonished. “What you need is an exorcism to get rid of those childhood ghosts.
And
you need to tell that boyfriend of yours what for.”

“I know. It just makes me nervous.”

“Then forever hold your peace, lady. Because I for one am sick to death of your wishy-washy ass.”

“ I need to
talk to you.”

Delilah was shaking so hard as she approached Jason she had to shove her balled fists in the pocket of her coat. She'd spent an entire day and night mulling over Marcus's words, and came to the conclusion that he was right: she had to call Jason on his rudeness to her after the hockey game. He needed to know right from the get-go that he couldn't treat her like that. She'd called and asked him to meet her at Starbucks.

She kept her coat on as she slid into the chair opposite him. Without her even noticing, fall was rapidly giving way to winter, and there were rumors in the air of a first snow before Thanksgiving. All morning Delilah had felt unable to keep warm.