Chasing Stanley (45 page)

Michael regarded Delilah warmly. “Your boyfriend here really showed us what he was made of during the playoffs. You should be proud.”

Delilah beamed at Jason. “I am.” Stanley had started to drool. Without any fuss, Delilah took a small dish towel from her purse and wiped his mouth.

“Eewwwww!” Dominica squealed.

“Eewww to you,” Michael said back to her affectionately, tussling her hair. He looked at Delilah and Jason. “Make sure you grab something to eat after your meet and greet with Stanley. There's plenty of food, all of it great.”

“You're damn right it is,” said Anthony Dante as he approached the table. Delilah recognized him as the restaurant's head chef, the one she'd been amazed had come out to the table himself to tell diners of dinner specials. He did a double take when he saw Stanley.

“What the hell—?” he asked his brother.

“That's Stanley, the team mascot. Remember I told you he was coming?”

Anthony folded his arms across his chest. “You never said a word about bringing a bear in here, Mikey.”

“Yes, I did, Ant. But you've been too busy trying to get Angie pregnant to listen.”

Delilah glanced away, uncomfortable at hearing something so personal. But Anthony seemed more annoyed than embarrassed.

“Isn't there a pill or something you can give him to make him shut up?” Anthony asked Theresa.

“I can stuff a sock in his mouth,” Theresa offered cheerfully.

“Two might be better,” said Anthony.

“You want to make sure you get some of the eggplant rollatini. It's to die for,” said Gemma Dante as she and a tall, handsome man joined the table. Her eyes lit up when she saw Delilah. “Hel-lo!” she said, giving Delilah a warm hug. “I guess the tarot cards were right, huh?” she whispered in Delilah's ear.

Delilah blushed. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm Michael and Anthony's cousin,” Gemma explained. She reached out to shake Jason's hand. “Gemma Dante.”

“Jason Mitchell.”

Gemma and the handsome man sat down, the man looking somewhat amused. “Don't I get introduced?” he asked his wife in a teasing voice. Delilah suddenly recalled what Marcus said about Gemma's firefighter husband being hot. He wasn't kidding.

“Oops. I'm sorry, honey. Jason, Delilah, this is my husband, Sean Kennealy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jason and Delilah said in unison. They looked at each other in amusement.

“Sean's Irish, but we don't hold it against him,” ribbed Michael.

“Hey, if your house burns down, don't come crying to me,” Sean shot back.

“I think we should get a move on,” Jason murmured. Delilah nodded in agreement. “Catch you later, everyone.”

They hit two more tables. Delilah always found childrens' reactions to Stanley interesting: they either loved him or cowered in fear because of his size. Stan was reveling in the attention, loving every second of being petted and doted on.

Names and faces blurred in Delilah's mind as they continued their circuit around the huge banquet room. That is, until Delilah noticed that at the next table coming up sat Tully Webster, his wife, and two other couples she vaguely remembered from the New Year's Eve party. The look of displeasure crossing Tully's face when he saw Delilah made her stomach plummet, but she didn't run.

“Stan the Man!” Tully exclaimed, sliding out of his seat to bow before Stanley. “We're not worthy!”

Delilah cleared her throat. “Tully?”

Tully frowned. “Yeah?”

“I want to apologize for the way I behaved at your party. It was wrong, and I'm really sorry.”

Tully and his wife looked impressed as they traded looks. “Apology accepted,” said Tully.

Delilah swallowed, “Thank you.”

“Don't sweat it.”

Delilah felt light enough to float away as she and Jason moved on. The incident at the New Year's Eve party had been weighing on her for months; now she was free of it.

“I'm really proud of you, Delilah,” said Jason, admiration shining in his eyes. “That must have been really tough for you to do.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Delilah replied nervously.

“There's my folks and Eric,” said Jason, pointing across the room. “Let's take a detour.”

They cut diagonally across the banquet room, Stanley generating comments both positive and negative in their wake. Delilah's heart warmed when she saw the affectionate way Jason's mother was smiling at her.

“God, she really adores you,” Jason noted under his breath, sounding pleased.

“Well, well, well,” said Eric, rising. “If it's not my baby brother and his—friend?”

“Girlfriend,” Jason amended with a proud smile.

“Really.”
Eric raised an eyebrow as he looked at Delilah. “Get hit in the head with a puck or something, hon?”

“Bite me,” said Jason.

“He did,” Mrs. Mitchell said quite seriously. “When you were both two.”

“That about says it all,” said Jason.

Jason's mother rose, crushing him to her. “We're so proud of you, Jason! I can't tell you.”

“No, you can tell me,” Jason joked. “I can handle the adoration.”

“I can't,” said Eric.

“We're very proud,” intoned Jason's father, poking at his salad suspiciously.

Delilah felt tears pricking her eyes. The love between the members of this family was palpable. She could tell it was the case with the Dantes, too. It was a wonderful thing to see; a wonderful thing to aspire to.

Eric nudged Jason. “You're being summoned.”

Delilah followed Jason's gaze to a table near the front of the room. She recognized Paul van Dorn and his wife from the skybox. The other man, the handsome blond with a stern gaze, she knew to be Ty Gallagher.

“That's my coach,” Jason said to his parents. He gave his mother a quick kiss. “I'll catch you guys later.”

Delilah detected a slight change in Jason's demeanor as they approached the table. He still seemed on top of the world, but there now existed a slight undercurrent of apprehension.

“Why are you nervous?” Delilah whispered to him.

“Because it's like being summoned by God.”

God, Delilah noticed, had a very attractive wife. Pert and blonde, she seemed animated as she chatted away with Paul van Dorn's wife, Katie. A small boy at the table jumped up excitedly as soon as Stanley was within petting distance.

“Daddy, look!” he said to Ty. “A baby bear!”

“It's not a bear, Patrick. It's a . . . Newfie?” he finished uncertainly.

“Yup,” said Jason.

Paul van Dorn rose to give Jason a hearty slap on the back. “I told Ty to lure you over here so I could pay homage.”

“To me or to Stanley?” Jason joshed.

“To you, of course.”

“It should be the other way around,” Jason said humbly.

“A humble hockey player,” Paul marveled with a small snort. “That's a first.” He squinted. “Delilah, right?”

Delilah nodded.

“Nice to see you,” said Paul.

Delilah always assumed people would forget who she was, or if they didn't, that they'd get her name wrong. That Paul van Dorn remembered impressed her. It also gave her a quick shot of self-esteem. Maybe she wasn't invisible. Maybe she could interact and engage like everyone else.

Delilah noticed Ty's wife looking at her in awe. “I still can't believe you agreed to bring Stanley in and out of Met Gar.” She glanced at her husband reproachfully. “If corporate found out—”

“Corporate can kiss my ass,” Ty growled.

“Isn't he charming?” Ty's wife asked, regarding her husband with amused affection. “It's his love of humanity that made me fall head over heels in love with him.” She extended a hand. “I'm Janna, by the way.”

“Delilah.”

“That's Patrick,” Janna said, nodding toward the little boy to whom Stanley kept giving the paw.

“He wants you to pet him or rub his belly,” Delilah told him.

“Mom, can I?” Patrick asked his mother.

“Rub away,” said Janna.

“So, Mitchell.” Ty's voice was brusque. “I had my doubts about you at the beginning of the season. But you really turned things around. I'm proud of you.”

Jason seemed overawed. “Thanks, Coach.”

“Now go sit down and enjoy yourself.”

“I will, Coach.”

Walking away, Delilah was glad of the noise in the room; it masked the sound of her rumbling stomach. “I'm starving,” she confessed to Jason.

“Me, too. There's just one more stop we need to make.”

He led her toward a table covered in black velvet. Atop it sat a shining silver trophy. The Stanley Cup.

“There it is,” said Jason reverently.

It was much bigger than Delilah expected. She took a step closer, inspecting the hundreds of names ringing the Cup. Soon Jason's name would grace the smooth, shining silver, too.

“I'm so proud of you,” Delilah told him as she began to choke up.

“Stan-ley! Stan-ley! Stan-ley!” the room began chanting again.

“I think Stan needs to drink from the Cup,” Jason called back.

The room erupted into cheers and whistles.

“I can't tell you how long I've been dreaming of this,” Jason said in a voice thick with emotion as he carefully lifted the Cup off the table, placing it on the floor. The whole room was on its feet. Jason grabbed a pitcher of ice water from the nearest table, pouring some into hockey's Holy Grail before tipping it forward. Stanley rose to his feet and plunged his snout into the silver bowl, noisily lapping away. As always, he was oblivious to the water sloshing over the sides. Raucous applause thundered through the banquet room.

Delilah took Jason's hand. “You okay?” she asked. He seemed a bit overwhelmed.

“I'm more than okay,” Jason replied, pulling her into his arms. “I've got the Cup, I've got my dog, and I've got my girl. What more could a guy want?”

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