Home Ice (14 page)

“Okay. For your nails I was thinking a French with little black bows, maybe rhinestones.”

“Margo knows best.”

“I love you, girl. Have I said that today? And can you repeat that backstage at
Divas
?”

“No problem.”

Margo went through the motions, filing, sanding, buffing, and finally painting, but it only seemed to take half her attention, because she chatted all the while, keeping things light. They laughed and gossiped, and it wasn’t until the doorbell rang that Lori remembered the unfortunate reason for the visit.

“I’ll get that, and I’ll just get out of your way. I have to do makeup before the show tonight.”

For the show.
It was going on without her. Of course it would, but this fast? They already had a fill-in?

“I’m sorry, love. I should have told you earlier. Francesca’s going to take your spot, but it’s not a permanent replacement. They want you back as soon as you’re ready. I’m sure the doc will go over it with you, and you’ll probably get a call from the show manager later on.” The surprise and sadness must have been evident on Lori’s face because Margo added, “Tell you what. How about I grab a pizza and come back to watch your cutie in the game later?”

For one of the first times in her life, being alone didn’t seem preferable. “That sounds really good. Thank you. For everything.”

“My pleasure.” Margo planted a glittery kiss on her cheek, let the doctor in, and waved on her way out. “Later, baby!”

Time to face the music.

Later that night

Ten weeks to be safe
. The words kept repeating in Lori’s mind like a taunt. Some part of her had held out hope for a different diagnosis once the swelling went down. But no, the sprain
was
that bad. If she wanted a sure and safe recovery, she’d have to wait. Wait and watch her life crumble around her in the meantime. She had three more years to get in the shape she’d need to be for the next Olympics. This injury was a minor setback there, but it was enough to shake her confidence. How many more injuries would there be? Once sprained, it was more likely to sprain again.

In no world but figure skating was she an old maid, but time still wasn’t her friend. If she made it to the next Games, she’d be the oldest female competitor at twenty-seven. That was bad enough, but falling out of the public’s consciousness tied her stomach in knots more than it should.

“Knock knock.” The door opened and Margo stepped inside, blinged-out purse on one arm and a pizza box on the other. She cocked a hip. “Uh-oh. Honey, you look like Barbie sitting there. Too gorgeous to be real and completely lifeless. Whatever runaway worry train is going through that pretty head needs to stop at Reality Check Station.”

That was entirely accurate, but the worry train didn’t appear to have brakes. “Sorry. Let me help—” Lori tried to stand but fell back at the first flash of pain in her ankle.

Oh. Right.

“Don’t you move a muscle. I’m bringing over the painkillers. You can chase them with pepperoni and ice water.”

Pizza. It smelled delicious, and the pang in her stomach was a reminder she hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Since she’d started skating seriously, she’d kept to a strict diet. If it wasn’t green or lean, it didn’t go in her mouth. Since moving to Vegas, she’d relaxed those standards some. One more layer of guilt and dread. Wasn’t it more important now than ever to treat her body like a temple? Maybe. Except instead of steeling her will, all the anxiety made her crave pizza and milkshakes and Holsteins’s juiciest burger.

“I can hear the hamster in your head running so fast on that wheel his little feet are going to burst into flames.” Margo sat on the sofa and set the pizza on the coffee table, a bottle of Aleve balanced on top. She handed Lori the glass of water. “Pills then pizza. And you might as well let those words out before you explode.”

Lori downed two painkillers and picked up a slice of pepperoni but didn’t take a bite. “I’m just scared. Everything I’ve worked for my whole life is slipping away, and it feels like there’s nothing I can do about it. And I don’t know how to accept that.”

Margo leveled a no-bullshit stare and folded her perfectly manicured hands on her knee. “Listen, baby. You’ve accomplished a lot. More than most people accomplish their whole lives. It’s okay to never stop striving for more. I applaud that. But life happens to everybody, usually when we’re not expecting it. We all like to think we’re exempt, but we’re not. In my experience, it’s best to think of adversity as opportunity to grow, to evolve into the butterfly you’re meant to be. Don’t make me bust out some Mariah on you.”

She was right. That didn’t make it easier to accept. “I promise to try to be less of a control freak.”

“It’s a process. I’m still learning. Try to be kind to yourself in the meantime. Starting with that pizza.”

That was an easy enough first step. Lori took a big bite, and it tasted just as good as it smelled. Okay, there was still a flicker of guilt, but she pushed it down.

“Good. Now, what channel is the game on?”

The game. Dylan. She smiled reflexively and tuned in to NBC Sports. It hadn’t started yet. Both teams skated around the ice, warming up while announcers speculated how things would go. They weren’t kind. One of them spouted off on how he doubted Cole would get it together any time soon. “Why do they do that? Don’t they know they’re just making it worse for him?”

“Hmm. You’ve had commentators talk about you. Always nicely?”

“Well … yes.”

“You just had a dose of media meanness last week, though. Maybe that made you more sympathetic. Or maybe you’re defensive of your center man.”

He’s not mine.
The words were about to roll off her tongue because it still didn’t feel real. He’d called her his girlfriend. That made him her boyfriend. “You might be right.”

“Honey, the day I’m not, I’ll turn in my wigs. I saw him last night before he went into your dressing room. The concern in those button eyes was real. He is yours.”

Am I his?
Part of her rebelled automatically at the thought. She’d been the solo driver in her life for too long. Having someone in the passenger seat, or worse, being in someone else’s passenger seat, was almost scarier than the end of her career. But there was a brave, rogue piece of her that welcomed the designation. It was thrilling and comforting to think there was someone in her life who would take the wheel when she couldn’t steer.

On screen, the first period was underway. She only snapped out of her thoughts when an announcer said, “Cole takes the puck, breaks away … and scooooores!” Lori shrieked and threw her hands in the air. It was as exciting as if she’d scored the goal herself. It was his first impressive play in weeks. She’d lived the stress with him, known how deeply it’d affected him. The pure joy on Dylan’s face lit her up with mirrored bliss.

“All right! Looks like he’s back.”

“Let’s hope so.” It was definitely something to celebrate, but one goal didn’t necessarily break a slump, and false hope could be a dangerous thing. But for the rest of the game, Dylan rose to every challenge. Even in Los Angeles, the crowd cheered at some of his moves. With every good play, his confidence grew, and by the end, he’d scored twice more. A hat trick, the announcer said. The term made sense when ball caps rained down on the ice. Even in a different city, hockey fans still loved him, and with skills like his, how could they not?

“Well. I think lover boy will be pretty happy when he sees you tomorrow.”

Dylan was back on track. Maybe he could help her find her way back, too.

Friday, November 14th

“Are you sure it’s okay that I’m back here?” Lori was down to one crutch and toe-touching with her air cast as she walked behind him, so Dylan went slow. He smiled over his shoulder, leading the way through the underground tunnels toward the Sinners’ PT room. “Yeah. Just close your eyes if anyone naked walks by.”

“
What?
”

He laughed. “Relax. I gave everyone a heads-up you’d be here. There will at least be boxers.”
There better be.
A team full of dudes didn’t really think much of modesty. They treated the arena like their second home since it pretty much was, and clothing was often optional. He’d been clear in his warning, but some of them had a wicked sense of humor.

PT smelled faintly like sweat socks but not as bad as the locker or weight rooms. This one mostly smelled like chlorine. It had state-of-the-art equipment, room for stretching, ice baths, and a hot tub, hence the swimming pool scent. The ventilation system kept it from being overpowering. He went straight for the mats and took a seat. Every instinct screamed to help Lori, but he’d learned that lesson over the last few weeks. They’d worked out together as much as her injury allowed. Every time he tried to assist, he’d get, “If I can sit spin on skates, I can do this myself.” Or something of that variety. Always in a soft tone but with a confident edge and a challenge in those light green eyes that stole every comeback he might have.

That fire of determination was one of the sexiest things about her, and hell if she couldn’t do everything she said. Sure, sometimes she wobbled like a turtle about to tip over, but he never said a word and worked hard at hiding how funny it looked. That’s what good boyfriends did, right? Good boyfriends who valued their lives.

She hobbled over, leaned her crutch against the wall, and then used her good leg to lower herself until she let it slide out and landed with a thump, hard enough her ponytail bounced.

He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Ready for the ten-pounder today?”

“Ready.” She spun on her butt until her back was to him, legs out straight.

He grabbed the weighted fitness ball from the rack and sat with his back pressed up against hers. It took restraint to feel her against him and not turn around for more contact. Their workouts hadn’t been limited to the PT room, and flashes of intense memories hit him randomly. He’d been playing better since the game in L.A. Not just better than the start of the season, but also better than he’d
ever
played.

Since he’d become more concerned about Lori than himself, it’d taken the pressure off when he was on the ice. Not that he was going to spread that around, or when Lori started healing, Saralynn might bump her down a flight of stairs. Not really, but he didn’t want anyone associating his better play with his girlfriend’s misfortune. With his legs out in front of him, he rotated just his torso left and handed Lori the ball. She brought it around to the other side, where he took it, and they passed it in circles.

“Francesca’s doing well. In the show.” Lori hadn’t talked much about Sin City on Ice. That combined with the tension in her tone said it was still bothering her.

“Do you hate that?”

“Yes.” Her back vibrated against his as she laughed. “No. I don’t know.”

“You really want that job?” Asking the question felt like being a kid again, stepping onto a pond that wasn’t entirely frozen. But they’d made a deal. As long as they were respectful, they called each other on destructive thoughts.

“I really
need
that job. Do you know how much it costs to train per year?”

Oh
. It was easy to forget how different her life was when they had so much in common.

She was quiet for a minute, but he didn’t push. Then he reached for the ball, except she didn’t have it ready. Her back was motionless against his until he felt her take a deep breath.

“My last sponsors dropped out. After this injury, they all lost faith in me. I can get through December. Maybe train into the first half of next year. If I place in some competitions, that’ll help, but it still won’t cover costs completely. I
need
this show.”

She’d never spelled it out so plainly, and it hit him like a surprise check. Then something else hit him. An idea she’d probably hate. “What if … I sponsored you?”

She wrenched around, leaning on one hand. “You’re kidding, right?”

He twisted to face her but couldn’t think of a response. What could he say to make her accept? No one
made
Lori do anything.

Her expression softened when she saw he was serious. “Dylan. I know you want to help. But I couldn’t have you as a sponsor. It would change the dynamic of our relationship. And this thing, you and me, is one of the only bright spots in my life right now.”

That should have made him feel good, but the underlying message soured it. “You’re afraid if we break up, I’ll take the offer off the table?”

“That’s one concern. More important, I don’t want to feel like you’re my boss. And I don’t want the world to think I’m dating you for the money. I know that’s not how you intended it at all and you made the offer just because you saw a problem and wanted to fix it. But I need to fix it. And I need you to be my boyfriend. My best friend. Do you understand?”

The desperate plea in her eyes made him nod and lean in for a reassuring kiss. Her points were valid; he knew that. But deep down, it was frustrating to also know that he could take this huge weight from her. And she wouldn’t let him.

Sunday, November 16th

“To what do I owe the pleasure of this unexpected but appreciated links time?” Madden selected a club from his golf bag on the back of the cart.

Might as well get it over with. Dylan could tell him it was just a nice way to spend his day off—and it was—but even though he didn’t show it, Madden already knew something was up. He always did. It made him both a good and sometimes annoying roommate. Dylan leaned against the cart and let his friend go first. “I want to do something questionable, and I need your advice.”

Madden straightened from setting his ball on the tee and stared at him for a second. “Questionable. You. You mean like eating ice cream for dinner? Well, man, I know it’s not traditional, but what the hell? Go for it. Just don’t come to me when you wake up with a stomachache.”

“Funny. I mean like something
you’d
do. Or would have done.”