Home Ice (18 page)

Not one smart-ass remark. They all knew better.

“Good.” And she turned heel and strode back down the tunnel. That only happened when she was
really
pissed. They’d pay for this in future practices.
My fault
. The words repeated in his head, burned in his gut. If he’d been his usual self, shown the confidence he was known for, his team would feel that and play better. They looked to him for leadership and direction. But he was spinning like a broken compass and didn’t know how to stop.

The second period wasn’t exactly an improvement, but divine intervention got them a power play they didn’t deserve and a garbage goal by one of the defensemen. Nealy said as much during the next break and let them know luck wouldn’t win the game. That was true, but she’d left too much open to interpretation.

In the third period, the enforcers took it upon themselves to make luck and beat the shit out of a few instigating Coyotes. Sometimes a good fight could turn the tide and energize a team to try harder. All it got the Sinners was twenty penalty minutes, and it gave the Coyotes two more goals. He could see in his teammates’ eyes that a few of them were considering driving to the hotel in their gear instead of going back to the locker room to face Coach. Of course, that wasn’t a real option. Even if they managed it, she’d hunt them down later and give it to them tenfold.

She ranted and raved, and for the first time, Dylan tuned it out. Her criticism was often harsh but always true and always useful if you could filter through the cussing and find the actual critiques. Over his four years with the team, he’d become really good at it and actually looked forward to applying her raging wisdom to his game. Not tonight. He didn’t have the focus. All he could do was stare at his skates while he mentally flayed himself, and under that was a strong current of
What’s wrong with me?

He didn’t look up until someone pushed his shoulder. Reese. Just Reese. The rest of the room had cleared out, the other guys probably hitting the showers, Nealy hitting the minibar in her hotel room.

“Kid.” Just one word and technically a statement, but a helluva lot of questions packed in it.

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I should, but I don’t.”

Reese sat beside him, forearms resting on his legs. “I’m not my wife. She’s a lot better looking and way better at this, but she’s back in Vegas, and I’ve learned a few things from her.”

Dylan glanced at him, his expression aiming for
Where are you going with this?

“Here’s what I’ve noticed. Yeah, it stresses you out when people tell you how good you are and that you’re going to lead us to another Cup run. But I think it stresses you more when we tell you it’s
not
all on you, because you think we’re lying and just trying to make you feel better. Somehow that doubles the pressure, and I don’t claim to understand, because you are a singular human being and I’ve never met anyone like you before. I can’t think of a single person who knows what it’s like being you, and that’s gotta be tough, too.”

There wasn’t any actual advice in there, but it was mostly true, and that weirdly made him feel a little better. Reese wasn’t sugarcoating or handholding, just laying it all out as he saw it, and that was refreshing.

But he was wrong about one thing. There was one person who
did
understand.

Monday, December 1st

“You’re doing great. Push against my hand. Not too hard, just until you feel a twinge.” Brielle, Lori’s physical therapist, held Lori’s foot as they sat on the stretching mat. They’d been working for an hour, and it felt good. There was only the smallest hint of pain with the most strenuous exercises, and that was normal. “Awesome. I think you’ll be back on the ice sooner than expected. Maybe even next week. It looks like it’s healed well. You’ve done a good job resting, and I know that hasn’t been easy.”

Easy? It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She mentally screamed several times a day, dying to get up and work out, to get back to training. Dylan and Margo had been good company, but she was ready to resume normal life. Well, what passed for normal in
her
life.

“All right, let’s call it a day. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Brielle knew better than to offer a hand up and instead waved on her way out.

Lori stood easily using her good leg, toe-touching with the other foot for balance. She strapped on her air cast and very carefully gave it some weight. No pain. She exhaled so hard, the room spun, and she leaned against the railing on the wall. It’d made a good ballet barre over the past few weeks, but it served a practical purpose, too.

A knock on the door jumpstarted her heart, and the gorgeous guy responsible didn’t exactly give her pulse a break. “Hey. Things went really well today. She thinks I could be on the ice next week.” Her excitement mellowed at the look on Dylan’s face. “I’m sorry.” Saturday’s game had really gotten to him. They’d talked on the phone for an hour on Sunday, but it’d only been a recap of what she’d seen on TV. His voice had been so hollow as he recounted it that she hadn’t even tried to offer advice. Not until she could see him in person when she could be sure he’d heard it.

“No, I’m glad things are going well. Really.
I’m
sorry.” He took a few steps and picked up her hands. “Let’s focus on you. They really think you can skate next week?”

“Uh-uh. You’re not getting off the hook that easily. I know you didn’t mean to rain on my parade and you’re happy for me. You’re you. It’s a given. And I
wanted
to talk to you about the game.”

“Please tell me you didn’t take notes and have pointers for me. I went through that with Nealy. I’m sure yours would be worded nicely and wouldn’t have the profanity, but I know what I did wrong. I knew it as soon as I did it. I just couldn’t stop.”

She bit her lip, thinking for a minute, and then gave his hands a squeeze. “I want to keep talking, but do you mind if we do it in the rink? The ice circus is practicing, and I want to see if Francesca is serious competition.”

“You know she’s not. Has she ever even skated in a competition? She’s only done ice shows, right?”

“I think she competed when she was a kid but didn’t get far. Before this she was a villain in Disney On Ice. Maleficent. I find that both appropriate and kind of hilarious. I mean, I know they typecast but … okay, I’m horrible. But I do want to see if she’s a real threat to my job security, and I want to let it be known that I’m still here.”

“A power move. That’s kinda hot.”

She grinned and dropped his hands so she could swat his ass then led the way through the tunnels to the other side of the arena. There was always the option of going through the Sinners’ locker room, but that option came with potentially naked men who smelled like rotting skunk.

When they emerged in the rink, Sin City on Ice was in full swing but without the over-the-top costumes. Music blared from the arena’s sound system, and directors shouted critiques and cues and the occasional compliment. Very occasional. Good. Maybe it was wrong to want the show to fall apart without her, maybe it was ego, but there it was.

She went up a few rows and chose a center seat. Dylan took the one beside her, not exactly helping, but his fall-prevention hovering was obvious. Okay, she could be a little unsteady with the unwieldy air cast, especially edging through narrow spaces, but she managed fine. At least he was smart enough not to hold on to her outright. When they settled in the chairs, she bumped her shoulder against his. “So, you think the slump is back.”

Any amusement at the antics on the ice drained from his expression, and the weight of the world settling back on his shoulders was almost visible. “I think Saturday is proof. Don’t you?”

God, it killed her to bring it back up when he’d just started to focus on something else—probably for the first time in three days—but he needed to work this out, and she’d been a pretty good mirror for him so far. “I don’t know. I watched the whole thing. I’ve been watching for weeks. And it looks to me like how you start the game determines how the rest of it goes. You even said before, it works like dominoes. One mistake leads to the next. If you can get in a good headspace before the game, I don’t think you’ll have a problem. It’s that way for me, too. If I go into a program feeling confident, I nail it nine times out of ten.”

“And the tenth time?”

She looked at the ugly cast and sighed. “You can’t do anything about the tenth time. It happens to everyone. Even us.”

His lopsided smile made her heart hiccup. “So. You think I need to get in the right headspace. How do you do that?”

The answer was on her lips, but she hesitated and instead looked out over the ice.

Dylan laughed as if sensing it had to be embarrassing. He’d be right. “Oh, this’ll be good. Come on. You have to tell me now.” He wiggled her hand.

She winced and wrinkled her nose. “Fine. I sit in my dressing room and watch tapes of me in past programs. My best performances. Not because I’m vain. It’s just a reminder that I
can
do those things. It’s proof. Like I have to convince myself.”

“Yeah, I don’t really have that option. Before games, I get ready in a room full of guys who would beak me until the day I died if I watched my own highlight reel.”

“Beak you?”

“Hockey term. Peck. Like a bird.”

That brought on the visual of the hockey team as chickens, pecking and clucking at Dylan. She bit the inside of her cheek hard in an attempt not to laugh. “Okay, maybe you’re right. But could you get a few minutes alone before a game? Even if it’s in the bathroom, I think it would help. Just to get the other voices out of your head. Your teammates. Your coach. That’s where the pressure comes from, isn’t it?”

He stared blankly across the rink and had to be deep in thought because he didn’t react when Bradley got a little too familiar with Francesca’s backside and she slapped him across the face. Lori clamped both hands over her mouth and fought the giggle with everything she had. All this time, and everyone had told her Bradley’s advances were in her head. Vindication felt good. By the time Dylan answered, she got it under control.

“You might be onto something.”

“It happens every now and then. Feel better? Because you’re missing a hell of a show.”

He focused on the skaters just in time to see Bradley almost drop Francesca as he tried to get a hold on anything but her ass.

It was unlikely Francesca would put up with that for long, which was good news for Lori’s job. Unfortunately, that meant
she’d
have to put up with Bradley.

Wednesday, December 3rd

This is stupid
. Dylan sat in a bathroom stall in full gear while his teammates finished getting ready in the locker room. He could hear their muted joking and the rip of tape. It was so weird not being there with them, but at the same time, it was a giant relief. Right about now Reese would be telling him all those fans were there because of him. Sure, kid, we can win without you. Wink, wink. And Nealy would give him that Jedi stare, like she could make him perform better through mind control. That almost seemed possible, but if it were true, she’d have brain zapped him after the first horrible loss.

Even this small bit of space unwound his nerves, and it was easier to think about the game without all that pressure clouding his mind. Lori had been right. No surprise there. You didn’t get three Olympic gold medals and two silver without learning some tricks. But he owed her. A couple dozen flowers? A really nice dinner out? A romantic dinner in? The more he mapped it, the looser he felt.

The boom of the announcer reached him even back there. Time to go. He walked into the locker room just in time to pat each guy on the back as they headed down the tunnel. A couple gave him raised brows like
Where the hell were you?
but didn’t say anything. Except Reese. “Hiding from us, huh?”

“What? No.”
Yes.

“Whatever you say, Cap.” Reese winked and kept walking.

Maintaining a blank expression as Nealy looked on was not easy. But she kept any commentary to herself and walked beside him. At the door to the ice, Dylan held out his arm, and she accepted, taking careful steps in her heels while he glided alongside her to the players’ bench.

He and the rest of the starting lineup skated around their end, stretching their legs as the announcer called their names and the crowd cheered. At his name, the cheer rose to a roar. Lately, that amped up his nerves, but not tonight. Mentally, he was half at Lori’s place, putting some of the recipes he’d picked up from Madden to good use. She gave him a thumbs up from the front row even though she couldn’t know what he was thinking. The other half of him was present on the ice but sort of removed, planning out each play, accounting for every deviation. It was like there was a blueprint of the game in his head, and he just had to relax enough to see it.

He took the first face-off, and the puck seemed to drop in slow motion. His stick got there just before it landed, and he swept it back to Zedovic, one of his defensemen. Zed passed it to Collier, who sprinted with it toward Vancouver’s goal, and Dylan took off, zipping around Canucks to angle himself just to the side of the net. Colly saw him, deked the other way, and then sent him a blind pass. It connected with Dylan’s stick blade, and without a second’s hesitation, he shot it through the five hole. The red lights flashed, horns blared, and a Jock Jams track filled the arena.

Colly, Zed, and the others embraced him hard, patting his helmet and grinning like idiots. He was smiling pretty hard himself and couldn’t seem to stop. The rest of the first period flew by. No more goals, but a lot of near misses, and Vancouver didn’t score either. It wasn’t just confidence that got him back in the game, it was the clarity that came with taking a step back. If
he
didn’t see himself as a pivotal player, it was easier to be the difference maker. It didn’t make sense, but it didn’t matter. It worked.

In the locker room, Nealy praised them all for playing every minute of the first period instead of sitting back and watching it happen. She had extra compliments for him, but he smiled and tuned them out. All he heard was Lori saying,
Get the other voices out of your head. That’s where the pressure comes from
. He didn’t need to lock himself in the bathroom if he could block everyone out. When teammates talked to him, he nodded and threw in the occasional grunt.