Home Ice (9 page)

A side door opened and out skated the cast of Sin City on Ice in yoga pants and fleece shirts, hair in ponytails, no makeup. Time for show practice already? Her muscles were ready to quit, but that’d never stopped her before. Pouring the rest of her misery into impressing these people was better than the alternative: crying into her pillow at home.

There’s no crying in figure skating
.

American Airlines Center—Dallas

Ten minutes until game time, and she hadn’t texted or called him back. It was a nightmare. Why would the media blame Lori for his slump? She was the one person who made him feel
better
. He stared straight ahead from his spot on the locker room bench but was miles away. She had to think he started the rumor. But how could she? Didn’t she know him at all?

“Hey. Cole?” Shane Reese bumped his shoulder then lowered his voice. “Where are you right now?”

“Not here.”

“Yeah, I see that. You might not want to let Neals see.” He tilted his head subtly to their coach across the room, talking with Ben Collier. “For your protection and the rest of our hearing.”

“Did one of the guys say something to a reporter?”

“Huh?”

“About Lori. Did one of the guys say I was playing like shit because of Lori?”

“Dude. You know we don’t do that.”

“Nothing else makes sense. Who would have put that out there? Why?”

“If it really was someone in the organization—and there’s no proof it was—it’d be someone with a vested interest in your reputation. In the team’s … aw, damn.”

“What?”

Reese sighed. “She means well.”

“
Who?
”

“Saralynn. It has the scent of her scheme to it. Totally wrong, but I can see her leaking something like that to take the heat off you. And us by association. My sister is an opportunist, but it comes from a good place. She just doesn’t always pay attention to collateral damage.”

Shit
. Now it made sense. That random meeting in her office, the questions about his personal life. She’d been looking for a scapegoat, and he’d given her Lori.

“That look on your face right now, the disbelief mixed with the urge to break things, she does that to people. Well, did. Hasn’t in a long time, but I guess old habits take a while to let go. Cole, it’ll blow over. I promise. I’ll talk to my sister. You can bet Madden will when he finds out. She’ll fix this. If there’s one thing I know about Saralynn, she can’t stand people she loves being angry with her.”

Then why would she do it in the first place?
That didn’t even matter. All that mattered was Lori freezing him out. He’d dated Tricia for more than a year, and when she left, it was horrible, but even that didn’t touch this. He’d known Lori less than a month, and the thought of losing her—not just as a potential girlfriend but hell, one of his best friends—turned him into a shell. He clicked with her in a way he hadn’t with anyone else. Ever. When they talked, she
got
it, and he got her. Their sports might be different, but so many of their experiences were the same. Their fears. Struggles. No one else understood. Not the way she did.

He’d always been able to shut out everything else before a game and focus on the puck no matter what was happening in his life, but not now. Was that irony? The fake rumor might be coming true because she was the only thing on his mind.

God, I hope Coach can’t tell
. If Nealy believed it—that Lori was responsible for his failures—she might order him to become a monk. The reach of her authority might not seem to extend beyond the locker room, but for all he knew, she was omnipresent.

Fuck it. For one night at least, he needed to push everything else out of his mind and get his head in the game. His team was counting on him. It had been overwhelming before, but facing that pressure was better than obsessing about unanswered texts. If he couldn’t fix things with Lori, he needed to focus on what he
could
do.

Out in the arena, the sound system boomed, “Are you readyyyyyy?” and the music played. Visiting teams entered quietly, so at least he wouldn’t have 15,000 screaming fans to see him flounder. The people in Dallas would probably enjoy it, but damned if he’d give them the satisfaction. The guys lined up and started down the runner. He took his place to the side and patted each one on the back as they passed. When Reese hustled down last, it was just he and Nealy left.

“A girl, huh?”

“Coach—”

“No, save it, kid. I get it. I’ve seen it happen a few times.”

“It’s not—”

“Just check your baggage at the door, and keep your focus here, all right?”

“But
Coach
…”

“Go. Game’s about to start.” She swatted him with her clipboard, and he had no choice but to listen. He’d set her straight later. His slump had started before Lori. It wasn’t her fault. And he wouldn’t lose her over a stupid rumor.

• • •

Back in his hotel room, Dylan lay face down on the bed. The game did not go the way he’d wanted. It went the way they’d all been going but worse. Reese came out of the bathroom and sat on the edge of his own bed. “Kid.”

Usually the nickname didn’t bother him, but right now, everything bothered him. “You are seven years older than me.”

“Yeah, and I remember myself at twenty-four. I was a kid.”

Dylan hadn’t felt like a kid since he was twelve years old. Everything seemed to jump into fast forward after that. No point arguing though. “Okay. What?”

Reese sighed, and the bed squeaked. A glance over provided the answer. The goalie had stretched out on his back and was staring at the ceiling. “Man, I haven’t seen you like this. Not once in four years. Seemed like from the first day you were a steamroller that couldn’t be stopped. Off ice you were unshakable, too, but in a different way. Zen. Always in a good mood. But this? Not gonna lie, buddy, I’m kinda worried.”

He hadn’t
always
been in a good mood. But it was important to project that when guys looked to you for motivation. Setting an example was important even when no one followed suit.

“I saw what most people didn’t. You were struggling before you started hanging with Lori. If you care that much about this girl … maybe you should own up to that. Publicly. Saralynn will shit a brick, but that’s not your problem. Would you be okay with the world knowing you’re just sucking lemons right now?”

The thought of even more scrutiny from the hockey world settled like an enormous weight on his back. But the thought of not having Lori to talk to, hang out, and be himself with gripped his heart like a fist. “So how much has Kally told you?”

“Are you kidding? My wife tells me nothing. She’s not allowed to, and I don’t ask, no matter how much I want to know. She’s therapist first, everything else second. The rest of the grapevine’s been pretty dry lately, too. Usually Madden fills Saralynn in on stuff, but he takes your personal life seriously and hasn’t said anything. Been driving her crazy, which I guess is why she called you in yesterday. Sorry again about that.”

That was mildly comforting. At least Madden had learned from the last time he’d divulged personal information. Jesus, that must be why the rumor caught like wildfire. It wasn’t exactly new. He’d been a mess when Tricia broke up with him, and Madden had accidentally spilled how wrecked he was as a reason why Dylan’s play was suffering. That had only been for one game, but it had set a precedent. The whole world already knew his game could be thrown by a relationship. Of course they believed this.
Holy shit
. Saralynn was looking to blame it on a girl because she knew it would work.

“Dude. Don’t take this the wrong way, but your sister is an evil genius.”

“You think I don’t know? Only
one
of my thousand reservations about having her work for the team. But she’s good at what she does. Girl could sell sand in the desert. She’ll fix this, Cole. Trust me.”

His whole life, Dylan had never trusted anyone to get things done—he’d done them himself. Kally would probably say that was part of his perfectionist Atlas complex. But just because you understood what was wrong didn’t mean you could fix it. No way was he leaving something this important up to Saralynn.

Monday, October 20th

Dylan called five times on Sunday, but Lori didn’t answer. No doubt he had an explanation, but she didn’t want to hear it. Somehow the gaping hole in her life hadn’t been visible until he’d filled it … and then blown a wider hole. Ignorance really had been bliss. You couldn’t miss a friend if you didn’t remember what it was like to have one.

Dodging him today was harder. She didn’t dare practice once the Sinners were done with the ice. He was too used to finding her after he showered, and if talking to him on the phone would be too painful, seeing him in person would break her. She was afraid she’d lose her resolve, go with whatever he said, and trust in something that could and probably would hurt her more in the future.

So instead, she hid. She sat in her makeup chair by the show locker rooms, reading a book. Trying to read a book. Technically, she’d read the same sentence ten times, and it still hadn’t stuck. Maybe because it was a romance, and that whole concept was beyond belief at the moment.

“Honey, what are you doing here?” Margo’s voice made her jump. Wasn’t this place supposed to be empty for another hour? But there was Lori’s makeup artist in all her glory, at least six and a half feet in those killer glitter heels, matching mini dress, and fierce cosmetics. Even for Margo, it was more than usual.

“Oh, hey. Just needed a place to be alone that wasn’t my apartment.”

Margo’s perfectly groomed brows rose, but only as much as the Botox would allow. “This time of day, you’re on the ice training for your real job.”

Embarrassment and guilt began to creep in, but then the subtle implication in that sentence jumped out. “How do you know that?”

“Well … sweet girl, do you think you’re the only one who takes advantage of the empty arena to get in some extra practice?”

“What do you practice?”

Margo swung an arm above her head and snapped her fingers. “I’m Beyonce.”

“No way.”

“Yes way. At
Divas
. It’s a show on the Strip. I perform to ‘Single Ladies.’ I dance like the Queen B herself, and I lip-sync like nobody’s business. I even have backup dancers.”

“That sounds like a lot of fun.”

“It
is
! You must come. How about tonight? You have show practice but no actual show until tomorrow since the hockey team’s playing. Unless … you’re going to the game?” Her expression was the same one Lori’s mom used when she asked what competitions Lori might be competing in. Hopeful, goading, clearly prying but trying to be nice about it.

“You know I’ve been seeing Dylan.”

“That adorable hunk of man who came back here after the show that one night? I had a feeling. You’d been smiling a lot more and paying less attention to the prissy piranhas. What happened?”

“You didn’t see?”

“Girl, it’s been a week
end
. I was so busy with the shows—yours and mine—that I haven’t caught up on my gossip. What’s goin’ on?”

“Dylan’s saying his slump is my fault. I’ve been distracting him or something.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah. Well …”

“Are you
sure
he said that?”

“He says he didn’t. All the news says is ‘a source close to the Sinners.’ But who else would spread that rumor? He’s been under a lot of pressure, and it got worse with every bad game. I guess blaming me takes the heat off him.”

“That doesn’t sound right. I think there’s more to the story.”

“If there is, I’m not ready to hear it. Maybe I’ll never be. I need to focus on my own career. Getting back to the Olympics.”

“You
need
a girls night.”

“Oh, Margo—”

“Nope. No arguing. You’re coming with me tonight to
Divas
. I’ll take you backstage and introduce you.”

The urge to bow out was automatic, but that in itself was a warning sign.
This is why I don’t have friends.
Besides,
Divas
did sound fun. She really could use a night of lighthearted distraction. “Thank you.”

“Oh, baby, I’m happy to. We gals gotta stick together.”

Lori grinned despite herself and nodded. “You are so right.”

Divas

Her figure skating career had prepared Lori for a lot of things. She’d seen performers in all stages of makeup and dress, and some ridiculous preening. Being backstage at Sin City on Ice introduced her to spray tans and drawn-on glitter eyebrows. Still, all of that didn’t quite hold a candle to twelve men in gorgeous costumes that put hers to shame, shaving their faces in makeup mirrors. The soundtrack to
Moulin Rouge
played in the dressing room as Margo led her in.

“Special visitor tonight, ladies! She’s got man troubles—”

“Don’t we all!” chimed in a Diva in a purple sequin number that could only belong to Cher. Cher’s sentiment was a consensus, based on the “Mmm-hmms” in response.

“And we’re going to cheer her up,” Margo finished.

“Absolutely! Come here, babydoll. Have a seat by me.” Cher patted the open stool by her mirror.

Lori glanced at Margo, who nodded. “Go on. I gotta get in costume and fix my wig. That’s Jeff. You’re in good hands.”

It would be rude to decline. Jeff smelled like jasmine and vanilla, and his hands were perfectly manicured to the exact shade of purple as his outfit.

“Hi. I’m—”

“Oh, I know who you are, honey. Only America’s skating sweetheart!”

Pride welled up along with … relief? It was strange. There’d always been the feeling of slipping back into the shadows after an Olympic season, but in the past, she’d never had any doubts of returning for the next Games. Any anxiety of fading from the public’s consciousness used to be smoothed over by the certainty that she’d be back in four years, owning her sport again. This was the first time since she’d started competing that returning to the top wasn’t a given or at least close to it. It hadn’t even been a year since her injury, but even so, being recognized and relevant was a bigger release than she’d expected.