Wicked Games (Denver Rebels) (47 page)

Nadia grinned. “I know.”

Reid paused his conversation to introduce her to the community center’s athletic director, who greeted her with a friendly, “Good to meet you, sister.”

When he and Reid resumed their spirited conversation about some upcoming tournament, Nadia wandered across the atrium to study the contents of a large glass-fronted display case built into the wall. There were dozens of framed autographed photos of Reid with other NHL players who’d visited the center over the years, most notably Wayne Gretzky, Bobby Orr and Mario Lemieux. He was photographed with current superstars such as Sidney Crosby, Alex Ovechkin, Henrik Lundqvist and P.K. Subban. He also appeared in pictures with practically every player—past and present—who’d ever worn a Red Wings uniform.

Nadia marveled at the collection of photos and beamed proudly at the NHL Player Foundation Award that Reid had won for his volunteer work throughout Detroit.

When he came up behind her and put an arm around her waist, she smiled and gestured to the display case. “
Very
impressive.”

He smiled, nuzzling her ear. “Let’s go see the kids, then I’ll give you a tour.”

As they started across the atrium, they encountered a horde of children who had been eagerly anticipating Reid’s arrival. They seemed to appear out of nowhere. Ranging in age from about four to twelve, they converged on Reid, darting around, jostling one another, chattering animatedly and vying for his attention.

Wearing a broad grin, Reid moved through the crowd, slapping high fives, palming small heads and ruffling unruly mops of hair while the children’s parents looked on with smiles. Several older kids waved bottles of Gatorade Ice, eager to show their hero that they, too, could drink like a champion.

Although there were plenty of white children, Nadia noticed that the majority were black or Latino.

When Reid introduced her around, she smiled warmly and shook hands, squatting to ask questions and tweak little noses. The children giggled when she did that, and one adorable black girl impulsively wrapped her arms around Nadia’s neck and hugged her, melting her heart.

She’d nearly forgotten about the presence of the media until the cameras started flashing and the microphones started waving.

While Dawn obligingly answered questions, Reid ignored the reporters and steered Nadia and the children through the atrium to the Olympic-size ice rink. Several young hockey players were skating laps or running through practice drills on the ice. Nadia was surprised and pleased to see more than a few girls out there doing their thing. She wanted to walk over and give them high fives, but no way was she stepping foot on that ice in her spike-heeled ankle boots.

When the young players saw Reid, they stopped what they were doing and stared at him, their eyes wide with awe. When he grinned and waved, they broke into excited smiles and started heading off the ice. Puzzled by the sudden mass exodus, the youth coaches looked over their shoulders. Spotting Reid, they grinned broadly and waved him over.

Reid reached for Nadia’s hand. “C’mon. Let’s go say hello.”

“You go ahead,” she told him. “I’ll just find a seat and watch you play for a while.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and winked, then moved off to greet the coaches and players. Nadia absently noted that while the hockey coaches were white, the director and athletic director—who ran the community center—were both black.

At that moment Dawn sidled up to Nadia, her eyes twinkling with the sisterly familiarity often shared between black women upon meeting for the first time.

“Forgive me for being nosy, but how long have you and Reid been dating?”

Nadia smiled. “We met in October,” she answered, watching as the kids gathered excitedly around Reid. “We’ve been together about two months.”

“Really?” Dawn sounded surprised. “I assumed it had been much longer than that. The way you two look at each other, anyone can see you’re deeply in love.”

Nadia’s cheeks warmed. “I guess we are,” she said shyly.

Dawn gave her a pleased smile. “Both of you have good taste.”

Nadia returned her smile. “Thank you.”

A companionable silence fell between them as they watched Reid address the kids. The young hockey hopefuls were staring up at him with awed expressions, hanging on his every word.

“Most of these children come from low-income homes,” Dawn explained to Nadia, casually folding her arms across her chest. “The community center was established not only to provide free skating and hockey lessons, but also to give these kids a safe haven after school and on the weekends. Thanks to generous financial contributions from Reid and several private donors, we have a large annual budget that enables us to pay for each child’s hockey equipment, skates, uniforms and any other supplies needed. Our summer hockey camp is free for all children who qualify—which are the majority of them that come through these doors. We also provide free breakfast, lunch and snacks for camp participants, and Reid secured corporate sponsors to donate sports drinks and hockey gear. Whenever we need anything, all I have to do is pick up the phone and call him, and it’s taken care of.”

“That’s wonderful,” Nadia said warmly, her heart swelling with pride and gratitude for Reid’s generosity and commitment to the community.

“People often ask me why hockey isn’t as popular in America as the other major league sports,” Dawn continued in a philosophical tone. “I always explain to them that hockey isn’t as accessible as basketball, football or baseball. The equipment is more expensive, for starters. And you need an ice rink to play hockey. Most of these kids can play pickup games at their neighborhood basketball court, or they can walk down the street to a park or an empty lot to toss around a football with other kids. But not everyone lives near an ice rink, and not everyone can afford ice skating lessons.”

“That’s very true,” Nadia agreed. “Lack of accessibility is a big issue, but there’s also the image factor. Most people I know identify hockey as strictly a Canadian sport, so that already makes it seem foreign. I was also surprised to read somewhere that the NHL audience is the richest of all professional sports, with one-third of viewers making more than $100,000. And, of course, we both know that white guys are the face of professional hockey. The minority players are few and far between.”

“Very true,” Dawn conceded, nodding. “That’s one of the main reasons Reid opened this community center—to make hockey more accessible to minority youth. He truly wants the NHL to become more diverse, and he’s doing his part to help make that happen. If more ice rinks begin popping up in urban communities around the country, it wouldn’t surprise me if we start seeing more black and Latino players entering the NHL over the next ten or fifteen years.”

“That would be great,” Nadia enthused. “I know my brother would certainly appreciate that. He’s always loved hockey and wanted to see more players that look like him.”

“He just might get his wish.” Dawn paused. “In time.”

Nadia smiled, watching as Reid laced up a pair of skates that had been provided for him. When he stepped onto the ice, a boisterous cheer went up from the crowd of children and parents.

He began skating around the rink with the kids, laughing warmly as they tried to impress him with their skating ability.

“He’s really good with children, isn’t he?” Dawn fondly observed.

Nadia smiled softly. “He certainly is.”

“They always love it when he comes for visits. He enjoys himself too.”

“I can tell.”

Dawn smiled at her. “I don’t know if you’re religious or not, so forgive me for speaking out of turn. But I truly believe that when you have a good heart and allow God to use you, He gives you abundant favor. I think Reid was meant to score his three hundredth career goal right here at home where his star was born, if you will.”

“You think so?”

“I do,” Dawn asserted. “I know Detroit gets a bad rap, but we’re good people. So when Reid scores that goal tomorrow night, don’t be surprised if those Red Wings fans give him a standing ovation.”

Nadia grinned. “Do you really think that could happen?”

Dawn gave her an enigmatic smile. “This is Detroit. Anything’s possible.”

Nadia’s grin widened. “I’ll remember that.”

Just then a freckled young redhead came up and murmured something in Dawn’s ear. She nodded and told the girl, “I’ll be right there.”

As the employee nodded briskly and walked away, Dawn turned back to Nadia and smiled. “I have to take an important phone call. But it was such a pleasure to meet you, Nadia.”

“You too,” Nadia said amiably. “Thanks for keeping me company. I enjoyed our conversation.”

“So did I.” With a twinkle in her eye, Dawn touched Nadia’s arm and pointed toward the ice rink. “You’ve got yourself a real good man over there. Hold on to him.”

“I definitely plan to,” Nadia said with an answering smile.

Dawn winked at her before leaving.

Slipping her hands into the pockets of her jeans, Nadia ventured closer to the rink to observe Reid. He had taken a little black boy aside to coach him on how to skate backwards.

As she watched, Reid dropped to a crouch, bringing himself to eye level with the boy. As he gave him instructions, the young player listened intently and nodded, his small face a study of concentration.

When Reid stood and skated over to the boards, the boy followed him and then mimicked his movements, assuming a basic hockey stance with his knees bent, back straight and head up. Then Reid braced his hands on the boards, pushed his body away and smoothly glided backwards on the ice. After that quick demonstration, he and his young pupil performed the drill together. When the boy successfully skated backwards without stumbling, his whole face lit up like fireworks on the Fourth of July.

“I did it!” he cried excitedly.

“You sure did.” Reid grinned broadly and gave him a high five. “Told you you could do it.”

When the boy beamed up at him, Nadia’s heart completely melted.

In a flash, she saw Reid coaching their own son, patiently teaching him how to skate and play hockey like his old man. The image filled her with such longing she had to catch her breath. God help her. She’d never wanted any man’s baby as much as she wanted Reid Holden’s.

As if sensing her thoughts, he suddenly looked up and met her eyes across the ice rink. When he winked, her stomach quivered. She could only smile weakly in response.

Before they left the community center that afternoon, Reid gave out autographed trading cards and posed for a bunch of pictures. He called Nadia over for a group photo with all of the children. When she walked up to him, he kissed her temple and curved an arm around her waist before the picture was snapped.

At Dawn’s request, he took some questions from reporters, keeping his responses short and to the point. Now that Nadia knew the history of his adversarial relationship with the media, she understood why he was so guarded and on edge as he faced the reporters. He still didn’t trust them, and it showed in his rigid body language.

As Dawn was escorting Reid and Nadia across the atrium toward the exit, a lone voice called out, “So how are your parents doing, Reid?”

Nadia watched as his eyes flashed with fury and hardened.

Oh, shit
, she thought with a sinking sense of dread
.

Slowly he turned to face the reporter, a skinny white guy with shaggy brown hair and pockmarked cheeks.

When Reid spoke, his voice was low and controlled. “What did you say?”

The reporter smirked. “I asked if your mother has forgiven your father for cheating on her.”

Nadia frowned as a disapproving murmur ran through the crowd. She could feel the tension rising, knew that the cameras were rolling.

Reid’s expression was terrifyingly ominous, anger radiating off his body like a nuclear bomb. “How is that any of your damn business?”

The reporter’s smug expression faltered for just a moment. Then he recovered and drawled smoothly, “Well, given what’s at stake for you tomorrow night, I was just wondering how your parents’ bitter estrangement might impact—”

Without warning Reid lunged forward.

“
Reid!
” Nadia cried out, grabbing his arm.

He stopped and looked down at her. Rage, raw and powerful, glittered in his eyes. His fists were clenched at his sides and his muscles were like steel beneath her hand, hard and unyielding.

She reached up and gently cupped his cheek. “Don’t do it, baby,” she implored, her voice low enough for his ears only. “There are children watching. Children who look up to you.”

His stormy gaze shifted to pan the crowd of little faces watching him, eyes wide with curiosity and concern.

“Let’s just go,” Nadia urged.

He glared at the rude reporter, a muscle throbbing in his jaw. She could see him struggling to keep his temper in check.

“Please,” she whispered.

His jaw slid to one side. He shot one last menacing glare at the smug reporter, then took Nadia’s hand. She exchanged relieved looks with Dawn before he led her across the atrium and out of the building.