Any Man Of Mine (16 page)

“She’s been hanging out in the lounge, and the box is usually empty unless Jules and I sit up there.”

Autumn stood also.

“I’ll ask Faith first, of course, but I really don’t think she’ll mind. In fact she’ll probably be happy it’s getting used.”

Autumn had no intention of going to a Chinooks’ game. She wasn’t a hockey fan, and there was no way she wanted to be confused for a Sam fan. Their relationship was fine for the moment, but they weren’t friends. “Thanks.”

She showed the twins out, then moved back to her desk and put the contracts in a file. Sam was picking up Conner from his day care for a few hours. She didn’t know how she felt about Sam’s sudden transition from occasional to involved dad. She didn’t know what had inspired the change in Sam, but ultimately, it was good for Conner. She missed him when he was with Sam, but she had to admit that it did give her a needed break. Like today, she had a ton of laundry and a house to clean, and it was always easier if her son wasn’t making a mess behind her.

Before she left for the day, she pulled a few vendor files and put them on the pile of work she needed to take home. The cell phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. She recognized Sam’s number, and answered, “What’s up?”

“I have Conner. I thought I’d let you know.”

How considerate. How so unlike Sam. “Thanks.”

“There’s a game tomorrow night.”

She sat on the edge of her desk and looked out the window at the parking lot beyond. “Yeah. Conner told me.”

“He wants to go.”

It was a school night, but as long as Conner’s schoolwork didn’t suffer, she could relax that rule. Sam was leaving for several weeks, and Conner wouldn’t see him. “As long as he doesn’t get tired, that’s fine. Just have Natalie bring him home when he starts to wear out.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Are you going to watch it on TV?”

“The game?” Why was Sam so chatty? “No.”

“Are you working?”

“Not tomorrow night. No.” She’d just bought one of those Bedazzlers and wanted to glue tacky jewels on something. “November is typically a slow month for me.”

“Natalie has the flu.”

“Sorry.” Maybe a cheap ugly vase or better yet, glass votive candle holders. That could be cool, and she could use them at events. Maybe.

“So… can you bring Conner to the game?”

Or on pens and… “What? Whoa. No. I’m busy.”

“Doing what? You just said you’re not working.”

What did it matter? She didn’t owe him anything. “Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I’ve got a list of stuff.”

“Of course you do, but what’s on your list that’s more important than taking your son to a hockey game to watch me play?”

Just about everything, but to show him how low he was on her personal food chain, she said, “My Bedazzler.”

“Your what?”

“I got a Bedazzler, and I’m going to glue glass stones on a vase or something.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t owe you any explanation, Sam.” She stood and put a hand on her hip. “But if you want to know the truth, I hate hockey.”

“That’s like saying you hate Canada.”

“I’m not Canadian,” she pointed out.

“Conner is. Listen”—it sounded like he switched ears before he continued—“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m leaving Tuesday for a week.”

From the other side of Sam’s car she heard a little voice plead, “Please, Mommy.”

“That’s not fair, Sam.”

“I know.”

Of course he did, and he wasn’t sorry.

“You don’t have to stay the whole game,” he continued. “If you or Conner gets tired, you can leave. It’s just this one time, Autumn. I wouldn’t ask, but Conner really wants to see me put the big hurt on Sedin.”

“Conner doesn’t like violence.”

“It’s not violence. It’s hockey.”

Right. She was going to give him what he wanted this time, but she really didn’t want to, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “What do I get?”

There was a pause, then he asked, his voice a deep rasp in her ear, “What do you want, honey?”

She rolled her eyes. “I want you to stop pushing me. You’re spoiled and used to everyone’s doing things your way. I don’t work for you, and I’m not one of your women. My life does not revolve around your wants, needs, and desires.”

“Autumn,” he said through a sigh, “of all the women on the planet, I certainly know that your life does not revolve around my desires.”

“W
elcome to the Jungle” pounded the air inside the Key Arena in downtown Seattle. Two minutes into the second period, the score was even with two goals apiece. Walker and Vancouver player, Henrik Sedin, faced off behind the Chinooks’ blue line. The puck dropped, the music stopped, and the sound of Axl Rose was replaced by the slap of sticks on ice.

Sam sat on the bench and squirted water into his mouth. He spit between his feet and wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand.

“Henrik’s creating space and crowding the crease,” Mark Bressler said from behind Sam. “Tie him up and get him off Marty’s long side.”

Sam nodded, his eyes following the action on ice. The Canucks had speed in their front line, but their blue line wasn’t as fast. If the Chinooks kept the pressure on the defense and Luongo, they should give them a pretty good shellacking.

Beside him, Andre chirped at Burrows as he skated past the bench, “You’re next, nutless.”

Sam laughed and slid his gaze to the left corner behind the goal and landed on Autumn’s pink ball cap. It was like Autumn was incognito. Hat on, collar of her coat up, like she was a double agent and didn’t want anyone to recognize her. He guessed he was a little surprised that she wasn’t wearing that Pittsburgh jersey just to piss him off.

Sam felt a hand on his back, and he rose and shoved his mouth guard against his teeth. He and Vlad scissored over the wall, and he skated to the far side.

Vancouver’s Kesler brought the puck down ice, dangling the vulcanized rubber within the blade of his stick. Sam kept his gaze on Kesler’s face, reading him, and the second he looked down, Sam hip checked him against the boards. The Plexiglas rattled as he dug at the puck with the curved blade of his own stick. “You must love getting your ass handed to you,” he said as he slashed and hacked.

“Blow me, LeClaire.”

“You first, chicken shit.” He shot the puck along the alley to Daniel and took off toward the red line. The whistle blew, and the ref called offside.

He glanced at Conner and Autumn. His son waved a foam finger at him, and his heart swelled. The shadow of Autumn’s cap hid her eyes and touched the bow of her lips. He was grateful that, despite her obvious dislike of him and hockey, she’d brought Conner.

He circled back to the goal line and checked the tape on his stick. He really couldn’t ask for a better mother for his son, and as he passed Kesler, he bumped him with his shoulder. “My balls dangle better than you,” he said.

“Your balls dangle ’cause you’re an old man.”

Sam smiled. He remembered when he’d been twenty-five and cocky. Hell, he was still a little cocky sometimes. “Watch yourself, dipshit. The season is young, and the ice is slick.”

He stood near the goal line, shutting down firing lanes and waited. The puck dropped, Hendrik fed it back to Kesler, and from his right, Sam took a hard hit from Shane O’Brien that knocked him on his ass. He slid across the ice. His right shoulder slammed into the boards, and he heard the snap a split second before pain shot across his shoulder and down his arm. “Fuck.”

He tried to sit up and rolled onto his right side. Stars flashed in front of his eyes, and the whistles blew. He shook off his glove and gritted his teeth. “Son of a bitch!” The pain took his breath away, and he lay on his back and looked up at steel girders.
This isn’t good,
he thought. The arena was filled with the yelling of thousands of Chinook fans, and through it all, the pain and shock and the noise, he heard Conner. He heard his son’s fearful wail, but that was impossible. The roar of the crowd was too loud. Then Daniel’s and Vlad’s faces crowded his vision, followed shortly by Bressler and head trainer, Scott Silverman.

“Where are you hurt?” Scott asked.

“Shoulder. My clavicle. I heard the snap.”

“Can you move your hands and feet?”

“Yeah.” He’d broken enough bones that he recognized the signs, and he wondered how long this break would keep him on the injured list. How long before he would meet with O’Brien on the ice and kick his ass. “Help me up.”

Mark knelt beside him on one knee. “Just keep still and let Scott do his job.”

Sam shook his head and gritted his teeth against the pain of that simple act. “My kid’s here. I don’t want him to see me laid out on the ice.” And there was no way he’d let the bastards see how bad he was hurt. “Scott can do his job in the trainer’s room.” With his right hand, he pushed himself into sitting position. It hurt more than he let on. The last thing he wanted was to be taken out on the stretcher.

Scott wedged his shoulder beneath Sam’s right arm, and he was able to rise to his knees.

Fuck! Shit! Goddamn!

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”
Son of a bitch!
He rose to his feet, and the arena went crazy with applause. Slowly, he skated toward the bench, his left arm tight against his chest. He was in so much pain, it crowded the corners of his vision. But more than the pain, he was pissed. Pissed that a piss-headed pissant had blindsided him. Pissed that he was going to miss a month—if he was lucky. Pissed that it had happened in front of his son.

Doesn’t Have Other Girlfriends

(especially skinny girlfriends)

C
onner dropped Autumn’s fingers and pushed the elevator button. In his free hand, he held a little box with a cupcake inside. A brown cupcake with gummy worms and chocolate sprinkles that they’d made that morning and Conner had decorated himself. The door slid shut, and the two rode the elevator to the loft on the tenth floor. It was a little after ten in the morning. Normally, Conner would be in school, but after last night, he needed to see his father.

It had been well after one in the morning before he’d finally cried himself to sleep. He’d been so sure that Sam was dying. “They took him away in the amb-amb-lance,” he’d sobbed.

“That’s just because it’s more comfortable,” she’d lied in an effort to soothe him. Shortly after Sam had skated from the ice, someone from the Chinooks’ organization had found Autumn and Conner and told them that Sam was being transported to Harborview for tests and X-rays.

“I don’t thi-ink so, Mom.”

Conner was getting older and harder to trick, and those moments as they’d watched Sam laid out on the ice had been horrific for Conner. He’d burst into panicky tears, and Autumn had to admit that, even though she’d wished Sam harm on many occasions, the reality had given her a knot in her stomach.

“I want to go see my da-ad.”

“I’ll take you to see him in the morning,” she’d promised, even though hanging out at Sam’s was about the last thing she wanted to do.

The elevator opened, and they walked down a short hall. “Remember that we’re not staying long. Just long enough for you to see that your dad’s okay.” Conner rang the doorbell, and within a few short moments, Faith Savage answered, looking tall and gorgeous and pregnant. Autumn didn’t know who was more surprised. Her or the owner of the Chinooks.

“Well, hello, Autumn. You know Sam?”

“Yes. We have a son together.”

“I didn’t know that.” She lowered her gaze to Conner’s blond hair.

“Not many people do.” She put her hand on her son’s head. “Say hello to Mrs. Savage.”

“Hi.” Conner leaned to the left for a better peek into the loft. “How are you?”

Faith smiled. “I’m well. Thank you.” She stepped to one side, and Conner shot past her.

“Dad!”

Autumn moved into the entry and shut the door behind her. “How is Sam?”

“Cranky.” Faith looked over her shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Obviously, she didn’t know her and Sam’s relationship. “How are
you
feeling?” she asked Faith, as they moved into a living room filled with overstuffed leather furniture, a huge entertainment center, and a wall of windows looking out onto the city. The whole space was open and filled with expensive furnishings and art. Just the sort of bachelor pad she would expect of Sam.

“Good now. The first three months were a little rough. I just can’t imagine how horrible it must be for those poor women who are sick the entire nine months.”

Autumn laughed and raised her hand. “I was one of those women, and it
was
horrible.” She unzipped her black fleece jacket as the two moved to the open kitchen, where Sam and Conner stood at the counter. “Do you know if you’re having a boy or a girl?”

“Not yet. We’ve only had the first ultrasound.”

“Oh. I remember that one. Conner looked like a chicken nugget.” She laughed. “That’s why we call him Nugget.”

Sam looked up from the cupcake on the marble countertop. On the outside of his white T-shirt, he wore a figure-of-eight splint over his shoulders, and his left arm was in a sling held tight against his chest. The right side of the shirt was tucked into a pair of nylon running pants, while the left side hung down his hips. His hair was messed, and dark blond stubble shadowed his cheeks and chin. “I thought you called him Nugget ’cause he was conceived in Las Vegas.”

She glanced at Faith out of the corners of her eyes and shook her head. The night Conner was conceived in Vegas wasn’t something she wanted even to think about, let alone discuss. She and Sam had never talked about that time, and she didn’t want to start now. Especially in front of Faith Savage.

“I’ll let you enjoy time with your son,” Faith said as she moved toward a barstool and gathered her red wool coat and Hermès handbag. “Sam, you let me know if there is anything you need.”

“Thanks for coming by. I’ll see you out.” He moved toward her, but she held up a hand. “I can find my way. You rest.” She smiled at Autumn. “It was nice to see you again.”