On the Surface (In the Zone) (12 page)

Chapter Seventeen

The players’ area of the Mesa Arena was a rabbit warren of rooms, each with a specific purpose. Tim, Jason and Alex were headed for the coaches’ room. They’d gotten word Coach Marchand wanted to see them after they finished cooling down from the physicals.

They found Marchand sitting in a swivel chair at a bank of built-in desks. When they entered, he gestured for them to take seats at the table in the center of the room. Tim spied several video monitors and some recording equipment. Jason had mentioned that once the season started, each player would receive a DVD of every one of his shifts for review. Tim looked forward to that. Easier to correct mistakes when you saw yourself making them from a bird’s-eye view.

None of the three knew what to expect, but as Marchand rolled his chair over to the table, he wore an expression as serious as a hostage situation.

“All right, guys, what’s going on?”

Tim looked at his friends. They shrugged. Jason said, “I don’t know. What’s going on?”

Marchand took a clipboard from the table and perused it. “Smithy couldn’t believe the scores you got today, and frankly, neither can I.” He put the clipboard back down and slid it toward them. Tim pulled it in for a closer look.

Had their scores been unbelievable in a bad way or in a good way? Tim didn’t know. They’d been hustled from station to station to perform the different tasks and the only person you could compare yourself to was the guy directly before you. But without the hard numbers, that comparison was only an impression.

“What’s the problem, Coach?” Jason asked.

Marchand took a deep breath. “Shit. I can’t believe I have to ask this, but are you fucking around with steroids?”

Tim looked up sharply from the clipboard. Jason and Alex looked at each other and grinned. Tim actually chuckled.

“You mind letting me in on the fucking joke?” Marchand asked. “Because last time I checked we weren’t playing fucking baseball. Varuk gave me cups for you three to piss in.” The coach reached over to his desk, grabbed the cups and slapped them on the table.

“Coach, we’re not doping. Swear to God,” Alex said. “We’re just working out.”

Jason quickly explained what they’d been doing at Power Play, all the specialized drills, the extra time, even the post-workout smoothies.

“Wait a second,” Marchand said. “These two, the Youngs, whipped you into the shape you’re in today, even though most of the time they work with little kids?”

“Teens mostly. They’re just getting started,” Jason said.

“And this is the result,” Marchand said, having picked up the score sheets to scan them one more time. “What’s in the smoothies?”

“Weird-ass health-food shit,” Alex said. “Don’t ask.”

Tim said, “Wheat grass. Protein powder. Lots of fruit.”

“You’re sure about that. They’re not spiking them with anything fishy?”

“Maybe fish oil,” Tim said.

Alex made a gagging noise. “God, I wish you hadn’t told me that.”

“Well, fuck me.” Marchand looked up. “We should hire these two for the team.” He made a note on the clipboard.

“You know, it wasn’t all them,” Alex protested. “We did some of the work.”

After providing the urine samples, they went to Tim’s new place to celebrate. Both Jason and Alex raved about how great it looked. They loved the silvery Barracudas in the aquarium.

“You should see those fuckers eat,” Tim said. “They are vicious fast. One second there’s a little fish, the next it’s gone.”

Over grilled chicken and beer, they shot the breeze and made predictions about what the coming season would bring. They also decided to keep up the pace at Power Play when time allowed, but with all the preseason hoopla scheduled, their workouts with Nick and Kyla would not be as frequent. Tim didn’t worry about that too much. He’d achieved what he’d set out to do, which was ace the physical. From now on, he’d rely on Power Play to maintain.

Tomorrow, the team would actually work together on the ice for the first time. Tim felt eager and anxious. His accomplishment today was only the beginning. As one of the new guys at the tail end of his career, he’d have to prove his worth every day. He faced an uphill battle, but he relished the challenge. The day he didn’t would be the day he retired.

* * *

Erin had a good time with Tammy, and San Francisco was one of the most beautiful cities in the world with plenty to do and see, but knowing Tim waited for her back home took some of the shine off the trip. The satisfaction she felt at finishing her thirty hours of continuing education didn’t really compare to the anticipation she felt at seeing him again. She found herself wishing she hadn’t committed to those three extra “fun” days and could go home instead.

Unfortunately, the first opportunity they could see each other was four days after she got home. While she was at home sleeping, Tim was so busy working his butt off at training camp, he couldn’t even send her funny texts. Then at night, he was so exhausted, he could barely catch up with her on the phone. One night he fell asleep while she was talking. She was in the middle of a story about Beanie, the service dog, refusing to leave a patient who was about to undergo a painful procedure.

“Poor thing,” she’d said. “Alyssa was almost hysterical and the dog calmed her down. I swear those animals are like magic sometimes. He sensed Alyssa needed him and even after she’d settled, it took them ten minutes to coax him down from the bed and even then, we had to hold him back from following the gurney down the hall. Isn’t that amazing?”

No reply.

“Tim?”

Nothing.

“Tim? Are you there?”

That’s when she heard his soft snore. She’d laughed in sympathy. The poor man was pushing himself to his uppermost limits, trying to impress the coaches and show everyone he still had what it took.

The next day, Tim sent her flowers at work. Somehow he’d found out gerbera daisies were her favorite. She accused Tammy of telling him, but Tammy denied it.

Sorry I fell asleep on you
,
sweetheart
, the card read.
I’ll make it up to you when camp’s over.
PROMISE.

Adrian saw the flowers and didn’t say anything, but the next day he asked her out for lunch. Their earlier date never ended up materializing. He’d had to cancel at the last minute, and sadly, Erin had felt slightly relieved. Even so, she accepted this time and enjoyed herself. They talked shop. She told him about the conference, and he commiserated, having his own license to uphold. But she felt zero electricity when he gave her a gentlemanly kiss on the cheek at the end of the date.

When the big night with Tim finally arrived, she had to force herself not to stand by the window to look for his SUV. Instead, she checked and rechecked her appearance. He’d told her he’d pick her up at five and to dress casual. She put on her good jeans but paired them with some rockin’ heels. Underneath she wore a matching bra-and-undies set that she’d bought for the occasion, because barring unforeseen circumstances, she and Tim were going to bed together tonight. She’d taken pains to put fresh sheets on the bed and stock stuff for breakfast. He had a free day tomorrow and so did she. The stars had aligned.

When she opened the door to his knock, they stood looking at each other for a moment before he said, “Come here, you,” pulled her completely off the ground into his arms, and kissed her like a starving man.

She wanted to cry it felt so good, so right. She had her own arms wrapped around him so tightly she would have worried, except that he felt like a granite mountain. She wrapped her legs around him too so the ridge of his erection pressed right where it did her the most good.

“Aw, fuck,” he exclaimed, grabbing her behind with one hand and supporting her back with the other. He planted his open mouth on her neck, kissing and sucking and talking about how much he’d missed her.

Until the door to Louise Crawford’s apartment opened.

With burning cheeks, Erin thrust herself away from Tim and attempted to look casual. “Hi, Louise.”

“Hi, Erin.”

“Er, this is Tim Hollander,” she said as she reached inside her apartment and grabbed her purse. “Tim, Mrs. Crawford.”

Tim put his hands in his pockets and gave her that disarmingly charming grin of his. “Nice to meet you,” he said.

“Call me Louise,” she said. “You kids going out?”

Erin looked to Tim who nodded. “Gaetano’s. They’re supposed to have great lasagna.”

“I love lasagna!” Erin said.

Tim smiled. “I know.”

“Well, you two have fun.” Louise gave Erin a wink that had Erin grabbing Tim’s hand and pulling him down the stairs as quickly as she could.

Once inside his car, he didn’t start it right away. “I have something I have to tell you, and I don’t want you to be mad.”

She went still, worried that the evening she’d looked forward to for so long was in jeopardy. “What is it?”

He half turned in his seat. “I have to do an appearance after dinner, a sort of celebrity coach kind of thing. Calder Griffin—the guy who was signing with me at Q Burger—he was supposed to do a short half-hour practice with a Mite team at the BIC—”

“The BIC?”

“The Barracuda Ice Center. But he’s got a killer sinus infection, so I told him I’d fill in.” Tim rubbed a thumb over the ignition key. “I couldn’t stand the idea of all those kids being disappointed. They still might be disappointed, though. Griff’s one of the most popular players, kind of a hotshot.”

“Is that all? I thought you were going to say something like you’d have to leave right after dinner because of some last-minute team event.”

“So, you’re not mad? It’ll only be an hour or so.”

“Tim, it’s fine. I waited eleven days. I can wait an hour.”

* * *

Gaetano’s was a small homey place with traditional Italian fare and candles on the table. They both ordered the lasagna Bolognese. As they ate their salads, Erin filled him in on how Luke was doing with his new heart.

“Can he have visitors yet?” Tim asked. “Because I want to bring a few of the guys with me. Jason and Alex for sure. A few more if I can swing it.”

“Maybe you’ll want to wait until he’s discharged then,” Erin said. “The room’s not all that big.”

Tim breathed a sigh of relief. Since meeting Erin, he thought he was getting better at controlling the anxiety he felt going into the hospital, but that didn’t mean he was easy-breezy about it. He’d just as soon—

He straightened in his seat. “Hey, I just got an idea. Do you think he’ll be able to skate when he gets out? Because I haven’t forgotten what I wrote in that note to him. I was thinking, maybe he could come by the BIC to quote ‘watch us practice’ and then we could get him out on the ice and give him some pointers. Like what I’m doing tonight with those little Mite guys, but in reverse. Only one of him but a bunch of us.”

Erin’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Tim, he would love that! You have no idea how much he loves hockey. He asks me all the time when you’re going to bring that poster back.”

Tim winced. “I keep meaning to bring that to you, and I keep forgetting. I promise I’ll get it to you ASAP.”

The waiter placed dishes of lasagna in front of Erin and then Tim. They looked fantastic, just the right proportion of pasta, meat sauce and gooey, melted cheese. Tim was hungry and he nodded his thanks to the waiter. The coaches had worked them hard at training camp. He cut a bite with his fork and watched the steam rise. Two hours of intense on-ice work. A lot of focus on penalty kills, an area the Barracudas had really—

He heard a moan of delight. Looked up.

Erin’s tongue flicked out to swipe a string of melted cheese, and that was it. Tim forgot all about camp that day. He forgot dinner. He forgot that they were in a restaurant surrounded by other diners. The only thing he could think about was Erin’s tongue and all the places on his body he wanted her to use it.

“This is so good,” she said. Her tongue came out again, sweeping across her lower lip.

Discreetly, he pulled on his pant leg to try and give his dick some more room and mumbled something about being glad she was enjoying it. They ate in silence for a few moments, talked about other lasagnas that hadn’t measured up. He kept his eyes on his food, on the other diners, on the flickering flame of the candle—anywhere but her mouth.

“So I was wondering how long you’ve been playing hockey, as a professional.”

“About thirteen years. I started with the New York Rangers and played for them for seven years. I played for Chicago for six, and now I’m here in San Diego.”

“Thirteen years is a long time. How much of your life do you think you’ve spent on ice?”

“I never thought about it before.” He put his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. He’d scraped his dish clean. “It’s hard to say. During the season, a lot. Off-season, not so much. If we make the playoffs, even more. Thousands of hours, I guess.”

“I bet the skates feel like an extension of your foot. Like you’re...” She slapped one palm against the other, as if trying to sweep a puck off into the distance. “Blademan, able to skate across the rink in two seconds.”

He laughed and looked away, smiling.

“I, on the other hand, look like a complete dork on ice skates. I’ve never been athletic.” She only had a couple of bites left.

“Oh, I bet you’re a better skater than you let on.”

“No.” She shook her head. “I’m seriously not.”

“You just didn’t have a good teacher.”

“I didn’t have any teacher.”

He grinned. “You do now.”

“Oh, no. No, you can’t be serious.”

“I am completely serious. It’s only six-fifteen. We have a lot of time to kill before my thing starts.”

“Tim, no. I’ll look ridiculous.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll distract them.” He signaled the waiter for the check. “And if they laugh at you, I’ll punch ’em in the face.”

Chapter Eighteen

Not quite believing she was going along with it, Erin followed Tim into the Barracuda Ice Center. He’d exchanged his button-down for a jersey with his name and number on it, and he had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Upbeat music and voices, mostly belonging to kids, echoed in the cavernous building. She saw a store to one side, posters and signs advertising this or that program, figure skating and hockey. Life-sized cardboard cutouts of individual Barracudas stood here and there, each player captured in action, their faces intent and focused.

Erin didn’t really want to skate, but Tim seemed to have his heart set on it. He went to the counter and rented skates for her while she sat on a bench off to the side.

“Oh, darn. I don’t have socks,” she said when he returned.

“Never fear,” he said, pulling a pair out of his back pocket. “I bought you some.”

He sat down next to her, pulled his skates out of his duffel and quickly laced them up.

“Tim, no one over the age of fifteen is on the ice.” She slowly wove the laces through the hooks at the top of her skate.

“It doesn’t matter. It’ll be fun.” He patted her leg. “Come on.”

She stood up and wobbled. He looked so at home. She envied his easy confidence. She herself felt like Frankenstein’s monster, lumbering across the rubber mats on feet that didn’t belong to her. He steadied her as he led her to the opening where she could step onto the ice of the smallest of the three rinks.

“I don’t like this. I don’t like this.” She stepped onto the slippery ice. “I really don’t like this. Don’t let go of me, Tim.”

“I won’t. You’re doing fine. Just relax. Hold onto me. I’ll do all the work.” His voice was low and gentle as he somehow swung his skates back and forth to propel himself backward as she faced him. She had a death grip on his forearms and her entire body felt stiff and awkward.

“I’m going to fall right on my butt and it’s going to hurt like a son of a bitch,” she said.

“No, you won’t. I won’t let you. I told you, I’ll take care of you. Your butt is in good hands.”

“Not yet, it’s not,” she muttered.

They approached the curve of the oval and she tensed up. “Not so fast!” she said, and he slowed. Kids whizzed by them like they were on the freeway and she was a little old lady from Pasadena puttering along in the slow lane. She noticed a few girls in the center, practicing stuff like they did in the Olympics, spins and single jumps.

“You should try moving your feet,” Tim said. “Little pushes. Right, left. Right, left.”

“No, wait. Wait until we’re on the straightaway.”

She darted glances at the other skaters. Some of the boys were slowing and whispering to each other as they passed them. They were decked out in hockey paraphernalia, so Erin hoped they were part of that team he was supposed to meet at seven-thirty. Then she could just go sit down, like she’d originally intended.

“Okay, here we go. Little push right,” Tim said. “Little push left. Good. That’s it. Right, left. Right, left. Nice and slow. Right, left.”

He pulled her arms as she did her pushes, which caused her body to sway back and forth. She began to relax a little. Of course, that’s the moment when her skate slipped. She gave a little shriek and Tim tightened his grip on her arms and righted her before she could fall.

“I gotcha,” he said.

Her heart jumped into a rapid rhythm. He was so close. His nearness made her forget who and where she was. Tachycardia. Amnesia. Possibility of a broken coccyx. No doubt about it, the man was dangerous.

She gestured with her head to the right. “Let’s go get some cocoa now,” she suggested. “The snack bar is right there. I bet it’s nice and warm up there.”

“Come on, Erin, not yet. You can’t quit yet. You’re getting the hang of it.”

Reluctantly, she decided she didn’t want him to think she was a quitter, so she concentrated again on her pushes, swaying again, and trying to stand upright, instead of leaning forward with her behind sticking out behind her like the end of a ski jump. She noticed they’d almost completed one lap.

“Watch out!” someone yelled.

Tim reacted quickly. He pulled her close to him and pivoted as an out-of-control skater sped past them toward the exit. The little girl slammed into the boards with a laugh and hopped off the ice.

“You okay?” he asked Erin.

“I’m fine.”

Except being in his arms, her face against his big, solid chest, made her legs wobbly for a different reason. She looked up at him and his expression changed. He pulled her a little more tightly against him. She still wanted to climb him like a tree, but she didn’t particularly like public displays of affection, especially in front of little kids. Like the breathless hockey boy who’d skated up next to them.

“Hey, um, you’re Tim Hollander, aren’t you?”

Tim made sure Erin was steady before letting her go. “Let me check,” he said, twisting his head as if he were trying to read the name on his shoulders. “Yeah, that’s me all right. What’s your name, kid?”

“Stephen Shaw.”

Tim bumped fists with him, then pointed to the other four kids hovering a little farther away. They wore jerseys that matched Stephen’s, white with royal blue and black. “Are you guys the Orcas?”

“Yeah,” they responded.

“Griff—Mr. Griffin got sick and couldn’t come,” Tim said. “I’m filling in for him.”

Whining. Sighs. A general sense of disappointment, just like Tim had predicted. Except for Stephen, who seemed more mature than the rest of them.

Erin got irritated. She was used to dealing with whiny kids. She’d learned over the years that if she coddled her patients completely, letting them have whatever they wanted just because they were sick or injured, many of them took advantage and turned into little despots. Kids needed adults to set the limits.

“Hey, knock it off,” she said. “Mr. Hollander had other plans that he postponed just so he could come here and give you some hockey pointers.”

“Yeah, come on, guys,” the Shaw kid said. “He won the Maurice Richard trophy for scoring.”

“Wow.”

“Cool.”

“How many did you get?” one boy asked.

“Fifty-seven.”

The whiners looked impressed.

“There,” she said. “How many of you want to learn how to score fifty-seven goals?”

All their hands shot up.

“But we don’t have any pucks. Coach Mikey has the pucks and he’s not here yet.”

Tim chuckled. Now the boys seemed anxious to get started. “Then we have to wait until Coach Mikey gets here.” He glanced at his watch. “Ten more minutes. In the meantime, I have to finish Erin’s skating lesson.”

“She needs it,” someone muttered.

Tim nailed the kid with a frown. “Hey. Show some respect. What we do is hard. Not everyone can do it.”

“Sorry, Mr. Hollander,” the kid said, contrite.

“Don’t say sorry to me. Say it to Erin.”

“Sorry, Erin.”

“It’s okay.”

“And call me Holly. It’s short for Hollander,” he explained when the kids snickered.

“My sister’s a worse skater,” one boy said. “My dad too. My mom won’t even put the skates on at all.”

There was general agreement on moms and their dislike of skating. That made Erin feel better.

“Yeah, at least she’s out here giving it a try,” Tim said with what Erin thought was pride. “Twenty more minutes and she’ll be zipping around on her own. I guarantee it.”

“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head.

But the boys suddenly rallied behind her. They circled like her own private cheerleading squad. She exchanged a look with Tim. He shrugged as if he hadn’t had a hand in any of it.

“You can do this.” He switched places to skate beside her now and only took one of her hands. “You’re braver than you think.”

“Come on, Erin, you can do it!”

With an expression that was part frown, part smile and a whole lot of concentration, she pushed off with one foot, then the other. She still relied heavily on Tim’s strong arm, but this time she tried harder to find her own balance. By the time they’d gone around another time, she was only nominally using Tim to steady herself. He squeezed her hand in encouragement as the boys slowly flanked them.

“You’re doing fantastic, Erin. When we get even with the lockers, I’m going to let go. I know you can do it. You’re a natural.”

“A natural what?” she asked, laughing. Despite the pressure to perform in front of her new fans, she had to admit she was having fun. Reminding herself that she was braver than she thought, she resisted the temptation to skate over to the opening in the boards and exit the rink. She didn’t protest when Tim released her hand. She kept skating with her arms stuck out for balance and every muscle of her core taut. Her entire upper body didn’t move. Only her legs did.

But it worked.

“I’m doing it,” she said softly, as if raising her voice would jinx it.

“You’re absolutely doing it. I knew you could.”

The kids started whooping it up, skating circles around her and cheering. “Er-IN! Er-IN!”

The laughter bubbled up out of her as she realized her fear had disappeared. Tim pumped a fist, his eyes meeting hers even though a dozen kids zipped in and out and around like excited puppies. One of the kids had found a Sharpie pen and was tugging on Tim’s jersey, wanting him to sign his hockey stick.

“You go around, Erin, while I sign sticks.” After Erin nodded, he spoke to the group. “I’ll sign stuff for as long as it takes for her to do a lap.”

A sudden scramble ensued. The Orcas herded Tim to the boards. As she progressed slowly around the oval, their coach arrived with a sack of equipment, little orange cones and a pile of pucks. She saw them gather around him as he shook Tim’s hand and heartily thanked him for coming.

A voice over the loudspeaker announced the rink was now closed to everyone but the Orca team until eight. Erin glanced at Tim just as someone leaving the ice shot past her a little too close and caused her to lose her balance. Her cry of alarm alerted Tim who looked up and immediately grasped the situation. He was already pushing past the coach before she hit the ice. As predicted, she fell right on her butt. Her left cheek took most of the punishment, her elbow, the rest. Tim went to his knees and his momentum took him the rest of the way.

“Erin! Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

He helped her to her feet and pivoted to examine her behind. She started slapping the ice off it, but he said, “Why don’t you let me do that?” The devilish grin on his face told her he was more interested it fondling her than seeing to her injuries. His hand lingered as he gently brushed the white crystals off her pants. To her surprise, right there in the middle of a freezing ice rink, she got overheated. His touch excited her. Having his big hand almost caressing her made her think about the last time he had his hand on her ass. But his intense gaze really turned up the flame. He didn’t say a word, but she got the message. He wanted to take off all their clothes, hers damp now from the ice, and cover her naked body with his. She could imagine how hot his skin was and she all of a sudden couldn’t wait to run her hands over all that muscle.

A skidding stop that sprayed shredded ice broke them up.

“She okay?” one of the Orcas asked.

“I’m fine.” She tried to act normal even though her pants were getting damp from more than the fall.

“Good,” the boy said. “Holly, come on. Let’s go.”

“Be there in a minute,” he said.

“Go on,” Erin said. “I’ll just sit and watch.”

He blew out a breath. “I’d like to, but I just need a minute to get presentable.” He tugged on the right leg of his jeans and flexed his knees.

She realized he must be just as excited as she was.

“I’m really regretting saying yes to this now,” he said. “If I hadn’t, we could have been naked in bed by now.”

She felt twitch of impatience down below but smiled at him. “No. This is great. It’s important. Let the kids have this half hour. Then we’ll have the rest of the night to ourselves. Think of it as foreplay,” she said with a laugh.

His lips turned upward, but his eyes narrowed. “Sweetheart, this is not foreplay. I’ll show you foreplay. I’ll foreplay you all the way into tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Absolutely.”