Playing To Win Page 6

  “Talk soon and really, it was so nice to meet you,” I call to both of them and head out the door. I take two seconds outside to plaster my back to the wall and hang my head.

  As far as meeting the parents for the first time, it couldn’t have been more awkward.

  I’m in the elevator when my phone pings and I already know it’s Jude.

  Don’t know what just happened. But you and I aren’t over, Katie. Not by a long shot.

  Yeah. I was afraid it’d be something like this.

  8

  Katie

  The puck bounces off the board in front of us and is immediately followed by a Toronto player who slams into the wall, shoved by Strosnik, center for the Storm. This game is intense, and in the third period, Chicago is barely holding out the lead 2-1 with Toronto showing no sign of giving up. Dubiak, in front of the goal that we are sitting directly behind is doing a hell of a job holding his own though, already blocking twenty-six shots on goal.

  Lizzie picked me up earlier and we’ve been noshing on arena hot dogs and pretzels, cheering for the home team, sipping a beer while I manage to remember there’s a game going on.

  Jude texted last night, asking to let him know I at least got home safe and then he called this morning. I missed the call since he called while I was in the shower and I haven’t had the guts to call him back yet.

  He leaves me speechless, and I’m currently warring against taking a risk I think is a safe bet for my heart… but potential disaster for my career.

  I need guidance, and I’d talk to Lizzie, but I already know what she’s going to say.

  Leap. Trust your heart. Easy for her to say. Her company won’t fire her for dating a co-worker.

  A penalty is called on Toronto, and Ludwig, one of the meanest fighting defenseman in the league is hauled off to the sin bin. In front of us, Dubiak turns and grabs his Gatorade bottle, taking a full swig before nodding at Lizzie.

  “How many of his games do you come to?”

  It can’t be many. If it is, she doesn’t tell me, usually because she knows I won’t go. Tonight’s an exception and while I’m not regretting it, it’s bringing back a lot of memories of the last game I went to.

  The night I finally realized I was falling for Jude, way back when. After all these years, I’m still in free fall mode. I’m starting to think Jude might be worth any risk. I don’t want him to slip through my fingers again.

  “Oh, I don’t know. A few a year, I guess.”

  I bump her shoulder. Her cheeks are pink and I doubt it’s from the chill in the arena considering we’re bundled in sweatshirts, scarves, hats, and gloves. It may be a little overboard, but I don’t see the point in being unnecessarily cold. The winter here is hard enough.

  “You guys hang out lately?”

  Our heads zip back and forth as the play restarts. Hockey is a fast moving game and the puck is invisible half the time. I have no idea how these players can skate so fast on such thin blades much less follow the tiny chunk of hard rubber and know where it is at all times. I constantly feel like I’m searching for it among the mayhem.

  “Yeah. Dinner a few weeks ago. He was telling me about some girl he likes.”

  “Really?”

  “Works for one of their promotion companies. He met her at a signing they did at the sports store on Michigan Avenue.”

  “And he likes her enough to bring her up to you?”

  We jump as three bodies slam into the glass in front of us. Garrett gave us incredible seats. I feel like I’m right in the middle of the action but when fists start flying, I wish I was higher up. It’s distracting when I’m trying to figure out why Lizzie doesn’t look so thrilled about Garrett’s new interest.

  She shrugs and claps as the guys are pulled apart. One player from each team is thrown into the penalty box which means Toronto only has three players on the ice. Even with Chicago down one, they have a minute advantage to score.

  “I guess.” She stands on her feet and shouts for Chicago and the crowd around us goes wild. With only a few minutes left in the game, this is the perfect time for us to secure the win. Soon, the crowd is screaming so loud it’s a roar in my ears and I’ve all but forgotten my concern over Lizzie and Garrett.

  They’ve been friends for years and they’ve even hung out together when either of them are dating someone else. I’m probably reading into it.

  A Chicago player pulls back his stick at mid-ice and slams it forward. The puck whips across the ice, through the skates of a Toronto player who’s pushed out of the way at the last possible nanosecond but they’ve blocked the goalie’s view and it flies into the upper left corner, right past his glove as he reaches for it.

  We score. The lights flash and horn blares and I forget, for a moment, all my worries and fears and cheer along with the thousands of fans packing the arena. Hockey fans are extra and soon it feels like the arena is shaking from the thunderous noise.

  Three minutes later and the game is over. The team is lined up, all slapping Dubiak on the helmet for a great game and as they skate off the ice, he turns and tips his head in our direction before following them toward the locker room. I really only know Garrett as the big burly guy who took care of the cash at the hockey house’s keg parties, but he’s always seemed like a decent guy.

  “Come on.” Lizzie tugs on my sweatshirt. “We’re meeting the team out afterward—”

  “Lizzie.” A bar filled with hockey players hopped up on adrenaline after an underdog win against the best team in their division? It’ll be a madhouse filled with broad shoulders, egos, and puck bunnies dressed like they’re ready to hit the beach.

  “You’re coming.” She grabs her coat and as she’s tugging it on she scowls at me. “And on the way you’re going to tell me why you’re being such a grump tonight.”

  “I’m not—”

  “You are.”

  She’s right. I’ve tried to hide it and I wouldn’t say grump as much as I’d say distracted.

  “It might have to do with an injured guy with the number ten on the back of his black and gold jersey.”

  I don’t necessarily expect a compassionate hug or anything, but I definitely don’t expect her to throw her head back and laugh hysterically. “No shit, Katie.”

  I’ve never once in my life begrudged my friends for things they have that I don’t and never did. Case and point, Lizzie’s father is some vice president of a pharmaceuticals company and she grew up in Glencoe, one of the wealthiest suburbs in not only Chicago, but the country. Her house is a gleaming white monstrosity with a pool, basketball and tennis courts in the back yard, entrance only allowed through a double gated entrance. I assume Jude’s life is no different, except possibly more extravagant considering his dad made millions more a year than I’m sure Lizzie’s dad does.

  I don’t dislike or like people because of what they have, who they come from, or whatever.

  It is, however, frustrating when they don’t understand the reality of where I come from. That I can’t always throw my hands in the air and enjoy the ride of life when I know exactly how you can end up when you become too adventurous without worrying about a safety net. It means growing up, living in a 1993 Buick LaSabre, spending most nights sleeping in the backseat and worrying about where breakfast is going to come from before you head off to the sixth school you’ve attended in a year.

  I know Lizzie gets frustrated with my need for something normal or stable. But that’s because she’s always had it. And if she were to decide tomorrow to up and quit her job, she has a trust fund and family to fall back on for both financial and emotional support until she can get back on her feet.

  Which is why we spend most of the cab ride over to Hennessy’s, an Irish Pub a few miles north of the United Center, arguing about my hesitation to give in to all things Jude.

  “It’s my career.” I stress the word. “It means risking my license, the one thing I went to school for. If someone finds out, Lizzie, it doesn’t mean losing my job
and being out of work a few weeks until I can find a new one, it means being unemployable. Period.” Just talking about this has me envisioning a diet of ramen noodles and instant mac n cheese. I fist my hands together to beat back my anxiety and fear over it.

  “Do you know what your problem is?”

  “No, Lizzie. Please, tell me what my problem is.”

  “It’s that you always assume the sky is going to fall and collapse right onto you.”

  Lizzie has many qualities I absolutely adore. Her loyalty and compassion. Her sense of humor. Subtlety has never been and will be scratched onto that list.

  “Thanks, Lizzie.”

  She bumps my shoulder with hers. The bar is up ahead and I can tell not because I’ve been here before but because of the line down the block, filled with fans decked out in red and blue, Chicago Storm’s colors.

  The cab pulls to a stop and after we pay and climb out, Lizzie throws her arm over my shoulder, pulling me until our heads are touching. “I’m only saying you spend too much time living in fear of what will happen if the bottom falls out, and not enough considering what if something good actually happens to you.” She pulls back and scrunches her lips. “I get it’s hard. I know what your life was like, but that was then and this is now. You don’t still have to keep living like you’re going to be sleeping in a beat up Buick.”

  “No, it’ll be a six-year-old Honda Pilot if I lose my therapy license.”

  She laughs quietly and stops before we reach the crowd and the doors. I tug my hat down over my ears and tighten my scarf. “You think for one second I’d give you this advice and not be there for you if something like that happened? You always say my family has my back, but you forget that I have yours. And it doesn’t matter, anyway. I don’t think you have to worry about it at all. What I said the other night still stands. You give Jude a chance, he’ll have you wrapped in bubble wrap so quick, you’ll never have to worry about getting hurt or the world spontaneously combusting again.”

  I’ve spent enough time trying to figure out what would happen if Jude and I try again. Mostly, I end up thinking what would happen if it doesn’t work out, and a little about what if it does.

  Perhaps Lizzie’s right, although I don’t like to think of myself as a half-glass empty person. Her point is clear, again, and she can’t solve my problem anyway.

  Only Jude and I can do that, but in order to do so, I’m really going to have to stop running away from him and hiding and actually deal with it.

  “Let’s go drink,” I say instead. Not only can I use it, avoidance is apparently a skill I’ve mastered and one more night won’t kill me.

  Dark brown eyes surrounded by thick short lashes squint at me. The owner of those eyes tips his beer in my direction. “Do I know you?”

  His lips twitch, fighting a grin.

  I throw my arms around Garrett and squeeze him tight. “Long time no see, super star goalie stud.”

  “Ah. Compliments from a stranger are nice, coming from a beautiful woman, they’re even nicer.” He drops his arm and squeezes me back, his hand is low at my back and tight. I’ve never considered Garrett particularly attractive. He’s more bruiser than fitness model cover worthy but he’s always come across as a decent guy. He’s had his nose broken a few times before I ever met him in college, so it has an odd slant to it and his jaw sticks out a bit too far. But he’s a massive, six-foot-three inch tall broad chested and thick-gutted man. With the flexibility of a ballet dancer. I’ve seen the way he stretches and spreads those legs on the ice during warm-ups.

  It’s the hottest thing about him and more than once Lizzie and I have joked that he knows how to use those hips to maximum pleasure.

  “It’s good to see you too.”

  He’s holding me to his chest, his hand at my back now a large paw at the back of my head. Lizzie has gone to get us another round but the hug he gave her was twice as long and half as friends-only friendly. “Where you been, Kate? I was beginning to think you hated me.” His mouth quirks and he takes a large drink of his beer. “But I think maybe you were running, eh?”

  “I only run when chased, Dubiak.”

  He shakes his head, takes another sip and slowly lets me go. “You seen him?”

  “Yeah. A couple of times. He’s actually a patient at my office.”

  “So he’s getting the best therapists in the country then, eh?”

  Dubiak’s originally from Toronto and it doesn’t matter how many times I hear his accent; it still makes me giggle.

  “We’re trying anyway. Have you seen him? He didn’t mention anything.”

  “Actually no.” He sets his beer down and the friendliness in his eyes darkens, making him seem a little scary, a little lost. “From what I’ve gathered though, he’s ignoring everyone. The guys on his team, his brother. Me. Think this shit is really getting to his head. The fear of what might happen.”

  Maybe Jude and I are more alike than I thought.

  “He’ll be good, Garrett. Everything I’ve seen and heard, he’s doing exactly what he’s supposed to. It will just take some time.”

  “Not good for a man like us to be sitting around, feeling sorry for ourselves, though.”

  “Then go see him. Pound his door down if you have to.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you? He hasn’t even told me that.”

  My chest tightens. Is he that scared he’s hiding that much? He hasn’t seemed all that different to me when I’ve seen him and yeah, I’ve asked Logan. Everything seems to be on track with his flexibility as it should be at this stage. We won’t know more about strength for weeks yet and even that will change over time. Eventually he’ll head back to the team, I know this. Although it still makes me wonder why he’s even here.

  And I’m ashamed that I haven’t asked why he came to Chicago for therapy and didn’t stay in Charlotte. Surely the doctors near there and at Duke would have been just as good, if not even better.

  My head is suddenly spinning. We talked about his time on the team, but not how he’s feeling now, and I glance down at my beer. I’m not really thirsty anymore or feeling like running.

  “Phone.” I hold out my hand to Dubiak.

  “Ma’am, yes ma’am.” He teases, but I suppose I do sound bossy. I type in my number and send a text to my phone.

  “I’ll text you his address. Will you make sure Lizzie gets home all right?”

  She’s still at the end of the bar, but she’s no longer solely waiting for a drink. Two guys in jerseys which means they’re fans and not players are looming close. She’s doing that smile and hair behind the ear tuck girls master as soon as we learn the word flirt.

  “Oh yeah.” His voice dips to dangerously low levels and his glare at the men next to her is hot enough to set them on fire. “I’ll take care of her.”

  I pat his shoulder and push to my toes. He’s so much taller than me he has to bend down so I can kiss his cheek. “I’ll send his address, but I got something to do—”

  “Something or someone?”

  “You’re a good man, Garrett.” I’m totally ignoring him now. “Take care of our girl, yeah?”

  “Don’t let it be two more years until I see you again and I’ll promise to.”

  He’ll take care of her either way. “You got it, stud. Awesome game tonight.”

  We part ways and before I’m outside the packed bar, sliding and slithering and pushing through the crowd while I focus on my phone and order an Uber. Then I send Jude’s address to Garrett, and text Jude.

  You better be awake and alone. You and I need to talk.

  It takes a few minutes and I’m already in the backseat of my Toyota Prius Uber ride when he responds.

  Warning: You show up at my place at this hour and we’re going to do more than talk.

  My thighs clench together and my face heats so warm I unwrap my scarf.

  Yeah, giving Jude a chance doesn’t seem quite so scary.

  9

  Jude
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  She’s right. We do need to talk. We also need to discuss the fact that she keeps running from me. Katie is still the same girl she used to be, and I’m done chasing her, despite the fact I’ve beaten it to the thought of her for days. She needs to be the one to make the first step which is why despite what I’ve wanted to do all day, which is hunt her down and haul my ass to her place, I stepped back.

  Now, she’s been warned. She shows up at my house at ten on a Saturday night, looking even a hint as cute as she did during the game—because yeah, I watched it, and saw her next to Lizzie more than once—my mouth is taking hers as soon as she steps over the threshold.

  Chasing Katie is almost as scary as playing in the pros. You never know what’s going to happen tomorrow but if I can finally crack through these walls of hers, I know the reward and promise of hers will be sweeter than the millions accumulating in my bank account.

  I have no idea where she was when she texted, but the game got over an hour ago and it’s not all that far away. Accounting for traffic and her needing to find a ride, I head to my bedroom and clean myself up a bit. I showered earlier after I did what workouts I could, and I’m able to put more weight on my knee to move a little bit faster, but after weeks in this apartment that isn’t even home, I’m starting to feel like I’m constantly reeking like sweat and boredom.

  Some part of me wishes I’d fought Coach more and stayed in Charlotte to rehab.

  Another part wishes I never would have told Mom to take off. At least then she’d give me something to laugh about on the regular.

  Being alone and scared and in pain sucks balls.

  I splash water in my hair and give it a quick comb out and toss some styling cream into it. After giving my teeth another quick brush, I make my bed and throw my clothes into my hamper.