Between a Jock and a Hard Place: A Romance Novella (4 page)

Jack checked his watch. He was cutting
it fine, but something had lured him outside for a walk. “Sure, pal,” he said
out loud, looking around to make sure no-one had heard. That’s all he needed,
for someone to report that Jack Logan had been seen talking to himself.

Just a few more steps, then he’d stop
looking for her. Of course her ankle might still be bothering her... he hadn’t
thought of that.

Maybe this was karma, trying to tell him
something. He shouldn’t be here, hoping to see Claire when he had a girlfriend.
As a matter of fact, he had a date tonight. So why wasn’t he looking forward to
it? He...

“Hello John.”

He looked up, and all thoughts of Melody
flew out of his head.

“Claire!” He looked down at her ankle.
“How’s the ankle?”

“Not too bad.” She scanned the seawall
behind him. “Although I was about to turn around.”

“I don’t have a vehicle today, but may I
walk back with you?”

Her cheeks turned delightfully pink.
Jack couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen a girl blush, and he liked it.
But now that she was walking beside him, he didn’t know what to say.

“I was thinking about you yesterday,” he
said finally.

“Oh?”

“Yes. I was thinking about our
conversation the other day. The part about hockey violence, specifically.”

She slanted a look up at him, but didn’t
say anything.

“I heard about a young chap in the
minors who got boarded. He’s out for the rest of the year.” He was warming to
his subject. “When it comes to something like that, I can’t blame the public
for getting up in arms.”

She nodded. “I heard about that too.”
She was torn. She wanted to tell him about Cam, but she’d been adamant with the
newspaper about the confidentiality of the blog, and it didn’t seem right to
break that now. “It isn’t fair.”

“No, it’s not.” He gave her a lopsided
grin. “At least we can agree on that.”

Claire’s ankle was starting to ache and
she was relieved when they came to a bench. “I think I’ll sit for a while,” she
said. “You go on ahead.”

He glanced at his watch. “I don’t want
to leave you here.”

“I’ll be fine in a minute.” She nodded
toward her apartment building. “I’m just over there.”

He grinned. “Yes, I remember.”

She sat and he towered over her. “Go,”
she said. “I saw you looking at your watch earlier.”

“I do have a meeting in half an hour and
I need to change.” He put one foot up on the bench and leaned in toward her.
“Will I see you again?” Was that a flash of interest in her eyes? He hoped so.

“That would be nice.” She gave a small,
shy shrug. “I’m not hard to find.”

“Good.” He leaned closer and brushed his
lips against hers. “I’ll call you.”

He walked away and turned off the path
near his building. Before rounding the corner, he looked back. He’d hoped to
find her watching him, but she was gazing out to the ocean, a bemused smile on
her face... a face he wanted to see more of.

He entered his apartment and switched on
the answering machine while he got out of his jogging pants. The team always
appeared in suits and ties on game day, and he chose a suit that would be
suitable for his date after the game.

The answering machine played the only
message. “Hey, buddy, it’s Randy.” Jack recognized his friend’s voice. Perhaps
‘friend’ wasn’t quite accurate. The two men had an unlikely relationship, when
he thought about it. For someone like himself, who preferred to keep his
private life private, becoming friends with anyone in the media was risky. But
Randy had proven himself to be trustworthy when he discovered Jack visiting the
Sick Children’s Hospital without an entourage… not even one photographer. Jack
had asked that his visits not be publicized, and Randy had reluctantly agreed.
It was bad enough doing the agreed-upon photo shoots for the Canucks
organization, but any further loss of privacy was unacceptable.  As quid pro
quo for Randy’s silence, Jack offered insights into breaking hockey stories
from time to time, being quoted as “an inside source”.

“Give me a call when you get a chance,”
the message continued. “I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you.”

Jack picked up the phone, scrolled down
for the number and waited to be connected.

“The Phoenix Group. How may I help you?”
A corny name, but fitting. After all, they’d taken a defunct newspaper and made
it a success.

“I’d like to speak to Randy, please.”

“Who may I say is calling?”

“It’s Jack Logan.”

“Oh, Mr. Logan.” The voice changed
almost immediately. “I’ll put you through right away.”

Randy came on the line. “Hey, Buddy.
Thanks for calling back. Listen, I’ll get right to the point. We’ve hired
someone to blog about violence in hockey, and I was wondering if you’d like to
present the other side of the story. Anonymously, of course.”

“Come on, Randy, you know I don’t have
time for that.” He checked his watch. “As a matter of fact I’m going to be late
for the afternoon skate. We have a game tonight.”

“I know...just hear me out. It’s only a
couple of times a week. You’re always complaining about down time when you’re
on the road. Now you’ll have something to do.”

“You just want to stir things up so
you’ll sell more papers. Besides, don’t you have writers for stuff like that?”

“Of course we want to sell more papers,
and yes, we have writers, but this is different. The person presenting the
anti-violence side of things isn’t a professional writer. That’s what’s going
to make this such a good knock-down, drag-out fight. Two people who each have a
strong point of view.”

Like I need another fight on my hands,
he thought. “So who’s the other writer?”

“No way. We’ve promised anonymity and we
can do the same for you. All I can tell you is that it’s someone with strong
opinions on the subject.”

“What makes you think I’m pro-violence?”

For a moment the phone was silent. “Are
you kidding?”

“Maybe a little. I’ve been talking to a
friend about it. It made me think, that’s all.”

“Just promise to consider it. We’ll pay,
of course.”

“Randy...” What was his friend up to? He
knew Jack didn’t need any more money.

“I was thinking we could donate your
portion to the Sick Children’s Hospital, or the charity of your choice. It
could be quite a nice sum.”

Jack gave an audible sigh. “Okay, I’ll
think about it. That was a low blow, by the way.”

“You mean about donating your end to
charity?”

“Yeah.” Jack shook his head. “You know
my weaknesses.”

“Talk to you later, Bud.” Randy
disconnected.

Jack did the same. It was a good thing
Randy didn’t know about his stealth visits to the children’s wards at other
hospitals... he’d really have him over a barrel. He grabbed his jacket and
headed for Rogers Arena.

* * *

“Zoey, I finally met him.”

“Well, hello to you, too. You met who?
Or is that whom? Whatever.”

“I found the guy you’ve been telling me
about. The one you said I’d meet when I was ready to get back into a
relationship.”

“Are you saying you met a man?”

“Hello! What else would I be talking
about?”

“OMG, Claire. When did this happen?”

“A couple of days ago.” She was at the
window, looking out. “I was taking a walk and some guy hit me with his bicycle
and John stopped to help me. I don’t know what’s the matter with me Zo. I’m not
usually like this, but I just saw him again and I can hardly think straight.”

“Well I can hear that for damn sure. So
that’s it? He just helped you up?”

“No. He offered to drive me home and it
turned into something more. We had tea at a picnic table overlooking the
ocean.”

“Big spender, huh?”

“Definitely. He even bought butter
tarts.” She could still see the sparkle in his eye when he’d down half a tart
in one gulp. She forced herself back to the conversation. “But seriously, I
have a feeling he does fairly well. He lives on Bayshore Drive.”

She could almost hear her friend
thinking. “Yeah, there are some nice places along there. So, did he ask you for
your number?”

“No, but just now he mentioned seeing me
again. I have a good feeling about this.”

“Speaking of working, have you started
the blog?”

“No, but I’ve decided how I’m going to
begin. When I first started brainstorming, I was going to lead out with a blast
against violence, but I’ve changed my mind.”

“Do tell.”

“I’m going to forget all the hard facts
and statistics and write from the heart about Cam’s injury. I think that
putting a personal face on the story will grab the reader. Instead of a frontal
attack, I’m going to be...oh...what should I call it...”

“Reasonable.” Zoey quipped

“Calm,” replied Claire.

“Non-judgmental.”

 “Even-handed.”

Zoey gave a little shout of
encouragement. “And then in the next blog, you’ll give it to them with both
barrels.”

Claire laughed. “They’ll never know what
hit ’em”

“Well, you’re the writer on this one.”

Claire sobered. “That’s the trouble, Zo.
I’m not really a writer.”

“And that’s what’s so cool. Randy thinks
it will be a winner. Look at all the blogs out there. They’re about nothing,
but this is hockey! People will eat it up.”

“We’re going to find out, aren’t we?”

 “So when will you be sending it? We
were planning to run it tomorrow. Randy has written the intro and everything.”

“Look for it in a couple of hours. It’s
all written in my head. I just have to type it out.”

* * *

Jack adjusted the shower head so that
the hot water beat down on his shoulders. It had been a hard, physical game but
the Canucks had won. What he’d really like was a massage, but he didn’t have
time. He’d promised to meet Melody after the game for a late supper. He turned
off the water, grabbed a towel and dried himself off. Why am I doing this? he
asked himself, not for the first time. But he already knew the answer. He was
tired of the dating scene where women threw themselves at him just because he
was a well-known hockey player. He’d met Melody during the off-season. An
actress who hadn’t quite made the big time, she had come to “Hollywood North”
to be available for the television shows and films shooting in Vancouver. He
hated to admit it, but she was there, she was familiar with his routine, and he
knew that after dinner there’d be some enthusiastic sex. At least it was
enthusiastic on her part... as of late he’d been feeling that there was
something missing.

“Hey, Lover Boy!” One of the young
fourth-liners was putting on his suit jacket. “Wanna come out with us tonight?
We could show you a few new moves.” He adjusted his tie and admired himself in
the mirror.

Jack grinned. “I’m sure you could, but I
think I’ll pass.” Even if he did want to go out, it wouldn’t be with the young
guns. They invariably got their pictures in the paper. “You guys have a good
time.”

“Oh, we will. Never fear.”

Melody was waiting for him in the bar of
the restaurant when he arrived.

“Nice game tonight.” The server brought
him his favourite beer without asking. Jack looked up and smiled. “Thanks,
Larry. We had to scramble to hold onto our lead.”

The server nodded and left them alone.
Jack leaned over and kissed Melody on the cheek. “How was your day?” What was
it about today that he was supposed to remember? Ah yes...she had been going
for an audition today. “How did the audition go?” He took a drink of beer,
watched her over the rim of the glass.

“I think it went well.” She used that
breathless, little-girl voice that he disliked. Someone had told her once that
she looked like Marilyn Monroe and she was playing it for all it was worth.
“They’re auditioning several more people, but they said they’ll get back to me
by the end of next week.”

“That’s good, isn’t it?” For the first
time since they’d been together, he found that he didn’t really care. The girl
across the table was a tempting piece of eye candy, but he kept thinking back
to the red-head with the snapping brown eyes. There was no comparison between
the two, a fact which pleased him for some odd reason. Claire. It was a good,
solid name. He’d known too many Melodys and Tiffanys and Brittanys. He took
another swig of beer. He had to stop thinking like this.

“Your table is ready, sir.” The maître
d’ stood off to the side. Jack glanced up and recognized him. Good...he was
familiar with Jack’s preferences and knew that he didn’t like to be seated in
the middle of the restaurant where everyone would see them. Even so, there
would be one or two diners who would interrupt and ask for an autograph, or
comment on tonight’s game. He sighed. It went with the territory.