Body Check (37 page)

He was drawing more penalties in this Playoff series than ever before. Janna knew part of it was deliberate. It was a way to send a message to the opposing team while shaking up his own guys, and it set the tone for the type of play he expected from them: rough, relentless, mean. But part of it was just plain recklessness; at least that's what she'd heard Lou say. Recklessness that the Blades couldn't afford. Lou also claimed Ty's timing was off, that “he wasn't creating as many scoring opportunities.” Since Lou loved hockey more than anything on earth, Janna didn't question his observations. She was still enough of a neophyte that many of the nuances of the game escaped her. But she did know one thing. Even on an off day, Ty Gallagher remained one of the most talented hockey players in the history of the game. Didn't he deserve to know, then, what might befall him if he didn't give Kidco a bravura performance?

It was a question that had been eating at her for over two days, ever since Lou and Beanpole Morrison let her in on the big secret. She'd toyed with the idea of talking to Theresa about it, then quickly nixed it. She knew exactly what Theresa's response would be: “Don't say a word to Gallagher! He screwed you over, now it's your turn to screw him over! Keep your mouth shut and let the chips fall where they may!”

It was a point of view Janna understood, since to some extent she felt the same way. The wounded part of her wanted to withhold this vital information from him and watch as maybe, just maybe, he fell on his face. It would be the perfect payback. Yet not telling him seemed so petty, so spiteful. And spite simply wasn't part of her makeup.

She wondered, though, whether telling him would benefit her. She was sure he'd appreciate it, but it wasn't as if helping him out would magically make him decide he wanted to be with her—even though deep in her secret heart of hearts, that was her fantasy. If she told him, would he suspect her motives? Possibly. Probably. Did it matter? She didn't know.

It was only fifteen minutes into the game, but the tone on the ice had already been set, high speed and nasty. Sitting beside Lou in the press box, Janna's eyes followed Ty as he and Kevin raced into Pittsburgh's defensive zone, Kevin dropping the puck to his best friend as two defensemen charged toward him. She watched as Ty held the puck, waiting for their line's other winger, Brad Frechere, to position himself on the right side of the net. A split second later, Ty blasted the puck to Frechere who nonchalantly stuffed it into the opponents' net. The home crowd booed as the goal appeared on the electronic scoreboard high above center ice: New York, 1, Pittsburgh, 0.

Ty's line skated back to the bench as the Lubov line took to the ice. Above the din, Janna could hear Ty's voice ringing out on the bench: “C'mon now, boys! Drop another one in! Don't let up! C'mon!”

That
, she thought,
is what I love about him. That drive, that determination. His singularity of purpose
. Granted, that very same trait in him had broken her heart, but viewed objectively, she found it admirable.

She watched his head tilt back as he put a bottle of Gatorade to his lips and drank. Even something as simple as that made her heart do a double take.
What is it with you
? she asked herself.
Why him? Because he's great in bed, and loyal to his friends, and funny. Because he's smart—and stubborn, too, Mother of God is the man stubborn, but that can be an asset. And . . .
her eyes began welling up
. . . because when he was with me, he always made me feel special. Cherished. He listened to me when I talked. He looked at me with admiration. He admitted he was wrong about Lubov. He teased me about my flaws. He was gentle and caring with my brother. He encouraged me to pursue what I love, even though he had no idea whether I was any good at it or not. He simply assumed I was, because it was me. He made me feel alive
.

Through watery eyes, she forced herself to watch the game.
You have to tell him
, she thought. She would wait and see how the next couple of games went. If the Blades didn't win, she'd let him know what he was up against. . . .

This solution satisfied her until a nagging voice in her head asked where she got off playing God.
Either you tell him or you don't
, she scolded herself.
But you don't play “Wait and see.” All right
, she moaned silently.
I'm going to keep my mouth shut like Lou asked me to. Whatever happens, happens
.

Ty slashed one of the Pittsburgh defensemen and skated, snarling and angry, to the penalty box. His lips were moving rapidly as he cursed the ref before settling down to his fate and watching the play from behind Plexiglas. The Blades successfully killed the Pittsburgh power play and Ty skated back out onto the ice, stopping to say something to one of the refs before huddling with the third line which had just taken to the ice. She watched the players' faces while he spoke, saw the reverence and respect there as well as their eagerness to please him.

That was when it hit her. She
had
to tell him, not because he necessarily deserved to know, not because she wanted him to love her again, but because it was the right thing to do for the team. Kidco could bitch all they wanted about Ty Gallagher being a PR nightmare. But the bottom line was, he was the heart and soul of the Blades. If they lost him, they would lose their spirit and will to win. It was that simple.

She relaxed back in her seat, confident now that she had made the right decision. She'd wait until the team was settled back at the hotel after the game. Then she'd pay Ty a visit.

 

 

The Blades beat
Pittsburgh, 3-2.
Thank God
, thought Janna, as she silently padded down the carpeted hotel hallway. Had they lost, she knew she'd be facing an absolute bear. As it was, she had prepared herself for whatever un-pleasantry he might throw her way: sarcasm, dismay, disbelief—all the various facets of Ty at his worst.

She paused before knocking, pressing her ear to the door to hear what was going on inside while silently praying that no one walked by and wondered what she was doing. She could hear Kevin inside laughing, probably in response to something David Letterman was saying on TV; both were addicted to
The Late Show
. She rapped firmly on the door, trying to pretend she didn't hear Ty moan and Kevin curse in response.

“Who is it?” Ty shouted.

“Janna!” she yelled back.

The dead silence that greeted her felt worse than the annoyance she'd heard them express seconds before. She held her breath.
Please God don't let him be too much of a jerk
.

The door yanked open, and there stood Ty, a navy blue towel knotted around his waist and a scowl on his face. Janna's mind flashed back to the first time she'd met him in the Blades' locker room. He'd been wearing nothing but a towel then too, and she'd been just as unnerved as she was now.

“This better be good.”

“Actually it's bad,” she informed him, pushing the door open wide, “which is why I need to talk to you.” Her eyes caught Kevin's, who was stretched out on his side of the room in sweats. She smiled apologetically. “Hi, Kev. Sorry to disturb you guys.”

“It's okay,” said Kevin, sitting up. “Why don't you come in?”

At his invitation, Janna brushed past Ty, whom she heard release a long-suffering sigh as he closed the door behind them.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Kevin offered, gesturing towards the minibar across the room.

“No thanks.” Her eyes stole to Ty, who stood watching her suspiciously, arms folded against his bare chest. He wasn't going to make this easy, that much was clear. She turned her attention back to Kevin. “I need to speak with Ty about something—”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say in front of Kevin,” Ty cut in.

But Kevin wasn't having it. “If Janna wants to talk to you privately, Ty,” he said as he rose from the bed and headed toward the door, “then I think we need to respect that.” He drew Janna into a quick, affectionate hug. “Don't take any bull from this loser, you hear?”

Janna managed a wan smile in response.

“Where are you going?” Ty demanded. He seemed somewhat edgy about his friend leaving.

“Down to Moonie's room, maybe he'll cut me in on the poker game. Give me a call down there when you're done.”

“Right,” Ty grunted, watching Kevin depart. Forced now to deal with his visitor, he turned to Janna. “You sure you don't want anything to drink?” he asked begrudgingly.

“A Coke would be fine if it's not too much of a problem.”

He muttered something to himself, Janna wasn't sure what, and went to the minibar to fetch her a drink. She watched the strong muscles in his back ripple as he strode across the room, her eyes drawn to his broad expanse of shoulder as he pulled the Coke out of the small fridge and poured her soda into a plastic cup.

“What's up?” he asked, walking back toward her with the drink.

Keep your eyes on his face
, Janna told herself,
nowhere but his face
. She accepted the drink gratefully.

“Can I sit down?” she asked.

“Is it going to take that long?”

“I'll make it as fast as I can, I promise.”

He gestured for her to sit in one of the chairs across from his bed. As she did so, he sat down too, and his towel began to come undone.

“Shoot. Excuse me.” He rose, and letting the towel drop to the floor, walked towards the bathroom. Janna felt her entire body flush with unexpected heat and pleasure. Ty naked . . . was he doing this on purpose to torture her? Or was he oblivious in that way athletes were? That had to be it. By the time he emerged from the bathroom a few seconds later wrapped in a terry cloth robe provided by the hotel, her body temperature had returned to normal and she fancied that maybe she'd be able to get through this conversation without her desire for him clouding her ability to string a sentence together.

“Okay,” he said, settling back down on the edge of his bed, “what's so important that you have to throw Kevin out of his own hotel room?”

“Kevin offered to leave,” she felt compelled to point out. Looking at Ty's face, a face she loved, uneasiness began overtaking her at the thought of being the bearer of bad tidings. She reminded herself that what she had to say was bad only if he chose not to do anything with the information. Still, the idea of actually saying it . . . She stared down into her coke.

“Lou told me something a couple of days ago that I'm not supposed to know.”

“What's that?”

Janna lifted her eyes to meet his. “Seems that Corporate isn't happy with your level of play.” She hesitated. “They're saying that if you don't improve your game, they're not going to renew your contract at the end of the year.”

He stared at her. That was it. Just stared. No visible reaction—that is, until he spoke. His voice was strained. “I see.” His jaw clenched. “Lou told you this when?”

“Two days ago. He was in a meeting with Tad Morrison.”

“Who the hell is Tad Morrison?” Ty snapped.

“He's one of the bigwigs at Kidco.” She paused. “He's literally the one who signs your paycheck,” she added softly.

“I see,” Ty repeated. Staring off into space, he ran his hand through his hair distractedly before putting his hands into the pockets of his robe and peering down at his bare feet. Janna fought the urge to throw her arms around him and comfort him. She watched him instead. He didn't seem upset so much as furious. Contained. Like a geyser about to blow.

“Ty?” she asked. He raised his head to look at her, his soft brown eyes now hard as stone.

“You realize,” he said, “that half the reason they're contemplating this is because I refuse to kiss their asses.”

“I know,” Janna concurred.

Without thinking, he reached out for her Coke and she handed it to him. It seemed the most normal thing in the world, something they had done countless times before. Except now . . .

He handed the plastic cup back to her. “This is un-fucking-believable. I bring them the Cup last year, I will bring it to them again this year, and this is how they repay me? By not renewing my contract because of a few off days?”

“It's amazing, I know. I nearly keeled over when Lou told me.”

His gaze pinned her. “Who else knows?”

“As far as I know, just Lou, myself, and Corporate.” She made a sour face. “Jack Cowley has no idea, if that's what you're asking.”

“It is what I'm asking. Cowley's the idiot who was letting the press know about team injuries. What the hell was he thinking?”

“He wasn't.”
He'll get his
, she added hopefully in her head.

But Ty wasn't listening. He was looking toward the window, his countenance solemn, his body still.
I should go now
, Janna thought. But something held her in place.

“Are you going to be all right?” she asked him gently. There, that was it, the thing that was rooting her. It was concern. Love.

“I'm fine,” he replied curtly. He looked back to her, and for the first time since they'd ended things, Janna had the feeling that he was really seeing her. There was a lack of defensiveness in his posture, a surrender of the many roles he imposed on himself. Right now, he was just Ty, a man in pain, a man feeling unappreciated.

“Why did you tell me?” he asked quietly. “You could just as easily have kept your mouth shut.”

Janna glanced away, embarrassed. “Because it was the right thing to do. If the situation was reversed, I would want to know.” He was watching her carefully, she could feel it, his steady gaze heating the side of her face. “I did it for the team, too. Without you, they've got no spiritual core. I didn't want to see that happen.”