Chasing Stanley (38 page)

Harder still to admit was that Jason might not be the right guy for
her
. She loved his adoration of Stanley, and his sense of humor, and his unabashed enthusiasm for what he did. But Delilah needed someone who'd let her just
be.

“Why are you breaking up with me?” Jason asked quietly.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I asked you first.”

Delilah toyed nervously with her left earring, avoiding his eye. “Because I don't think I can make you happy.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Why were you going to break up with me?”

Jason looked pained. “Same reason.” He paused. “You really embarrassed me at the New Year's Eve party. Tearing into Tully like that? It was wrong.”

“He tied his dog up in the basement!”

“So, you should have come to find me, and then I could have dealt with Tully diplomatically. You should think before you speak, Delilah.”

“And you should think before you act, Jason. You just assumed it was okay to show up here at Christmas, or RSVP a New Year's party without checking with me first.”

“I guess we're both guilty, then,” Jason murmured unhappily.

“Yes.” Delilah's eyes began filling. “We just don't work, do we?”

“No.” Jason looked miserable. “I wish we did.”

“So do I,” Delilah choked. She didn't want to cry, but she couldn't help it. “I tried. I really did.”

Jason had turned his face from hers. “I know you did,” he agreed hoarsely. “And so did I. But some things . . .”

He turned back to put a comforting hand on Delilah's shoulder as she wept, but she gently rebuffed him. “I know you mean well, but please, don't make it harder than it already is.”

Jason nodded, rising from the couch. “I should probably go.”

“Okay,” Delilah said numbly, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What are we going to do about Stanley?”

“What do you mean?” Delilah snuffled. “I'll still walk him and board him as usual—unless you don't want me to.”

“Of course I want you to. I just thought, you know, you might not want to.”

“Just because we don't work doesn't mean I don't want to take care of your dog.” An escaped tear trickled down Delilah's cheek. “I love Stanley. You know that.”

“And he loves you.”

“It's a nonissue, then.”

“Good.” Jason's hands looked shaky as he zipped up his jacket. “Delilah.”

“What?”

“Thanks for, you know, the good times we did have.”

Delilah squeezed her eyes shut. “You, too.”
Go,
she thought.
Please go now before I lose it in front of you completely.

“Okay, then. Bye.”

Delilah held her breath, waiting for the sound of the door closing. When it came, she exhaled hard and forced open her eyes, hoping to release the pain gripping her body. It didn't work. She let herself cry, finding an odd comfort in the knowledge that at least she and Jason had been kind to one another and hadn't gone for the jugular the way her parents would have. Eventually she sought solace in the best way she knew how: sinking down on her knees, she called her three dogs to her, hugging each of them before kissing their furry heads and rubbing their warm, soft bellies. At least she'd never have to let
them
go because their personalities were so different. For that, Delilah was grateful.

 

 

“You broke up
with Delilah? To quote that great philosopher, Bugs Bunny, ‘What a maroon!' ”

Jason stared at his brother, debating whether to throttle him within an inch of his life. Leaving Delilah's apartment, Jason expected to be swept away on a tide of relief. Instead, he felt sick and hollow. After walking Stanley, he'd headed directly to Eric's, seeking companionship as well as confirmation that his
intent
to break up with her had been correct. Never in a million years would he tell Eric that Delilah severed ties first. He'd never live it down.

“Excuse me, but aren't you
Dr. Love
, the man who told me for months I was a jackass to tie myself down? The fellow hockey player who claimed my play
sucked
because I was in a relationship?”

“That's before I really got to know the lady in question,” Eric replied coolly. “Plus—let's be honest here—you always suck out on the ice.”

Jason looked at the ceiling and counted to three. “No matter what I say or do, you're always going to say the opposite, aren't you? Just to break my balls.”

Eric snorted. “You're just figuring this out?”

“For once in your life, could you stop being a dick and maybe act like a real brother?”

Eric actually looked wounded. “I act like a real brother! Who covered your ass when you couldn't make that brunch? Who found you your apartment before you moved to New York?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know.”

“What is it you want me to say that I'm not saying?” Eric asked as he tossed Jason some bottled water from the fridge.

“I don't know.” Jason sank down on Eric's La-Z-Boy, his brother's pride and joy. He couldn't believe how freakin' miserable he felt. “Tell me it was the right thing to do. Especially after the New Year's Eve debacle.”

“I can't tell you that,” Eric said matter-of-factly. “I'm not the one in love with her. You are.”

“Help me out here, you
schmuck
.”

Eric sighed. “Okay. I like Delilah a lot. I think she's great, and any woman who can deal with that drool machine you call a dog has got to be something special. But you jumped into it too fast, and now you're seeing the error of your ways. And yeah, I do think it was affecting your play, okay? So it's probably better you took the express route to Splitsville.”

“Right.” Jason wasn't sure he agreed, but it sounded good. Rational.

“Does it suck that you probably devastated her and the next time we see her, she'll turn and walk the other way? Or perhaps kick you in the crown jewels? Yes.”

“See, that's the thing. I'm worried it's going to be weird with her still taking care of Stanley. You know—awkward.”

“It might be. But what are you going to do? Start looking for another dog minder?”

“I don't really have time.”
And I don't really want to,
Jason added in his head. He couldn't imagine anyone taking care of Stanley with the same love and attention as Delilah.

“You'll just have to deal, then. It's over and done now, bro. Just let it go.”

“You're right.”

“Just don't tell Mom. You'll break her heart.”

“Shit.” Jason tilted back in the recliner, half expecting a dentist to appear to tell him to rinse. “I totally forgot about Mom.”

“She loved Delilah. I mean,
loved
her. You tell Mom you gave her the heave-ho, and she'll probably cut you out of the will.”

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“Yeah, like Mom and Dad are rolling in it,” said Eric dryly. “When the time comes, you and I are going to be divvying up livestock, not dollars.”

“You got that right.” Jason glanced around Eric's apartment. For a guy whose taste was clearly in his mouth, he'd done an okay job decorating. Unlike Jason's place, it looked like someone actually lived here. Well, now that he and Delilah were history, he'd have more free time to do things like shop for furnishings, right? Even better, he'd have time to just hang with his buddies—no guilt, no restrictions, no worrying about someone else's schedule or preferences. He was definitely better off flying solo right now. Definitely.

“You got practice tomorrow?” Jason suddenly asked his brother.

“No. Why?”

Jason's feet returned to the floor. “I don't, either. Let's go out tonight and get shitfaced.”

 

 

 

 

Late April

 

“Mitchell, care to
tell me what happened to your New Year's resolution?”

Jason stared at Ty with incomprehension. Back in January, he told his coach that his New Year's resolution was to keep his nose clean: no more hangovers, no more breaking curfew, no more impulsive actions on the ice. He'd kept to it, too. It was a way of keeping his mind off Delilah.

Seeing her all the time, whether out walking in the neighborhood or when they came together over Stanley, always left him feeling melancholy. He still believed they were hopeless as a couple, but that didn't halt his attraction to her. He liked to think she felt the same way, but he had no proof; maybe his male ego just needed to believe it. They were always polite to one another, though Delilah seemed intent on keeping conversation between them minimal.

Without his even noticing it, winter had turned to spring. All the snow had melted, leaving the ground beneath it soggy but full of promise. People had a bounce in their step as they walked down the wide city streets. And the New York Blades had easily clinched a berth in the playoffs, which were one week away.

Ty hadn't asked him to take a seat when he called him to the office, so Jason remained standing somewhat tentatively by the door.

“I don't understand,” Jason replied in response to Ty's question.

“I thought you promised to be a good boy,” said Ty.

“I have been!”

“Oh yeah? Come here.”

Ty motioned for Jason to approach his desk. Coming closer, Jason saw a mound of newspaper clippings. Ty picked one up.

“ ‘New York Blade Jason Mitchell checked out the Victoria's Secret Spring Fashion Show with brother Eric in tow. Both boys had front-row seats and very big smiles on their faces.' ” Ty picked up another clipping. “This is from the
Sentinel
: ‘Blades winger Jason Mitchell was spotted dancing with Playboy model Tula at the opening of the Village's hottest new club, Marimba's.' ” He picked up another. “Here's a gem from the
Post
: ‘Which two hockey-playing twins were seen partying to the wee hours of the morning at socialite Gigi van Lichtenstein's birthday party? Hint: one plays for New York and the other for New Jersey.' ” Ty put down the clippings. “I could go on,” he said, sweeping his hand above the desk, “but I won't.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Well?”

Jason was completely befuddled. “I don't understand,” he repeated. “There's nothing there about me getting drunk or misbehaving, because I don't do that. I was just out doing stuff. Nothing controversial.” Ty raised an eyebrow, and Jason's hackles went up. “What, I'm not supposed to have a life?”

“You have a life. It's on the ice.” Ty picked up the clippings and crumpled them into a ball, throwing them into the garbage. “I don't want this kind of shit dogging us as we go into the playoffs.”

“What kind of shit?” Jason protested. “I went to a party. I went to a club. I went to a fashion show. There's nothing unsavory about any of those things! When you played for St. Louis, you stepped out all the time. What's the big deal?”

When it came to Ty Gallagher, silence was anything but golden. The longer Ty stood behind his desk with his laser-like gaze locked on Jason's face, the more Jason wished he'd had the brains to just say “Sorry, Coach” and have done with it—even though in his estimation, he had nothing to apologize for.

“Three things,” said Ty in a controlled voice. “Number one: don't believe everything you read. When I played for St. Louis in the early nineties, half of the crap they printed about me in the paper wasn't true. And even if it was, I had three Stanley Cups under my belt to mitigate any damage my supposed partying might have caused. How many Cups do you have, Mitchell?

“Number two: it was a different time. Players weren't put under the microscope with the same intensity they are now, nor were they expected to be role models both on the ice and off. That's not the case anymore.

“And number three: St. Louis was owned by one fat, rich guy named Joe Barza who didn't give a shit what we did off the ice, as long as we delivered—which we did. In case you haven't noticed, the Blades are owned by Kidco Corporation, who pride themselves on providing
family
entertainment, whatever the fuck that means. When Kidco people start coming to me and complaining, then we've got a problem. I have enough on my plate without worrying about corporate breathing down our necks. So, while I appreciate the dedication you've shown on the ice, and the moderate restraint you've shown off it, I have to ask you to avoid events involving models, the word
party
, or anything else these suits might misinterpret. I'm sorry, but that's the way it's got to be.” Ty looked empathetic. “Sucks, doesn't it?”

“Big time,” Jason muttered.

“If you can't stomach the idea of toeing the line for corporate, then do it for me. I need you to stay one hundred percent focused on the ice. Got it?”

Jason nodded reluctantly.

“Good,” said Ty, beginning to sort through items on his desk. “You can go now.”

Jason was on his way out the door when he impulsively stopped and turned.

“Coach?”

Ty didn't bother to look up. “Yeah?”

“You really think I've shown dedication on the ice?” he asked, hoping he didn't sound like too much of a dweeb.

Ty glanced up briefly. “You could show more.”

Jason shook his head and headed back out the door. He should have known better than to ask Ty for a flat-out compliment. Even if Jason was the greatest player since Paul van Dorn, Ty would never tell him so directly. Instead, he'd give him more ice time, which had definitely been the case the past few months.