Cold as Ice (7 page)

“What about defense?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “The Flames dominated last game, tied us up in front of our net. We can't let them get past us. Defense will be on them.”

“Thanks, Mark,” Carla says, signs off and drops the microphone. “Let's go see where Devin is.” Gary follows her in the direction of the locker room.

“Carla! Hi!” a voice says, approaching her with an extended hand. “It's good to finally meet you. I'm Keri, director of community events. We've spoken on the phone.”

Carla smiles. “Yes. Hi! Haven't we met before?”

“Maybe at an event,” she says.

“Will you be at the Warriors Heroes Campaign?”

“Yes! Of course!”

“Great! We'll see you then.”

Carla looks past Keri to see which players are walking out of the dressing room.

“Can I get anyone for you?” Keri asks.

“I'm looking for Devin Miller. He said I could meet with him after practice.”

“I saw him leave.”

“You did? Are you sure?”

Keri nods. “Yeah, he's gone. You might be able to catch him.”

Carla and Gary head down the long hallway, trying to spot a well-dressed man walking toward the exit.

“Carla!”

She hears Gary's voice but doesn't stop.

“Carla!”

She slows down and then stops, looks around and then at Gary.

He gets close to her. “He's not that important,” Gary reassures her.

She opens her mouth to speak. Does she want to ask Devin about his dad? Would she ask if she had the opportunity? He's been playing here for two weeks now. What more can she ask him? It comes down to personal questions, and she doubts he's going to want to share. Carla drops her shoulders. “You're right.”

“There's always next time,” he says.

At the campaign? She'll have to forget about Devin until there's a real issue to be made. How can she possibly ask Devin about his dad without getting an emotional response? Does she care enough about him to leave him alone?

Carla gets back to the television station to check on a tape the length of a basketball game that was recorded that morning.

She walks down a hallway to the editing booths and turns left to where all the small rooms are lined up. Small televisions surround the closet space. The sliding door is open, so she steps inside. It's standing room only. “Kyle!” she says. “How did that game turn out? Do we have good footage of the winning basket? Ryan said it was a pretty shot.”

Kyle pauses, one hand on the button, and turns his head. “Yeah, it was. Wanna see?”

“Yes, please.”

“Let me finish this. Almost done.”

Carla watches Kyle turn a wheel and press a couple of buttons. There's the basketball game on the screen, and Kyle visually runs through it to find the clip.

“Here you go,” he says, his black parted hair sliding back and forth over his temples. He is wearing a faded KISS T-shirt and jeans.

Carla watches the screen and records the time so that she knows how long she has to talk about the game.

“Hard to believe about Elliot. His reporting was improving.”

Carla's eyes narrow and she shakes her head. “What's wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Kyle says, focusing on the screen in front of him and pushing buttons without looking down at his hands. “He was let go.”

Carla stares at the young rocker. “When did that happen?”

“This morning.”

“I had no idea,” she says, gasping. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he says, bobbing his head, staring at the screen, one hand on the dial. “Didn't you see your e-mail?”

“I must have missed that.” She brings a finger to her lips, puzzled that she wasn't on top of the company news. “He's been here forever.”

“I know.”

“I wonder if it was a surprise. . . .” she says. “Who's going to cover the morning news?”

“I thought you were.”

“You're joking!”

“I heard your name being passed around, but don't say anything. You didn't hear that from me.”

“I won't say anything, but if Elliot's gone, Annalise will anchor by herself.”

Kyle smirks. “She likes it that way. She probably had something to do with it.”

“She doesn't have that much power. She's the morning news anchor!” Carla wants to laugh at her comment. She controls her voice and her thoughts, remembering the sliding door of the booth is open and anyone can eavesdrop.

“There you go. All done,” Kyle says. The screen is black.

“Thank you.” She stops, puts her hand out to hold the handle. “Have you heard anything about the sports department?” she asks wearily. Could they be cleaning shop? Freshening up the station with new faces? She likes this place and can't imagine being anywhere else, unless the Sports National position comes up, which would be an excellent opportunity to showcase what she has to offer.

“Well . . .” Kyle says, dragging out the word as if he's contemplating what to tell her.

“What is it?” she demands, stepping back into the booth. “You heard something? Really?”

“I'm sure it wasn't true. There's always talk going on, you know that.”

“It's business, I know. Tell me!”

“I heard they want another guy reporting sports and want to move you to weekends.”

“What?” she gasps. “They can't do that! I have seniority.”

“Or do the morning news.” Kyle gives her a sympathetic look. “You might have a choice.”

“There's never a choice. Ever!” Carla brings her hand to her mouth. “Who did you hear this from?”

He pauses. “I can't say. He told me not to tell. It's all speculation anyway. You know how this business is. One minute someone gets fired, and then three or more follow.”

“It's true. It starts that way and then it becomes real. I'm going to lose my job!”
They want to ax me and keep Ryan, I bet.
“What happens if they do get rid of me? Where will I go?” She faces him. “I like my job. I don't want to change positions.”

They fall silent, and Carla thinks about it. Where would she go if she was fired? “Who else knows about this?”

“I thought everyone knew there was going to be a shake-up. The company newsletter said ratings were low. If we don't do better in the spring, then you bet there'll be a firing spree.”

“You think?”

“You watch. It'll happen,” Kyle says.

“You're speculating.”

He shrugs. “I guess we'll see in a few weeks.”

 

Carla returns to her desk. What if she gets fired? What if Ryan takes over her job? Was that why Timothy told her about that sports job back east? Is he looking out for her? Nobody wants to see someone get fired. Does he know something she doesn't?

Her stomach is uneasy. She can't think straight. Maybe she should apply for jobs just in case. She doesn't even know what's out there. Her job has been somewhat secure. She's been happy here. Content.

Her phone rings and she takes herself away from e-mail.

“Hi, Carla. It's Keith Miller.”

“Oh, hi.”

“When are you interviewing Devin?”

“I'd like to come with you.”

“I don't think that's a good—”

“I really want to be there. To see him. . . .”

“I never allow tagalongs.”

“I'm his dad! It's not as if he doesn't know who I am.”

“Then why don't you talk to him yourself?”

She can hear his breath blow out, like he's going to get all teary-eyed on her. Then he recovers. “I haven't seen him for over twenty years. I don't want him to go into shock.”

“Must be some story,” Carla says, softening her voice.

“Not something I want to discuss.”

“Why has it been so long?” She scribbles on her notebook. She'll have questions for Devin when she sees him.

“Time passes too quickly.” He stops, as though he's thinking about what to say next. “I don't know where the time went.”

“Why now? Why do you want to contact Devin?”

He sucks in a breath. “It takes courage when your son is more successful than you are.”

“He didn't start off that way,” she says.

“Well, no.”

“If I had a child who was successful, I'd be proud of their accomplishments.” Carla thinks about her mom. Was her mom proud of her? She didn't really know. Ever since she went off to college, she'd been on her own, working. Planning her life the way she saw fit, never needing her parents' okay because she was okay. She knew what she was doing with her life. She hadn't needed a road map to tell her that she had to climb the corporate ladder, get married and have babies. She married Timothy and expected pregnancy to just happen. After two years of marriage and two miscarriages, she'd panicked and thought something was wrong. She'd agonized about when her period was due, when she was most fertile, and kept track of when she and Timothy made love. Her life became a schedule. She wouldn't have surprises during her weeks; she wanted a baby and was trying everything in her power to make it happen. Carla had gotten caught up in controlling everything she ate, power foods to help with development, prenatal vitamins and eating only pure ingredients because she wanted the healthiest baby she could make. After three years of trying, Timothy had started to come home later, reheat his dinners and go to bed. They began to lose their connection, that spark that was so important. Working together in a demanding career had its consequences. They began to only talk about work. They didn't have time to socialize, to be a couple anymore. Their life fell apart, and Carla blamed herself for not trying harder when she loved Timothy but couldn't live with him.

“Let me talk to Devin and ask him,” she suggests.

“No! Please don't! He doesn't want to speak with me.”

“Then what do you want me to do?” Carla asks.

“I need to see him.”

“But what if he doesn't want to see you?”

“I have something very important to talk to him about.”

“Do you want me to relay the message?”

“No.” His voice fades. “Can you give him my number? Tell him it's important. Tell him I've had twenty-four years to think about it.”

D
evin holds the phone up to his ear, walking around his condo as though inspecting his place. His couch has barely been sat on, his stove never used. It's his washer and dryer he can't live without. “Look, Mom, I told you. I don't want to talk to him.”

“But he's your dad.”

“Technically, yes, but I haven't seen him in twenty-four years and I don't care if I ever do.”

“You don't mean that! I think it's time to put everything behind you and at least meet with him.”

“Why does he want to talk to me now?” Devin asks, a question that's been on his mind for weeks, ever since his mom first told him that his dad had been in contact with her. Was it because he was a well-known hockey player? Or because he's considered a celebrity in his new city? He's heard those stories before, relatives making contact to get free stuff or to tell people they know each other. Devin wasn't going to be a part of that scam.

“I have nothing to say to him.”

“I'm sure you have lots to say,” she says.

“Nothing nice.”

“I'm sure if you thought about it, there are a lot of questions you have for him.” Her voice was pleading and sincere.

“Why are you so forgiving?”

She sighs. Takes a breath and says, “I'm happy. I hope he is too.”

“I wish I had that in me,” Devin admits. “I can't let go of what he did to you, to us.”

“One day you will. Healing takes time.”

Those words lingered with Devin long after he hung up the phone.

He was curious as to why his dad wanted to talk to him. The only reason was because Devin was somebody now.

“I'll think about it,” Devin says.

“That means no.”

“Come on, Mom. I don't want to talk to him now, but I will. One day, I'm sure.”

“Don't let it be too much longer. You need to talk to him; at least put that conversation behind you.”

He knows his mom is right, but he can't get past the idea of asking his dad why he was such a jerk, why he hadn't fought for his family. Any good man should be able to fight for the people he loves and work to make their family proud. Not a coward, walking out and not coming back because he had issues. He never resolved them and made them Devin and his mom's problem.

The thought of his dad made him mad. His blood boiled. He was fierce, thinking about Keith Miller and what he might say to him if he ever met him.

What would be the first thing he'd want to say? That question sat in his mind for years. When he was younger, he wanted to ask,
Why did you miss my birthday?
Expecting him to walk in the door after dinner, Devin had dreamed of the day his dad asked for an apology. By the time he turned twelve, he refused to call him Dad. It was Keith. He didn't deserve to be called Dad. After all, dads didn't leave their kids.

“Okay, Mom,” Devin says, changing the subject. “Are you planning on coming up for a game?”

“I'd like to.”

“Let me know when you can make it and I'll get you tickets.”

“Paul would like that. I'd like to see you. I miss you.”

“Miss you too, Mom.”

“Are you getting enough sleep?”

“For sure!”

“Eating right?”

“Always.”

“Okay, son. Are you seeing anyone? You need a woman to take care of you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Devin says. “Come on, Mom. I've been on my own for twelve years.”

“It's time for you to settle down and have home-cooked meals, someone to watch over you.”

“One day.”

“I've heard that enough. You need to find someone. You're thirty years old, time to find a nice woman to settle down with.”

“I just got here. We'll see what Vancouver holds for me.”

“A lot more, if you let it.”

 

Devin drives to Children's Hospital to take part in the annual Warriors Heroes Campaign. He had only found out about the event while on the plane to Boston for their road trip. Anytime kids were involved with hockey organizations, it was a big event. He wonders if Carla will be there. His back straightens and he taps his hand hard on the steering wheel. How will she react to him now, since he didn't show up after practice for an interview? She probably had other players to interview and forgot about talking to him. He couldn't bring himself to talk to her. He didn't want his new team to get any ideas about the two of them. He can't help the silly grin on his face when he sees her. He's never been good at asking a girl out. Will she be mad about standing her up?

He feels stupid about the night at Buckley's, telling her he wants her when she just wants to talk to him, all because of his job.

He parks his Range Rover and heads into the nonemergency entrance, taking the elevator to see a little boy who gets excited with every visit Devin makes. He walks into the room. “Hey, buddy! How are you today?”

“Good,” the boy answers. His eyes follow Devin to his bed.

“I brought you something,” Devin says, handing him a bag.

The boy whips out the hockey magazine and a pack of trading cards. “Cool! Thanks,” Jason says, his eyes skimming the gifts.

“I wasn't sure if you collected cards. I used to have boxes of them when I was young. I think my mom has them in her attic.”

“That's cool.”

Devin makes small talk and then heads downstairs, where he's needed.

“Miller!”

“Hey, Price, how's it going?” Devin asks. “You know where to go?”

“Yeah, follow me. I'm going that way.”

“Perfect.”

Devin strides through the hall wearing black dress pants and a button-down shirt. This was the dress code whenever making public appearances for work. Everyone who passes them smiles or looks at them as recognizable faces.

“In here,” the player says, walking through the propped-open doors to a line of tables set up with phones and name cards for the people who will be answering the calls for pledges. It's busy, with people coming and going, clusters of them talking among themselves. There are cameras set up and a crowd of people from the organization, as well as from the media and the hospital.

“Devin?” a male reporter calls out. “Can I get a word with you?”

He saunters over to the camera crew. From a side glance, a woman with dirty blond hair and a booming voice makes Devin stop in his tracks. He watches how she flicks her hair behind her head and laughs with Alex Price, a veteran player who knows a thing or two about talking to the ladies.

“Devin?” the male reporter calls again, walking toward him with a microphone.

“Ah, yeah, yeah.” Devin scratches his neck and looks once more at Carla before giving the guy his attention.

“Can we get a few words?”

Devin nods. He had to push himself to come today. He wasn't in the mood, knowing Carla would be here, but it's for sick kids, and that's what got him here today.

The reporter fiddles with the cord, straightening it out in front of him and bringing the microphone up to his mouth. “Good to have you with us today, Devin. The Warriors Heroes is a great cause, helping children and their families seek medical treatment when they don't have the funds.”

Devin continues to nod.

“You gave one little boy your hockey stick after your last home game.”

“That was something,” Devin recalls, rubbing his chin.

“It was a generous thing to do,” the reporter says, staring at the television set up beside the cameraman. “His name is Miles and he's an outpatient here.”

“Is that right?”

“Before being diagnosed with type two diabetes, he was an active kid playing hockey; you're his hero.”

Devin sucks in a breath as he sees the boy staring at him, with a missing front tooth displaying a smile so big it pulls at his heart. It always amazes him how kids react to him.

“Come here, Miles,” the reporter says, pulling him closer with an extended arm. “You get to meet your hero.”

Devin never thought of himself as a hero. All he does is play hockey. His stepbrother is a firefighter; he's a real hero.

What should I say to this boy?
Devin thinks as he smiles back at the toothless grin and then at the reporter, who needs to fill in the silence. He could ask him about school or what he likes to do at home. Thankfully, the reporter saves him.

“Miles, what did you do with the hockey stick?” the reporter asks.

“It's in my room,” he answers, staring at his shoes and then at Devin. “My dad put it up on my wall.”

“Very good.”

“My cousin wants it, but I told him he can't have it,” the boy says, scuffing his feet.

Devin watches the boy's expression.

“You're doing better, Miles?” the reporter asks.

He nods and stares at the floor. “I have lots of homework.”

“So you're back in school? That's great! You brought your parents here?”

Miles's mom and dad step up to the camera. His mom reaches out to touch her son's shoulder.

“How has the journey been for you as a family?” the reporter asks.

“It's been tough,” the dad says. “Between doctor appointments and school . . .”

Devin side glances in Carla's direction but can't see her. He looks the other way as casually as possible, brushes his finger across his chin. His eyes wander past the parents, curious, wondering where she is and wanting one more look at her peach-colored lips.

“Isn't that right, Devin?” the reporter asks.

“Pardon?”

“You donated a sum of money to Warriors Heroes to help with families like Miles's to pay for accommodations while they're here from out of town.”

“It's the least I can do.”

“Thank you,” the mother says, tearing up. “Without your help, I don't know what we would have done. You're our angel!” The lady throws her arms around Devin's middle. “Thank you,” she says again, looking him in the eye before letting go. The dad gives Devin a firm handshake.

Devin holds out his hand to the little boy. “Hang in there.” He doesn't know what else to say to Miles. He knows by the look on the child's face that he too was thankful for what Devin had done.

Devin walks away, shaken by the family he touched yet aware of the magnitude of his contribution, how much he has helped.

“Did I see a tear in your eye?”

Devin stops, looks sideways and beams at the blue-eyed beauty holding a clipboard by her side. “Do you want to do that interview now?”

“No way!” Carla protests. “You don't want to talk anyway. I respect that.” She turns away.

“Carla! Wait! Sorry. I didn't mean to disappear on you after practice. You weren't waiting around just for me, right?”

Carla purses her lips.

“You didn't have anyone else to talk to?” He smirks. He notices her eyes drift past him. “I guess you did. Sorry.”

“I won't ask you again about an interview,” she says.

“We'll talk next practice. Promise.”

She stares at him with uncertainty.

“Promise,” he repeats.

“I know why you didn't want to talk.”

Devin's eyes widen.

“People will start talking. They'll think I have a thing for you.”

“I thought you did.” He watches her cheeks deepen with color. He waits for her to clam up, and changes the subject now that he's put her on the spot.

“Just a little bit. It will pass with time.”

He's tongue-tied. What can he say to that? He's always the one with the last word.

“And if it doesn't?” he asks, because his curiosity has gotten the better of him. What he would give to have one night with her. That's all it would be, though, he tells himself. She's too bossy and opinionated for there to be anything more.

“It will,” she assures him. “Guaranteed!”

“Carla!” A voice catches her attention and she looks away. “I've got the family you were looking for.”

“Perfect,” she says to the director and shoots Devin heightened brows as she makes her escape.

Devin whispers “'Bye,” staring at her legs where the hem of her skirt meets her thigh. His eyes follow her around the room, talking to some people and then moving on to the next.

“Devin?”

He quickly looks toward the voice calling him over.

“Are you ready? I need you over here,” one of the campaign employees says. “You'll be answering the phone.”

Devin scratches his head. Nobody told him he'd be taking pledges; he thought he was just showing up.

“Have you done this before?”

“Once, when I played in Carolina, I was a part of a telethon.”

“Nothing to it,” the guy says. “Here are the pledge forms, pens, and if you need help with anything, we'll be hanging around; just look for someone in an orange T-shirt.”

“Thanks. When does this start? Do I have time to get a coffee?”

“If you can make it back here in ten minutes. Phone lines will be open then.”

Devin looks at the tables beginning to fill up, mostly with women. “Are you Buckley's wife?”

“Yes,” she says, holding out her hand. “I'm Jen.” She sits down.

“Where's Mark?”

“He may pop by later.”

Devin squints his eyes. “I'm the only player answering phones.”

“You have to get yourself a girlfriend.”