On the Surface (In the Zone) (19 page)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Hockey’s regular season officially began, and Erin attended the Barracudas’ opening game at the Mesa Arena. This time, instead of a luxury box, she and Claire sat much closer to the ice. Erin was glad of the change. Since the game against the Ducks, she wanted to be closer to Tim if he, God forbid, got hurt again. When the TV cameras had failed to follow him, it had driven her crazy, but Tim got through the game injury-free and scored in all three periods to boot, another hat trick.

The fans, media and Erin went crazy. It was all anyone could talk about. The
San Diego Post
interviewed him for a feature story and the team celebration of the win continued into the wee hours at one of their favorite haunts, a bar called Moe’s. Tim brought Erin, who brought Claire so she wouldn’t be the only woman there. Some players’ wives showed up, but they mostly kept to themselves. Jason Locke insisted that anyone who scored a hat trick had to buy everyone drinks, and Tim smilingly agreed to that.

As a result, most of them got snockered. Erin had an apple martini. Claire had several. Erin wondered at that. Something was clearly bothering her, but she’d insisted she was fine.

A little after two, Erin found Claire talking with Alex Sullivan and a couple defensemen.

“Hey, sis, Tim and I are going to take off.”

“Cool,” Claire replied. “I’m going to stay a little longer.”

Tim put a hand on Erin’s lower back, a subtle request that they leave.

“All right. Don’t be too late and get Vic mad at me,” she said, putting him off. “And watch out for those martinis. They make them strong here.”

“Yes, Mom,” Claire replied.

Alex laughed.

“And just for the record, Vic won’t care,” Claire added.

Tim bent to whisper in Erin’s ear, “Come on. Let’s go. She’ll be fine. She’s got good old Sam to drive her home.” Tim’s hand slid down to briefly cup her bottom and when their eyes met, she saw nothing but raw hunger in his eyes. Desire flooded her lower body. She decided Tim was right. Claire would be fine.

CityView was only fifteen minutes away. High on his three goals and the excitement of the game, Tim had an excess of energy and was as horny as a sailor on a shore leave. Once inside his apartment, they headed wordlessly to the bed where once again, Tim proved he had an endless source of stamina. He could play an intensely physical game of hockey and still have energy enough to fully satisfy her. Twice.

The sex, the laughter, the exciting and the quiet moments made her giddy with happiness. She was a Christmas tree with all her lights turned on and blinking, so bright you could see her in the daytime. Three months after meeting him, her world revolved around him and hockey. She still loved her job, taking care of the kids, helping them deal with being in the hospital and whatever illness brought them there, but in the back of her mind, she kept track of the minutes until she could see Tim. If it was a road game, she sat herself in front of her TV and didn’t move except during commercials, or she recorded them on her DVR to watch at her earliest convenience.

She had the NHL and Barracuda apps on the home screen of her phone and could not only read the hand signals of the on-ice officials, she could sometimes call it before the whistle was blown. She had a variety of Barracuda sportswear—not nearly as big a collection as Claire, but decent. She usually wore the oversized jersey with Tim’s name and number on it, at home or at the arena. He’d of course had it signed by every member of the team. And put eleventy million X’s and O’s next to his own name. In red Sharpie, no less.

Tonight, she and Claire had tickets for the game against L.A. again, a big rival. About an hour beforehand, Erin knocked on Claire’s door, hoping her sister was ready. Her work schedule had not coincided well with Tim’s lately, and it had been three days since they’d seen each other. During warm-up, he was busy but even being the same room with him—in this case a room that held eighteen thousand people—lifted her spirits.

Vic opened the door.

“Hi, Vic.”

Vic pushed past her and headed for the elevator without a word.

“Bye, Vic.”

Wondering what was going on, Erin went in. “Claire?”

That’s when she heard the muffled sobbing. Dropping her purse on the floor in the entry, Erin hunted down her sister. She found Claire sitting in the living room, tears streaming down her face.

“Claire, what’s going on? Why are you crying?” Erin sat next to her sister and put a hand on her arm.

“Erin!” Claire threw herself at Erin and sobbed.

As she soothed and comforted her hysterical sister, horrible thoughts bounced around Erin’s skull. Claire had breast cancer. She was pregnant and something was wrong with the baby. Someone had died. Vic’s company was bankrupt.

Once the worst of the crying had subsided, Erin said, “Claire, what’s wrong, honey?”

“It’s over!”

“What’s over?”

“Vic and me. Our marriage. We’re g-g-getting a divorce!”

Erin was stunned. She’d had no idea their marriage was on the rocks. She got Claire some tissues from the side table. “You can’t be serious. Why? What’s going on?”

“He cheated on me.”

“What? Oh my God. That
asshole.
”

“He s-s-said he’s in l-l-love with her.”

She cried some more on Erin’s shoulder and Erin wished she could do something besides hand her fresh tissues and hug her. Like maybe see if Lorena Bobbitt was available for hire.

When Claire seemed wrung out, Erin asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know,” Claire said after blowing her nose. “He didn’t say. I actually found out on Tuesday, but I didn’t say anything to him. I didn’t know what
to
say.”

Tuesday was the night Claire had gone to Moe’s with Erin and the team and acted all funny. It made sense now.

“Then tonight...he did something that made me mad. He left his napkin on the counter instead of throwing it away, even though the trash can was literally
right there
—and I lost it. I asked him if he was seeing someone and he said yes.” Claire’s lower lip trembled again. “I screamed at him for a minute or so before he said he didn’t have to stay here for that and left. That was right before you came in.”

“Yeah, he pushed past me on his way out.” Erin sighed and looked at her watch. Then she sighed again. “Okay, I’m going to make us some margaritas. Some strong ones. And we’ll figure out what you should do.”

“What about the game?” Claire sniffed, following her to the kitchen. She had decked herself out in Barracuda gear, of course. “Don’t you want to go to the game?”

Erin took the blender out of the cupboard and poured some tequila into it. “You’re more important than the game.”

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tim skated the circumference of the rink looking for Erin. She usually showed up at the warm-up, but warm-up was over. He skated over to Jason, who was talking to one of the equipment handlers.

“Jase, have you seen Erin?”

“Not tonight, buddy.”

He asked a couple of the other guys, but no one had seen her.

“Is she coming tonight?” one of the rookies asked. His name was John Weinrich but everyone called him Whiner because he was a juvenile, shithead complainer. The shift to the big league seemed to have gone to the kid’s head and he’d gotten cocky. His skill on D made up for the fact that he tended to do the bare minimum during practice, but Tim hoped with time he’d mature and develop a better work ethic.

“She’s supposed to,” Tim answered.

“Is she bringing that sister of hers?”

Tim didn’t like the smarmy expression on Weinrich’s face. “What’s it to you?”

“I hear she’s hot. That’s all.” Weinrich shrugged.

Tim did not like the sound of that. “Hot?”

“Yeah. The other night at Moe’s when you were buying drinks. I hear she and Sully hooked up in that little room in the back. Sully told me it was almost a blow n’ go, but she got cold feet.”

“
What?
”

Tim cursed. He remembered being surprised to see Claire tossing back the martinis. She’d always seemed like an I’ll-just-have-a-glass-of-wine type of woman. He also remembered Alex paying a lot of attention to Claire that night, but he hadn’t thought much about it. He’d had more important things on his mind, like getting Erin naked and under him as quickly as possible.

Tim quickly scanned the ice. When he spotted Alex still hitting pucks into the net with Mac blocking, he headed over.

“Alex, we need to talk,” Tim said.

“And I’m going in,” Mac said. “I gotta take a leak.”

“Cool,” Alex said. “Thanks.”

Mac skated toward the dressing room, but Alex hung back.

“So,” Tim said, “Whiner told me you had a good time with Claire the other night.”

Alex shrugged. “Yeah, well, it started out good, real good, but she left before we got to the good stuff. Something spooked her. Probably my enormous dick.”

Tim refused to think about Claire on her knees in Moe’s back room.

Alex frowned, propping his stick on the ice. “Is there a problem? You’ve got Erin. Is her sister off-limits by association?”

“She was drunk off her ass.”

Alex bristled. “Well, I was none to sober myself, but she came on to me, Tim. She was all over me like she’d overdosed on Love Potion Number Nine. What was I supposed to do?”

“Take a hike, damn it. Say no. Keep your fucking dick in your pants. She’s fucking married.”

Alex pulled his helmet off and shoved it under his arm. “Look, Tim, back the fuck off. The only reason I’m not kicking your ass five minutes ago is because we’re friends.” He adjusted the grip on his stick and pushed off toward the dressing room, scowling. “But consider this a warning. Stay out of my personal business.”

Tim stood there, not very calm himself and pissed off at his friend. He’d never known Alex to screw around with a married woman, but both of them had been drunk. He wondered what he was going to tell Erin.
If
he was going to tell Erin. What a fucking disaster.

Eventually, he left the ice, walking right past the autograph hounds. Any other night and he’d have been happy to sign stuff for them, but not tonight. He still needed to find Erin.

In the dressing room, he checked his phone and found a message from her.

Vic
walked
out
on
Claire
.
She’s
upset
.
Picking
up
the
pieces
.
Call
me
after
the
game
.

Fuck. The shit had already hit the fan. Claire had never struck him as a skank, but now he wasn’t sure. Maybe she led a double life. By day she was Susie Homemaker, Debbie Decorator, and by night, she got her kicks picking up men in bars. Shit. He hoped not.

Either way, he was fucked tonight. Erin wasn’t coming and he had no more kisses in reserve. He hadn’t thought he needed one tonight since they were playing at home and she had tickets to the game.

Calder Griffin noticed Tim’s agitation. “What’s wrong?”

“Erin’s not here to kiss my stick.”

Griffin nodded, adjusted his shoulder pads. “You know, Coach frowns on pregame blow jobs anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up. I’m serious. That kiss is a big part of my routine.”

Griffin ran a thumb over the taped blade of his own stick. “Don’t you have one of those extras?”

“No. I used them all up. I was going to have her replenish my inventory tonight.”

“I guess you’re fucked then.”

Tim glared at him. Seven minutes until game time and it felt like he had a stomach full of battery acid.

“Just kidding.” Griffin straightened. “You’ll do fine. It’s not the kiss. It’s the player, man. You know what to do. Think ahead. Let your training take over. Have fun. That’s my prescription for success in hockey. Now,” Griffin said, hitting the front of Tim’s helmet with the flat of his gloved palm, “go forth and score, my son.”

Tim did his best to forget about the missing kiss. He told himself that completing ninety-eight percent of his routine would still work. But it didn’t. He played like shit. He wanted to blame the ice, the fucking annoying something in his sock that kept poking him between the toes, the equally annoying lock of hair that kept blocking his vision and the fact that the Coyotes had their shit together tonight. They’d just lost three in a row and were desperate for a win. But Tim couldn’t blame anything but himself. Every time he caught himself glancing at the empty spot on his stick, doubt weaseled its way in the head. That made him angry, but it wasn’t the kind of anger he could channel, like when he got put in the box because some lame-ass diver acted like a tap on the helmet almost knocked him unconscious. No, this anger took his head out of the game and screwed with his concentration.

The Barracudas lost, and although no loss could ever be attributed to one person, he still felt responsible. He was better than this. He disappointed himself, his fans and Erin too. She’d watch the game eventually and see him fumble passes, fail to be there for the rebounds and spend eight minutes in the penalty box for stupid shit. The healthy, well-deserved reaming he got from the coach would be nothing compared to the disappointment he expected to see in Erin’s eyes.

Regardless, he texted her when he pulled into the parking garage at CityView.
Almost
home
.

Okay
, she texted back,
I’m
leaving
Claire’s
now
.

When he walked the front door, Erin was there. Her immediate hug made him feel a thousand times better. The shitty game took a backseat to getting his arms around his woman. Erin was a balm.

He shed his jacket as he walked to the bedroom to change clothes. Sweats and a T-shirt felt nice and loose.

Since he skipped the post-game meal at the arena, she made him a tuna melt on that dense wheat bread he liked from the bakery on the corner and cut up the cantaloupe he had in the fridge. He chased it down with some nonfat milk.

“I’m sorry about the game,” she said, nibbling on the melon. “I didn’t watch, but I saw the postgame.”

“Not your fault,” he said around a bite. “Bottom line, I sucked big hairy donkey balls. I couldn’t get in position for my line. I was slow in the line changes, slow for rebounds, slow for everything. In the second period, Jase handed me the puck on a platter and I couldn’t get my stick on it. And right before that second Coyote goal on the PK, it was me who failed to clear the puck.”

“But you scored in the third period.”

“Too little too late,” he replied, starting on the second half of his sandwich.

“Well, you can’t win them all—”

“Los Angeles is undefeated right now.”

“Don’t be difficult. Has anyone ever continued undefeated all the way to the play-offs?”

“No,” he grumbled. “We had a nice run early in ‘13, but no.”

“There you go. Someone will beat them sometime.”

He downed the rest of his milk. “How’s Claire?” he asked, belatedly diverting attention away from his embarrassing performance.

“She’s okay, I guess. Calmer. She’s going to see if Vic will go to counseling with her.”

“Do you think it’ll help?” he asked, wondering if Claire had told Erin about her indiscretion with Alex.
He
certainly wasn’t going to mention it.

“I hope so.” She stood at the kitchen counter and stared into the distance, unfocused. “You know, I thought they were planning to get pregnant this year. I wanted to be an aunt.”

At the catch in her voice, Tim looked up and was horrified to see her eyes had welled up.

“I thought she had it all,” she said, wiping the tears off her cheeks. “I thought she was so happy...”

Tim wondered how to proceed. “Did she tell you what the problem was?” he finally asked.

With a sniffle, Erin dabbed at her eyes with a paper towel she got from the dispenser near the sink. “Vic cheated on her. But we don’t know much more than that. He sent her a text around nine that said not to expect him home for a while, that he was going to stay in a hotel for the time being.” She drew in a shuddering breath. “And I don’t know what to do or how to help her. If he can’t even stay in the same house with her...” She trailed off and her eyes welled with tears again. Her lip trembled and something in Tim’s gut writhed around in pain.

He got to his feet and went to hug her. “I’ll admit that sounds bad, but everything’s going to work out fine,” he said, not believing anything of the kind. If Claire was spending her evenings hooking up with random men... “Every married couple goes through shit like this.”

“How do you know?” she asked with a sniffle. “Oh wait, I forgot. You were married.”

Tim gaped at her in surprise.