Thin Ice (47 page)
"Wow.” Robbie stared, his eyes agog. “Is that you, Mom?"
"You'l take his breath away,” Patricia declared.
"Hopefuly not until after the game. He'l need it to play.” Emily's eyebrows rose as she eyed the fuly loaded table. “You two puled out al the stops.” There was roast beef, gravy, broccoli smothered with cheese sauce, baked potatoes and sour cream, and three slices of pecan pie.
"We just nuked what was in the bags,” Patricia said airily, and flashed a smile at Robbie as he finished setting the table. Robbie grinned and sent his grandmother a thumbs-up sign.
Emily laughed. Everything was going to be just fine.
She didn't think so an hour later when the Subway had a flat two miles short of the arena. While traffic belched and honked al around her, Emily stared at the offending tire in frustration and wanted to weep.
"What are we gonna do now, Mom?"
She fished in her purse for her cel phone. “Cal a tow truck. We're blocking traffic."
They were. Three lanes of filed-to-capacity arena traffic now tried to squeeze into two, several drivers not hesitating to let Emily know what they thought of her timing. But for the first time in her life, Emily wasn't afraid of their anger. She had more important things to worry about.
* * * *
Miranda had sounded funny on the phone this afternoon when he'd caled Bil to discuss some last-minute strategy. To his relief she hadn't mentioned Emily, but her self-satisfied tone of voice had made him wonder. Miranda wasn't by nature a smug woman.
He scanned the seats reserved for the team's guests and recognized several of his teammates’ girlfriends and family members. Miranda several of his teammates’ girlfriends and family members. Miranda was there, belting out the Star Spangled Banner along with about twenty thousand other people who had more enthusiasm than talent.
He spotted the two empty seats beside her, and tried not to hope.
Stil, if Emily planned to put in an appearance, it would have to be tonight.
The Star Spangled Banner ended. Stil no Emily. Eric shoved his disappointment down deep inside. Time to forget about the woman once and for al, and focus on the game. This was it. The seventh of seven. Tonight, the Saints and the Bombers would finaly see who took home the Cup. Eric took a deep breath, met Granger's eyes across the ice, and offered up his most chiling your-ass-is mine smile.
* * * *
"Hey, lady, you want a ride?"
Her feet already stating to chafe in her new boots, she accepted the offer gratefuly, but it meant they had to go al the way back down the access road and turn around again, which took a good twenty minutes.
By the time they puled up in front of the arena they'd missed the first period. The first intermission was coming to a close as she and Robbie pushed through the turnstiles.
She found their section without any trouble since most of the spectators had already returned to their seats, but Miranda looked ready to blow a gasket.
"What happened to you? Where have you been?"
"Flat tire. Eric was right. The damned things are bald. We hit a board in the road and the right front tire fel apart."
"Are you al right?"
Emily leaned her portfolio against the seat, shook out her arm and blew out a determined breath. “We're tired, cranky, sweaty, and my feet hurt, but we're here, and that's what counts.” She checked the score. The Saints were winning, two-one.
Miranda waved at the only unclaimed seats in the house. “Sit. Sit.
Both of you. I'l get you something cool to drink."
"They're coming back out! There he is, Mom!"
Emily sank into her seat with deep sigh of gratitude, looked toward the ice, and felt her pain, tension, and anxiety melt away. She drank the ice, and felt her pain, tension, and anxiety melt away. She drank in the sight of Eric and knew she'd never tire of looking at him, under any circumstances. Wearing jeans and sneakers, suit and tie, uniform and pads, or nothing but bruises and scars, she loved him completely. She'd come here tonight prepared to prove it.
Miranda nudged her arm. “Here. Drink this."
"Thanks.” Emily took a swalow, her gaze stil folowing Eric. She nearly choked as the cool liquid burned her throat, then realized she was holding a mixed drink.
"Rum and coke,” Miranda said. “It'l settle your nerves."
Emily nodded and took another fortifying swalow, her eyes locked on Eric. When the teams skated to the benches, she turned to Robbie and checked his forehead. His cheeks were flushed, but his brow was cool. “You al right, Tiger?” He assured her he was. She smiled and smoothed his hair. “Remember what you're supposed to do?"
He grinned. “Just as soon as you give the signal."
She looked around to see Miranda passing out the fourteen placards she'd carried inside her portfolio. Several of the wives turned to Emily and waved, smiling broadly.
"Al set?” she asked as a noticeably pregnant Miranda eased into the seat on the other side of Robbie.
Miranda's eyes sparkled. “You bet. The girls can't wait."
"I just hope this doesn't backfire. The way my luck's been lately..."
"Trust me. You'l knock his skates off."
"Either that, or I'l embarrass us both in front of twenty thousand people."
Miranda grinned. “Don't forget the television audience."
Eric hurt in places he'd forgotten existed. The game was wide open and the fans were going nuts. The Bombers were going down, but not without a fight. They were determined to beat the crap out of any Saint who happened to be carrying the puck.
And everyone knew Eric Cameron liked to carry the puck.
He spotted nobody home in the Bombers’ zone and headed that way. The puck danced against his stick as he sailed up the ice. The crowd's roar of approval was sweet music as his two wingers joined him in rushing the lone Bombers defenseman. Adrenaline raced through him like wildfire as he faked a pass to his left winger, then rushed the net. A split second later he spotted two blue jerseys homing in on his left. He twisted away before they could take him down, caught his own rebound, and tipped the puck past the down, caught his own rebound, and tipped the puck past the goalie's outstretched leg.
Beautiful. The fans exploded. The siren wailed, Granger's glare could have forged steel. The Bombers defenseman who'd been caught with his pants down promised to make Eric eat a prized portion of his anatomy. Eric told him to get in line and skated for the bench.
Thirty seconds later he was back on the ice again, anticipating retribution's arrival. It appeared in the form of Clarence “Kiler” Clementi. The hulking giant nailed Eric into the boards right after he intercepted a pass between two Bombers. Prepared for the hit, Eric grunted and roled with it.
But Clementi wasn't done with him. The next time they met, he hooked Eric's legs out from under him. Eric went down hard, slammed into the ice, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He lay stil for a few stunned seconds, waiting for the whistle to blow, the penalty to be caled.
It wasn't. The game continued without him, the sharp scrape of steel against ice ringing in his ears. He scrambled to his feet on legs that felt like rubber bands and decided it was time to trade finesse for force. The thought had barely jeled before he spotted Clementi coming back for round three.
The fight was a whopper, one of his longest, and most intense.
Clementi left the ice needing medical attention. Eric skated to the penalty box to do his time, plunked down on the bench, worked the penalty box to do his time, plunked down on the bench, worked the kinks out of his aching arms and shoulders, then roled his neck. His head stil hummed from Clementi's left hook, since his face was stil recovering from a close encounter with a crossbar a week earlier.
True, the crossbar and not Clementi had nailed him on the jaw that night, but the Baltimore defenseman had been the force behind Eric's flight into the net.
He checked the situation on the ice. The Bombers had caled a time out. The score was four-two with ten minutes to go. Half a period.
Half a lifetime.
But the team's brainstorming session this morning was paying off.
The Saints were controling the face-offs, and with the exception of an occasional run-in with Clementi, controling the boards.
Now Clementi was gone. Across the rink, Granger was going apeshit. Eric itched to smirk at him, but knew better than to tempt fate. Victory wouldn't be his until the final siren sounded. He roled his shoulders again. If he lived that long. When this was over he planned to crawl into the closest thing he could find to a cave and lose himself in it. Possibly permanently.
"Yo, Cameron,” the official in the penalty box with him said. “You know somebody named E-W-I-L-Y?"
Eric removed his helmet and mouthpiece, reached for the water bottle. He doused his face in an effort to revive himself, then shook bottle. He doused his face in an effort to revive himself, then shook the water from his hair. “No, why?"
"Wel, she either knows you or wants to. Take a look.” The man hiked his chin toward the wives section.
Eric's heart shuddered to a stop. Three rows deep—in bright, bold, Minneapolis Saints purple and gold, the words EWILY LOVES
ERIC screamed out at him. Holding high the two-foot-square placards that bore one letter each were a dozen grinning women and one beaming boy—al staring straight at him. As fans began to elbow each other and point, Eric swalowed. Hard.
She'd come.
"Strange name,” the man beside him mused. “Wonder how it's pronounced."
In silence Eric drank in the sight of the flame-haired woman who looked like some kind of supermodel in her light green sweater and blue jeans holding up the first “E"—the only woman in the group who wasn't grinning. Instead, she looked terrified—and near tears.
Slowly, he felt his aching body return to life.
She loved him.
The knowledge arrowed straight into his heart. Emily loved him.
“Emily.” Chest expanding, throat constricting, Eric breathed her name, unaware of anything at that moment but the joy rising inside him.
him.
Someone must have said something to her, because with an adorable expression of dismay, Emily looked at the sign Robbie proudly held upside down beside her. She righted the “M” amid rumbles of laughter, rowdy cheers, and a ripple of applause.
"I take it you know the lady."
Eric sent the penalty box official a slow grin. “Not nearly wel enough."
A horn sounded. The group in the stands sat down as one and tucked their signs away while the game resumed as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. After al, signs expressing support for the Saints filed the stands. Eric's name graced at least half of them.
But none had touched him like Emily's. He'd never forget looking up from the ice to find her watching him, teling him and the rest of his world how she felt about him. He stored the memory in his heart and returned his attention to the game. As the final seconds of his penalty ran out, he met Granger's contemptuous black eyes across the rink, smiled slowly, and exploded onto the ice.
The Saints won, six-three. Pandemonium erupted in the stands, mayhem on the ice. The Saints let loose with flying leaps and bear hugs, screamed, shouted and hugged each other in sheer exhilaration. Eric's teammates flew over the boards to join in the fray. The fans, not to be outdone, roared and surged forward. Eric fray. The fans, not to be outdone, roared and surged forward. Eric glanced into the stands and decided the police deserved commendations al around.
Frenzied minutes later, as he skated into line for the post-game handshake between teams, he spotted Granger leaving the ice—
alone. With startling ease, Eric let the past go with him. It no longer mattered. He looked into the stands again, spotted Emily and Robbie hugging, and knew why.
The time had come to look to his future. The past was over and done with.
Thirty minutes passed before the on-ice festivities ended—the presentation, the proclamation, and the picture. While Miranda took Robbie to buy souvenirs of the ‘greatest team in the world,’ Emily watched with blurred vision as the Saints took turns skating around the rink with the Cup hoisted above their heads, then posed for the official photo, Cup in the forefront.
The photo taken, the traditions observed, the Saints left the ice to head for the locker room party, waving to their families to join them.
Emily spotted Eric deep in conversation with one of his alternate captains. As the other man skated away, smiling and shaking his head, Eric looked up at her—and beamed. Emily had never seen him look so proud, or so happy.
Just then Miranda and Robbie returned. Eric motioned for them to meet him outside the locker room, but by the time Emily and Robbie reached the corridor, it was so clogged with celebrants it Robbie reached the corridor, it was so clogged with celebrants it took her ten minutes to move fifty feet.
