Chapter 8

Steve

Looking in my rearview mirror as I drive toward Port Moody, I can see Eliza. She’s singing along to something and dancing in her seat. She seems carefree, and I like seeing her that way. She was certainly buttoned up tight back in the locker rooms.

Not that I blame her. Today’s practice was a clusterfuck, and they’ve been that way on and off since practices began. I’m surprised we haven’t had more “friendly fire” injuries. I don’t even know why management brought on Sean Rhymes. He’s a dirty player and couldn’t get along with a wall.

My mind goes back to Hudson Meecher. Poor guy, he deserves better than this ending to his career. That hit was wrong. Maybe that’s why I was so moved as I watched Eliza stare down Rhymes’ asshole agent. It was totally hot, and it only made me want her more.

I pull into the parking lot and leave my car for the valet as Eliza pulls up behind me. I wave off the attendant who rushes to open her door. “I’ve got this.”

He nods and steps aside.

Eliza smirks and places her hand in mine as she gets out of the car. I don’t let go until we’re inside the restaurant and being seated. It’s early, and the crowd at the Boathouse is easily twice our age.

“Do they have an early-bird senior special?” she teases.

“I think it’s the view,” I tell her, gesturing toward the window. Across the inlet, the water is like glass. A sailboat comes in and glides to the dock.

“You could be right,” she says as she picks up her menu.

When the server arrives, we order dinner. Just like last time, Eliza orders a hearty meal. Most of the women I’ve gone on dates with recently order salad and barely pick at it. That drives me insane.

“Are you going to get a drink?” Eliza asks.

“No, I have a surgery in the morning, and I don’t drink the twenty-four hours before. But help yourself. It doesn’t bother me.”

She orders a glass of wine, and after the server leaves, we sit quietly, watching the paddle boarders come in.

“It’s beautiful,” Eliza breathes. “But that’s not why we’re here.”

I nod. “Today’s practice was a shitshow.”

Eliza smooths the napkin on her lap. “This conversation is confidential. I’m trying to understand what’s going on with the team. Do you know who made the decision to hire Sean Rhymes?”

I shake my head as the server delivers Eliza’s wine and my lemonade. I take a drink before I respond. “Practices have been going like that lately. But Rhymes isn’t the only problem. There’s a lot of pressure on Coach to win, and I guess he thought he could manage a few difficult players if it got him toward that goal.”

“Tell me what you’ve observed.”

I look away. This is probably my last year with the team anyway, so it’s not like the politics are going to get me fired. “I can’t quite pinpoint it, or I would have gone to your dad.”

Eliza sits forward.

“But I can tell you the team isn’t gelling. They’re divided into groups, but not by position. Or sometimes you can see a team become two units—offense and defense and maybe a third for special teams. But our team breaks down in clusters of maybe two or three guys.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Honestly?”

She nods.

“They’ve hired several guys who think the team is all about them, and they each have a few acolytes—or they’re battling to have them.” I shrug. “I can see how it happens. Professional football players have been the best in their leagues from pee-wee ball through university, but someone has to remind them that they’re always part of a team.”

Her brow furrows.

“Okay, after the season opener, did you see Mathieu Pelletier during the press conference?”

She nods, and her eyes hold a hint of understanding.

“He blamed everyone but himself for that loss. It was always someone else’s fault. And when he wins, it’s all about him. I remember him from last season. He did this. He did that. The guys who’d helped to make it happen didn’t even exist. He was a one-man team.”

“Why can’t the coaches and handlers advise him on how to talk to the media?”

“It’s not just about what he says; it’s about what he believes. He’s been around long enough that I’m sure he’s been corrected many times, but he doesn’t hear it.”

“But that bravado is part of being a professional football player.”

“I agree. And teams can manage maybe one of those, but we have three guys right now who are all the same. So not only do they behave the same, they’re all competing for the same thing.”

“That makes sense. But why would Coach override Darius Johnson’s recommendations?”

“Good question. It may not have been him. It could have been your dad.”

She shakes her head. “I’ve thought about that, but this is our investment. That would sabotage the value.”

I shrug. “Maybe, but maybe your dad wants to move the team. Maybe he’s ready to sell and he wants the loss.”

Her eyes grow big, and she takes a deep breath. “He’s never done that in any of his businesses.”

Our meals arrive. She has some kind of white fish with a delicate sauce. She takes a bite and moans, which reminds me of our night together.

“What did you order?” I ask.

“The sablefish. This butter and wine sauce is amazing. What did you order?”

“The mixed seafood grill—salmon, prawns, scallops, and crab-stuffed prawns. Would you like a bite? It’s pretty good.”

“Only if you’ll have a bite of mine.”

She picks up a generous bite, and I lean in and take it right from her fork. I groan at the taste. Her eyes heat.

I fork a portion of the crab-stuffed prawn and hold it out to her. She takes the bite, closes her eyes, and sits back. “That’s amazing.”

“I can’t decide who got the better dish.”

We talk a bit more football, but for most of the rest of dinner, we flirt and get to know one another. She’s just returned from London and misses the good tea. “North American teas all have orange pekoe, which becomes bitter when steeped for too long. That’s not true of teas you find in the UK or India.”

“I have no opinion on this, so I’ll just nod and agree.”

She giggles, and I feel my smile widen. “What is your plan now that you’re back?” I ask her.

“I’ve set my life up to run the team. That’s my plan. ”

“What’s your dad’s plan?”

She sighs. “We’re working on a deal for me to take it over.”

When we finish dinner, I reach for the check, but she stops me. “I asked you here to get your opinion on the team—well, really to confirm what I was seeing.”

“I’m not used to women picking up the check.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Are you used to women signing your paycheck?”

“Yes. The head of Mercy Hospital is a woman. That doesn’t bother me in the least. I’m not intimidated by a woman with an opinion.”

“Good. Because there’s nothing wrong with having an opinion.”

“Would you like to come back to my place?”

She snorts and shakes her head, but she’s smiling. “You’re relentless.”

“You’ve seen that up close and personal.”

“Maybe another night.”

“At least you haven’t shut the door on that prospect.”

“No. But my life is going to become very hectic.”

“What are you trying to tell me?” I ask. “Is your dad arranging your marriage to a Saudi prince?”

“No way. He would not like a woman with opinions.”

“The Saudi prince wouldn’t care as long as you didn’t express your opinion.” I rise from the table to help her with her coat.

“What’s the use of that?” She grins as we walk out to the valet stand, and I don’t want to let this go. I want to see her again.

They bring up her car first. “Okay, I know you’ll be busy this weekend and through the week, but how about next Sunday? The team isn’t working, and you get a day of rest, don’t you?”

She huffs out a sharp breath. “Don’t you have some arm candy to bother? ”

I roll my eyes. “No arm candy. I only have you.”

“I’ll think about it.”

She walks around to her car as mine pulls up behind her.

“I’ll see you at the game this Sunday.”

“And good luck tomorrow. Is Hudson your surgery?”

“No, he’s slotted in early next week.”

“Okay, let me know how it goes.”

I nod my agreement and watch her drive off. At the end of the parking lot, she turns the wrong way. That’s my opening! I quickly call her, and she answers on the first ring.

“You’re going the wrong way if you’re trying to get home.”

“Crap. Thanks. My car is new, and I don’t know how to use the map function. I don’t need it around town, so I haven’t bothered with it.”

“Turn around, and I’ll wait for you to pull in behind me. I’ll get you as far as Mercy Hospital.”

“Sounds good. I know how to get home from there.” She’s quiet a few moments as I wait to see her turn the corner.

“The light’s red. I’ll be there in a few.”

“Don’t worry about it. This gives me the opportunity to convince you to go out with me.”

“What do you think are your selling attributes?”

I see her and pull out. “You’re right behind me?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, my selling attributes are… I’m a nice guy.”

She snorts.

“I’m stable. I grew up all over the metro area, and I can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

“Me too. I love it here. It’s never too hot or too cold.”

“I have a tight group of friends, and we all look after each other.”

“I have Tanya, and she’s been my best friend since elementary school.”

“And I’m good with my hands.”

“Keep it PG, please. ”

“I am. Just because you’ve experienced some of the things my hands can do, doesn’t mean those are the only things they can do.”

“Fine.”

“I walked away from my family’s business, and my sister runs it,” I continue. “And I’m not sorry. She does a great job, and I have a life. There’s room for more than work.”

She’s quiet a moment. “Really?”

“Yep. My dad was seriously pissed that I didn’t want to take over, but he worked so much when we were growing up that we hardly knew him. With the job I have, I’m on call twice a month, but for the most part, when I’m done at the end of the day, I’m done. I can do what I want, and I don’t have to worry about working late.”

“I’ve seen you work late.”

“You have. But that’s rare, a product of the team’s schedule on occasion. Mostly, I like meeting my friends for drinks and spending the long evenings playing golf until ten at night during the summer.”

“That makes up for the winter days that have less than eight hours of daylight, I suppose.”

“Here we are at Mercy. Have a good night, and I’ll see you soon.”

“Sounds good.” She hangs up.

A few minutes later, I’m home and pulling into my driveway. I think about what I should do to make an impression, to keep whatever this is with Eliza going. Julia Martin once shared her personal florist’s contact info with me, so when I get inside, I reach out and tell her generally what I’m looking for and where to send it. She agrees to pull something together and asks what I’d like the card to say.

“Please say yes,” I tell her. “And then sign my name.”

I have to be at the hospital by six tomorrow morning, so I get to bed early and dream of Eliza.

"How did the game go this weekend?” Colton Caulfield, the anesthesiologist on my surgery, asks as we’re cleaning our hands in prep on Wednesday morning.

I sigh. “They got creamed—again.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” He turns the water off with the foot pedal and prepares to walk into the surgery bay where Hudson awaits.

The game this weekend was awful. At times, I was sure some of our players forgot what team they were playing for. I’ve already seen a few memes on the sports channels, even in the U.S., that are highlighting one particular play where the quarterback threw the ball and hit a tackle square in the back. He went down hard. The worst part is I didn’t even get to see Eliza. Not one of my better weekends.

I follow Colton in, and Hudson’s surgery goes relatively well. His tendon isn’t torn as severely as I expected, and it doesn’t take too long to do the repair. He should definitely be able to continue walking normally, but beyond that is yet to be seen. He’s an athlete, so he could bounce back, but he’ll have to decide if it’s worth fighting back to playing form. But if anyone can get through the rehab, he will.

After he’s settled and comfortable in a room, I go back to my office and pull my cell phone out of my pocket. I heard it sound during surgery, but there was nothing I could do about it while I was busy fixing the torn tendon.

Before I can get to my messages, there’s a knock at my door, and I look up to find my friend Davis Martin. I wave him in.

“Hey. What’s up?” he asks as he enters .

“I just got out of surgery. What’s going on with you?”

“My mom asked me to remind you that you agreed to attend her fundraiser next weekend…and be part of the bachelor auction.”

I sit back and roll my eyes. “I forgot. Do you think I can get out of it?”

He shakes his head. “It’s still almost two weeks away. You can adjust your schedule if you need to. You told her the team had a bye week and you’d do this for her.”

“I’ll be there. Maybe I can get someone I like to bid on me.”

“A petite brunette who runs your team?”

I look down, certain I’m blushing. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

“Since when?”

“Get lost. But you can assure Julia I’ll be there.”

I return to my phone, and I’m disappointed to find nothing from Eliza. I’d hoped she might thank me for the flowers. Crap . There’s a message from my sister reminding me of Dad’s seventieth birthday later this year. She’s organizing a party she wants my help with.

I’ll deal with that later.

I pull up Eliza’s number and call.

She answers on the third ring. “How did he do?”

I’m taken aback by her briskness until she laughs.

“I really hope this is Steve McCormick.”

My heart slows. “Yes, it is. Hudson’s doing well. The tear wasn’t as bad as we thought. He’s in great shape, and if he decides he wants to hit rehab like I think he will, he might be back for the all-star game and the end of the season. We’ll have to see how he does. But he’s definitely out for at least six weeks.”

“That’s great news.”

“It is. I just hope he doesn’t push so hard that he ends up hurting himself all over again.”

“How long will he be at Mercy?”

“I won’t release him for at least two days. He needs to learn how to get around on crutches without putting too much pressure on his knee.”

“Makes sense. I’ll have the team send something over.”

“I’m sure he’d like that. His manager and his wife and son are with him now.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll send something to entertain the little guy.”

“I’m sure that will go over well.” There’s a pause in the conversation. I guess this is my opening. “Have you thought about my offer for getting together on Sunday night?”

“I have…” she says after a moment. “What were you thinking?”

“There’s no pressure, but given our work relationship and my tendency to be linked to women in the tabloids, I’d like to be low key. What if we were to have dinner at my place? No sex required. I just thought we’d stay under the radar.”

“I didn’t think about why you knew of a quiet restaurant in the suburbs.”

“You’ve found me out.”

“Okay. I guess I’ll have dinner with you Sunday night, but let’s meet at my place. Well, it’s actually my mother’s, but she’s out of town.”

“That works.”

“Do you remember where I live?”

“I do. See you then.” I’m about to hang up, disappointed that she hasn’t mentioned the flowers. Were they delivered?

“Oh, Steve?”

“Yes?”

“The flowers were stunning. I love pink calla lilies. I’m the envy of every woman in the office.”

“Who did you tell them they were from?”

“They only know the name starts with S, but Tanya knows.”

“I’m glad you liked them.”

“I decided after the game on Sunday that I was going to agree to dinner. You didn’t have to send flowers. ”

I smile. “But I did. You bought dinner last time.”

“Do you do this for all the women who buy your dinner?”

“I don’t know. The only other women who’ve bought my meals are my sister and my mother.”

“Really?”

“Yep. Come to think of it, I haven’t sent many women flowers, either. I don’t usually do the pursuing. Women chase me.”

“So, are you telling me I’m doing this wrong and should chase you?”

I laugh. “You can do whatever you want. I have a feeling no matter what you do, I’ll follow along.”

“I’ll see you Sunday night.”

“What do you want me to bring?” I ask. “Maybe an overnight bag?”

“We’ve agreed that sex is off the table.”

“We didn’t agree to anything yet, and besides, that doesn’t mean we can’t spend the night together.”

She sighs. “You’re impossible. I’ll see you on Sunday.”

We hang up, and I think I’ll have a smile on my face until Sunday. Then my phone pings, and she’s sent me a picture of the round, clear vase with at least three dozen pink calla lilies. Thank you , she’s written.

I can’t wait to see her again.