Chapter 17

On Tuesday,Jack stepped out of his truck and locked the doors, then strode into the farm-to-table place where his teammates always went for lunch. From the time he signed his contract, he knew how this was supposed to go. If you joined a team, you were committing to making that group your new personality. You couldn"t show up and expect to have a good outcome if you weren"t close with the guys you were going to battle with.

The only problem was, he was being torn in too many directions. He thought back to his time at World Juniors, how it had been immersive, all consuming. How all the guys had slept, eaten, and breathed alongside each other 24-7. When his team stepped on the ice, they didn"t feel like individual players. They became a Megazord or whatever the hell that was called when all the Power Rangers connected into one giant beast. They sensed each other"s motivations—understood each other"s strengths and weaknesses.

That"s what he was supposed to create here with the Blizzard, or at least be a willing participant in. At twenty-nine, he was one of the oldest guys there, and that niggled at him. He should be joining in with the other veterans and finding ways to support the new guys. Instead, he was juggling meetings and workflows, and now adding media appearances and time out with Delia.

He pulled open the door of the restaurant and looked for the guys. They were at a table in the back. Even though the place was packed, it wasn"t hard to spot them. A pang of envy sliced through him at their smiling, laughing faces. Their full-time jobs were becoming a team and honing their hockey skills. His full-time job was Big Rick, and he didn"t know how to put that on the back burner and jump all-in to this pipe dream.

Why would he give up a solid career for something that might not evolve past that season? On the other hand, if he didn"t jump in, he was pounding the nails into his own coffin. Hammering nails made him think of Delia and her off-the-wall metaphors. His pulse quickened.

It wasn't just that his attention was split between work and, well, work. A much larger piece of the pie was being occupied by one person. Delia. Their faux relationship had been presented as something he could put on autopilot. Set a few meetings, show up, and call it good. The only problem was, she had become a puzzle his mind was obsessed with. Especially after that kiss.

"Jack!" Monahan motioned for the rookie to move over so Jack could take a seat at the end of the crowded table. Monahan wore a Mickey Mouse T-shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders, looking almost comical against his hardened features and missing tooth. "I didn"t know you were coming out."

Jack smiled and sat down. "You know I wish I could be here every day."

Nathan reached for a fry. "I know. I can"t imagine running the schedule you are, bud."

Jack wondered how many of the other players knew what that schedule was or whether they cared. It was comforting to think that someone at least understood why he wasn"t acting like a full member of the team.

"Here you go." Monahan passed him a menu.

Jack thanked him, then stared at the loopy title font and lines of text. He'd thought about that kiss with Delia all morning. Had he suggested the kiss because it was a good strategy? Or had he simply wanted it? Or, third option, had he been curious about whether he'd feel the way he always did when he kissed a woman post-Angie?

If he was being honest, it was all of the above. Strategy was the only justification he'd spoken out loud, but since he'd sat on her bed, the blood flow to his brain had been limited. Part of him wished she wasn't so attractive. If she could be less interesting—less funny. Stop squinching her nose when she laughed or pulling her sleeves over her wrists.

His body was full to bursting when he'd walked out her front door. He'd wanted more. For the first time since Angie's death, he hadn't felt instantly sick after touching a woman, and sheer relief had poured through him at that realization. Maybe he could have that again. Touch. Connection. Sex. But then came the grief. The soul-crushing wave of regret and hopelessness. Relief. Regret.

One side of his head screamed that he couldn't keep clinging to Angie's memory. To feel beholden to a woman who was a metre under. But the other side shouted with equal ferocity that he owed her. That he'd lived and she'd died, and who knew whether she was up there in the ether watching him? What would she think if she saw him touching Delia? Even wanting to touch another woman? That thought made his stomach twist until it was snarled like an old extension cord.

He had things. He'd told Delia that the first time they'd met. It didn't have to be that deep. He could do his job. Play hockey. Sell tickets. Everything else would fade in a few weeks anyway.

"You ordered a salad?" Lindholm stared at Johannsen. "Bud, are you on a cut? Got someone to impress?"

Johannsen gesticulated. "It looked good! Maricona almonds and mulberries!"

Jack looked up from the menu. The rookie sat two seats to the right across from him and already had a beer in front of him. His eyes seemed less bloodshot today, but he still had that look about him. The one Jack had seen in so many players over the years who burned themselves out embracing the high life they thought they were entitled to since they"d "made it."

That spike of guilt wedged itself further into his gut. He should be helping him. He should be a leader. He'd always wanted that opportunity, and now he was stretching himself too thin. What had he said to Delia the night before? That he never half-assed things?

He was a hypocrite. The problem was he couldn"t quite figure out what he needed to do with his whole ass. Was he going to focus on the hockey? Focus on the team? What did that even mean anymore? It"s good for the team, and what"s good for the team is good for all of us, right? Lisa's words came back to him. She was convinced shoving him and his relationship with Delia into the limelight was a valuable contribution. But was that what he needed? What the team needed of him?

Maybe that's how pro hockey was. More business than sport. Here he was whining when he probably wasn"t such an anomaly. Jack scanned the table, taking mental note of the guys that had been playing in the NHL for more than a handful of years. Nathan Pelletier. Nils Johannsen. Noah Gaudreau. Not to mention Owen Monahan. Maybe this wasn"t about him coming in and trying to help the younger guys. Despite his age, maybe he was still a kid who needed some guidance too.

"I'm telling you, I've had it happen before. It fell out like your mother's third child." Nils mimed in the air in front of him. "Straight out of my pants onto the ice."

Gaudreau laughed. "You left it there?"

"Hell, no! I stickhandled that cup back to my bench, flicked it over the boards, and kept playing. Nobody said a word!"

Liam chomped on a fry. "Probably because it was so small, it wasn't noticeable."

Nathan's face contorted with laughter as Nils leaned back in his seat. "Your sister says I've grown substantially since U13."

Liam flipped up his middle finger and reached for the ketchup. Jack grinned like a kid finding a dollar under his pillow after losing his first tooth. As strange as it was, that BS was what finally pulled Jack out of his head. This was what he'd been missing.

Jack pushed aside his menu, already decided on the western burger. "No way that happens in adult leagues. A cup can't escape past those logs." He pointed at Tkachuk's upper thighs.

Tkachuk wrapped both hands around the circumference of his right leg and had at least twenty centimeters between his thumbs. "Still hold the squat record."

Nathan scoffed. "Only because you didn't go up against me three years ago when I was your age."

"Deterioration, old man. You're already shrinking." Tkachuk stole one of Liam's fries.

Jack put in his order when the waitress came by their table, the wheels in his head finally gaining traction. Something had to give. This thing with Delia wasn't going to last forever, and this was what he wanted.

The thought sent his heart racing. He could do it. Quit his job. Give his two weeks' notice and play hockey until May full-time. And then be jobless living in his sister's basement when he didn't get re-signed for next season. Or get that contract.

"Jack, what does this look like to you?" Monahan held up Nils' arm and pointed at one of his tattoos.

He went with the first thing that came to his head. "A cat with no teeth."

Monahan burst out laughing, and Nils yanked his arm away. "Those aren't eyes!"

Jack's sides ached by the time they finished their meal and it was time for him to go back to work. He reluctantly pushed his chair back and stood as his teammates began gathering their things.

"Jack, you joining us for movie night?" Monahan asked.

It was the first he'd heard of it. "When is it?"

"Sunday afternoon. My place. I'll text you the details."

Nils leaned in. "You don't want to miss it."

His mischievous smile made Jack suspicious. "It's not porn, right?"

Nathan guffawed. "So much better."

Monahan clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Just show up, eh?"

Jack nodded, noticing that the rookie had already left the table. What would Delia be doing Sunday? If it wasn't on his calendar from Tony, it didn't matter, did it? "I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the invite."

_____

Delia slid into the back seat of the car next to Mary with lipstick on and her hair pulled up into a messy bun. She may have also been wearing the bra that Jack had seen her folding a few nights prior which, she told herself, had nothing to do with anything. It was just a bra.

Mary passed her a bottle of water as their driver pulled away from the curb with Delia"s security guard, Alvin, in the passenger seat. "You haven"t stopped smiling since we left that meeting this morning."

Delia couldn't even pretend she was wrong. That morning, they'd met at a studio downtown with Ethan Hayes about the song they were collaborating on. All night she'd been a ball of nerves. After so many instances where she'd hoped to be a creative partner on one of her songs and walked away disappointed, she put in a lot of effort to keep her hopes well tethered to the ground.

This one had gotten away from her. She loved Ethan's work, and because she hadn"t had a good outlet for the past few months, her creativity was shaking the bars of its cage. Inside that studio, she"d been set free. For an hour they"d sat and played—just played—like she had when she was sixteen lounging in her friend"s basement messing around on their guitars and recording songs with janky equipment and duct taped microphones.

Delia sipped her water and dabbed her lips with the back of her hand. "My lyrics are going to be in that song."

Mary sighed. "Well it"s about damn time."

"He genuinely liked my ideas, right? He wasn"t just putting on a show?"

Mary shook her head. "He was not just putting on a show." She shifted on the leather seat. "Delia, you are an incredible songwriter."

The words soothed like a balm. "Sometimes it"s hard to remember when everyone continues to tell you that your songs aren't ‘leaning the direction they were considering for the album.'"

"Okay, ‘everyone' in that sentence is IndieLake, and that"s, like, three people total in the entire world."

"Well, maybe that"s why I can"t stop smiling. Because my world just opened up a little bit." Delia realized she hadn't put on her seatbelt and sat back, pulling it over her shoulder.

"Are you nervous?" Mary asked

"For Christian to hear it? Not really. I didn't go too far out of the box, and with Ethan's stamp of approval, he shouldn't have any issues."

"No, I meant to get together with Jack."

Delia shrugged. She'd been so amped up about the studio meeting after arriving back home, she'd phoned her mom between shifts and told her every minute detail of the session, then spent most of the afternoon on her guitar with her notebook and pencil on the bed next to her. She hadn"t had much time to think about meeting Jack at the game tonight. Now that they were on their way, his face and the way it had felt next to hers two nights ago was at the forefront of her mind.

She started to get the jitters. Delia hadn"t talked to Jack much over the past two days, which she hoped meant that he"d been just as busy as she had and not that he was ghosting her because of what had happened. It was embarrassing how much she"d thought about that kiss. It was like commercials on the radio, constantly interrupting her regularly scheduled programming.

That was normal though, right?Her body didn"t know the difference between a real boyfriend and a fake boyfriend. She was having a normal biological response to a potential . . . Potential what?

She took another sip of water and looked out the window, hoping Mary didn't notice her cheeks flush.

"We"re meeting him there, right?" Mary asked.

Delia nodded. "Yeah, he wanted to get together with the team beforehand."

"How long did he play with them before joining the Blizzard?"

"I don"t know." Delia frowned. Even though she'd scoured the internet for Jack Harrison related content, there wasn't anything about his time with the Snowballs. She only had what Jack had said or what she'd seen from the guys when they'd unloaded their bags at the house. It was like the beginning of a puzzle on Wheel of Fortune.

Why did he care so much about a team he'd only played with since October? Especially now that he had an NHL contract? Curiosity tugged at her. Again, normal?

They parked at the rink, and Delia made the cameras out before they spotted her.

"Ready for this?" Mary asked.

Delia nodded. "Looks like Tony did his job well."

"He always does." Mary pushed open her door. As soon as Alvin was out standing next to Delia"s, he opened it for her. And that"s when the mayhem started.

"Delia, are you in love?"

"Why is Jack still going to his Elite League team when he"s playing for the Blizzard?"

"Did you move to Calgary to be with Jack?"

Questions slammed one after another into her, not giving her enough mental space to answer any of them. She"d been trailed by paparazzi before and had done plenty of media events, but it had never been like this. There were at least twenty reporters and then a crowd of fans beyond that.

She and Mary had arrived early to get settled before the stands started filling up. The Ice Arena wasn"t like a stadium where they could hide themselves in a suite.

"A little too well, maybe?" Mary shouted over the chaos.

Delia kept a smile plastered on her face. These pictures would be all over the internet, and she hated the candids that caught her resting bitch face. That she even had one had been a September discovery, and try as she might, she hadn't found a solution. Maybe that was why her online dates kept crashing and burning?

She waved as they entered the arena, and Alvin kept the press from bottlenecking her and Mary. They made it inside, strode through the open entryway, and beelined for the stairs. Jack said the Snowballs were playing on rink number three. They were supposed to go down the stairs, turn right, and walk past the first rink and enter the second one that direction.

As soon as they made it down to the bottom level, it was obvious by the numbers painted above the doors which rink was which.

"Jack said he had friends saving seats for us at centre ice."

Mary feigned delight. "Well good, because I refuse to watch a hockey game in the nosebleeds."

Delia snorted. First of all, there weren't any nosebleeds in this place, and second, Mary had never watched a hockey game in her life. Neither had she, at least not in person, but she'd studied up. Not to impress Jack, though there was a small part of her that wondered how he"d react if she knew the basic rules and a few slang words she"d looked up online, but more to make a good first impression with his friends. She hated the feeling of being the odd man out at a party. These days, she seemed to be on the other side of a window in most social situations.

While she"d never been around celebrities before she signed with IndieLake, she"d sat in rooms with plenty of big names since. Every time, she tried to avoid doing all the things people did to her now. Lowering their eyes. Sneaking glances when they thought she wasn"t paying attention. Trying to take pictures while pretending to scroll their Instagram feed. It made her feel like a piece of meat.

Alvin walked with them through the doors of rink number three, and Delia immediately started scanning the benches. Jack had told her to look for Clara, possibly her husband Oscar who "looked like a swimmer," then a half-Korean woman and a girl with dirty-blonde hair standing next to his captain Sean"s parents. Who were old white people she was assuming?

With such vague descriptions, it was a miracle she spotted them at centre ice a few rows up from the floor. Clara's eyes lit up as she stood, waving their direction. There were others sitting in the stands, and their conversations hushed as Delia strode past along the boards. She was still getting used to that, too.

"Do you know any of these people?" Mary asked in a hushed voice.

Delia shook her head. "We know Clara, at least."

They climbed the stairs to the fourth row, and Clara threw out her arms for a hug. "I"m so glad you could make it!"

Delia squeezed. "Thanks for saving us seats."

Clara pulled back and motioned to two fold-out cushioned seats set up in the middle of the row. "Those are for you and Jack. Our goal was to keep you both in the centre and surround you with the rest of us so everyone else don"t get cheeky. Kind of like bison encircling their young."

Delia grinned. "Where are your horns, then?"

An older man next to them crouched and pulled a red stadium horn from the floor. "I"ve got you covered."

Delia laughed, then motioned to Mary standing next to her. "This is my friend and manager Mary, and this is Alvin, our security guard."

The group in front of them smiled and nodded, then the man with the horn reached out a hand. "I"m Gary Thompson, Sean and Emma"s dad."

"Sharla." The woman next to him waved, not quite able to reach them if she stretched. "I"m Sean and Emma"s mom, and I"m so glad to finally meet you. At Sunday Supper, everyone was telling me all about?—"

"Mom." A woman with dirty-blonde hair flowing out of the bottom of her toque bumped Sharla with her hip.

"What? I was just saying?—"

"I"m Emma." She gave Delia and Mary a small wave. "I apologize for the people on this bench that might get a little excited despite multiple conversations about etiquette." Sharla shot her daughter a look.

Delia started to piece things together based on what Jack had texted that morning. Emma was with Tyler, another newer addition to the Snowballs. Emma was also Sean"s sister, and Delia was already writing song lyrics in her head about secretly dating your brother"s teammate. She mentally rolled her eyes at her nightmare brain that immediately latched on to the most dramatic backstories possible for anyone she saw out in public. Sharla and Gary were giving off high school sweetheart vibes...

There wasn"t anyone else down the line. Emma noted her scanning the bench and said, "Everyone else should be here soon. Kelty"s running late, she"s Sean"s girlfriend." She pointed at the coats and mittens they"d strewn over the benches to save seats. "Hopefully we"ve got enough."

Delia looked to Mary and Alvin. "You two can have those comfy seats if you want. Jack and I can?—"

Mary adamantly shook her head. "No, there"s no reason for us to be cocooned. We"ll sit behind you."

Alvin nodded brusquely. "I already did a walk-through this morning. If you need to go to the washroom or you want concessions, let me know. There"s a private staff area we can use. They won't let the press in until twenty minutes to puck drop."

Delia thanked him, and he followed Mary down the row just above where they were standing. Delia stepped past the others to sit in the furthest stadium seat so Jack wouldn"t have to step over her. She pulled her gloves from the pocket of her coat and slipped them on. The rink wasn"t that cold, but the chilled air nipped at her fingertips.

"They"ll turn those on, right?" Mary pointed up at the long heaters full of grey coils hanging above them.

Gary nodded. "Should be any minute now."

Delia took in the glistening ice and all the coloured lines and dots that she now at least had a basic understanding of. The red line that marked centre ice, and was mostly important for icing violations, which she didn"t fully understand. The blue lines, which divided the rink into three zones. Defencive, near their own goal, neutral, between the blue and red lines, and offencive, by the other team"s net. The face-off circles, which only made her think of Nicolas Cage pulling off his skin, and the goal crease, which was meant to protect the goalie.

She had no idea when any of that knowledge would come in handy during a conversation, but she was damn proud of herself for memorizing it when it wasn"t one of her lyrics.

Clara shuffled past the Thompsons and plunked down next to her. "So, how are you enjoying Calgary?"

Delia smiled. "Honestly, I haven"t had much time to explore. I was moving in, then working." She thought back to unpacking her things in her bedroom and shivered.

"You"ll have to get Jack to take you up the Calgary Tower. There"s a nice restaurant up at the top. It"s mud season right now, so that means there won"t be as many tourists in Banff if you want to take a weekend away."

"Mud season?"

Clara nodded. "When all the snow is beginning to melt. Slushy or icy ski slopes and muddy hiking trails."

"Got it. Do you ski?"

"Yep. You?"

Delia shook her head. "I took a school trip to Blue Mountain, which I"m sure is nothing compared to what you have here. I thoroughly embarrassed myself by not even being able to master the bunny hill." She turned and saw a few smartphones pointed their direction. People were trickling into the arena and had noticed them.

Clara grinned. "How old were you?"

"Old enough to know better than to sign up." Delia had never been the athletic type. Not that she couldn"t kill a good interval ride on an exercise bike or pilates or yoga class, but playing team sports? Her personal coordination hell.

Clara sighed. "I didn"t say I was good at skiing, by the way. Just that my family forced me to go out at least three times a season, even though it was a long drive. Now Oscar and I choose it."

"You"re glad your parents pushed you?"

Clara nodded. "It was like piano lessons. I complained every second, but that only seemed to make my parents dig in deeper. Glad for that skill, too."

"So that"s all there is to good parenting? Just force your kids to do everything they try to avoid?"

"Exactly." Clara laughed. When she smiled, she reminded her of Jack. Their lips didn't rise much above the tops of their teeth, and they both had the same smile lines with the faintest dimple on their right cheeks. She wondered whether Jack's nose had looked like his sister's before his hockey career, and lost what she was about to say.

Thankfully, before the silence stretched, they both caught movement on the opposite side of the rink. Players with light-blue jerseys tromped out of a long hallway with their hockey sticks in hand and poured onto the ice through the gate in the boards.

"Time for warm-up!" Clara rubbed her palms together.

Delia barely heard her. A tall, dark, and handsome man with his hands shoved into a black puffy coat, wearing jeans that looked tailored to his frame with dark hair feathering out from under a slate-grey toque, rounded the west end of the boards. He looked up, and the corner of his mouth lifted. Jack.