“That’s Nate-speak for congratulations,” Becca said. “I’m pretty sure.”
“Sorry,” Nate chuckled. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you.” Lauren didn’t know what else to say. “It’s really early, and I didn’t plan to mention it yet. But if I’m going to puke frequently I guess you’re going to wonder why.”
“I hope you don’t,” Becca said. “That sounds miserable. I’m never getting pregnant.”
Nate turned to her sharply. “Never?”
“Nope!” she said cheerfully.
“Seriously?” Nate regarded Becca with the familiar, undisguised intensity that he saved only for her. Lauren shoved another bite of roll in her mouth and wondered how many episodes of the Nate and Becca show she’d missed.
“Well,” Becca hedged. “Not soon, anyway. I’m waiting until science solves the problem of morning sickness, and then I’ll give it a whirl.” She gave Nate a potent smile.
Lauren closed her eyes, realizing that she might be the third wheel tonight. Maybe if she hadn’t hitched a ride to Dallas, they’d be joining the mile high club right now.
“Should we finish the briefing then?” Nate asked eventually, his long fingers fiddling with a silver pen.
“Sure,” Lauren agreed. She passed him the folder they’d put aside before dinner.
He took it, but then hesitated. “I guess the California job is probably not going to be the right fit for you, is it?”
She winced. “It’s not the best idea, no.”
His smile was warm. Warm for Nate, anyway. “Forget it. I’ll find you something in New York. We’ll talk about it when the play-offs are over. Can you still go to China at the end of the month?”
“Of course. And I’ll try not to puke at every meal.”
“Hmm. So I guess the exotic cuisine tour I’d been scoping out is off the table? Maybe now isn’t the best time to try dog, or pickled eel?”
“Nate!” Her stomach quivered.
“Sorry.” He gave her an evil grin over the file folder, and she rolled her eyes.
? ? ?
Lauren arrived in Dallas without tossing her cookies again. A hired car took them directly to the athletes’ entrance to the stadium, where Becca’s chirpy intern greeted them with passes to a corporate box. “Y’all didn’t tell me Lauren was coming, but luckily I read the flight manifest to double-check the times and I found her name! I was able to print a pass in time,” the girl rambled.
“Thank you,” Lauren said. “I’m crashing everyone’s party today.” Becca gave her an odd look, and Lauren cackled inwardly.
“Shall we go up?” Nate asked, pointing toward a set of escalators.
“Sure,” Lauren agreed, hefting her overnight bag onto her shoulder.
Nate removed it immediately, settling it onto his own shoulder.
“Hey!” Lauren squawked. “I can carry that.”
“Nope.” He put his free arm around her. “Not this time.”
“I’m not fragile.”
“Didn’t say you were.” They walked a few paces together. “I’m happy for you, Lauren. Congratulations on your graduation, too.”
“Thank you!”
“Exciting stuff, lady. All of it.” As they stepped onto the escalator, he pulled her a little closer, so they’d both fit. And then he startled her by giving her a peck on the cheek before releasing her. But not before the sound of a rapid-fire camera shutter sounded on the mezzanine above her.
“You just got your picture taken kissing me,” Lauren pointed out. “That will probably show up in a gossip column tomorrow.”
“Great. Now Mike Beacon is going to break my jaw.”
“Bones heal, and chicks dig scars,” Lauren said, quoting Evel Knievel.
“Good to know.”
THIRTY-TWO
Beacon was in the zone tonight.
Nothing existed but the game. He squinted against the ice’s white glare, clocking the puck, calculating play probabilities like a boss. Outside the crease, the world kept on spinning. Time marched forward. People loved him, or didn’t. None of it mattered, but for eleven other players and a six ounce rubber disk.
He listened for the slice of blades against frozen water and for the slap of the puck off the boards. The crowd was a dull roar in the distance. Unimportant.
The score was tied 2–2 in the third period. His boys wanted it, though. He could see their hustle. It was going to pay off, so long as they kept it up.
There were people in his life who mattered. But during game time, they were relegated to the edges of his consciousness. A hockey game lasted a few hours, no more. When he was done here, they could have him again. Elsa. Lauren. The new baby. They’d have his full attention just as soon as this game was in the bag.
Dallas made an attempt on goal, their center rushing the net while the left wing attempted to disguise his hopes at a wrister.
Denied. He flicked it away like a bad idea.
His boys took it off his hands on the rebound and pressed it down the ice. And this time Dallas’s defense wasn’t ready. Finally, finally, Trevi sank it. And that was that—the end of the overtime period and the end of the game. They now led the series 3–2, and Dallas couldn’t close the gap.
One game closer to the Cup. One more win.
We’re still fucking in it, he told himself as his teammates swarmed after the buzzer. We’re still alive.
He liked to think he appreciated it a little more than the younger kids. Nobody knew when their number was up—not in hockey, and not in life. The best you could do was live hard and be grateful.
After the handshake line, he followed his sweaty teammates to the dressing room. He showered in a tired daze and put on his suit. Then, unfortunately, Georgia corralled him onto the dais for the press conference. There went another half hour.
The win was awesome, but if his teammates decided to do some hard drinking tonight, he was going to sneak out after the first beer. There were just two more games left in the season. Then he could spend more time with his girls.
He couldn’t wait.
Publicity finished, he walked through the mobbed hallway. Players, families, and journalists all crowded the place. He wove carefully through the crush of bodies, locked on the exit like a heat-seeking missile.
But someone grabbed his arm a few paces before he reached the door. When he turned, he saw the best sight ever. Lauren, with a smile on her face. “Hey! You came!” He grabbed her into a hug. “I thought you had to work.”
“I hitchhiked with Nate.”
“Yay!” He gave her the first kiss of the evening, and it was every bit as happy-making as winning the game. “Let’s go,” he said, suddenly twice as impatient to leave as he’d been before.
“Are you going to ride the bus?”
He shook his head. “Let’s walk. You can catch me up on your day.” He took her by the hand and led her outside, where the street curved past a couple of restaurants and office buildings on the way to the Ritz-Carlton. “So you rode on Nate’s Gulfstream? What is that like?”
She groaned. “Well, I spent some quality time puking in the jet’s very fancy little bathroom.” She filled him in on her nausea woes.
“And I thought my day was hard,” he joked, squeezing her hand.