Chapter 16Holly
Chapter Sixteen
Holly
With the way things were looking when I met Donald Mitchell in that seedy bar yesterday evening, I would never have guessed that today I would feel on top of the world. Not in a million years. But that’s exactly how I feel. I’m riding high. I’m in seventh heaven. I’m walking on sunshine.
All the idioms.
I had told him I was ashamed of how I had doubted him, and today, it seems impossible that I could ever have believed Donald Mitchell’s story, even one second. But having gone through that moment of doubt and experiencing Harry's openness and willingness to be vulnerable with me the way he was last night, has taken our fledgling relationship to new depths. I should have known that the person described to me as a cheat could never be the man I know. Harry’s such a decent man, with a strong moral compass, and a kind heart—not to mention the best kisser I have ever had the pleasure of kissing.
Yeah, there's that.
I try to wipe the huge grin from my face at the memory. Of course I fail. The way he scooped me up and showed me exactly how he feels about me will have me grinning for days. Grinning and wanting him to kiss me like that again and again.
How could I ever have thought that he would be anything like my ex? The two are so different, it's like they're from an entirely different species. Where Phil was all swagger and charm, Harry has humility and an understated confidence. Where Phil was duplicitous and sneaky, Harry is all about sincerity and truth.
Harry is ten times the man Phil could ever be, and I am so proud of who he is. Proud and hopeful for our future together, this gorgeous, burly man with a heart of gold.
All of it adds up to the fact that today I’ve got a spring in my step and a sense of lightness that not even Slippery Stephen can dent.
My phone beeps with a message and I see Harry’s name pop up on my screen.
Harry:
Morning, beautiful.
Although I didn't think it was possible, my grin grows.
Me:
Morning to yourself.
Harry:
I know this might sound crazy, but I miss you.
Me:
How many hours has it been?
Harry:
Too many.
Me:
In that case, I think we need to fix that. Don't you?
Harry:
I would say let's do it right now, but I'm still at practice.
Me:
How are you managing to message me while you’re at practice?
Harry:
I told coach my knee was a little tender and he told me to take five.
Warm pleasure sweeps through me at the thought that Harry feigned a knee problem just so he could message me.
Me:
That's not very professional, you know. But I like it.
Harry:
I've got a game tonight, but I have some free time in the afternoon.
Me:
I promised Macy I would take her back to the rink today after school. Do you want to meet us there?
Harry:
Wild horses could not keep me away.
My heart squeezes in my chest. The fact Harry wants not only to see me, but wants to spend time with my daughter as well? I have said it before and I am sure I will say it again: what a man.
And now I have that Salt-N-Pepa song stuck in my head.
Me:
Caulfield Ice Rink after school. I’ll buy the hot chocolate.
Harry:
You don't need to bribe me with hot chocolate. Knowing I'll see you is more than enough motivation. But right now I've got to get back to practice.
Me:
Stop slacking off.
Harry:
Yes, ma’am.
Me:
Less of the ma’am, thank you.
Harry:
I'm counting the hours until I see you again xo
Me:
Me too xo
I'm still grinning like a cartoon character when I arrive at the office and I say a cheery “good morning” to everyone I pass. I reach my desk where I sit down and immediately call Donald Mitchell. My mind is made-up about what I need to do.
“The lady reporter who hates Harrison Clarke,” he says by way of answering.
How wrong can one man be?
“Mr. Mitchell, thank you so much for meeting me last night. This is a courtesy call to let you know that I won't be pursuing the story.”
“Why the heck not?” he demands in his gruff voice.
“Because I don't think there's a story there. But I did want to thank you for?—”
He interrupts me with, “There is a story. Are you telling me you're not going to run it?”
“I'm not, but I did want to thank you for?—”
“Whatever.” He hangs up.
Well, that went about as well as I expected.
My next task is to inform Slippery Stephen of my decision. I knock on his open door and he looks from his computer screen up at me.
“How's the story coming?” he asks.
“There isn't a story. Well, not the one Donald Mitchell thinks there is.”
He pulls his bushy brows together. “What are you talking about?”
“I spoke to Harrison Clarke after I met Donald Mitchell yesterday, and he told me that the whole doping scandal was in fact a fabrication, made-up by his coach at the time, a man by the name of Garth Gluckman.”
“Of course the guy is going to deny it,” he scoffs.
“I believe him.”
He arches his brows at me. “Is this because he's a good looking hockey player you're star-struck over or something?”
“I'm not star-struck over him,” I insist, because I’m not. It’s more that I’m falling for him—but there’s no way I’m going to tell Slippery Stephen that. “I believe Harrison Clarke.”
He twists his mouth, narrowing his eyes at me, and not for the first time does it occur to me he resembles a weasel.
I bite back a smile.
“So, I'll go get on with my next story,” I tell him as I turn to leave.
He harrumphs in response.
“Macy. You’re doing so great!” Harry says as he watches Macy take another turn at gliding across the ice on her own.
I'm nearby, ready to catch her if she falls, but the look on her face tells me how delighted she is that she's doing this on her own, finally, after all this time.
My heart is set to burst with love for my brave little girl who, with Harry's kind and gentle leading hand, has been taking huge steps in overcoming her fear of the ice.
She's wearing the figure skating dress and tights I gave her for her birthday a couple months ago, which she has worn many times as she's done her twists and turns and jumps in the living room. But this is the first time it's seen the ice, and with her hair in a neat bun, she one hundred percent looks the part.
“Just look at you, honey! You're like a real figure skater now,” I say as I watch my little girl glide across the rink, wobbly legs steadying with each push she takes. Her eyes, once wide with fear, now sparkle with excitement. With her arms outstretched, she finds her balance, giggling with sheer exhilaration.
“She’s got this,” Harry says as he skates beside me, taking my gloved hand in his.
My throat is hot with unshed tears of pride, and I smile up at him. “I don't know how to thank you for what you've done for Macy.”
“I have some ideas how,” he replies with a waggle of his brows that makes me laugh out loud. “But seriously, it's my pleasure. She's a great kid. All she needed was that final push to get her out here.”
“But you were the one who gave her that push, and I will be forever grateful to you.”
“I don't want your gratitude, Holly. I just want you,” he replies, his eyes soft, and I swear, my heart expands to twice its size.
“The feeling’s mutual,” I reply, feeling suddenly shy. This oversized tough guy hockey player is everything I could ever want in a man, both as a man and as a father figure for Macy.
“Look, Mommy!” Macy calls as she turns in an arc in front of us, pulling my attention from Harry.
“You’re really doing it, my little figure skater.”
“I’m not little anymore, Mommy. I’m eight and a half,” she corrects, rounding up by several months.
“Okay. You’re my big figure skater.”
She takes another turn, only this time she loses her balance, her arms flailing as she falls to the ice. With my heart in my mouth I rush over to her, thoughts racing through my head. We got this far and now she's fallen and she won't want to do it again.
But as I crouch down over her she smiles up at me.
“I fell over!” She exclaims as though this is news to me, the mom who's been watching her every move on the ice. Well, almost her every move. When the man you’re falling for tells you he just wants you, it's kinda hard not to get lost in his eyes.
“Give me your hand,” Harry says, and Macy places her little hand in his as he pulls her back to her feet. “We all fall over on the ice at one time or another. The important thing is to get back up and keep on trying.”
Could this man be more of a dad if he tried?
I think my ovaries just gave me a nudge.
We skate around the rink with Macy a few more times, until I offer to buy us all hot chocolate with gooey marshmallows. We sit together as we enjoy the sweet, chocolatey drink, Macy telling us all about how she's going to take the figure skating world by storm, just you wait and see, and Harry telling us about his time as a figure skater back in Portland.
My phone beeps in my purse at the same time as Harry’s. But I'm reluctant to break this sense of family I've got with these two, so I ignore it, instead focusing on what really matters to me: my daughter, and now this incredible man who has come into our lives.
“Anyone want another?” Harry asks as he takes our empty cups.
“Me!” Macy says with a grin.
“Where are your manners?” I ask.
“Me, please,” she says much more politely.
Harry laughs. “I'll be right back.”
I watch him walk away, my heart telling me that this is the man for me—and my body insisting I check out his broad shoulders and the way they taper to his perfectly formed butt. But I lose him in the crowd, and return to listening to Macy regale me with stories of her prowess on the ice.
Harry arrives back, empty handed but for his phone, and I look up at him in surprise to see his brow furrowed, his jaw clenched.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Look.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he turns his phone around and I read the headline.
Harrison Clarke Doping Scandal.
“What the—” I exclaim, reaching for his phone. I do a quick scroll, skimming the text.
… former figure skater who went by the name of Harrison Soutar… “I tried to stop him,” his former coach, Garth Gluckman said in a statement…
And then my eyes land on the journalist’s name. I look from the article back up and in Harry's stricken face. “I can't believe he did this to you.”
In an instant, my brain feels waterlogged and I can't think straight, my thoughts swirling chaotically, refusing to settle into any coherent pattern. The rink seems muffled and distant as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.
“Who’s Stephen McFarland?” he asks in a low voice tinged with anger.
“My boss. I told him you were innocent and that there was no story.”
“It looks to me as though he didn't believe you.”
“What's wrong, Mommy?” Macy asks.
With fumbling fingers, I pull a few dollar notes from my purse and hand them to her. “Go get yourself another hot chocolate, okay, honey?”
Her face lights up. “Okay,” she says happily as she skips over to the counter.
I spring to my feet. “Harry, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t. I know you had nothing to do with this.”
“I need to fix it. This isn't right. You're an innocent victim and Stephen is living up to his name. Anything for a good story. Don't let the truth get in the way.” My blood begins to boil.
“What can you do? It's out there in black and white, and you just know this thing is gonna blow right up.”
“I don't know what I’m going to do, but I need to do something.”
“There's no point.” He shrugs, somehow looking smaller than he did a moment ago, his shoulders dropped. He sits down heavily on the bench and I sit back down beside him, wrapping my arms around him.
“I'm going to help. I don't know how, but I'm going to.”
I think of the scared teenage boy, changing his name and crossing the country to start a new life. He can't do that again. Not only is he a grown man but he's a famous NHL player.
“What you've done for Macy is nothing short of a miracle. I owe you, Harry. Let me help you.”
He turns to face me and the pain etched across his face makes my chest hurt. “How? This is only the beginning. Can't you see that? It doesn't matter what the truth is. My reputation will be in shatters and my hopes of the captaincy? I may as well kiss that goodbye right now.”
“Whatever it takes.”
He lifts his lips into a brief smile, his hands clutching onto mine, and in that moment I know exactly what I need to do.