Chapter 28
CATARINA
With the passing of March, my anxiety levels gradually decreased. We hadn’t heard from Mr. Winterborne or anyone in the immigration office, and I figured we were off the hook. I stopped giving my mental energy to that possibility and started enjoying my life.
Because life was good.
Great, actually.
The down-in-the-dumps feeling I had back in January had been replaced by a feeling that until now had been quite foreign to me: contentedness.
I was back full time at the hospital, and of course, my job was tough as always, but several patients had had breakthroughs recently. It really seemed like there was positive energy in the air this spring.
Oddly enough, having to go through the mental exercise of losing my entire life here made me grateful for every single day I had. I got back into the swing of things at the hospital, and I seemed even busier than Dustin.
It was an irregular relationship, but we made it work, and we saw each other at least every weekend.
Honestly, for me, it wasn’t enough. Yeah, I surprised even myself.
As much as I couldn’t stand him sometimes, I wanted more Dustin. So for the first game of the playoffs, which was ominously Friday the thirteenth in April, I flew out to Chicago to surprise him.
I knew if I let him know I was coming, he would instantly roll out the red carpet for me and put me in a suite.
But I didn’t want to distract him from playoff preparation.
The voyeur in me also wanted to watch him up close on the ice during a game and see how he acted when he didn’t think I was anywhere near him—not that my presence was some golden ray of sunshine that would change how he played.
I was sure he would play just as hard with or without me there, especially considering the winning streak the Tigers had been on lately.
Clearly, he didn’t need me there to win since I’d still never seen him play live.
Yes, I was a bad wife in that way.
But I was going to make up for it tonight.
And he was going to be blown away by the coyote costume I brought for tonight, to surprise him. (They were playing the Houston Coyotes.)
Kidding. I’m joking.
About the costume, I mean. Not about them playing the coyotes.
Although I did spend a few minutes googling around to see if such a thing existed.
Spoiler: it does, but it’s a little bit too realistic for my tastes.
The bunny ears with a cute thong was one thing.
If I clicked ‘buy’ on this wiley coyote, we would be crossing a whole new line with our—what did he call it?
—cosplay? Who knew there was a whole word made up to describe such a thing? Now I did.
Dustin was a bad husband. He was corrupting me and spoiling me in all the best ways.
The past month had truly seemed like the honeymoon phase. No fights. Lots of sex. Lots of late night phone chats. And not a single ‘define the relationship’ chat.
After we had presumably passed the immigration test, I think we were both ready to sit back and enjoy each other. So as I boarded the plane from D.C. to Chicago that fateful Friday, I never imagined it would be the last time.
“Thanks for the ride,” I told Jenny as she drove me from the airport to the United Center. The plan was, I would keep my bag in her car, then surprise Dustin after the game . . . somehow. I was still foggy on exactly how I would do that.
We met Jenny’s new boyfriend Nate at the gate and headed in.
I know, who would have thought that a random drunk encounter could result in a real relation . . . nevermind. I had no room to critique how other people met their partners anymore, considering my background.
“LeBlanc isn’t still angry at me for crashing his place, is he?” Nate said as we settled into our seats with beer and nachos.
I waved my hand in the air. “Nah. He was just a little irked at me for bringing people back. I think he was just expecting a little more, ah, personal, welcome home.”
“I see,” Nate said, shoving a nacho into his mouth. He had a blue and white LeBlanc Jersey on today. Hell, it seemed like half the crowd did. Even me.
At this point, I figured I might as well admit I was his puck bunny, and I liked it.
Our seats were just a couple of rows removed from the action, and when they announced Dustin’s name for the starting lineup as Bustin’ Dustin, I admit it, I got chills on the back of my neck.
The game began, and a warm surge of emotion spread through me. And I mean everywhere. One thing I didn’t realize was how fast of a game hockey is. I mean, they look as though they’re moving fast on TV, but when they’re up close you can really see how they move. It’s faster than any sport.
I smiled, remembering back to one of my earliest memories with my dad where he took me to the famous Barcelona vs Madrid football (that’s what we called soccer in Europe) rivalry game.
I thought the players were running so fast. Here, though, that was ten times the case, since ice was a faster medium.
I giggled, wondering what the friction coefficient of ice was, compared with grass, though I resisted pulling out my phone to Google the statistic. I guess you can take the nerd girl out of math class but you can never take the math class out of a nerd girl.
“So . . .” Jenny said, during a break in the action. “Everything’s all good with your visa and stuff?”
“Yes!” I said. “We passed with flying colors. I mean, we put on a damn good performance last time when Mr. Winterborne came to my house.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. I accidentally checked Washington, D.C. as ‘our’ primary residence, so he came and dropped in one night.”
I told her and Nate the story about the bunny rabbit lingerie.
“Oh my gosh, the look on that officer’s face must have been hilarious! That sounds hot, actually,” Nate added, then looked at Jenny and shrugged, making a what do you think? face.
Jenny cleared her throat. “Let’s discuss this, you know, not in a stadium of forty thousand people.”
Nate laughed. “I’m just kidding.” He paused. “Kinda. It sounds hot. A little.” He tried to gauge Jenny’s reaction.
I laughed and the action started again in the game.
I felt happy for Jenny and glad that our random encounter, which had very much gotten off on the wrong foot, had started something new for her, relationship-wise.
I wondered if Nate knew about her French Maid outfit.
If not, I sent some hopeful vibes for him that he would find out about it soon.
A minute later, Dustin scored to put the Tigers up 1-0, and the horns in the stadium went off multiple times, the cheers from the crowds getting so loud, it was hard to hear anything. When the noise finally died down to a talkable volume, I could hear this woman behind us speaking quite clearly.
“Dustin LeBlanc is the hottest man alive. I want to eat him. Or . . . whatever he wants to do. That’s what I want to do.”
“Ugh, tell me about it,” her friend added. “Do you think if we like, waited outside his locker room or something today we would have a chance?”
Jenny heard them too, and I could see the indignation flare through her as she shot me a glance. She could tell I was locked up.
“Um, excuse me, ladies,” she said. “Dustin LeBlanc is a married man.”
The two women, who were both sporting Dustin’s #13 jersey, scoffed. “Oh please.”
I was still tongue-tied and didn’t feel like causing a scene, but Jenny grabbed hold of my left hand and raised it up so they could see my ring.
“To this girl, right here!”
“Yeah, sure,” she snorted.
I was getting riled up, but before I could respond to her, there was another goal by the Tigers, and the bullhorns went off again, causing raucous noise to spread through the crowd.
Nate grabbed Jenny and kissed her, and Dustin high-fived his teammates, then ended up close to us on the ice, on the other side of the clear divider.
Dustin was stubbled, and even though they’d scored, intense focus was written on his expression. It was sexy as hell, and I was pretty sure my body temperature rose a full degree.
A player from the other team skated past him, almost clipping him while time out was still called, and he clenched his jaw while two of his teammates grabbed hold of Dustin to keep him from going after the other player.
Then, by pure, dumb luck, maybe the same luck that led him to find me teary-eyed that fateful night in Las Vegas, his eyes found mine through the clear divider, and he squinted at me like he was seeing a mirage.
A hot chill rolled through my whole body when the muscles in his neck flexed, making my heart flutter. Heat rushed over my skin and pooled in my legs.
“Hi,” I mouthed, a nervous smile tugging at my face, and I suddenly felt like I was back in second grade at recess time and saying hi to the first boy I’d ever had a crush on, praying he would like me back.
The focus on his face changed to the slightest smirk, the one that made panties melt around the world. I didn’t dare check the status of mine currently. Then, with the crowd yelling, he blew me a kiss.
I couldn’t help it. I melted too, and I decided I should have gotten that coyote costume, or any costume, to make it so that it wasn’t just me and him tonight because that was what I didn’t know if I could handle. I was a doctor, yes, but I was also his puck bunny, whether I like it or not.
And I did like it, I decided right there.
“Holy crap,” the woman behind me said. “She wasn’t lying. You’re actually . . .”
“Dustin likes to call me his puck bunny number one,” I winked. “Also known as his wife.”
The woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh, uh, okay. Sorry, I didn’t know . . .”
Didn’t know, my left eye, I wanted to say, but thought better of it.
“Wow,” Jenny said, nudging me. “He’s never done a PDA for anyone. He’s really declared you his, hasn’t he?”
I smiled. He had, and I felt like we were truly husband and wife.
Hey, I’ve known more dysfunctional beginnings to relationships than what we were going through right now.
After the game, Jenny and Nate had an after-hours meetup inside the stadium, and I took the opportunity to try and surprise Dustin.
Except . . . I wasn’t very good at convincing the security guard that I was really Dustin’s wife.
“I swear it’s true.”
“Look, honey, we get a lot of girls, with a lot of stories trying to get into this locker room.”
I pulled out my phone and pulled up a picture of Dustin and me.
“No really, see here? We’re together.”
He squinted at the photo. “Look, miss, it’s truly amazing what you can do with photoshop now. If you know Dustin LeBlanc, why didn’t you tell him you were coming so he could put your name on the list?”
I sighed and figured I might as well text Dustin. Though I was a little sad that the surprise element would be lost.
As I strolled into a back hallway, though, away from the main locker room entrance, I spotted Chip.
“Hey Chip! Hold that door.”
He took off the sunglasses he was wearing so people wouldn’t recognize him. Too bad I would recognize that build anywhere, any day.
“Cat? What are you doing here?” he asked, holding the door.
“Giving Dustin a surprise.”
He grinned. “Well, he’s lingering today for some reason. I think you’re good to head inside and say hello no problem. Wait, why didn’t you just go in through the regular door?”
“I’ve always been a girl who loves the back door,” I said, thinking fast. “Wait. Don’t take that literally. Or . . . symbolically. Whatever.”
He laughed and held the door open, and I went in through the tunnel.
My heart beat rapidly as I made my way toward the locker room.
I flashed a curt smile at a reporter who passed me, with a press pass, and he seemed to look right through me.
Lucky for me, I was good at walking down hallways with a purpose, something doctors always did.
Unlucky for me, I was wearing a Dustin LeBlanc jersey, so I really did look like a straight-up groupie.
I could see the light at the end of the tunnel—literally—which I assumed was the team locker room.
However, a figure then came into view that made my bones chill.
It was Jackie Bells, and she had a smug smile on her face like usual. She wore a blue business suit and her heels clicked on the ground.
Her eyes locked on me as I tried to nonchalantly pass her with no luck.
“Excuse me, groupie girl,” she started. “Are you lost?”
Pangs of nervous anger flared through me as we both stopped walking and faced each other.
“Nope. Not lost. Just going to see my husband.”
She scoffed and put her hands on her hips. “Why are you coming through the back?”
“Because they wouldn’t let me come through the front.”
Damn, I thought. Should have used the back door girl line. Would have flustered her.
“Oh, that’s not surprising. I have you on the do not admit list. How did you get through the back?”
I scratched my forearm. “Why would I be on the do not admit list?”
“Look, I don’t have time to go into all the ins and outs of our locker room policy,” she said, flipping her hair. Then she let out this evil laugh, which gave me the wrong kind of goosebumps. “It’s good to know you won’t be a problem for long, though.”
My heart raced. “What does that mean?”
“Why don’t you ask Dustin?” she said, and another maniacal cackle escaped her, like a witch. “Yeah, ask Dustin! He’d love to tell you.”
I heard her heels clicking as she laughed, walking away.
“Look on the bright side, Spain’s got a great climate, right? No hockey though, I hear. I guess you’ll have to find a soccer player!”
I turned and parted my lips to give her a retort, but nothing came out.
But as I got to the light at the end of the tunnel and turned the knob of the door to enter the men’s locker room, my gut told me this was really bad.