Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
T he slap of sticks on ice, the cries of “Here, here” and “Hey” filled her ears as the scent of hot dogs and beer filled her nostrils. This was a world away from the refined concert halls and performance spaces she had danced in. But while this scene was so unfamiliar, it still held an excitement not unlike what she’d known when she’d performed on stage. Not that it was her turn to shine, but watching Luc, with his deft turns and spins, the very physicality he demonstrated as he crunched the opposition into walls, made her tense, anxious, and literally sitting on the edge of her seat.
“Come on, Bails, relax.” Poppy tugged her back. “You won’t make a good impression if you fall off your chair.”
That drew the laugh of Molly, Travis’s girlfriend, who had insisted Bailey and Poppy sit with her. “That’s true. Have you seen how many times the camera has panned up here tonight?”
It had been a few, but she thought that was normal.
But apparently not. Nothing about tonight felt normal for her. And she could suddenly understand why Luc had felt so lost when thrust into the dancing world. Dance was a whole different field to this, and hockey’s rough-and-tumble was far removed from the grace and elegance which filled her world.
Molly nudged her. “Don’t worry. He’s doing well.”
She nodded. “There’s just so much to get used to. And I’ve never really known much about hockey.”
“Oh we know. You should’ve heard Travis laugh when you said that on TV.”
She winced. “I hope I didn’t embarrass Luc.”
“Embarrass Luc? You? Girl, you transformed a bear into a prince, and you gotta be proud of that. Nobody knew Luc had those moves in him.”
“Luc included,” she agreed.
“And don’t tell anyone, but I think it’s inspired Travis to get lessons for when we finally get married.”
“Really?”
Molly nodded.
Poppy leaned across. “I happen to know a local dance studio that might be able to help you with that.”
“Is that so?” Molly grinned.
Bailey’s attention returned to the ice as a portion of heavy rock blared. “Why is there music?”
“It’s a time-out,” Poppy said, pointing to the side. “Ice over glass, which means Vancouver gets a penalty, and Zac Parotti goes to the penalty box and is off the ice for two minutes.”
“He’s the really good one, right?”
“He’s hot,” Poppy agreed.
“And single, so I heard,” Molly added, winking. “But it was careless, so it means Winnipeg has an advantage with an extra man on ice.”
Bailey so didn’t understand all this new terminology, but was doing her best to keep up. She plucked the edge of her brand-new Blanchard jersey with nervous fingers. The music cut abruptly as the play resumed.
Luc had the puck, and was skating to the opposite end where Chris Thomas guarded the goal. Chris looked huge padded up in his goalie getup, but she guessed he needed it to protect him from all the missiles of flying pucks and sticks and elbows and sharp skates.
Her breath suspended, as Luc’s number 34 passed to Travis who passed it back to him, then he shot and scored.
“Whoo!” Poppy and Molly stood, cheering, clapping, and Bailey stood too, clapping as Luc skated around the back of the goal and was patted on the back by his teammates as another rock classic blared through the sound system.
As Chris sucked down a drink, she noticed Luc glance up at them, and she waved, smiling, and he grinned and pointed her way, before skating to the side and doing a bunch of high fives with his teammates.
“Aww.” Poppy hugged her. “Someone out there must be in love to dedicate the very first goal of the team’s season to you.”
“Preseason,” Molly corrected. “But yeah.”
The song abruptly cut off, and play resumed with another scuffle in the center that was apparently called a face-off.
Molly offered them more popcorn. “So that was Luc’s goal song? Nice.”
One thing she’d never thought she’d do: help her boyfriend select a song that would be played each time he scored a goal. The classic by Elton John might contain the team’s name, and be an obvious choice, but she’d wondered whether it would sound tough enough for this crowd. Clearly, from the way the crowd had sung along, they approved.
“Come on, make some noise!”
The organ did its own little number, and the announcer revved up the crowd with a series of chants. The atmosphere was exciting, the fans were in a good mood, and she was so glad to be with people who helped her understand the game a little more.
The play continued, and she peered at where Luc sat, watching the game intensely. The action moved closer to Winnipeg’s end, and Zac Parotti, the number forty stitched on his back, skated closer then smacked it into the back of the net.
There was no goal song for him, simply a red flashing light and an announcement over the loudspeakers that drew a collective boo, apart from a few brave Vancouver fans who stood and cheered before being told to shut up.
She laughed, the parochial fans so committed she could understand why this sport got so much funding and sponsorship. And maybe she hadn’t realized before just what a big deal Luc actually was, especially after the recent announcement that he was captain. She’d noticed on their dates how many people gravitated to him, wanting pictures, handshakes, and a quick chat. He was always polite, though reserved sometimes, unless it was with little kids. She wondered if his reticence might be due to the Dance Off show, but now she realized it was because he was constantly being swamped with hockey questions. Which maybe made her a little bit naive, but how was she to know just how big a deal hockey was?
He came back on the ice, and Poppy nudged her, pointing him out. A Vancouver player pushed him, and he skated past, eyes fixed on the puck.
“Uh-oh,” Molly said.
“What’s wrong?”
“That’s Logan Johansen. He’s always been mouthy, and it looks like he’s trying to get under Luc’s skin.”
“Oh.” Nerves rippled, her stomach tensing, as she wondered what they’d say to try to get Luc to snap. Something about his dancing? Something about her? She hated to think she might be the reason anyone would mock Luc.
“Luc’s a big boy,” Poppy said, “and he knows how to keep his temper.”
“He’s gonna have to,” Molly said, “especially now he’s captain.”
“Although sometimes the captain has to stand up for what’s right.”
“Yeah, but he’s hardly going to get in a fight anymore, is he?”
“A fight?” Bailey asked.
“Come on,” Molly said. “Surely you’ve heard the joke about going to a fight and a hockey game breaking out?”
Would they believe her if she said, “No?”
Molly laughed. “Oh, I love that we have a hockey virgin here. And love even more that you’re dating the captain. That must mess with his head so much.”
“Look, I’m trying. I’m here, aren’t I?”
“And he appreciates it. You know he does,” Poppy encouraged.
“That’s right. And just like you got to teach him lots of things about dance, so he now gets to teach you lots about hockey.”
She nodded, her eyes on the game. Some days it felt like she and he were too much opposites, and Molly’s words just reinforced that. She would try harder, would try and learn the game, but finding time to do so felt impossible, especially given the recent interview with the bank.
When she’d finally called in, Mr. Mitsom had pointed out that there were still some discrepancies, then he’d asked about the loan repayments and extra fees.
“But I don’t understand. How can there be issues?” Her dad had always assured her that things were paid on time.
Mr. Mitsom sighed. “It seems that some have been missed.”
Missed? She’d been tempted to call up her father straight away. But when she’d left, a reminder on her phone to wish Chrissy a happy birthday had stolen her attention, and she remembered why she didn’t make waves, why she wouldn’t upset her dad, especially not on that day when he and Mom would only be too aware of their eldest child who lived so far away. Since then, she’d kind of forgotten. But still, she’d do so soon. When she found the right words to say.
“Bails?” Poppy nudged her again.
“Sorry, did you say something?”
“Molly and I are getting some food. Want anything?”
“Um, no. I’m okay.” If she ate anything else processed she might be sick. Eating clean had helped her overcome some of her food issues in the past. She needed to be careful not to trigger things again.
Instead, she watched the ice get swept clean by the people on skates with what looked like brooms. She hunched forward, elbows on jean-clad knees—the arena was cold—and her ponytail swung to tickle her chin. Around her conversations continued, and every so often she heard Luc’s name being mentioned by a trio of men in the section next door who liked their beers and their swearing as they offered their opinions freely.
“Blanchard is looking good so far.”
She smiled. She thought he looked very good indeed.
“Can’t believe he went on that show.”
Her breath hitched as a pithy commentary went on, involving lots of four-letter words she never used, describing Luc, her, and just what some of those dance moves implied. She cringed, wondering how many others thought the same, before reminding herself that their words didn’t have to define her.
“Yeah? Well I think he’s pretty ballsy, not caring about what anyone thinks.”
That was more like it. She glanced across at that speaker, smiled.
He noticed her, straightening, then nudged his friend. “It’s her. Blanchard’s dance chick.”
Oh. Maybe she shouldn’t have smiled. She peered at her phone, pretending to message someone, when her name was called. “Bailey.”
She peered up. The three men were still staring at her. “Um, hi?”
“You made him soft,” the biggest one said.
“Excuse me?”
He shook his head. “He never used to smile on the ice, he was always mean, and now he’s smiling.”
“I’m sure he’s only smiling because he enjoys the game.”
“Or enjoying the action later, huh?”
She blinked, her cheeks burning with embarrassment, but her tongue had knots in it and she didn’t know what to say, so she looked at her phone as the screen blurred.
“Whoa, what did we miss?” Poppy said, with a scowl at the men that suggested she’d missed nothing.
“Were those jokers harassing you?” Molly asked. “I can ask security to kick them out,” she said, in a louder voice that drew the men’s scowls but made them shut up and look away.
She exhaled, accepting the cup of popcorn that Poppy handed to her, despite not requesting anything. Surely doing something would be better than thinking over what those men had just said.
“Are you okay?” Poppy asked quietly.
“Yep. I just don’t want Luc copping any criticism because they think I’m to blame.”
“Well, you can’t help what other people say. That’s on them. But it’s on you to not let it sink into your heart, so don’t let it, okay?”
She nodded. Easier said than done.
Molly pointed to the big screen that Bailey had learned was called a jumbotron. “Hey, it looks like they’re gonna be miking Luc up for this next period.”
“Really?”
Molly slurped her Coke. “It’s always kind of fun to hear how they talk to each other on the ice, and Luc’s a safe one, as he doesn’t say those words that scare little kids or grandmothers.”
Or girlfriends.
“And you’ll probably see that the opposition won’t be mouthing off as much now either.”
Poppy nodded. “Yeah. They don’t want to have their words recorded.”
Bailey hoped so, for Luc’s sake. Was it silly for her to be worried about him? But the men’s comments before had prickled awareness that while Luc might’ve got the biggest cheer when he was introduced on the ice tonight, others had a different opinion.
She watched more intently this time, noting when Luc won his face-offs, he yelled, “Hey, hey!” for the puck to be sent his way. His “Good try” when Travis missed, his encouragement to his teammates, all wrapped around her heart.
A good man. One whose actions she hoped would prove to her father he was worthy of her. That there was nothing to worry about. That her father had no need to fear a repeat of Jed and Chrissy’s situation, that his tattoos didn’t automatically equate with a temper or a violent streak. And she prayed he wouldn’t get into a fight.
* * *
As they moved back through the tunnel to the ice for the third period, Luc did his best to stay focused on what they had to do. They were tied 2-2, so now it was all about getting pucks on the net, which was exactly what he would aim to do. Focus on that. Lead his men. Not think about the pretty woman he loved who was wearing the jersey he’d got her with his number on it. He would do anything he could to try and make her proud, but he needed to stay in the game and help his team win.
He skated to the center dot and bent, ready for the puck drop, anticipation making him twitchy. He won it from Johansen, sending the puck to Travis. It might only be the first game in the preseason, but already there was chemistry between them. These first few games were about getting regular-season ready after a long summer off, and already he could feel his legs tiring. Coach Frantzen was tweaking the lines and mixing combinations, seeking those which would prove more offensive and score the goals that would help Winnipeg get off to a good start in the regular season. Score enough goals early on in the regular season, and later, when everyone’s batteries were running low, there wouldn’t be such a need to grind out enough wins to get to the playoffs. That was the coaching staff’s strategy, and it made sense to Luc, so he’d do all he could to support Coach Frantzen’s vision.
Johansen clipped Luc with his shoulder as he skated past, but the refs didn’t notice, so he skated on.
He’d expected the jibes to resume after he was de-microphoned for this period, when people couldn’t hear what was being said. Johansen was dirty, and it seemed grossly unfair to much of the hockey world that a known agitator who loved to pick a fight had a Cup ring while Luc and others didn’t. Still, he’d be doing all he could to rectify that this year.
Knowing that Vancouver had a need to prove their win last year wasn’t a fluke, it wasn’t surprising that they were coming hard out of the gate. Zac Parotti skated close, and Luc weaved away, puck on his stick as he shot at Vancouver’s goalie. The puck bounced off the pipes with a loud ping.
“Too bad,” Chris smirked.
Luc pointed at him. “So sad.” Then he skated off with a smile. He probably should rein those in. People weren’t used to seeing him smile on the ice. He’d always been a little more intense than some, and he didn’t want to give the opposition any more excuse to call him weak.
Judging from the words being tossed around tonight, plenty of them had opinions about his dancing, most of them bad, although a few, like Zac Parotti, understood he’d done it for his mom.
He skated back to the dot and took the face-off, this time losing as Johansen passed to Parotti and down to the blue line. Luc skated fast and stole the puck and changed direction, when Johansen appeared on his left. Luc swerved, and slammed him into the side with a nice hip-check, which sent Johansen to the ice and drew thunderous cheers from the crowd. Yeah, that was more like it. Tough Luc was back. There’d be no more questions over his masculinity after—
Johansen’s stick slapped his midsection, and Luc automatically grabbed it as Logan started talking, spewing words about Luc, about Bailey, about Luc’s mom.
He ignored it, ignored it, but the guy kept jawing, about Bailey, about her dance costumes, his every word and smirk like a flame to an oilcan. Luc’s temper rose, but he wouldn’t bite. He wouldn’t bite.
Johansen’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah, I’d tap that too.”
Luc wheeled to face him, dropped his stick, and threw off the gloves, and swung a fist. His knuckles collected the dude on his jaw and he fell down. Luc fell on top of him, pounding him, pounding him, as Johansen tried to hit back. Then the zebras skated in and tried to separate them, all while Johansen kept spewing his garbage.
A few moments later Luc skated to the penalty box, sat, and removed his helmet, and sucked down a drink. A five-minute minor on his first game as captain. Awesome. Would everyone know he was easy to target, that they only need to mention Bailey and he’d explode? And here she was watching, at her first-ever game. He leaned forward, scrubbing his face. What would she think of him?
Another thought hit him, harder than Logan’s punch. What would her father think of him now?