Chapter 9 Jack
NINE
Jack
“I’ll water it,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest, then setting her chin. She could be really defiant at times. Most of the time, to be honest.
“You’re leaving for the UK tomorrow, then off to Moldova, and then a stop in Berlin. When do you think you can water it?” I waved a hand at the fat green spruce that was growing browner and thinner by the day.
“When I get home.”
“I’ll be back before you will.” Her lips flattened. “It has to go. The holidays are over. I appreciated you buying it, decorating it, and naming it Steve so it would feel more at home here, but the time has come. All good things must come to an end.”
My thoughts pulled up an image of Tian spread over the hotel bed, nude, breathtakingly beautiful, beckoning me to join him.
I still missed him. Smoky memories of slick skin, strong questing fingers, and soft laughs haunted my nights.
Maybe haunted wasn’t the right word. They lingered in my dreams, teasing me to wakefulness with a craving in my chest and a hard dick.
That good thing had ended. And now Steve the Spruce had to hit the curb.
“I wish you’d leave it up just a little longer.” She pouted the prettiest pout ever to be pouted.
I tugged the garland off with a jerk that made a tiny bell on a glass angel ornament ring out.
Her pout morphed into a gasp. “Mom always left it up until January seventh until after the Feast of the Epiphany.”
“That’s not fair.”
She shrugged. “Maybe not but if you take the tree and decorations down before the sixth it brings bad luck. And we do not want any evil vibes to settle on you.”
Okay yes, that was true. This season had been freaking phenomenal.
We were solidly in first place in our division, every line was clicking, and everyone was pumped.
On a personal note, I was having the best season of my long career.
I had twenty-one goals and sixteen assists already, which compared to Gunny and Trick, and a few other hotshot scorers was not huge but for a defenseman midway through the season?
I’d take it any time. My TOI was high, my plus/minus was plus thirty-two and my hits were climbing to plus sixty.
Penalty minutes were low, blocked shots were high. I’d never played better.
“Fine, we’ll leave it up.” She smiled so sweetly it gave me a cavity just looking at her. “Do you always win every debate we have?”
“Yes.” She skipped over, ponytail bouncing, to hug me tight. A vanilla floral scent engulfed me as she nestled into my chest, cheek over my heart. “I love you.”
“Mm-hmm.” I rested my hairy chin atop her head as the tree dropped a dozen needles in spite. “Love you too.”
“I know. Did you see that Tian—”
“Fi, that’s off limits,” I reminded her gently. I’d never disclosed that I checked in on him on Instagram and Tik Tok when I had a moment to relax and drift off into recollections.
She tipped her head up to stare at me. “I think you should text him. Just let him know that you’re—”
“Nope.” I kissed her nose then wiggled free of the hug. “Now, since we’re not taking down the tree…” My phone buzzed in my back pocket. “One second.”
She sighed but went over to pet Steve. A dozen plus needles hit the hardwood floors and she glanced over her shoulder wearing a chagrined expression before dashing off to hopefully find the broom. Such a brat.
I checked the incoming call and saw it was from Gunny. A call from a kid? Must be serious. I tapped the green button, and his face came into view in a small screen on the bottom left.
“Gunny, what’s up?” I asked right off. I could tell by just looking at the guy that he was stressed out.
He blew at a blond curl dangling into his eye.
He’d decided to not cut his hair this season because he was currently tied with Trick for goals.
Hockey players could be superstitious in the extreme.
We’d not get into some of the crazy shit I’d seen over the years. “You sick?”
We had a big game against Carolina tomorrow at home.
“No, I just read the morning hockey news report in Ice Beat in the ’Burg.”
I walked over to my patio to gaze out at the snow on the little picnic table and two chairs now covered with plastic.
“Did you see the rumors out of Detroit?”
I hadn’t. I did my best to not get into online sports sites.
Most were just armchair dudes speculating over this or that and with the trade deadline coming in two months tittle-tattle or outright lies were going to fire up.
Also, I didn’t care what the press thought about me.
I was doing the best I could do, and if the coach and GM were happy then to hell with what some Chad or Brad with a podcast set up in their living room thought.
“Gunny, there’s no reason to get fired up over anything said on Ice Beat. I know Preston Mills likes to think he has a finger on the pulse of the league but he’s just a dude with his nose in the dirt.”
“No, I mean… yeah, I know he can be a shit at times but he’s saying that the Railers are looking to bring him in to bolster the second line forward situation. Cap, I cannot play on the same team as that dick.”
“Okay, slow your roll a bit kid,” I said firmly. Gunny blew out a breath. “What dick are we even talking about? I know about eighty in the league.”
“Jari Lankinen.”
Oh. Oh. Now that was a name I knew well. The last name anyway. Anyone who lived in this town or played on this team was well aware of the devastating head injury Tennant Rowe-Madsen had suffered years ago at the hands of Aarni Lankinen, Jari’s father.
“It’s probably just a rumor, Gunny. You know Preston likes to toss out stupid headlines just to get people to click or call in to his podcast. I’d not put much stock into it.”
“Can you look into it, Cap? My dads and Tennant are super close. Pop’s already saying that if the Railers allow a Lankinen to wear the dusky blue he will call the people he knows.”
Jesus. Stan. I loved the guy, everyone did, and he was HHOF goalie royalty, but he did have a tendency to go off like a rocket.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll poke around and see if I can sniff anything concrete up.
But you know if the team is dealing quietly behind the scenes no one will say a thing to me or anyone else until the contracts are signed.
Tell Stan to chill out and go watch an Elvis movie.
And you also need to shake it off, the kid.
Even if they were to bring this Jari in, there’s nothing you could do about it.
We don’t have to like all of our teammates, but we do have to play our game at maximum no matter who we’re passing a puck to, right? ” He didn’t reply. “Right, Gunny?”
“Yeah, right, Cap.” He didn’t sound convinced.
“Okay, see you at morning skate. Stay off social media and I’ll see what I can dig up. It’ll probably just be some clickbait shit, and we’ll keep kicking ass and chewing bubble gum,” I reassured the young man as best I could. Stupid podcasters.
I was pulling my coat on when Coach entered the locker room. He looked tired but not tight.
“Jack, before you go, I have some good news,” he opened with, smiling at Gunny, who smiled politely back.
“Good news today would be welcomed,” I said, then glanced down to button my winter coat.
“Agreed. The GM has just gotten word from USA Hockey that you’ve been chosen to represent America in the Olympics next month in Italy. Congratulations.”
I stood there like a dolt, fingers locked on brass buttons, staring at the hand my head coach was shoving at me. Gunny hooted.
“I… but Trick and Gunny are the young ones,” I stammered.
“Well, it seems they wanted some vets on their team, and with your tenure in the league and the outstanding season you’re having they would like to have you wear the red, white, and blue.”
“No shit?” I asked, coat still unbuttoned.
Coach chuckled. “No shit. My hand is getting tired of hanging here in space.”
I hurried to clasp it and shake it hard. “Thanks, Coach, this is a real honor. I’m just… so old.”
“With age comes wisdom,” Coach said, then shifted his attention to Gunny. “Congratulations again, Jack. Well deserved. Make sure you take sunscreen for the snow glare.”
Sunscreen. Right. I’d not laid eyes on my bottle of sunscreen since I’d tossed it under the sink on my return from Caye Caulker.
My heart skipped a beat as I recalled smearing thick white lotion on Tian’s warm skin.
Tian. Holy hell. Had he made the team? Would we see each other there?
What would I say if we ran into each other?
Would it be horribly awkward? Would we talk, or share a beer, or pick up where we’d left off in the Caribbean?
Only time would tell…
I knew that the US team needed promo photos.
Didn’t mean I had to like having them taken.
“Okay, Jack, if you could turn this way and lift your chin. Hmm, Louisa, can we do something about the wild hairs of that beard. Oh, and please give him more concealer under his eyes. I’ve wheeled bags through customs that were smaller.”
I shot a look at Pete Starinski, or Starry as he was known in Florida. “Did that picture-taker just call me old?”
Starry, another defenseman, chuckled. “I think so. Do we want to slap him upside the head with these pretty red, white, and blue sticks?
“Let me think about it,” I replied as Louisa, a lovely woman corralling us idiot hockey players, arrived to touch up the bags under my eyes.
This patriotic imagery was nice; don’t get me wrong, but what I wanted most right now was, in order of importance, to get to Italy, find Tian, kiss him, and fall asleep.
If the kissing led to other things in the privacy of a hotel room, then sleep would naturally have to be put off.
Personally, I’d have been happy to skip all of this.
Not that I wasn’t proud to play for my country but being draped in the flag and told to pretend I was thinking deep thoughts was not Jack O’Leary.
It was too much hoopla. I just wanted to get over to Europe, play hockey, and beat Canada.
That was half of the conversation among the top players from America on the flight over.
That was the Holy Grail for us, and it wasn't easy to accomplish. But we had fantastic players and coaches. We had a solid chance. I’d give it my all.
This was my first and for sure last time I would ever be invited.
I wanted to go out big. Retirement was a year away now and what better way to clock out than with a gold medal, a Cup win, and Tian in my life.
Somehow. Somehow, we would make it work. If he was interested in making it work.
“His beard is too wooly,” Louisa announced to the room.
The photographer, some wiry guy with a bowl cut hairdo and thick glasses, stormed over to me.
“Mr. Hockey Player, your facial hair is being contrary. Please shave.”
“Yeah, nope.” I stared down at the pencil-thin man in the black shawl and matching leggings. “Not going to happen. Just pluck a few.”
“How can I do my job when these idiots don’t listen,” he huffed then set Louisa to tugging out wild red hairs with her little silver tweezers. The other guys in the room were in hysterics.
I’d give the press a lot of leeway, but I wasn’t shaving my beard.
Tian had loved running his fingers through it and that meant it was staying.
At least until we had a chance to meet up and talk in Italy.
Then, if he had someone else in his life—something against which I prayed every other day—I’d shave it.
Maybe. Maybe not. It was a lucky beard now.
Maybe this wild, thick ginger mass would sit on my face until they planted me in the cold green hills outside Dublin next to some of my distant relatives.
“Seems you would have better control of your beard,” Starry teased an hour later when we were all finally done being plucked, contoured, and photographed.
“They have a mind of their own,” I tossed over my shoulder, Starry at my side.
We D-men tended to hang together like a troop of monkeys.
I was ready to go home and finish packing, counting down the days until I could see Tian again.
We’d been given a nearly three-week break to participate on the US team, and I planned to make the most of it.
I’d never been to Italy. I’d had daydreams of shady coffees in romantic little cafes with Tian tucked into my side.
Winning gold and seeing Tian.