Chapter 7
Jax - Thin Ice
I pull into a small parking area to the rear of the pastel color cottages.
Elise told me to walk around to the beach side, since the front of the cottages face the water.
As I approach the third house, she’s sitting on the front porch looking out at the crystal clear water.
Although I can see West Palm Beach from the balcony of my condo, this is an entirely different view, and it is spectacular.
Soft white sand, clear water, and a stunning sky with a fiery sun that’s about to set.
She waves as I approach her house. She looks cute and casual with her long hair pulled back, a faded t-shirt with a Chicago Arts District logo, and distressed jeans with cut marks all over the front.
She’s barefoot, and I can’t help but notice her toes are painted pink, just like her house.
Taken aback by the raw beauty of the setting and her against that backdrop, I blabber like an idiot.
“Your house. It’s pink. I don’t think I’ve never seen a pink house before.”
She throws her head back and laughs, the sound warming me like the sunlight on a hot day.
“Wait until you see the rest of the place. Come on in.”
I step up onto the porch and follow her inside, the screen door banging closed behind us. Although it’s warm inside, the open door and windows allow the sea breeze to waft through, keeping the inside naturally cool.
“Make yourself at home. I hope you like salad and spaghetti, because that’s just about the only thing I know how to make.”
“Sounds fine to me.” As I look around the large open area—a living room, kitchen, and dining area combined—I see a place that is uniquely Elise. Down to earth, eclectic, beachside cottage vibes. The house is filled with plants, handmade ceramics, and works by local artists covering the walls.
Inside her own space, she’s relaxed and down-to-earth, contrasting starkly with the guarded and all-business demeanor she displays at the arena. Although I’d be content doing nothing but watching her, I don’t want her to think I’m a total slouch.
“What can I do to help?”
She points to the center island. “All the ingredients for the salad are there. Can you handle that?”
“Sure.” As I cut veggies and toss everything into a bowl, I keep the conversation going, sharing what I’ve observed since I arrived. “Your place is so relaxing and comfortable. It suits you. Much different from your work vibe.”
She turns away from the stove as she answers. “You’re right. When I broke off my engagement and left Chicago, I created deliberate boundaries between my personal and professional life. I’ve worked hard to keep those lines from crossing. Especially when it comes to being around athletes.”
I file that bit of information away for future reference. The mixed signals I’ve been getting from her make a little more sense now.
As we prepare to sit down to eat, Elise pulls a bottle of wine from the fridge.
“Would you like some wine with dinner? I’ve got a great red from the Celtic Knot, a local winery.”
She pours us each a glass and I take a sip, savoring the rich flavors with a hint of sweetness. “I’m no expert on wines, but this is damn good.”
“I discovered the winery a while back. It’s family owned, and the atmosphere there is really cool.”
“Maybe we could go there sometime. I’d like to check it out.”
I’d much rather spend a low key evening at a small town winery than going to any of the upscale restaurants in West Palm.
I’m finishing a heaping plate of spaghetti when my cell rings.
I want to shut out the rest of the world and continue to enjoy the time with her, but when I move to silence the call, Palm Beach County Sheriff’s Department scrolls across the screen.
A frown of worry creases my brow as my mind races through the possibilities of bad news. “I’m sorry. I need to answer this.” I put the phone to my ear. “Jax Morgan.”
“We’ve got a Cole Landry in custody here. You’re his designated phone call.”
“What happened?”
“He was brought in on a DUI.”
Shit. “Is he hurt? Was anyone hurt?”
“Fortunately, no one is hurt and no one else is involved. He’s been processed, and is ready for release if he can make bail.”
“I’m up in Pelican Point right now, but I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
I disconnect and tell Elise what’s going on.
“I understand. Go. And be careful.”
“Will do. “ I take her hand, craving a physical connection. But I know if I kiss her right now, I won’t leave. And the time’s not right for that. Plus, I don’t know if it’s something she wants. So the brief touch will have to do. “Thanks for dinner. I enjoyed it. Talk to you soon.”
After a long night dealing with law enforcement and getting Cole bailed out and settled, I’m awakened the next morning to my cell blaring the 1970’s classic “Rock and Roll,” otherwise known as the Hey song.
These days, it’s mostly associated with hockey score celebrations, so I made it the ringtone for all of my hockey contacts.
Maybe not the best idea when you’re in the middle of a deep sleep.
I grab the phone from the nightstand to silence the noise and take the call, although my head is still pounding with the beat.
It’s Stone Anginelli. Although he’s a team owner, he’s also a friend and neighbor since we live in the same building.
“Stone,” I mumble, then clear my throat. “How’s it goin’, man?”
“Hey. Just wanted to thank you for taking care of Cole last night. The PR team will need to do some damage control since the media seems to take pleasure in publicizing an incident whenever a player does something stupid.”
I raise up and lean back against the headboard. No way I’ll be able to get back to sleep now. “No problem. I know what it’s like to be young and dumb and have some money in your pocket. Thankfully, those days are behind me.”
Stone chuckles. “Your young and dumb days may be behind you, but media scrutiny is not. Have you been online this morning?”
What the hell is he talking about? “Uh, no. I’m not much for social media.”
“Well, you might want to start paying attention. There’s images of you in Pelican Point, and even though you’re not pictured with anyone, it wasn’t difficult to pinpoint your location. Elise Kinney’s place. Social media has you two engaged already.”
Damn. This is the type of attention neither one of us wants or needs. “She’s gonna hate that.”
Stone says, “If I’ve learned anything from Desirae, it’s that you can’t expect a woman to assume anything. If you truly care about her, keep the lines of communication open.”
A while later, I get a text from Coach. He doesn’t mention Elise specifically, but reminds me that it’s best to avoid distractions for the sake of the team. He also asks me to mentor Cole through the aftermath of his arrest.
After visiting with Cole and sharing some of my experiences and youthful mistakes, I’m hoping I can make a difference with him, both on and off of the ice. Surprisingly, it’s satisfying to embrace the role of mentor, taking my title of team Captain to a whole new level.
Elise and I still haven’t spoken since I was at her house. Despite the advice from Stone, we seem to be stuck in an awkward silence. At least it seems awkward to me, since I don’t know what to say to her at this point. Do I text? Call? Play it cool and wait for her to make a move?
As I’m trying to figure it all out, I run into her working near the team entrance tunnel.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry about the photos catching you at my house.”
“I’m not worried about me. I’m sorry they brought your name into it. Knowing how you feel about publicity with athletes and all.”
“It’s not your fault,” she says, although I sense the tension in her body. To change the subject, I ask her about what she’s working on.
“This is my most ambitious project for the arena. I want to create an immersive tunnel for the team’s entrance to the ice—highlighting the evolution of the Blades from inception to where you are now—making a run for the Cup.”
She shows me her sketches—a pictorial timeline of the past five years, from the initial plans for the team, to the decision on the name and the logo, our accomplishments from each season, and where we are today.
The history of our team is illustrated through the growth of a tree, from seed to sapling, culminating in a full tree of life. Freaking brilliant.
“This is amazing,” I say to her, still not sure about how to deal with the subject of the public invasion into our lives.
“Do you have any suggestions from a player’s point of view? Have I captured the spirit of the team properly?”
I can definitely ease her mind about her work. “It’s perfect. The way you use ice and nature to create meaningful art—you’re really talented.”
Her smile lights up the tunnel and hopefully melts any chill remaining between us.
The next night we’re playing a critical game against Atlanta.
I’ve got the puck, the chants of the crowd pressing me on.
Frost! Frost! Frost! From out of nowhere, an Atlanta defender slams me into the boards.
My shoulder gives out completely, the pain so intense it literally brings me to my knees.
My teammates immediately shield me from further contact and guard the puck.
The crowd that was enthusiastically shouting my name mere seconds ago falls silent.
The whistle of the ref stops all play, and the team doctor and Coach come rushing over.
With some assistance from my fellow players, I slowly stand.
I don’t need to explain anything. They know it’s my bum shoulder.
Back in the locker room, medical staff cut off my jersey and remove my shoulder pads before giving me a cursory exam, but I already know what they’re going to say.
“Jax, we’ll send you for an MRI tomorrow to confirm, but you’re most likely looking at surgery and months of rehab. Your season’s done.”
As the trainer fixes me up with a sling to immobilize my shoulder, my life flashes before my eyes. What the hell will I do now? I’ve got no plan, no idea what the future looks like. I thought I had more time to figure it all out.
Unwilling to go home and sulk in my condo, I wander the halls of the arena, seeking refuge.
Seeking Elise. I find her at the tunnel, working on the tree of life.
She looks at me and I see safety and compassion there.
Not pity. Empathy. Without a word, she hands me a string of lights and demonstrates how to thread it through the pathways she’s made through the ice block.
Just like she did before when I needed a distraction.
It’s repetitive and calming, and something I can do with one arm.
She pauses for a break about twenty minutes later. “If you want to talk about it, I’m a good listener.”
Exhausted and emotionally spent, the words don’t come.
Instead, a moment of raw need for connection fills me.
With my good hand, I take hers and give it a gentle tug, pulling off her work glove and tossing it aside so I can feel the softness of her hand in mine.
She looks up at me with those beautiful eyes and I slowly lower my mouth to hers.
Despite the ice chill in the arena, her lips are warm and welcoming.
She opens her mouth slightly, gently welcoming me inside.
She tastes like cinnamon and spice, a welcome respite on a chilly day.
A moan escapes her mouth, shocking me back to reality like a sudden blast of cold air.
What the hell am I doing? She deserves better than me groping her in the arena where anyone could see.
She’s been a good friend and I don’t want to screw that up.
I pull away, but can’t miss the confusion in her eyes.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
I back up and turn, rushing away like my hair’s on fire.
I can’t bear to look back at her, knowing she’s seen me at my most vulnerable moment.
All the words I should have said to her crash through my brain.
But it’s too late now. All I can do is take the moment of that brief connection and tuck it away in my memory.