Chapter 20
CHAPTER 20
R en
My luck at poker on the team jet is worse than our performance on the ice a few hours ago. First league game loss, and already fans are posting mean shit. I can’t let it get to me. We have more than eighty games ahead, and one matchup tells us nothing about what’s to come.
“I call your bluff, both of you,” Coach Barrington says, looking at me over his reading glasses. Then he turns to Ludovic and does the same. Even wearing the rectangular granny glasses that highlight the bits of gray at his temples, the man looks formidable. He calculates his chances of winning and then strikes like a viper. It serves us well on the ice, and it’s putting me on notice now in our game of Texas Hold ‘em.
If he’s calling my bluff, it’s because he has a good hand. Either that, or he has the best poker face on the planet.
I don’t know which it is because he’s never joined one of our games before. Normally, he sits at the front of the jet when we travel and confers with the other coaches. He lets the rest of us take each other’s money and rolls his eyes at our foolishness. “Good thing you guys are well paid because you sure waste a lot of money,” he always says.
But tonight, he’s playing. He lost quickly in the first game, and he hasn’t said much this time, but he keeps throwing chips in the pot and raising a little on each hand. It’s clear he’s played before, even if he’s never played with us. Ludovic tends to stay in until the very end, hoping against hope that the last card will give him a victory. It almost never does.
Ludovic looks at Barrington once more before throwing his cards on the table. “I’m out.”
Barrington turns to me. “What about you, Ren?”
“I’m in. Bet’s to you.”
“Call.”
“Raise you twenty bucks.” I can’t tell anything about his game from the fact that he called. It could mean he has cold feet, or he’s just messing with me. In either case, it only costs me a twenty to push him a little and see what he does.
He throws in a red chip without expression. I’m starting to regret my part in coaxing him to play. For all I know, he has four aces, and I’m about to get my clock cleaned.
“One more round of betting?” he asks, picking up another red chip. “I raise another twenty.”
I throw my red chip into the pot, which is a tidy mound of blue, yellow, and red –over six hundred bucks in there.
“Call,” Barrington says.
I fan out my cards. “Straight flush, nine high.”
It’s a good hand. Maybe even a great hand. But there are still plenty of ways this could go wrong for me. A nine of spades isn’t that hard to beat, especially with three spades in the river.
My eyes stay fixed on our coach because I’m dying to understand what goes on inside his head. Slowly, he starts to nod. Then he tosses his cards on the table, facedown. “You got me. Nice work, Renaldi. Next game, I want to see the exact kind of resolve you just showed me here. You do that, we’ll turn our season around.”
“Yes, sir.” I nod as he gets up from the table. I’m less excited about my winnings than I am about what feels like a second chance from our coach. I need it, and I’ll take any sign I can get.
We land an hour later, and I don’t even consider going back to my place in Berkeley. I haven’t slept there in weeks. Trix insisted on watching Truman during this set of away games, and I need to relieve her of dog duty, but that’s not why I’m rushing to Napa.
I can’t even pretend it’s about my dog.
I always used to be at home on the road. Dressing in a suit to meet fans was another sign I’d made something of myself and reached hockey success. More and more, I feel like home is here in Napa, where I can be with Trix and Tru. They’re my happy place.
“Hey,” I say when I pull up and find her sitting in the rocker on her porch. She looks exhausted, a tired smile on her face, her eyes lacking their usual vitality. Juggling so many projects and working long hours on her feet are kicking her ass. I want to order her to go lie down, delegate more work to other people, and let me rub her shoulders. But I know my stubborn woman, and she would never listen to orders. Doesn’t stop me from worrying over her.
Truman is leaping in circles around me, darting this way and that so fast that I can’t even pet him.
“Someone’s happy to see you.” She laughs but doesn’t stand up.
“Someone’s happy to see you ,” I say, shuffling up the stairs like a tired soldier. My legs ache after sitting for hours on the plane and driving for another hour. I kiss her lightly on the lips, and my body immediately wants more of her. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” I kneel in front of her and plant a kiss on each knee, each thigh. Then I push myself higher and drink in her lips. For every knock I took on the ice, she’s the balm. “Daydreaming about your lips. Waiting to do this.”
She hums against my lips as I kiss her again, delving a little deeper before standing up with a groan. My legs are cooked.
“I’m happy to see you too.”
She picks up a big tumbler of water and sips from a straw. She offers me a half smile but doesn’t invite me inside. We still sleep at our respective houses—one more reason I need to reel myself back from feeling too much for her. So I stuff my hands in my pockets and look for my dog. Truman is now running in circles around my car, barking and jumping every few feet.
“I swear I walked him. We even went on two hikes,” Trix says.
“I believe you. He has a lot of energy to burn. I can run him for an hour, and he’ll still be ready for more after he sloshes down a bowl of water.”
She nods and looks away. Something’s up, and I have no idea what it is. If I was a more intuitive guy, maybe I could read her better, but since I haven’t got a clue, my only choice is to ask.
“You okay?”
Her eyes return to me. “What? Oh, sure. Yeah. I’m good.”
“Really? Because it seems like there’s something you’re not saying.”
“Damn.” She shakes her head.
“What?”
“Guess a girl can’t have a feeling around here without Ren the Detective figuring it out. I guess I was thinking…I dunno.” She shrugs. I wait, but she doesn’t finish the thought.
I hold up both hands. “I wasn’t trying to pry. If you say you’re good, you’re good.” I look back at my dog, who lopes up to me with his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth and his eyes round and glassy like a lunatic. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get you home.”
Grabbing his leash from where Trix has it hanging over the pale blue painted banister of her porch, I loop it over his head and rein him in. He sits at my feet and looks up at me as if to say, “Okay, you’ve got me here. What’s next?”
“Thanks again for watching him, Trix. I’ll take him back to my place, get him out of your hair.” Turning to go, I feel a twinge of sadness in my chest that I fear will take on a life of its own and grow by the time I get home. This subdued reaction from Trix was not the welcome I was hoping for. Not after spending two nights sleeping alone in a hotel room and thinking about her. The sun’s rays lighting up her face. The soft feel of her skin under my hand. The way her eyes dance when she’s giving me shit.
But maybe I’ve been letting my heart misread her cues. Sure, we’ve been having fun and I feel the spark between us, but maybe it’s just me. To her, I’m just the baby dad, a way to turn an accident into something positive. I should rein in my feelings and get my head on straight.
Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. “Wait.”
Turning, I realize Trix has followed us to the car, and I was so caught up in my thoughts that I didn’t hear her feet on the gravel. “Yeah?”
“Can you stay tonight?”
My shoulders drop, and the tension I didn’t know I was carrying falls away. “Sure, I can stay. I didn’t want to assume.”
“Assume.” She turns and starts walking back to the house. It’s then I realize why I didn’t hear her footsteps. She’s barefoot, padding slowly on the rough gravel because it probably hurts her feet.
“Hang on.”
She stops and looks over her shoulder, yelping as I scoop her into my arms. “I’ve got you.”
“Ren…” she starts to protest, but I pull her in tighter. She we ighs nothing compared to the heavy weights I have to lift in training, and it feels good to be useful.
“Let me do this. Can you try to just let me give you a hand?”
She sighs against my chest, and I take that as a yes. “You’re infuriating.” I take that as a yes as well.
“I told you I want to be here for you, and I didn’t just mean I’d be here to write a check for diapers. I meant I’ll be here for you .” Until I say the words out loud, I don’t realize how much I mean them.
Maybe I surprise Trix, too, because she twists in my arms to look at me as I take the steps of her porch two at a time. “You can put me down now. No more gravel,” she says as I turn the knob of her front door and walk us into her house like I own the place.
“I could, but what if I don’t want to?”
“Ren, please put me down. I don’t like feeling useless.”
“You’re never useless.” I place her on the couch and take a seat next to her. Truman winds himself in two circles before dropping to the floor at her feet. From the outside, we probably look the part of the perfect family tableau—young parents-to-be and an eager dog. Just another night of domestic bliss on the couch while the world has its way with everyone else outside.
Only I know better than to believe we’re going to be the kind of family I fantasize about with her. Key rule of sports is to never let the appearance of a team get in your head—never assume you know how they’ll play the game until you see it unfold on the ice. I need to do that here, too.
“So why’d you invite me in?” I still don’t understand her about-face from seeming put out by my mere presence to asking me to stay. Maybe it’s a pregnancy hormone thing.
“Because I missed you. I know it’s crazy because I saw you two days ago, but it’s true. I missed you.”
She looks tentative, gauging my reaction. I grab her hand and interlace our fingers, feeling a flood of endorphins race through me, a high so much better than winning a poker game .
“I missed you too.” It’s the truth, and it feels good to be honest about my feelings. But I stop there. I want to tell her that my heart feels wrung out and empty when I’m away from her. I want her to know how distracted I am by her all the time. I want to tell her I fucking love her.
But I don’t say any of these things. I just pull her in tight and inhale the sweet scent of her skin and feel damn lucky she wants me to stay. It feels like the beginning of something good.
Trix leads me through the entryway to the couch, where she likes to curl up in the evenings with Tru at her feet. Before we’ve even seated ourselves, Truman circles around twice on the rug and settles in for a nap. I sit on the couch and pull Trix into my lap so she sits sideways with her arm around my neck. For just one moment, I inhale the sweet scent of her damp hair and revel in the feel of her body against mine. There’s nothing better than this feeling. With Truman at our feet, it really does feel like home.
“Hey, I was thinking…” I nuzzle her ear and plant a row of kisses along her jaw.
“You’re always thinking,” she laughs, her hand sweeping over my thigh and squeezing.
“True. I’m thinking you should come to a game. Wanna?” My casual tone belies my nerves. It means a lot to me for her to see me play again. I want her to understand why I’ve made the sacrifices I have over the course of my career. I want her to witness my love for the sport and what I’ve made of myself on the ice. Maybe I want her to forgive me for leaving.
I reach down for one of her bare feet and start rubbing slow, massaging circle. She lets out a grateful moan.
“Would I get to watch guys get into fights?”
I laugh. “Almost guaranteed. Yes.”
“Cool! I’m in.” Her head falls back against my shoulder as I press deeper into the arch of her foot. “Mmm, that feels good. My feet are so tired.”
“As a side bonus, you’ll also see me play. ”
She tips her head up to look at me. “Oh, Hockey Star. That’s not a side bonus. It’s the whole paycheck.”
Our lips meet, and the loss on the road starts to fade into the distance. I only want to focus on her. On us. Trix takes my face in both hands, and our kiss deepens. It’s not the frantic, playful way we’ve been in the past. This feels slower, intentional, real. And as Trix wriggles from my lap and leads me by the hand toward her bedroom, I have a singular thought—there’s no denying it. I love this woman.