Читать книгу A Perfect Catch - Anna Sugden - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

EVERYONE WAS LAUGHING AT HIM.

Ike tried to skate across to his crease, but he kept losing an edge and falling over. Meanwhile, the Rangers players jeered at him as they fired pucks into the open net. The score kept flashing up—rising and rising—more like a basketball tally than hockey.

The laughter grew. Ike looked up to see himself on the Jumbotron. Why was he wearing a hospital gown? The other players catcalled as they pointed at his bare ass on the screens.

Determination burned in his gut as he crawled across the ice. He would make it to his goal if it killed him. Inch by painful inch, he drew closer, until he could grab one of the posts to pull himself up. But before he could, the red pipe turned into skate blades, gleaming in the lights of the arena.

Pucks flew at him from all sides. He tried to block or catch them, but kept missing. Finally, one came at him at the perfect angle. He reached out to snatch it from the air, but as he did, his arm went back into the goal and those skate blades closed around it. He screamed in agony as they sliced his arm with the finesse of a sushi chef and the crowd mockingly chanted his name.

“Ike. Wake up.”

Ike felt himself jolt, but couldn’t move. His limbs were heavy, as if weighted down. His arm hurt like a son of a bitch. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His heart pounded furiously against his ribs. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. His eyes opened, but the bright light hurt, so he shut them again.

“It’s okay.” A gentle hand wiped a cool, moist cloth across his forehead.

The comforting touch helped push the nightmare from his brain until all that remained was the sharp, throbbing pain in his arm. He frowned as he recognized the soothing voice. A familiar scent teased his nostrils, light and fresh above the antiseptic smell.

There was no way Tracy would be mopping his brow.

“You were dreaming.” Definitely Tracy’s voice. “The nurse said the anesthetic can have that effect on some people.”

He must be dying; no way she’d talk that softly to him otherwise. A sorrowful pang tugged at his chest as he mourned lost chances. Why hadn’t he done more to try to win her back?

Then, as she wiped his forehead again, reality crashed into his brain. Because no amount of trying would have made a damn bit of difference.

Still, if he was dying, he might as well enjoy his last moments with her. He forced his eyes open, despite the glare of the sun through the window.

“Let me close the blinds a little.” Tracy walked to the window.

Ike breathed a sigh of relief as the light faded.

A nurse came in and checked his vital signs and his IV, then adjusted his pillows and showed him how to raise the bed. “If you need more pain relief, you can press this button.” She touched the control lying beside his left hand. “Don’t be a martyr. It doesn’t do you or me any favors.”

He nodded his understanding, grateful that the drug took effect almost immediately—seeping into his veins and making him feel light-headed. He didn’t like the wooziness, but he ached all over and his arm felt as though those blades were still slicing him.

Once the nurse had left, Tracy returned to his bedside. She hovered uncertainly. If he didn’t know better, he’d say she was nervous.

“I...uh...should probably go. I just wanted to check you were okay. For Maggie and...” Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat. “Anyway, I hope you get better soon.”

He didn’t want her to leave. “Si—” he tried to speak, but struggled to get a sound out.

“Here.” Tracy put a glass of water in his good hand, twisting the straw so it was against his lips. “Dry mouth is another side effect.”

The cold water was blissful against his raw throat. After several sips, he said hoarsely, “Sit. Stay. Please.”

She hesitated for a few seconds, then perched on the edge of the chair, looking like she might jump up again at any moment. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got ran over by a Zamboni. Twice.”

“That second time is always the killer.” Her lips curved briefly. “You gave everyone quite a scare. Poor Steeler was beside himself.”

As she spoke, memories began to flood back. But Ike’s mind was still muddled and he found it hard to distinguish between what had really happened and what had been a dream. Clearly the whole “bare-assed in a gown” thing wasn’t true. The damage to his arm, though, was all too real.

“I remember the pileup and making it off the ice. After that, it’s a blank until I woke up in this room.” He frowned again. “I don’t even know if the Cats won.”

“They did, and Kenny got you the game puck. Though I don’t know why you’d want a souvenir of that game.”

Ike shrugged. “It’s one to add to the collection, I guess. It’s not like I get hurt too often.”

“I think you’ve made up for your lack of injuries with this one.”

“For sure. The doc said it’ll be a long time before I can even practice, let alone play.”

“I know that’s tough, but once your arm heals, you’ll be as good as new. You’re lucky.”

“Real lucky—I’m out until at least March.” Everything was clear now, even the things he wished he could forget.

“You could have been out permanently.” Tracy’s voice softened. “You’ll be back on the ice before you know it.”

“In the meantime, I’m not freaking allowed out of bed until I get the okay from the doc. I can’t even twiddle my thumbs.” His laugh was edged with bitterness. “Then when he does let me up, all I can do is physio on my arm. I can’t work out until I’m cleared from that—which could be weeks.”

How the hell was he supposed to keep himself game-fit if he couldn’t exercise? Not even a stationary bike. Ike had promised he’d be careful not to do anything that’d damage his arm—damn it, he wouldn’t risk setting his recovery back further—but Dr. Gibson had been resolute. Ike’s arm was the first, the only, priority.

The one glimmer of hope had been the surgeon’s confidence that Ike’s overall level of fitness would mean his recovery should be faster than for a non-athlete. But even that had come with a caveat—as long as Ike followed instructions to the letter.

“I’m sure it’ll pass more quickly than you think,” Tracy said with a reassuring smile.

Ike shot her an incredulous look. “The hell it will. It’ll be worse than waiting for the play-offs to end when you haven’t made the cut. You just want them to freaking award the Cup already, so you can start thinking about the next season. This...” He clenched his jaw against the urge to yell. “This will be pure torture.”

And he’d suffer alone. He couldn’t hang with the team. Though, truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to. It’d be the worst kind of torment—being around the guys but not able to practice or do anything to help the team. Having to wear a suit and sit in the press-box for every home game—man, he hadn’t done that since his rookie year. Nah—better to stay away altogether until he had the green light to skate.

“All you can do is take it one day at a time.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?”

“No. Sorry.”

Ike slumped back against the pillows. “At least if I was a horse, they’d shoot me to put me out of my misery.”

“For heaven’s sake.” Tracy rolled her eyes. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“Isn’t it?”

“You act like you’ve been told you can’t ever play again. Think of those poor blokes who suddenly develop medical conditions—like heart irregularities and strokes—that are career-ending. Your injury isn’t even season-ending.”

Her lecturing tone brought out her English accent. It made him feel like a petulant child.

It also made him hot.

Not that he could do anything about that right now. Instantly, his brain filled with images of how they could take advantage of the bed without jarring his arm. It would require a little athleticism on Tracy’s part. If she climbed up and positioned herself...

Stop! What was wrong with him?

He shifted, hoping she wouldn’t notice his distraction. “I’ll be fine once I can get out of this bed. Even better once they let me go home. At least I don’t have to wait on Physio to sign my discharge papers.”

“Can I do anything to help?”

His mind zipped back to the fantasy he’d had only moments ago. Crap. That wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about. Embarrassed by his one-track mind, he replied more harshly than he intended. “What do you mean, ‘help’?”

“I don’t know. Anything you need doing for you at home? Whatever will make life easier while you’re not able to do much for yourself.”

“You’re kidding,” he snapped. Her offer scraped his already sore ego. He hated feeling helpless. Useless. That’s all he needed—Miss Freaking Superwoman feeling sorry for him and treating him like an invalid. “I’ve been in hospital less than twenty-four hours and you’re already touting for business.”

Tracy reared back as if he’d hit her. “That wasn’t what I meant at all.”

“Yeah, right. I know you—Making Your Move is all you think about. Well, I’m not going to be a guinea pig for your new services. You’ll have to find some other way to get the Ice Cats interested.”

“Where the hell did that come from? I never mentioned my company or my services.” Tracy pushed the chair back and stood. Hurt darkened her eyes. “I was trying to be friendly. I should have known better.”

Ike knew he’d made a big mistake, but couldn’t bring himself to back down. “Come on, you’re not telling me you wouldn’t have offered me a special discount?”

“Actually, I’d have helped you for free.” Her tone was icy. “I’d have done whatever you needed out of the goodness of my heart.”

Way to go, numb-nuts. What’s your next trick?

He opened his mouth to apologize, but she held up her hand to stop him.

Tracy stalked to the door. She reached for the knob, but instead of turning it, she marched back to the bed. She then took a glossy brochure out of her purse and slapped it down on the bedside table. “I might as well get hung for a sheep as a lamb. Should you require any assistance during your recovery, this is a list of the services Helping Hands provides. Feel free to call and make an appointment and I’ll see if I can fit you in.” Her lips twisted. “Assuming I’d even accept you as a client. One of the perks of being the boss is that I get to choose who I work for.”

It was a good thing hospital doors didn’t slam, though Tracy closed it with enough force to show that she was pissed—as if Ike hadn’t already got that message. Even injured, he couldn’t do anything right with Tracy. Made him wonder why he kept trying.

* * *

WORK DIDN’T PROVIDE its usual distraction. Tracy finally had admitted it to herself after reading the same document three times and not taking in a word. She tossed down her pen and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

She’d been a fool to visit Ike this morning. Why hadn’t she listened to her inner voice when it had yelled that she was making a huge mistake the moment she’d walked into his hospital room? Or when it had kept yelling, as her heart had softened at the sight of him asleep, his body so still, his arm heavily bandaged and immobilized from shoulder to fingertip. The beeping monitors and IV drip had made him seem vulnerable. What harm could sitting with him for a few minutes do?

She grimaced as she stuck her mug of stone-cold tea in the microwave to reheat. Those few minutes had stretched to half an hour. She’d kept telling herself she’d leave as soon as he awoke. But when he’d finally begun to surface, he’d been so restless that Tracy had been worried he might hurt himself. Though she was relieved that she’d been able to soothe him, she’d felt awkward and a little foolish once he was fully conscious. Especially as he’d been more or less his normal self—if a little grouchy.

His horrible accusation had shocked Tracy because she’d always thought that despite their differences, he’d at least respected her. How could he believe that turning his injury into a business opportunity would ever cross her mind? Knowing that he thought her capable of such heartless behavior had really hurt.

When had things between them deteriorated so badly?

Could it be fixed? She may not want to marry Ike, but would like them to be able to have a conversation where they weren’t ripping each other apart.

As Tracy was contemplating whether a truce was possible, Carla walked into the kitchen.

“Is there a reason you’re not answering your phone?”

Tracy frowned, confused. “No. Why?”

“Callum Hardshaw’s assistant called me when she couldn’t get ahold of you.”

Reaching into her pocket for her mobile, Tracy remembered that she’d turned the phone off when she’d visited Ike. She turned on the phone to see several missed calls from clients, including the Ice Cats.

“Bloody hell. Is there a problem?”

“No. She just wanted to know if you’d stop by and see Mr. Hardshaw when you go to the Cats’ offices later.”

“I wonder why now. Maggie and I have been trying to get an appointment with him since his appointment over the summer, but he always fobs us off with one of his underlings.”

Carla shrugged. “His assistant didn’t say there was an issue. Maybe he wants to congratulate you on doing a great job.”

“Hmm. Somehow I don’t think so. He isn’t one to waste time with praise for doing what you’re supposed to.”

A little unnerved by the GM’s request, Tracy headed back up to her office and did a quick review of the current Ice Cats projects, even though she knew there weren’t any issues. Everything was running on or ahead of schedule. Making Your Move had even come in below budget on several recent projects.

Oh, well. She’d find out what this was about soon enough.

It felt weird to walk into the Ice Cats’ headquarters that afternoon. Tracy’s eyes were drawn to the team photographs that covered the walls of the reception area. It was as though Ike’s face was highlighted in each one, from the posed annual pictures to the familiar celebratory photo from a few years back of the team sprawled on the ice around the Stanley Cup.

It was stranger still to be part of a meeting as Cats’ management discussed the measures they’d be putting in place for Ike’s absence. Her role was to ensure that the goaltender they wanted to bring up from their AHL affiliate was where he had to be on time and had a place to stay. She also had to make sure the contingency plans could be put into action smoothly and quickly, as required. Tracy couldn’t help feeling guilty. As if somehow she were being disloyal to Ike.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she muttered to herself as she walked down the long corridor toward the offices. “It’s all part of the job.”

About that, at least, Ike would be pragmatic.

Tracy was shown into the GM’s office straight away. She didn’t pick up a bad vibe about the meeting, but she was still on her guard.

Callum Hardshaw rose to greet her, smiling. He was a smartly dressed, big man, with graying hair and a broad face. The scar that bisected his jaw was the only visible sign that he’d been a player himself, though only in the minor leagues.

“Good to finally meet you.” He shook her hand. “My staff has told me positive things about your company.”

“Thank you. That’s always nice to hear.” Tracy took the seat he indicated.

“I appreciate your making time to see me today. I’m taking the opportunity, now the season’s fully underway, to meet all our suppliers. While I’m not a hands-on manager, I like to have a clear understanding of how things operate in my organization.”

“Of course,” Tracy said politely. Hardshaw’s tone and body language were genial, but she still didn’t relax. “What would you like to know?”

“Tell me about your company and how you came to be working for the Cats.”

As Tracy explained what Making Your Move did, she sensed she was being evaluated more closely than the casual conversation might suggest. Hardshaw seemed particularly interested in her other clients and the kinds of projects she did for them. Naturally, she didn’t reveal specifics, but gave him a general picture. He made a point of his approval that she didn’t work for rival teams in any sport, in order to avoid any conflict of interest.

“I understand your sister is married to Jake Badoletti.”

“That’s correct.” She deliberately didn’t say anything further, waiting to see if the GM would make an issue of it.

He didn’t, moving on to the projects she was currently working on. Yet Tracy filed away the fact that he’d raised it for future reference.

“I understand you’d like us to consider your new service, Helping Hands.” Hardshaw pointed to the brochure on his desk. “How do you think it could benefit our organization?”

Pleased by the opportunity to pitch directly to the GM, Tracy sat forward and told him about the kinds of things they could offer: from employing and managing household services, to grocery shopping. She used the Chabals as an example and offered Glen as a reference.

“I see.” Hardshaw steepled his fingers and tapped them against his chin. “Given how much business we do with you, isn’t this a service that should be included for free?”

Now the negotiation started. Tracy smiled. “Naturally, we value your business highly, which is why the Ice Cats already get a number of extras thrown in. In the case of Helping Hands, we feel the returns far outweigh the investment.” She went on to explain not only the benefits to the players, but also how Helping Hands could be used to offset player bonuses.

The interest he showed in that particular argument made her wonder if there were financial issues she wasn’t aware of. Professional hockey was an expensive business.

The meeting ended shortly after. As she walked back to her car, Tracy couldn’t shake the feeling that there was another, less pleasant reason behind Hardshaw’s questions. She wasn’t naive; relocation was a competitive market and there were a number of good companies who could provide the same services she did. That was why she and Maggie worked hard to ensure Making Your Move provided added value with every project. And why it was vital that Helping Hands was successful.

Losing the Cats’ business would be a major setback. Not just financially, but for her longer-term goals. Without the turnover from the Cats, she’d drop way down the market rankings. She wouldn’t let that happen. Not when she was so close to cracking the top three, at last.

Even though she’d had no specific indication that the contract was under threat, it never hurt to be prepared. That, after all, was how she’d made her company a success. Time for a contingency plan of her own.