Читать книгу A Perfect Catch - Anna Sugden - Страница 13
ОглавлениеGAME DAY. THE RANGERS. In our barn. Bring it on.
For a few seconds, when Ike awoke, his heart pumped fast as adrenaline shot through his body. Then reality sank in. He wouldn’t be strapping on his pads or lacing up his skates. He was stuck in this freaking bed, just as he had been for the past couple of days, unable to do anything—not even take a piss—without supervision and assistance. Hell, the only thing similar to a normal game day was that he’d taken a nap this afternoon.
This sucked. It didn’t help that the wall clock was opposite his bed, so he couldn’t avoid seeing the time. Four o’clock. His teammates would be arriving at the arena for their pre-game preparations. He could visualize the locker room: equipment laid out in each player’s stall; crisp, clean sweaters hanging on pegs. He could practically hear the grinding of skate blades being sharpened and smell the acrid aroma of heated sticks.
Ike’s chest squeezed as he imagined Kenny and JB cracking terrible jokes, Mad Dog and Blake arguing over what music to play to pump up the team, and Jake and Scotty swapping stories about their kids. Coach Macarty would be scrawling key points for the game on the large whiteboard at the front of the room, while Patrick “Beefy” DuBoeuf, the goaltending coach, would be going through last-minute notes with the Cats’ number-two net-minder—Chaz “Monty” Montgomery.
Ike had to restrain himself from reaching for his phone to call and add his own advice. Not that Beefy would forget anything, but this was an important game and Ike had more experience than anyone at facing their cross-river rivals. He hadn’t missed a game against the Rangers in more than a decade and his record against them was strong.
Monty could handle it—he was a solid goaltender—but he didn’t know the opposition as well as Ike. Although they trained together, reviewed video and discussed players and tactics, being theoretically well versed wasn’t the same as having hands-on experience.
Truth was, the only person Ike wanted between the pipes for the Cats was himself.
Get over yourself! The guys would cope without him.
Doesn’t matter if they can’t. They have no choice.
Just as Ike had no choice.
Like it or not—and he sure as hell didn’t—he wouldn’t be minding the net for months.
He tried to cross his arms across his chest, but only succeeded in bashing himself with his cast. Pain shot through his arm, setting his teeth on edge.
Why hadn’t he listened to the trainer’s advice about his protector? Ellis had warned that Ike was taking a big risk every time he went out onto the ice. The padding was wearing thin, so Ike had felt every puck that bounced off the snow leopard’s head on his sweater. With the speed that some of those guys fired shots these days, it had stung. More often than not he’d had the bruises to prove it.
But Ike had kept putting off replacing his protector. Finding new gear, then wearing it in was a pain in the ass. Plus he felt uncomfortable changing something that worked for him. Not because of superstition, really, but to be practical. He’d figured one more season wouldn’t hurt. How’s that working out for you, dumbass?
“A positive mental attitude is half the battle when it comes to healing.” Dr. Gibson strode into the room. “I’m not seeing much of that in here.”
Ike’s smile felt like a grimace. “Yeah, yeah. Happy, happy. When can I get out of here?”
“The answer won’t change just because you keep asking me.” The doc examined Ike’s arm, pressing gently in various places. “When I’m sure you’ve healed enough for you to be able to move around without doing any damage. A couple more days. Enjoy the rest and the great food.”
Dr. Gibson’s cheery tone bugged the hell out of Ike. “Can I at least get out of bed?”
The surgeon made some notes on Ike’s chart. “Assuming you don’t develop any problems, you can get up tomorrow. But I want you to take it very easy.”
As if he were going to start a street hockey game in the hallway. “About time. I’m sick of staring at these damn four walls.”
“From what the nurses tell me, you’ve had plenty of visitors.”
Ike knew he was lucky so many people had stopped by—his family, his teammates, the back-room staff. The problem was that after asking him how he was, nobody knew what to say. The guys hovered uncertainly, looking guilty every time they mentioned hockey. “I hate lying here doing nothing.”
“I know it’s frustrating but it’ll be worth it. The more care we take at this stage of the process, the quicker you’ll be able to get back to normal activity.”
“So you keep telling me.”
“Then maybe today you’ll listen.” Dr. Gibson clicked his pen and shoved it into his shirt pocket. “Have you figured out what you’re going to do when you go home? You know you won’t be allowed to drive or do anything with that arm for at least a month. No lifting, no carrying, no holding, no exercise—nothing that might risk reinjuring your arm.”
Ike shrugged. “I’ll work something out.”
“You can’t take this lightly. I’ll want to be sure you can cope before I discharge you, so I’ll expect to see what arrangements you have in place. I don’t want to have to get the Ice Cats management involved, but I will if I think you’re not taking me seriously.”
“I won’t do anything to jeopardize my recovery, Doc. Trust me. The occupational therapist has already been to see me and I have a list a mile long of what I need to do before I go home.”
“That’s what I like to hear. Nothing warms my heart like a model patient.”
Once the surgeon had gone, Ike puffed out a frustrated breath. Now what did he do? There was nothing worth watching on TV and he was tired of reading and playing games on his iPad. A few more days of this and he’d be certifiable. The evening stretched out ahead of him like a desert. There wouldn’t be any visitors tonight since everyone would be at the arena. He hadn’t made up his mind whether or not to watch the game. He wanted to support the guys, but it might be too painful.
“You’re looking better today.” Ike’s mom bustled into the room, followed by Rory.
She rushed forward, then halted abruptly by his bed, as if unsure how to hug him without doing any damage. Ike sighed inwardly. She’d done the same thing each time she’d visited.
“I won’t break, Ma,” he said gently.
Karina looked anxiously at her husband, waiting for his encouraging nod before wrapping Ike in her arms. Her familiar scent—a combination of sugar and spice from baking and apple from her perfume—warmed his heart.
“Your mother made your favorite.” Rory set a bag on top of the bedside cabinet. “Enough baklava to feed the entire floor.”
“That’s great. Thanks.” Ike hugged his mom with his good arm.
She kissed his forehead, as if he were still a small boy. “Food is the best medicine. Make sure you don’t eat it all. Let your nurses have some, too.”
“But there won’t be any left if I let them near it.”
“They deserve a reward for putting up with you, boyo.” Rory patted Ike’s right shoulder.
“I’m sure he’s been as nice as gold,” his mom said earnestly, though there was a twinkle in her green eyes.
“As good as gold, Ma,” Ike corrected gently.
“Or as nice as pie,” Rory added with an indulgent smile.
Karina threw up her hands. “Pie, gold, nice, good. It’s all the same, no?”
Ike and Rory exchanged amused looks. “Sure.”
“You boys.” His mom shook her head at them, her gray curls bouncing. “Anyway, what did the doctor say about you going home?”
Ike made his tone upbeat. “I should be out of here in a few days. I can’t wait.”
“Rory and I think you should come stay with us. You need somewhere to rest and I can look after you until you’re better.”
He loved his mom, but he really didn’t want her fussing over him. “I appreciate the offer, Ma, but I’ll be fine.”
She frowned. “But who’s going to cook for you and make sure you have groceries? I don’t want you living on takeout. And who’ll look after your place and do your laundry?”
“I have a cleaning service. The rest I’ll figure out.” He was saying that a lot today. “Besides, you guys are newlyweds. You don’t want me around, cramping your style.”
“Your mum would feel better if she had you under her roof.” Rory crossed his arms over his chest, making it clear that whatever his wife wanted he’d make damn sure she got.
“I appreciate that, but I’ll be out of action for several weeks. You can’t look after me for that long. What about your trip at Thanksgiving?”
Ike and his brothers had all pitched in to send their mom and Rory on a visit to see his family, followed by a belated honeymoon in southern Ireland.
“We’ll delay it.” Karina waved her hand dismissively. “I’m not going anywhere until I know you’re okay.”
“That’s crazy. It’s all planned and you’ve both been looking forward to it.”
His mom planted her hands on her hips. “I can’t leave you by yourself.”
“I’m a grown man, Ma. I’ll find someone to help me out.”
“Who can look after you better than your mother?”
He rolled his eyes at her. “Jeez. There’s no good answer to that question.”
Her lips twitched, but she shook her head. “Unless I take care of you myself, I can’t be sure you won’t overdo things.”
“There’s no chance of that. Anyway, the doc has said he won’t let me out of here until I have the proper support in place.”
“At least someone is being sensible,” she huffed.
“It’ll all be covered. Trust me. There’s no need for you to postpone your trip.”
He’d make damn sure; he wouldn’t ruin his mom’s first vacation in years. “So, have you got some new outfits to take to Ireland?”
His mom gave him a look that said she’d allow him to distract her. The rest of the visit was spent talking about the upcoming trip.
All too soon, it was time for his mom and Rory to go to the arena to watch the game. Kenny was in the lineup again and they wanted to support him.
Ike shoved down his envy. “Have a good time.”
“It won’t be the same without you in net,” Rory said, understanding in his eyes.
“Tell everyone to give the Blueshirts hell and tell Kenny to have a good game.”
His mom hugged him. “I expect to hear what you’ve ‘figured out’ tomorrow.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He picked up the list the occupational therapist had left him. “See, working on it now.”
Ike waited until his mom and Rory had gone before reading the papers. There was a crap-load of stuff to arrange and not much time to do it. His frustration grew—he couldn’t use his freaking arm, but the list made him sound like an invalid.
Still, if he wanted out of here, he had to get it sorted. Starting now. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do.
Ike went down the checklist to see what he could cross off easily. The cleaning service. They might do extra chores for him, like laundry. He reached for his cell and dialed their number. Unfortunately, no one answered, so he left a message and continued down the list. But he only got halfway through the page before tossing it aside in frustration. He couldn’t check anything off without a crazy amount of internet research to find out which companies were reputable. Then he’d have to check references and get quotes. How the hell was he supposed to manage all of that from here?
The simple answer was he couldn’t. But he knew someone who could.
Ike reached for the Helping Hands brochure Tracy had left him. It was the perfect solution. She’d do the legwork and present him with options and prices. All he’d have to do was say which ones he wanted and write a check.
Unfortunately, the chances of Tracy working for him were probably close to zero after the way he’d treated her. Bad enough that he’d been an ass when she’d visited, but he’d attacked the very thing he needed—her business. She wouldn’t spit on him if he was on fire.
Ike hadn’t had the chance to apologize because she hadn’t been back to see him. He’d planned to fix things once he was out of the hospital. Clearly, he couldn’t wait that long.
The problem now was that she’d think the only reason he wanted to apologize was that he needed her help.
Ike swore. Just like every other damn thing to do with his injury, he had no choice. He did need her help. And fast.
Perhaps she’d soften toward him if he showed he respected her business. He might not like that work always came first, but he admired what she’d achieved with Making Your Move. He could offer to spread the word about Helping Hands. Not just within the Ice Cats’ organization, but other NHL teams, too.
He should also grovel. Yeah. Probably do the groveling first.
Before he could change his mind, Ike grabbed his cell and dialed.
* * *
HELL HAD FROZEN over and Satan was skating on his personal hockey rink.
Why else would Ike’s name be on her caller ID?
What did he want? She rolled her eyes. The easiest way to find out was to answer. She was tempted to let his call go to voice mail and see what message he left. But returning his call would put her on the back foot. Making him drive the conversation put her in control.
She took a calming breath and answered. “Making Your Move, Tracy Hayden speaking.”
“Yeah. Hi.” He sounded startled, as though he hadn’t expected her to answer. “It’s Ike.”
She kept her tone civil but cool. “Hello.”
Silence. Tracy could hear him breathing. He was probably waiting for her to say something, but she was determined not to speak first.
“So,” he said finally. “I...uh...owe you an apology.”
“You do.”
More silence.
He sighed heavily. “I was a jackass.”
Tracy blinked, surprised. “You were.”
“I’m sorry.”
She bit her lip, not prepared to let him off that easily. “I see.”
“I could blame the drugs—damn pills make me dopey as hell. Truth is I’ve been feeling sorry for myself and I took it out on you. Your offer touched a nerve and I reacted badly.”
His honesty took her aback. “Next time I’ll remember not to be helpful.”
“I hope this is the last time I’ll be in this situation. Anyway, I said some things I didn’t mean and I’m really sorry.”
From his stilted delivery and his clear discomfort, Tracy believed his regret was sincere. Still, she got the feeling there was more to his call than an apology. “Okay.”
“Am I forgiven?”
“Your apology is accepted,” she said politely.
“Good. Great. Thanks. So, are you going to the game tonight?” he asked.
“I’d hoped to, but I have too much work.” She hadn’t meant her answer to be a test, but she was interested to hear his response.
“That’s a shame. Should be a good tilt.” He didn’t sound chastising or snide. Full marks for effort.
She continued cautiously. “I wouldn’t normally miss a game against the Rangers, but I have a lot to do before Mme. Chabal arrives this weekend. She wants everything I proposed and the Bridgers have agreed to fund it all.”
“Congratulations. That’ll be a nice boost for Helping Hands.”
Ike was batting a thousand. Not only had he remembered the name of her new service, he actually sounded pleased for her. Yet she couldn’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Thanks. The team are considering extending this service to other players, so I’m pleased. Hopefully, from there, we can expand to our other clients. Even so, I’ll be sorry to miss the game. I take it you’ll be watching on TV?”
“Probably not. It’s hard enough when you’re sitting on the bench as backup. At least then there’s the chance of being called on to help out if things go south. It’s hell knowing that if the Cats are losing I can’t do anything about it. I hate feeling useless.”
“I can understand that.”
“The flipside is it’ll be a long evening, stuck here in this bed. Watching the game will help the time pass more quickly.”
Tracy felt sorry for him. He sounded miserable. “You’re still not allowed up?”
“Nope. Maybe tomorrow. I just have to get through tonight.” He paused, then said, “If you get your work done early, it would be good to have some company.”
That was the last thing she’d expected from him. His deliberately casual request, with just a hint of hopefulness, made her heart clench. She wanted to say she’d be there, but something made her cautious. “I don’t know. I’ll see how it goes.”
“For sure. No problem either way.”
His tone was so like her mum’s—the pathetic one that said it did matter—yet Tracy didn’t feel the irritation she should have. Ike wasn’t into manipulative guilt trips. He had no problem calling a spade a bloody shovel. He was trying to be polite.
Which made her feel even sorrier for him. For someone who needed to be in control, his situation must be terrible. What harm could there be in a short visit?
“Actually, I have to pick up some documents from a client near the hospital later. I could stop by to see you after that.” It wasn’t strictly true—she didn’t have to pick them up tonight—but he didn’t need to know that. She didn’t want him to think she was rushing in to see him just because he’d asked. Even if that was exactly what she was doing.
“Great. I’ll look forward to it.”
Tracy sat staring at the phone for a few moments once she’d hung up.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that Ike had a hidden agenda, but she couldn’t figure out what it would be. Perhaps when they were face-to-face it would be easier to see. Until then, she’d give him the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t acknowledge the hope sparking within her that Ike’s apology and desire to see her were just what they seemed.
For the next hour, Tracy worked solidly to finish the comprehensive information package she’d been compiling for Lise Chabal. Tracy was proud of how well it had turned out.
Tracy would’ve loved to have had something similar when she’d first arrived in the States. Even though she spoke the language, unlike Lise, everything had been so different and Tracy had floundered. With the benefit of hindsight, she knew that was when her reliance on Hank had started. His guidance had smoothed the way for her and it had been easy to slip into the habit of doing whatever he said.
There was a certain smug satisfaction in knowing that Hank’s lump-sum divorce settlement had helped her start Making Your Move. And in knowing that she’d proved him—and her father—wrong when they’d said she couldn’t make it work. She’d not only survived, but if Helping Hands was the success she thought it could be, she’d be sitting pretty at the top of that market.
On that cheery note, she should get to the hospital. Tracy switched off her computer and grabbed her coat and purse.
When she got to Ike’s floor, Tracy nipped into the visitors’ bathroom to put on some lipstick. Just to tidy up. She pulled a face at the mirror. Who was she kidding?
As she signed in on the ward, the nurse in charge greeted her cheerfully. “Watch out. Ike’s in a grumpy mood. Something about his team already losing.”
“Not just losing, but down 2–0 after only five minutes.” Tracy smiled. “Sorry, you probably don’t care about the details.”
“Not really.” The nurse grinned. “But when it affects your patient, you have to be ‘interested’ in all kinds of things. Hockey’s better than fly-fishing or ultimate cage fighting.”
“That’s true.” Tracy laughed. “Hopefully a visitor will cheer him up. Though even that won’t work if the Cats get blown out.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed for a turnaround, then.”
Tracy had just reached Ike’s room when she heard him roar.
“I don’t need a freaking straw in my drink and I don’t want you to cut up my food.”
A young blonde volunteer in a striped uniform rushed past Tracy, her face flushed. “Perhaps you’ll have better luck with him.”
Tracy smiled sympathetically, then strode into the room. “Someone’s in a foul mood.”
“You’d be miserable, too, if you weren’t even allowed to use a freaking knife and fork,” he growled, crossing his arms awkwardly over his broad chest. The bandages that covered his arm from fingers to shoulder hampered his movement.
The flowery pastel-blue gown should have looked silly on such an obviously masculine body. Instead, it emphasized his honed chest and arms, making him look more manly, rather than less. But Ike didn’t need to know that.
Nor that he’d made her pulse skip. “Good job I’m here to give the staff a break from your charming personality.”
He narrowed his gaze. “Do not push me.”
“Seriously?” Tracy rolled her eyes. “That might work on a sweet young thing like that candy striper, but I’m immune.”
Ike’s green eyes turned fiery, challenging her to take him on.
She tamped down her body’s instant heated response. Besides, she shouldn’t tease a wounded man. Especially one whose pride probably hurt as much as his arm.
“How are you feeling?” she asked brightly as she sat in the chair beside his bed. “Are you at least being sensible about taking painkillers?”
“I’ve been better,” he admitted grudgingly. “And yes, I’m taking the pain meds. My arm aches and throbs like a son of a bitch if I don’t. But it’s improving, so I won’t be on them much longer.”
“Has the specialist said when you can go home?” She grinned. “I bet the nursing staff are pushing for tomorrow.”
“If only. I’ll be out of here by the weekend.”
“So soon? I thought you’d be in here for a few more weeks. Maybe even a month.”
“Not a chance. No way am I sticking around here for the next four weeks.”
“Four to six weeks.” The nurse she’d spoken to earlier bustled into the room and cleared away his dinner tray. “And you’re lucky you’re young and healthy or it would be a darn sight longer than that.”
Ike shrugged. “My season’s pretty much done either way.”
“That’s no way to look at it.” The nurse tutted. “And this behavior is unacceptable. If you can’t treat my staff with respect, I’ll come in here and stick a feeding tube down your throat. Got it?”
Tracy’s lips twitched. She could tell Ike wanted to dare the nurse to try it, but wisely bit his tongue.
“Yeah,” he huffed. “Tell the girl I’m sorry. It burned my butt to have a kid treating me like I was some old dude in a wheelchair.”
“It’s your own fault. How exactly had you planned to eat steak by yourself?”
“I didn’t think of that. I was sick of soup—I’ll float away if I eat any more—so I ordered something I could get my teeth into. Next time, I’ll order a sandwich or something I can eat one-handed.” He made it sound like cyanide with a side order of arsenic.
