Читать книгу A New Life - Dana Corbit - Страница 10

Applause, cheers of “Hey, hey, Hockeytown” and the bass beat of some sixties rock anthem pounded in her ears as Tricia watched two players battle against the boards for the puck. Though air whooshed from a forward’s lungs as he hit the glass barrier, he pushed away and skated behind the goal to recapture the loose puck.

The Detroit team was playing one of those new expansion teams with a name about as forgettable, at least according to Tricia’s date, who doubled as her hockey interpreter. From their fifth-row seats, she could see, hear and feel every exciting bit of it.

“Let’s go Red Wings,” the crowd chanted, with Tricia and Brett joining in the chorus.

The exhilarating game—that had to be the reason for the way her pulse tripped and all of her nerve endings tingled, as if she’d suddenly awakened from an overlong nap. Taking another big bite of her Coney dog and wiping her mouth on her napkin, she shivered from the arena’s refrigeration and wished she’d worn a heavier sweater.

“Cold?” As he asked, Brett draped her coat over her shoulders.

“Better. Thanks.” Her shoulders warmed all over, but especially where his hands had brushed. She shook the sensation away, inhaling another breath of that strange, stale scent Brett had explained was the ice itself.

The buzzer sounded to mark the end of the second period. Fans scooted past them on their way up to the concession stands, but Brett and Tricia remained seated.

“Are you having a good time?” He turned in the cramped seats until his knees brushed hers. Amber specks like dots of confetti danced in his light brown eyes—the spots only noticeable from this close up.

“I am.” She didn’t want to lie. Tonight was the most fun she’d had on a date since…well, since she’d started dating again. It was so much better than those dreadful dinner dates she’d subjected herself to in the last year, with stilted conversations and self-conscious dining. Miserable in every way.

Strange, she could barely remember what it was like when she and Rusty had dated. It had been so long ago, and they’d both been so young and broke. This situation was different, so she should just enjoy it instead of making useless comparisons. Why compare what she couldn’t have?

Tonight wasn’t a serious date, anyway. Maybe that’s why she was enjoying herself. While some of the men she’d been out with had been so nervous and intense that she’d worried they would propose before the waiter brought the main course, Brett seemed relaxed. In his element, even.

He didn’t appear to expect more from her than to enjoy the game and, maybe, to learn the definitions of “face-off,” “blue line” and “icing.” The last term he insisted wasn’t what went on a fudge cake, either. He’d told her there would be a quiz later, which she fully intended to ace.

“Well, what’s the verdict?” he asked as the Zamboni made its first wet pass around the ice. “Does hockey pass the muster?”

“Absolutely.” So did the company, though she didn’t mention that. “I’ll never be able to flip past a hockey game on TV again without stopping and comparing it to this. Hockey’s different in person.”

“It’s also a different experience in the nosebleed seats, but I’d just as soon skip that joy, if you don’t mind. Especially the racing pulse and lack of breath.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Afraid of heights?”

“Not afraid, exactly. I just prefer to keep my feet on God’s green earth is all.”

A chuckle bubbled low in her belly, and Tricia couldn’t stop it from frothing over. She felt guilty enjoying herself this much—almost too much. Were widows allowed to smile this often? Brett made a nasty face at her but finally laughed.

He shrugged. “Really, I like to watch the game better from up close, even if it’s harder to see the strategies, the cool passes and great screens.”

She shook her head at his funny bravado. Typical guy, he wouldn’t admit to being anything but fearless. “The game’s probably harder to see when you’re breathing into a brown paper bag or hanging your head between your knees.”

“There’s that, too,” Brett agreed. But something farther across the lower bowl of fan seats must have caught his attention because he looked away.

A videotape started playing on the four-sided scoreboard high above center ice, with Red Wings players scoring goals against various teams. Cheers and whoops erupted each time the tape showed the players in red and white firing the puck past an opposing goalie.

The next squeal Tricia heard came from her own lips, surprising her. Attending this game had been so much easier than she’d expected when Brett had first suggested it. At least this professional sport was hockey, rather than football and Rusty’s beloved Detroit Lions. Rusty had always said he would take the children to a Lions’ game when they were a little older. Just something else in a long list of things that would never happen now.

The temptation to grow maudlin filled her until she glanced at Brett. Turning back from whatever he’d been studying before, he patted her hand on the armrest and then lifted his soda from the seat’s drink holder. “I don’t know about you, but I’m having a great time.”

“Me, too,” she answered, trying not to react to what had been only a friendly touch. A buddy touch, nothing for her neck to get all warm about. She ought to feel lucky he hadn’t slapped her on the back the way men were wont to do with their friends to act chummy.

“And I think we should go out again.”

She wished he’d slapped her on the back instead of saying that. It had knocked the wind out of her, anyway. Her cheeks grew as heated as her neck, so Tricia took the coward’s way out and turned to sip her own cola.

“We’ll have to do something besides watch hockey, though. We’d never get playoff tickets.” He paused as if waiting for her to answer before he spoke again. “But if you don’t think that’s a good idea…”

As he allowed his words to trail away, letting her off the hook, her mind raced. Did she want an escape? This dating thing had no future, but they were having fun together, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d enjoyed herself so much in adult company. And she really did need to get out more. They could probably even grow to be great pals, like some of the men attending this game together, if she only gave them a chance.

She was still convincing herself when Brett shook his head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to pressure—”

“I’d like that.”

Brett stared at her a few seconds and then grinned. “Well, good. That’ll be great.” He touched her hand again, and she had the strange feeling the brief caress wasn’t one a couple of hockey buddies might share. Their gazes met, and an awareness unfolded inside of her, until she forced herself to look away.

Obviously, she hadn’t explained the parameters of their new friendship to him, and he’d probably misunderstood her interest. With a quick brush to expel the tickle on her hand, she turned to him to clear up the misunderstanding.

However, whatever had caught her date’s attention near the Red Wings’ team box earlier had grabbed it again. The way his body tensed, he appeared at a strange full-alert. Tricia saw them then, several men, swilling tall plastic cups of beer and wearing jerseys for teams that weren’t playing. They crowded close around the tunnel through which hockey players were emerging from their locker rooms.

Someone must have alerted security guards to a possible disturbance because they were making their way across the stands. Before the guards reached the tunnel, though, one of the men upended his cup, narrowly missing a player.

At once, fists started flying—not from the players, who were being ushered by their teammates toward the ice, but from fans who took exception to the treatment of their hometown heroes. A huddle of bodies appeared from nowhere as reinforcements leaped into the fray and other fans stood to catch the action.

Brett came out of his seat just as quickly, but his movements were automatic—fast glances toward the exits and a hand reaching reflexively for his right hip. Coming away with nothing. A gun? A shiver clambered up Tricia’s spine, and bile backed up in her throat. Had he been reaching for a holster? Only after he patted his sweater-covered hip a few times did Brett lower into his seat again.

Further down the stands, security guards removed the instigators from the arena, but Tricia barely noticed. Brett shoved both hands back through his hair and shook his head as he turned back to her.

“Now that was embarrassing,” he said.

He seemed to want her to say something, but she could only stare, her blood now as cold in her veins as her cheeks from the arena’s refrigerated chill. Her pulse raced, and an icy sweat covered her hands. When she started to speak, she choked.

Brett’s eyes widened, and he reached over to pat her back, but she jerked away from his touch. The situation that had felt so comfortable before became awkward, and his nearness, suffocating.

Finally, she found her voice. “I need you to tell me something. Are you a cop?”

“I can’t believe no one ever told you I was a trooper,” Brett said with an exasperated sigh as he pulled out of the parking structure nearly an hour later. What he wanted to say was I can’t believe it matters so much that I’m a cop, but from her stiff posture and wringing hands, he’d be a fool not to see that it did.

She sat still in the car seat next to him, the same way she’d been for most of the game’s third period and even during the walk through the tunnel that connected the arena to the parking garage. Jubilant fans had packed in all around them, still cheering and making the cattle sounds of the exit ritual, but Tricia had been eerily silent. Her strange reaction cut him a lot deeper than it should have, like history coming back to bite him on the backside. But he wouldn’t sit back and wait for it to happen this time.

“No one mentioned my job at all?” he asked, still incredulous. “Nothing about me moving to Livingston County so I could be close to work at the Brighton Post?”

She released a long, slow breath. “Charity didn’t tell me anything about what you did.”

What Tricia didn’t say, what she couldn’t possibly have known, made more difference to him than what she’d said. Had Jenny mentioned that he worked for the Michigan State Police, her friend would have passed that along to Tricia when they’d arranged the date.

Of anyone, his sister, who’d followed her own heart into nursing, should have understood his need to follow his, especially after Claire called off the wedding. But this was proof that even his sister was ashamed of the career that had become so much a part of his identity. Why should she be any different from the rest of the family?

“What exactly did your friend tell you about me?” He had to unclench his jaw to continue. “No, let me guess. Decent guy, twenty-nine, not a jerk, without any facial disfigurement. Goes to church. Has a job so he won’t expect you to pay for the movie tickets. That’s all, right?”

A strange sound, like an ironic chuckle, erupted in her throat. “That’s about it.”

“I can’t believe that. Jenny told me you worked part-time at Kroger, you were taking college classes, and you wanted someday to own a gourmet cooking store in Milford.” About him, his sister had purposely mentioned nothing. “If she didn’t tell you what I did, then why didn’t you ask?”

Tricia shrugged, her silence answering for her. It didn’t matter to her how he earned his living when she never intended to see him more than once. One blind date. No second one. Obviously, something had gone awry in her plan if she’d agreed to go out with him again. He remembered her reluctance to answer when he’d asked. Now it didn’t matter, anyway. She’d changed her mind about him. All because he was a cop.

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t get it. Why did you agree to be set up when it’s obvious you didn’t want to go?”

She sighed again. “It was easier than saying no and having Charity try to convince me. And it was easier to let someone do something for me than to let them feel sorry for me.”

Something struck inside him that he might have called a connection if he weren’t so determined to stay angry with the whole situation. “That’s why I agreed, too, but I made Jenny wheedle first.”

“And then I stood you up.”

The sides of his mouth pulled up against his will. “Yep, that’s the way I remember it.” He paused, searching for a safe topic. Since she’d finally started talking, he didn’t want to risk making her clam up again. “Hey, I think it’s time for that hockey quiz.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her turn slightly toward him, so he took it as a go-ahead. “What is the definition of a forecheck?”

“Hey, that one wasn’t on the study guide. I protest.”

“Okay, okay. A player forechecks when he blocks the progress of an opponent in his own defensive zone. So, what’s a face-off?”

“I know that one. That’s when two players from opposite teams stand in one of those circles and fight to get control of the puck.” She settled back into her seat, satisfied with herself.

Brett tried to continue the hockey quiz, but another question ate at him until he finally couldn’t resist asking it. “Tell me, how many blind dates have you been on…lately?” When she tightened, he was glad he hadn’t said “since your husband died.”

At first she didn’t answer, but finally she gave an exaggerated shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe fourteen.”

“Fourteen? Really?”

“It’s strange. I’ve been out with more people in the last year than I had in my whole life…before.”

He wasn’t the only one dancing around the subject of her late husband. “In the last year? That’s more than one a month. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be that many single guys around.”

She chuckled at that. “Not just single guys, single Christian guys. Remember?” For a second, she appeared relaxed, with her shoulders curving forward. “Almost every one of my friends knew someone I just had to meet. Some don’t realize that just because a guy has a strong faith doesn’t mean he’ll be the best date—for me, anyway.”

“Kissed a lot of frogs, have you?”

She shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

At her reaction, melancholy settled over Brett, though he’d only intended to lighten the mood with his joke. She probably hadn’t been kissed at all since becoming a widow, and he didn’t like the thought of this beautiful woman having no haven in someone’s arms. A voice inside suggested his arms might be a perfect fit, but he tried to ignore that nonsense. He was no more ready to leap into a relationship again than she appeared to be.

They drove in silence a few minutes as Interstate 696 merged into I-96, and they neared the Milford Road exit. Finally, Brett asked the question that had been twirling through his mind.

“I know you’ve had fourteen first dates recently, but how many second dates have you had?” Her sudden intake of breath showed she’d realized what he was really asking. Would she or wouldn’t she still go out again with him?

“I’m so sorry. If only I’d known—”

“What do you have to be sorry about?” He interrupted her to delay the kiss-off that was building. “You didn’t answer the question. How many?”

Her word came out like a whisper. “None.”

“But you said you would—”

This time she interrupted him, as if to prevent him from reminding her what she’d said. “I won’t be able to go out with you again.”

Frustration melded with resentment over past and present slights until Brett couldn’t take it anymore. “What’s the big deal about me being a cop? You’d think I was a convicted felon or something.”

“Your job involves risk.”

He acknowledged her comment with a shrug. That was a given. A trooper took a certain amount of risk every time he climbed into his patrol car, every time he stepped out of it to ticket a driver for a traffic violation. He accepted it as part of the job but didn’t waste energy worrying about it.

“And your point is?”

She scooted closer to the passenger door. “Did anyone tell you about how Rusty died?”

His head jerked and his stomach tightened at her question. They’d both been tiptoeing around the subject all night, and she’d just waded in waist deep. Now that she’d named him, the dead man seemed to be here, squeezed in the SUV between their two bucket seats. “A construction accident, right?”

“Yeah. He was walking the walls on the project, something that’s dangerous even in the best conditions. But that morning it was damp from the last night’s storm. It was windy. Rusty still thought he needed to be up there walking atop a two-story wall that was only three-and-a-half inches wide. He lost his balance. He hit a pile of bricks at the bottom.”

By the time she reached the end of the story, he wished he hadn’t encouraged her to tell it. She stared blankly into the darkness, reliving a moment no wife should have to endure. His hands ached so much to gather her into his arms that he gripped the wheel so he wouldn’t succumb to the need and drive them right off the road.

The worst part was her husband’s accident sounded preventable. The man had no business being where he was—Tricia had nearly said so herself. What kind of idiot would have taken that chance when he had a family to think about? When he had someone like Tricia to come home to?

“I’m sorry” was the only decent thing he could think to say, the only response that didn’t include referring to her beloved husband as an irresponsible imbecile.

Tricia nodded at the windshield but didn’t look at him. “Rusty was always taking risks.”

She said no more. She didn’t have to. In her roundabout way, Tricia had finally told him what he needed to know. His career mattered—a lot—because of the risks he accepted as part of the job. She’d buried her husband because of the risks he took. Now she didn’t want any part of someone else who took them.

Brett tried to focus on the road as traffic slowed to twenty-five miles per hour at the Milford village limit, but he couldn’t keep from glancing at her stoic profile. Still, he felt compelled to defend his career choice that was as much a part of him as those children were part of her.

“I don’t ever remember wanting to be anything else,” he began, waiting for her to turn to him, but she didn’t. “Whenever Jenny and I played cops and robbers with our brother, Kyle, I was always the cop. Jenny always had to be the nurse.” The notion struck him as strange that Kyle had always played the robber, fitting for the failure he’d turned out to be.

“I even chose criminal justice as one of my majors in college. Business was the other.” He paused, remembering and regretting decisions he’d made. “But then Dad needed a new business manager at the dealership, and Claire and I decided it would be a better choice, so I—”

“Claire?”

He should have been glad that she was finally involved in the conversation, but he hated that she’d picked up on that little detail, and the fact that he’d even mentioned her. “My ex-fiancée.”

“Oh.”

Good. At least she hadn’t asked for gory details. He couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t love Claire Davis, and he wanted to do nothing but forget her now.

“Anyway, after that was over, I took the Civil Service written test. I tested twice before I was invited to take the physical agility test and then the oral board interview.”

“Sounds like an intense selection process.”

Shocked that she seemed interested at all, he continued. “That’s not the half of it. I still had to go through a psych evaluation, a drug test and a complete physical before I could go to the Michigan State Police Recruit School.”

“Was it all worth it?”

He smiled in the darkness before he answered her. “Oh, yeah. I get up every day, looking forward to going to work. I love all of it, patrolling the highway, working with the other troopers, even seeing so many sides of people. You just become so engrossed in it. It defines who you are.”

“It sounds like the job suits you.”

“It does.”

Brett’s chest loosened as he pulled to a stop across the street from her house. Maybe she would relax, too, and give him a chance. At least he hadn’t been stupid and talked about putting his life in his fellow troopers’ hands and holding theirs in his. Not everyone could handle that reality, and Tricia probably was one of those.

“I had a nice time tonight,” Tricia started.

Brett heard the “but” before she had a chance to say it. “Wait, Tricia.” Suddenly he needed to prove himself to her in the same way he’d being trying to show his family he could make more of a difference in police work than he ever could with the Lancaster money.

“You know, we’re only going out as friends. It’s not as if either of us has anything long-term in mind, right?” He saw that she was about to interrupt, so he pressed on. “And we have fun together. You said that yourself. Why don’t we just play it by ear? You know, casual. I don’t know about you, but I really needed a night out.”

Tricia tilted her head, as if she was considering his offer. He hated that it mattered so much that she say yes.

Finally, she shook her head. “It wouldn’t be a very good idea.”

“Come on, Tricia. You know you want to. And I like you. I think you like me, too.”

But she only shook her head again.

His chest felt heavy as a disappointment too intense for a simple rejection following just one date festered inside him. “Then tell me why.”

She expelled what sounded like a long-held breath. “Going out with you would be a constant reminder of all I’ve lost.”