Читать книгу Her Family's Defender - Kim Findlay - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTROY HAD NEVER realized that the carpet in the hallway of his condo building had green in the pattern. But then, he’d never had his nose shoved into it before. As he breathed in the musty odor, he tried to assess just how much trouble he was in.
A crazy fan had somehow flipped Troy over, pinned his arm behind his back and sat on him. Not good. On the other hand, he was bigger than she was, and he should be able to get free; he just didn’t want to do any damage to his arm while he did so. Training camp was starting soon, and after missing all of last year, he needed to be healthy and ready to play.
Troy was a professional athlete, he was single and, in his opinion, pretty good-looking. He’d been a key part of the hockey team who’d won the Cup in a hockey-crazy city that hadn’t won that prize for more than fifty years. So he had fans. But he’d never had one go so overboard that she’d snuck into his condo building, followed him into the elevator and then somehow dropped him to the floor. He’d be happy not to have another.
Why hadn’t he paid more attention to the woman who’d followed him into the elevator? He’d been thinking of the day he’d spent on the water, wondering if he should get a boat for himself instead of checking her for her ranking on the crazy meter.
Which would be in the red zone.
He hadn’t really noticed her until he was ready to get out on the penthouse level. There were only two condos on this floor: Troy’s and Mrs. Epps’s. Mrs. Epps was about eighty, Troy estimated, and she was away, so she wasn’t inviting guests over. The only place this woman could be going was Troy’s.
Troy enjoyed being popular with fans. He especially enjoyed being popular with female fans. A couple of them had become very popular with him. But he preferred to be the one choosing, and even if she’d been one of his leggy blondes, he didn’t want a puck bunny tonight.
So when the door pinged open on the penthouse floor, and she started to exit, he put his arm across the open door to block her progress.
“Sorry, sweetheart. You’re not getting out—” he told her, adding a hint of a smile to soften the blow.
The next thing he knew, he was examining the pattern on the carpet while the elevator doors softly closed behind him.
“Do you have a problem?” Troy asked, calling on his reserves of patience. He’d seen the movie Misery. He couldn’t wait too long to get up if she was a real nutcase. But maybe he could convince her to get off him. And more important, protect his arm from any real damage.
“I don’t have a problem now,” the woman responded. “But you will when the police arrive.”
Police? He’d welcome them, or even building security. What kind of crazy was this woman?
“I’m not the trespasser here, so you go ahead and call the cops and give yourself up,” he said as assertively as he could while breathing in who knows what from the carpet. He was going to have to talk to someone about the cleaning in this building.
“I’m not trespassing,” she argued, rustling through her bag with one hand while keeping the other on his twisted arm.
“There are two people living on this floor. I’m one and an eighty-year-old woman is the other. Since she’s away and not getting too many visitors right now, you’re going to have trouble selling that story.”
“Mrs. Epps is letting us stay in her place while she’s on vacation,” the woman responded. She’d stopped groping around in her purse. Troy wasn’t sure if that was progress. He’d hoped she was searching for her phone to call the cops. Now she had both hands free to use on him. He wished he’d looked at her a little closer. He was starting to entertain the notion that she might be dangerous. She’d appeared harmless, but she obviously had some skills, since he was incapacitated on the floor, and she’d done enough research to have discovered not only where he lived, but also that Mrs. Epps was his neighbor and currently on vacation. It was adding up to stalker in his books.
“Nice try. Why don’t we call security and ask them about this?” he suggested. Crap. He was going to sneeze. Would she break his arm if he did?
“How do you think I got into the building? Security let me in,” she retorted.
He was going to have to talk to security, as well.
He spoke in a quiet, soothing voice as if she was a nervous dog prepared to attack. “Okay, then, if you really are staying here legitimately, and everything is on the level, why did you attack me?”
“I didn’t attack you!” Her voice rose. “You attacked me and I defended myself!”
“Attacked you? I didn’t touch you! I just tried to keep an unauthorized person from following me to my place!”
“You tried to keep me in the elevator using force.”
“That wasn’t force. You need to chill out.”
“Easy for a man to say,” she responded with rancor, but she released his arm and stood up. Troy carefully tested his arm and, finding it a little sore but undamaged, got carefully to his feet.
She took a few steps back and Troy got his first good look at her. She was shoulder height to him, about his age, but fit and held herself erect. Her hair was dark and long and tied back in a messy ponytail. She had no makeup on, and she was wearing a rumpled T-shirt and shorts. And she was majorly pissed at him.
She had let him go, but she was still on guard, and it bothered Troy. Wasn’t he the one who’d been upended here? She looked like she’d been hiding behind a dumpster for a few days. She didn’t appear to belong in his upscale building, let alone the penthouse. But he didn’t attack women. Had he done something she could consider threatening?
“I wasn’t trying to attack you.” He tried a smile, one with a little extra charm in it. “But I think I’d know if my neighbor was letting someone stay in her place. The condo board here is pretty strict, so people don’t just drop off their keys to strangers. You’ve got a good story, but you should just walk away now.”
Apparently, the charm in his smile wasn’t working on her. She narrowed her eyes and put her fists on her hips. “Do you even read your condo notices?” she said witheringly. “The board sent one out to inform residents that we were going to be staying in Mrs. Epps’s place. But go ahead and call security if you want. Just do it fast. I’ve had a tiring day, and I don’t want to be standing around any longer than I have to.”
She gave him a long stare, stepped back another few feet and reached into her bag again. He tensed, but when she pulled out her hand she had only grabbed her phone. She swiped it, tapped, and started opening something on the screen. She found what she wanted and held it up to him. “This is a copy of the condo letter.”
She must have decided she was either out of danger or that she could handle whatever threat he posed, because she crossed over to him and held the phone out. He reached for it, but she held on. As if he’d try to steal it.
Reading the screen, he recognized the condo logo on top and scanned enough to verify that Mrs. Epps had asked the board to let someone stay in her condo, and that the board had agreed.
The brunette stepped back once he raised his eyes. Darn, he was in the wrong. She’d nailed it when she’d guessed he never read those condo board letters. They were usually about some stupid rule, and no one expected him to follow every rule.
He should apologize, but it stuck in his throat. He was a big guy, and made his living dominating his opponents physically. This woman had dropped him to the carpet without breaking a sweat. That was troublesome. She had no idea who he was, and that made him all too aware of the year he’d missed playing, and what else he could still miss. And certainly the way she was looking at him like he was a creep wasn’t helping.
But fair was fair. She did belong here, and he’d missed the memo. He probably had more paperwork about the whole deal that he’d ignored.
“Okay. I’m sorry I tried to block you from getting off the elevator. But you didn’t need to pin me to the ground. Maybe say something next time.”
“You think I overreacted?.” She eyed him levelly. “Have you ever been assaulted?”
He squelched the glib response that tried to work its way up. A lot of guys came after him on the ice. He was assaulted pretty well every hockey game. But he was paid for that, and knew what he had signed up for. What she was talking about couldn’t compare. And if she had been attacked herself at some point...
She continued. “I was in the Forces. I learned how to protect myself, and I don’t apologize for that. I have two kids who will be staying here with me. I will protect them, as well.”
And with that she turned and walked toward Mrs. Epps’s door. She inserted the key and walked in without giving him another look.
* * *
TROY LOOKED AT himself in his bathroom mirror. He was dressed only in running shoes and shorts. Some might label this prolonged self-examination as narcissistic. Troy certainly would admit to vanity, but that wasn’t what this was about.
He was fit; more fit than he’d ever been. And as a professional athlete, he was used to being in good shape. There was nothing to concern him in his reflection. But still he stared, trying to drill beneath the skin, down through the blood and muscles to the basic cell structure. It was useless. If the cancer was coming back, he wouldn’t find it on the outside, just like he’d noticed nothing a year ago when it first attacked him.
Still, he looked at himself. He was in peak condition, but knew that as fit as he was, as well as he ate and trained and as much as he checked himself every day, he was no longer invulnerable. He never had been: he just hadn’t realized. Now he did. And while he saw the same body in the mirror now that had made him one of the best defensemen in the league, he couldn’t trust it anymore.
* * *
“ANGIE, THIS IS your room.” Michelle paused in the doorway, letting her daughter peer inside.
“Wow!” Angie said. “This place is awesome! Way better than our old house in Winnipeg!” She pushed past her mother, eager to start pulling her belongings out of the boxes and finding places for them in this larger room.
Michelle smiled. She’d agonized over the decision to move. Leaving behind the city they’d called home for years hadn’t been easy. Growing up an army brat and then joining the Forces herself, she was accustomed to moving. This, though, was the first time she’d relocated entirely on her own, leaving a support network behind without having one waiting for her. Her encounter with the man who apparently lived across the hall had made her second-guess her decision, but that had been the only negative note so far.
She’d just picked up the kids from the airport and was showing them their home for the next few months. They were going from base housing to a penthouse condo. They should be pleased.
Tommy was tight on her heels, following her to the next doorway.
“And this is your room.”
Tommy paused, considering. He’d always been a quiet kid, but during the past year he’d become more so. Michelle tried not to reveal her worry: they each had to work through their grief in their own way.
“It’s nice. Where’s your room, Mom?” he asked.
Michelle wrapped her arm around his shoulders. He kept close tabs on her, and that was only natural. She hoped the new setting might help him come out of his shell.
She led the way to the master suite. She’d never had a room like this in her life. As an army brat, her lodgings had always been geared more to function than comfort or style. But this room had a king-size bed, walk-in closet and en-suite. Which meant she wouldn’t have to share a bathroom with the kids. She couldn’t remember ever having a bathroom to herself before.
Angie soon followed them in to scope out the rest of the place.
“This is wicked. How long can we stay here?” she said, running her hands over the duvet on the bed.
“We’re house-sitting for Mrs. Epps until you get out of school in June. Don’t get too used to it, though. We were lucky Great Aunt Agnes knew her friend was looking for a house sitter. After this we’ll have to find our own place and start paying rent, and we definitely won’t be able to afford anything on this scale.”
Tommy had gone to the windows, providing vistas across the city. “No one could get in through these windows, could they?”
“Of course not, dork,” Angie responded.
“Angie, don’t call your brother names.”
Tommy frowned at his sister. “Toronto is dangerous. I heard Grandma telling Mom that.”
Michelle sighed. The kids had recovered enough from the tragedy in their past to resume their sibling bickering, which was good, but exasperating, as well. She gave Tommy a stern look. “You weren’t supposed to be listening. Toronto is no more dangerous than Winnipeg.”
According to the statistics, anyway. But it didn’t feel that safe. It was big and strange compared to living on the base. For example, the way she had responded to the man in the elevator. That had been a gut reaction. She’d been attacked once, years ago, though luckily her training and fitness had prevented the attack from being more than an attempt. Since then she’d kept herself prepared, physically and mentally.
Michelle wondered if she should warn the kids about their neighbor. She hadn’t run into him since that first encounter, so with any luck they wouldn’t have very many encounters with him. He obviously was well-off, since he lived here and dressed the way he did. But he still made her nervous. He’d said he thought she was following him, but what kind of person suspected perfect strangers of following him home? She hoped her warning would be sufficient and he’d behave if the kids did run into him.
Michelle looked at Tommy, who was still eyeing up the windows for security measures. No. She wouldn’t worry him further by bringing up their neighbor.
* * *
TROY WAS GLAD he didn’t bump into his new neighbor when he left for his workout. He’d missed her yesterday, as well, and he hoped that indicated her schedule wouldn’t sync up with his. He certainly hadn’t seen Mrs. Epps much. He should read that condo letter to check how long she’d be around.
If any of the guys on the team found out how quickly and easily this woman had dropped him to the floor, he’d never hear the end of it. He didn’t think he gave off a scary vibe—at least, not off the ice—and it was unsettling to know he’d made a woman feel threatened. All in all, he would be happy to not run into her very often. He had enough to worry about getting his career back on track.
At the gym he pushed himself like always, did just a bit beyond what he had before—lifting a few pounds more, spinning the bike a little faster. Seeing those numbers rise gave him the illusion that he had his body under his control, and sometimes he needed that. He wiped the sweat off his brow and grinned at the trainer when he gave Troy a thumbs-up.
He was on such an endorphin high he almost forgot the new neighbor until he got home. Somehow, as soon as the elevator doors opened on his floor, the air was vibrating. He paused.
The stairway door pushed open and a young girl raced out then skidded to a halt and stared at him.
He recognized immediately that she was a fan. There was a look, and she had it. A little awestruck, a little overwhelmed and a lot of shock. He smiled. He liked kids, and they tended to like him. He’d been told that was because he still hadn’t grown up himself, but that didn’t bother him. He believed it was because he still remembered how to have fun; he hadn’t lost that with whatever else the cancer had taken.
“You’re Troy Green!” she said a little breathlessly.
“I am,” he agreed.
“Do you live here?” she asked.
“I do. What are you doing here?” Running up from another floor, he expected.
“I live over there.” She pointed at Mrs. Epps’s doorway. “We just moved in. Me and my brother and my mom. I’m Angie, and my brother is Tommy and my mom’s Michelle.”
Ah, the new neighbors.
Just then, Michelle moved like a rocket from the condo doorway to stand in front of her daughter. A younger boy followed her and clung to her side. She was standing protectively, eyes focused on Troy. She spoke to the girl, gaze still on Troy.
“Angie, what have I told you about talking to strangers?”
Angie rolled her eyes. “He’s not a stranger, Mom. That’s Troy Green.”
Michelle’s mouth tightened, and she balled her hands into fists.
“How does she know your name? What have you been asking her?”
Troy’s jaw dropped. First she thought he was attacking her, and now she thought he was a danger to her daughter?
Angie pushed past her mother with her arms crossed. “I recognized him because I don’t live under a rock. He plays for the Blaze.” When her mother didn’t respond, Angie continued, gesticulating wildly. “The Toronto Blaze! The hockey team! They won the Cup two years ago—the first time in forever a Canadian team won it! I watched with Dad before—”
She blinked rapidly, then spun and raced into their condo. Michelle watched her go, one hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, her expression troubled. The boy kept his gaze on Troy, but he clearly wasn’t a hockey fan. He appeared to be evaluating Troy on some scale and, considering his mother, Troy knew he wouldn’t be scoring well. Troy was relieved when Michelle turned back and he could look at her instead.
This time there was no anger in her voice. “I’m sorry we’re a bit on edge. We don’t know anyone here, and our family from home warned us about Toronto.”
Troy kept silent. After the conclusions she’d jumped too, he wasn’t in a rush to let her off the hook.
“I’m a little too protective of my kids—do you have any?” she asked.
A voice yelled down the hallway before he could answer.
“No, Mom! He’s single, just like you. He’s thirty-one, so you’re two years older than he is.”
Troy had to hold in a laugh. The mother might suspect he was a budding serial killer, but the daughter thought he was okay.
The woman’s face flushed. She had picked up on her daughter’s matchmaker vibe. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “Come on, Tommy,” she said. She pulled the boy to her doorway with some speed.
Troy was glad that this time he wasn’t the one feeling awkward.
He wasn’t the one feeling awkward the next morning, either, when there was a knock at his door.
* * *
MICHELLE HAD HAD no intention of knocking on her neighbor’s door—ever. But she had also never imagined she’d have any reason to.
Being a single mom wasn’t easy. Michelle had known moving to Toronto was going to make it more difficult, in some ways. In Winnipeg, she and the kids had a support group: grandparents, the military, friends. The problem was that everyone knew their story. They couldn’t escape the pitying glances, the overwhelming sympathy and in some cases, the distance some of their friends had tried to put between her family and theirs, as if they carried a virus that could spread if there was too much contact.
The kids’ paternal grandparents were still grappling with their son’s death and found it easiest to blame Michelle.
Michelle’s family wanted to be supportive, but since they were in the military, they were scattered across the globe. Once Mitch’s funeral was over, they’d had to return to their own commitments. They kept in touch by Skype, and they could do that as well from Toronto as Winnipeg.
So here Michelle and the kids were, in a new city, making a new start.
It was the first day of school for all three of them. Last night Michelle had planned carefully so that the morning would go smoothly. Lunches had been made, clothes had been laid out. She had timed what they’d need to do and left a buffer for accidents.
Except she hadn’t accounted for the stupid Ontario milk bags. What was wrong with the cartons and jugs they had in Manitoba? In Ontario, the cartons only came in small sizes, and her family went through a lot of milk. She’d picked up one of the pitchers they were supposed to put the bags of milk into, but she hadn’t put the bag far enough into the jug, and it had tipped out, pouring milk all over Michelle’s shirt and the counter and floor.
And it had been the last bag of milk, of course. So no cereal for the kids. She’d made sandwiches with the last of the bread last night. No toast, no time to make anything like pancakes and she didn’t have milk or eggs anyway. The seconds had ticked by. She’d wanted to hit something out of sheer frustration.
She was considering picking up something for the kids’ breakfast on the way to school when she heard the faint ping of the elevator and footsteps going down the hallway, followed by the sound of a door opening and closing.
Before she could think it through, she told the kids to mop up the milk and went to ask her new neighbor for some milk.
She knocked at his door and stepped back. Should she apologize again? Grovel?
The door opened. Her neighbor stood there, but she couldn’t form the words.
She understood now that he was a hockey player, and he must have just come in from a run. The weather was still warm and much more humid here than in the Prairies. That would explain why he was wearing only shorts and shoes, and his incredible body was glistening with sweat. She might be a widow with kids, but she could appreciate that.
She stared for a moment, and then suddenly her mind flashed into the past. Back to when she’d first met Mitch, in basic training. They were both young and fit. Mitch had been a runner, and she’d seen him so many times just like this—shirtless, sweaty, looking so good...
But after his last mission, Mitch had come back a changed man. He’d let himself go, along with a lot of other things. So it had been a while since she’d been around a half-naked man looking as good as Troy did right then.
If only it could have been Mitch, still with them in every way. Coming in hot and sweaty from a run and pulling her into his embrace while she squealed, and he pretended not to understand what she was squealing about...
Troy raised his eyebrows. “Hello?”
Michelle forced herself to glance up, and she saw amusement in his eyes. He thought she was tongue-tied from staring at his naked chest. As if. Yes, she was staring at him, but she could handle an attractive body. It was remembering the past that would bring her down.
“Did something happen?” he asked.
Michelle followed his gaze to her shirt and realized the wet milk was making her shirt mostly see-through. Drops were dripping from her hem onto her feet. She could only imagine how the rest of her appeared.
She took a breath. She was army, for goodness’ sake. Discharged now, but she was tough. She straightened and looked him in the eyes.
“We’re out of milk. Could I borrow some?” She should probably at least say please, if not actually grovel, but she just couldn’t while he had that smug expression on his face.
He paused for a moment. “Sure,” he said and invited her in.
If Michelle had bothered to imagine what a single, successful hockey player would do with his place, she would have pictured this condo. The leather furniture was tan instead of black, and the place wasn’t as messy as she might have guessed, but she would wager he had someone come in to clean for him, and that it had been done recently. The big TV, gaming console and sound system, the modern furniture, it was all right out of Single Guy with Money designs.
She followed him into the kitchen, which was sleek and modern—and mostly unused, she suspected. While he opened the fridge, she pulled her shirt from her sticky torso. She’d have to take another quick shower. Reflexively, she pulled her necklace out from under her shirt as he turned to her with one of those ridiculous bags of milk in his large hands.
“Wedding ring?” Troy asked as he eyed her twisting the golden band that hung from her necklace.
Michelle followed his gaze and realized what she’d been doing. She tended to play with the ring when stressed. Before Mitch died, when she’d worn it on her finger, she’d twisted it around and around when she was upset. After he died, she’d moved it onto a necklace around her neck, but the instinct was still there.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why she was stressed at that moment. Three people were starting school today, and she was going to have to start her own preparations all over while trying to get them out the door on time. That would count as stress.
But Troy had paused, waiting for an answer. “Yes,” she said, taking a step closer to the milk and escape.
“Divorce?” he continued, passing the bag of milk toward her eager hands.
She shook her head. When he didn’t let the milk go, she sighed, frustrated. “I’m a widow.”
Surprised, he released his grip. She grabbed the needed bag and pivoted to leave.
“Cancer?” he asked. It was an interesting guess, but not unreasonable. Still, Michelle was not getting into their story with a man who was basically a stranger. They were trying to escape the past in Toronto, not drag it along with them.
She glanced over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “Sorry, long story, and I have to shower again and get the kids to school. Thank you for the milk.”
She left, aware she was in his debt. She’d have to deal with that. She didn’t accept charity. She stood on her own, and didn’t plan to let her neighbor think otherwise.
* * *
TROY WATCHED MICHELLE LEAVE. The milk-drenched T-shirt had given him a pretty vivid picture of her shape. He’d tried to remember she was someone’s mom, but he wasn’t blind. And she’d obviously taken a good look at him, so turn about was fair play.
But once she’d said she was a widow, those thoughts had fled.
A presumably young man could die from many causes. But he’d done the research on this during those dark days, and outside of accidents, suicide and murder, cancer was the top cause of death for young men.
He did his best to avoid dwelling on thoughts about cancer. He had a clean bill of health now. He’d beaten it. But every story the papers ran about him now mentioned the reason he’d missed last season. Every reporter wanted to know how he felt about it, if he was over it, if he could return to where and what he’d been.
Of course he said he’d beaten it. Of course he said he was the same player he’d always been; cancer hadn’t changed him. He wanted to believe it, so that was what he told everyone.
He couldn’t play his game if anyone thought he was soft or weak in any way. So he acted tough, and joked about beating everyone on the ice the way he’d beaten this disease. He never spoke about those black nights. When the doctors had first said the C word.
He hadn’t thought he was really sick. Just a minor urinary tract infection. The doctors would give him some antibiotics, and then he’d be fine. But it wasn’t an infection. It was prostate cancer. There was something in his body that wanted to kill him.
It took a while to get his mind around that. So he’d acquiesced to the advice of his doctors to wait and evaluate how things progressed. He’d tried chemo and radiation, before everyone had finally agreed that surgery was the answer. In hindsight, he’d have been smarter to just have the surgery at the very beginning. The various courses of treatment had meant that he’d missed a whole season before he had a clear bill of health.
During that year—a long, difficult year he did his best to forget—there had been too many nights when he’d woken up in a panic, unable to sleep while Death lay stretched out in the bed beside him.
He was mostly over that now, but there were still nights when he’d wake up, sure he could feel the cancer in his body again, killing him from the inside. The doctors believed they’d caught it all, that it hadn’t metastasized and spread elsewhere. It was worth losing his prostate for that. But there were no guarantees. Michelle’s comment about her husband only reminded him of that.
After she left he pulled out his phone and called down to the concierge and asked for the name of his new neighbor. He gave it, and Troy typed “Michelle Robertson” into the search bar of his browser. He added “army” and “widow” to narrow the results down.
He wanted to know why her husband had died. He realized she might not be happy about it, but he was willing to push some boundaries when it came to the big C. He needed to know if it was cancer, and if it was the same kind that he’d had.
Prostate cancer was rare in young men, but Troy knew only too well that didn’t mean younger men couldn’t get it. He wanted the cause to be anything else, so that Troy’s own odds were better.
It took a bit of searching, but he found out the answer. And it was anything but what he’d expected.
