Run to You (6 page)

His question was answered when he walked off the plane and spotted a young lady with her long blond hair pulled back, wearing a brown leather jacket.

Greta. She did come.

As the guys met their wives and girlfriends, Brandon approached Greta.

“You told me your plane was coming in at this ungodly hour. I can take you home.”

Brandon just stood there.

“Good evening, Brandon! You remember me, Greta Patton. I design jewelry.”

“Yeah, yeah, Greta. But I didn’t think you’d come to the airport.” He spotted Lauren leading Zach to her car by the hand. He looked like he was sleepwalking. And there was Daina, looking for Vyto. She wore a black fur jacket. She looked beautiful, even at this ungodly hour.

But Brandon thought no one looked more beautiful than Greta, at this moment. She came to pick him up.

Greta took his hand. “Come on, Brandon. Just tell me where you live. I have a GPS, so I’ll find your place. What the hell are you so surprised about?”

Brandon was wide awake now. “I thought you forgot.”

“I don’t forget. I keep my word. Come on.”

Brandon didn’t sleep on the way home. He kept sneaking looks at Greta, watching her drive. Watching her.

“Is this the place?” Greta slowed down as she came to a high-rise apartment building in the South Loop.

“Yeah. Yeah, this is it.”

He looked at Greta, and wasn’t sure if he should ask.

Very casually. “By the way, Greta, would you like to…”

“No, I would not like to come over. I have an early day tomorrow.”

Brandon’s mouth fell open. It was the first time a girl said no to him.

“You better get some sleep. You probably have a busy day tomorrow, too.” Brandon unbuckled his seat belt slowly, stalling for time, just in case she changed her mind.

Greta got out of the car, opened the passenger’s door, and all but threw him out of his seat.

“Goodnight, Brandon.”

“This cannot happen again. I never want to see the kind of mistakes I saw last night. I see that kind of play from teenagers, not from professionals.”

Brandon stood with the other defensemen and took his lecture like a pro. Coach Jock must have forgotten that Brandon played his first game with the Ice Bandits as a teen, all of eighteen years old, but this was definitely not the time to talk back to Coach. Not after a bad loss to the Washington Capitals, a hot team that some writers picked to win the Cup.

Coach Jock’s dark eyes glittered, making him look like the bad guy in a vampire movie. And he was out for blood tonight. He devoted his life to the game of hockey, and he wanted to win with this team, in his third year as the Ice Bandits coach. They made the playoffs each year, and last year just missed the Stanley Cup Final. But no Cup yet.

“I know you have what it takes. I see plenty of talent in front of me. But men, you need to show that talent, show what you have to offer, every single night, every single time you play. You have to do your absolute best every time. Then the other team can see how good you really are.”

Coach was fond of saying that. He mentioned “trying your best” in every lecture, every meeting, every bawling out.

Zach stared at his skate-clad feet as the lecture went on. Coach noticed it. Coach saw everything.

“Lambert. You were a finalist for the Norris Trophy last year. I want to see that again. Tabernac, you cannot rest on your laurels.”

Zach opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it.

Then it was Brandon’s turn.

“Taylor. What about you? They call you Sparky. I want to see why they call you Sparky.”

Coach went on, addressing each defenseman on the Ice Bandits’ roster. Then he started on the forwards. And he began swearing in French. That’s when you knew he was really upset. And he had every right to be, Brandon had to admit. Washington beat them 7-2 last night, their worst effort of the season, with only a few weeks to go.

Brandon wondered if Vyto would get a lecture too, but his goaltending coach was probably reaming him a new asshole at that moment. When the score was 4-0 Washington in the second period, Vyto was pulled and the second-string goalie went in. The youngster was scared out of his chest protector, and gave up another goal within two minutes.

Pro hockey was serious business, Brandon knew. You played the game for fun when you were young, because you loved it, and you grew to love it more as the years went by, and you got better, and you played better teams.

When you made the NHL, the great game was still there, more competitive than ever. And you had to win. You damn well had to win. There was big money involved. And it was fast, and demanding, and packed with pressure. But it was still hockey.

Finally, the lecture was over. The guys sighed, and turned to go.

“Hey, Sparky. I know why they call you Sparky.”

“Come on, Zach. It’s about…”

“It’s about going out to eat a big meal tonight.”

Zach had the biggest appetite of anyone on the Ice Bandits’ roster. He especially liked all-you-can-eat places, and he sure got his money’s worth. Most places he frequented knew him, and gave him an extra plate or two because he was a Bandits player.

“Geez, Zach. Can’t you afford a better place? South Side China Buffet?”

“This place feeds you well, and fills you up. Come on, Sparky. All you can put away for a fixed price.”

“Are you bringing Lauren? Treating her to a big night out?”

Zach looked away. “Me and Lauren broke up. She’s sick of the crazy schedule.”

Both guys needed a night out, to get away from the grind, where they didn’t have to answer for what they did or didn’t do on the ice. And fret about what happened off the ice. Big shot hockey players, and they couldn’t keep their girlfriends.

Zach and Brandon didn’t say much on the way to the restaurant—Zach drove, in his new Porsche—while Brandon looked out the window and tried not to think of anything but dinner.

What was going on with him? Was it the stress of the season, and all that happened? He couldn’t get Greta Patton out of his mind.

This was not just a need, a want, for female companionship. This was different. She was different.

Zach was quiet too. Probably thinking of his girl, or his ex-girlfriend. They’d been together for years, and now, they were no longer a couple.

The guys wanted to eat and drink and think about anything but women.

When they entered the buffet, a large space filled with tables and booths and plenty of customers, both guys grabbed plates and headed straight for the large buffet. Most of the different foods were labeled, but Zach claimed they were often labeled wrong. Once he filled a plate with Szechuan chicken—or so the label said—and it was about as spicy as the white rice. “They can’t speak English, and they’re in a hurry. They try to serve as many people as they can, as fast as they can. Load up, Brandon.”

Zach and Brandon devoured every morsel in seconds flat, and got up to the buffet a second time. And a third. But they didn’t stop at the fountain for a soft drink. Zach had brought a big water bottle filled with something that didn’t smell like water.

It didn’t taste like water, either. But it mixed well with ice.

The hockey players, exhausted from the game, Coach Jock’s harangue, and their unsuccessful love lives, ate and drank, and drank some more, and began talking loudly.

Many of the other customers, families with children, stopped eating to watch and listen to the two athletes who talked about everything, from hockey to baseball to food and the price of gas.

Zach admired a necklace that a patron wore, and asked her where she got it. Brandon tried not to think about a certain jewelry designer.

Brandon and Zach continued to fill their plates. One time, they raced each other to the buffet. Brandon won, and piled beef fried rice on his plate. Some grains fell to the floor. When he bent over to pick them up, he dumped half his portion.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zach told him. “Just leave it.”

When the water bottle was emptied, the guys began to sing. “Dream On” was the theme song of the Ice Bandits, and they knew it well, even though they weren’t even born when the song became a hit.

Some of the customers sang along.

One of the workers came to their table and began cleaning up, removing their plates, grabbing the glasses. Then another worker came and sniffed Zach’s glass. “What is this?”

“What does it look like?” Zach asked him. “We’re still eating, dude. Do you mind…”

“Sir, my name is not dude.” And then the owner of the place, a stern looking man, stood over the guys with his arms folded. “Leave. Now. You are not welcome to come back.”

He looked like Coach had during the lecture, angry enough to bite the table.

“Excuse me, sir,” Brandon began. “We have not finished our meal.”

“You guys are finished now. Leave. You are not coming back.”

Brandon and Zach received a round of applause as they walked out, Zach commenting, “I’ve been thrown out of better places than this one!” Brandon added, “And your beef fried rice sucked. Was it really beef, or was it…”

The owner closed the door, still yelling.

“Look at this one, honey. It can flush a bucket of golf balls.”

“Jesus, Ma. I don’t think you…”

“Greta, the Lord’s name is not a swear word. I don’t like when you do that.”

“But, Ma. A toilet is a toilet. You won’t use it to flush golf balls.” Greta and her mother were at the big home decorating store, shopping for toilets. Mother didn’t like the way hers flushed, and was in the market for a new one.

Ma walked over to a group of toilets in designer colors. “Look at this one. Brown. Should I get a brown toilet?”

“That’s appropriate,” said Greta.

Ma had to laugh at that comment. “Okay. Let’s see if we can find anyone to wait on us.”

How did she get stuck shopping with her mother, for toilets? Greta, she told herself, you get into the damndest situations. Besides her job situation, her best friend was upset with her for what happened at the White Sox game. She texted April again, but her former best friend did not respond. Greta kept thinking about what happened.

Rather, who happened.

Brandon was so much fun to be with. He was full of stories, but not full of himself. He listened to her stories, too. He was thoughtful and a gentleman, not what she expected from a hockey player.

And he was good-looking, too. His strong athlete’s body. His long dark hair, that showed red highlights in the sun. The bluest blue eyes she’d ever seen. She wondered if he…

“Greta, your mind is a million miles away! The salesman is asking you if you like this toilet!”

Brandon loved to skate. Always did. Always would.

His skates added two inches to his six foot two. But it wasn’t just about the height. It was about the state of mind he acquired as he skated around the practice rink. As a defenseman, he skated backwards as well and as fast as he skated forward.

He became unconscious of his skating and concentrated more on his view of the ice, where his teammates were. He was always aware of the dimensions of the rink, wherever he skated, judging where he was by what was in front of him, knowing by instinct where his forwards and his other defenseman were supposed to be.

He trusted his teammates would be in their places. Teamwork was all about trust. He knew his teammates would follow through on the rink, during play, even if trust didn’t always happen away from hockey.

It was part of Brandon’s job to make his teammates look good. His hockey instincts were sharp. He got good reads on his teammates and the puck, where they were at any given minute, any given second. Anticipation and reaction. That’s what it was all about.

And even though he thought the world of his teammates, Brandon didn’t want to be just one of the guys. He wanted to go further. He knew that when he was barely old enough to put on skates. He wanted to go further, and further yet, till his attitude and his work ethic took him all the way to the NHL.

Brandon’s wrists were strong yet sensitive. Strong to shoot the puck, and sensitive enough to put that puck exactly where he wanted to see it. Precision, and force.

Hockey was in Brandon’s blood. He couldn’t imagine doing anything else. He didn’t want to imagine doing anything else. As a scout once wrote in his report, Brandon’s heart beat hockey.

He knew his beloved game would always be there. Hockey would outlive him, and Coach, and Zach, and everyone else on every roster in the NHL. Brandon wanted to put his heart and soul into his game, give it every ounce of effort he had.

Hockey would always be there. He trusted the game, trusted his teammates. And maybe he was beginning to think he could even trust a woman.

Greta Patton was not Terri. Greta was…different. Special different. And he couldn’t forget how she came to pick him up at the airport at two in the morning.

He tried to put that thought out of his head as the morning skate ended. He and his fellow Ice Bandits gathered around Coach for one last word before facing the Vancouver Canucks that evening.

“I liked what I saw this morning,” he told his boys. “You looked much better, Zach. Brandon, you looked sharp. DeBerry, you look like you want to start tonight.”

Young Mike DeBerry’s face lit up.

That was the great thing about Jacques LeFebvre. He’d lecture you and holler and swear one day, but the next day was another day. All was new. He held no grudges. He wanted to see results, to watch every one of his boys doing his best, and when he did, all was well.

Coach also mentioned the upcoming Ice Bandits Alumnae Banquet, held once a year just before the regular season ended. Lots of old-timers, former coaches, and some fans showed up for this event. It was an elegant affair that took everyone’s mind off the pressure to come, as the playoffs approached. The Ice Bandits had their share of lean years, but this year, they were definitely playoff bound. This Banquet would be well-attended.

“That’s all, men. Go home and rest.” But Coach Jock wasn’t finished yet. “Zach, Brandon, stick around. I want to speak to you.”

Oh-oh. Was this about their adventure at the Chinese buffet? Undoubtedly they were recognized by a few patrons of the restaurant, and they sang the Ice Bandits’ theme song too, just in case they weren’t recognized.