Sticks and Stones (25 page)

          “Yo! Ricochet!
Get your ass out there!” Coach Banks barked.

          Rick jumped
from the bench and moved swiftly onto the ice, towards Sarge, the goalie.

          Sarge yelled,
“Get the fuckin’ puck out of our zone!”

          Rick laughed
lightly and skated around the net, stealing the puck from Pierre, an opposing
player on the Flames.

          He worked the
puck down the ice, passing it fluidly to the captain, Seth Brice.

          Surrounded by
three players, Brice passed the puck to Dmitri.

          Dmitri took the
puck around the back of Flame’s net and tried to squeak it past the goalie,
Zimmer. A squirmish around the net ensued when Zimmer lost sight of the puck.

          Rick caught a
glimpse of the puck on the outside of net and shot forward, connecting his
stick with the puck.

          The crowd
erupted as the red light glowed, indicating a good goal. Rick crouched down and
pumped his fist. His teammates gathered around him and joined in a hug before
Rick tore away. With his mouth guard hanging loosely from his lips, he skated
past Grace and shot her a grin and a wink.

*        *        *

          At the end of the second
period, everyone immediately headed back to the suite, except for Grace. She
went to the concession area in search of a candy bar.

*        *        *

          Chase glanced
around the suite. “Where’s Grace?”

          “She went to
the concession stands,” Camryn offered.

          Emily and Chase
surveyed the room and noticed Flynn was missing also. Simultaneously they
looked at one another and muttered, “Fuck!”

*        *        *

          Grace’s eyes
scanned the menu offerings on the boards inside the concession stands. Ice
cream, pizza, hot dogs, but not one damn candy bar!

          She kept
walking; her eyes glued on the menu boards and walked smack dab into a brick
shithouse.

          “Hey,” Flynn
murmured, clutching her upper arms.

          Grace swallowed
hard. “Hey,” she replied weakly.

*        *        *

          Chase’s nostrils flared
when he spotted Grace and Flynn from the escalator. Pushing past the other
riders, he strode towards them, not giving a fuck the guy was a cop!

*        *        *

          Grace politely
pushed him away. “They, um, don’t have what I’m looking for,” she mumbled.

          Flynn grinned,
“Maybe I do.”

          “I don’t think
so,” Grace snorted, indignantly.

*        *        *

           Chase slowed
his speed as he watched the exchange between Grace and Flynn. From the looks of
it, she seemed pissed off and offended. “Grace!” he called.

          She turned,
shot him a wary grin and waited for him to catch up.

          “I was
wondering where you were,” he mumbled.

          She shrugged. “I was
craving a candy bar. Turns out, it was just a passing fancy.”

*        *        *

          With ten
minutes left in the third period, the Wind was down a goal. Short Brice, due to
a slashing penalty, Harpo, Kanga, Kop and Rick were on the ice for the
face-off.

          The Flames
players skillfully passed the puck back and forth to one another. Rick hated
the keep-away game! He placed himself near the net, but not so close that Sarge
couldn’t see the puck.

          Harpo worked
his way through the circle of Flames players and poked his stick as the puck
flew past him.

          A Flame’s
player slapped the puck down onto the ice while another shot it towards the
net, hitting Rick in the back of the knee.

          In pain, Rick
fell to the ice, effectively blocking the puck.

          Kanga swept the
puck down the ice, killing penalty time and to give Rick a chance to recoup.

          Rick winced as
he stood. Unable to put his full weight on his left leg, he hobbled to the
bench.

*        *        *

          Grace jumped
from her seat when Rick fell to the ice. She’d seen him block pucks before, but
this time she knew he was hurting.

          Blake grabbed
her hand. “He’ll be okay, Gracie. He’s tough.”

          She shook her
head. “They’re taking him to the locker room. That’s not a good sign.”

          “The game’s
almost over anyway. It’s probably just a precautionary measure. Trust me, he’s
been through worse.”

*        *        *

          “Poppet, I’m
sure he’s fine,” Aunt Tilda said soothingly in the posh suite.

          Grace shook her
head. “I don’t know how other player’s girlfriends or wives handle this! It’s
driving me crazy not knowing what’s going on!”

          Phyllis
appeared next to her. “Hey doll, I’ll check the locker room and take a look-see
for ya!”

          Emily sat next
to Grace and moaned. “Phyllis is only checking for selfish reasons, I’m
afraid.”

          Tilda laughed
heartily. “Lucky girl!”

*        *        *

          Chase thought it was an
opportune time to take a few photos of Grace. The worry in her face spoke
volumes.

*        *        *

          Greg, Tamara,
Camryn and Declan were engaged in deep conversation, but Flynn listened with
half an ear. He was more interested in Grace.

          Usually, he was
very good at reading people. It was what his job required. He frowned. Maybe he
was losing his touch.

*        *        *

          Tilda patted
Grace’s knee. “I’ll fetch you something to calm your nerves.”

          Flynn watched
Grace’s aunt totter towards the bar. He quickly finished off his Corona and
followed her.

          “Good game,
aye?” he murmured to Tilda.

          “We lost and
Rick got hurt,” she frowned.

          “Aye, but it
was still a good game.”

          Tilda glanced
at him sideways. “You sure you’re a Wind fan?”

          Flynn laughed
heartily. He liked this woman. She had moxy!

          “What’s a good,
strong drink?” she sighed, glancing at the various bottles of alcohol.

          “For you?”

          Tilda giggled.
“Heaven’s no! Gracie’s on edge.” She tapped her chin and pulled out a bottle of
Jameson. “I think she likes this.”

          Flynn’s brows
lifted. “Jameson?” He glanced at Grace, then back to Tilda. “She’s strong eno’
for something so powerful?”

          “My Poppet’s
tough.”

          “Poppet?”

          “It’s my pet
name for her.”

          Flynn nodded.
“So, has she been dating Ricochet long?”

          Tilda pursed
her lips. “A few months. She finally gave in to his advances.”

          “
He
pursued her?”

          “Oh yes! Like a
dog with a bone, he was,” Tilda cackled.

          “Seems to me he
could have any lass he wanted, given his paycheck and all.”

          Tilda stopped
pouring Jameson and lifted a grey eyebrow. “My Gracie is self-sufficient and
isn’t interested in his paycheck.”

          Flynn lifted
his hands. “Sorry, I didna mean to assume.” When Tilda’s expression softened,
he mumbled, “So, what does she do for a living?”

          “Gracie’s in
the latest issue of Chicago magazine! She designed the interiors of two homes
for Chase’s new subdivision!”

          Flynn rubbed
his chin. “No kidding?”

          Tilda nodded
happily. “She’s the co-owner of Bewitching Designs with Rick’s brother, Blake.”

          “Is that how
they met? Through Blake?”

          Tilda giggled. “Nope. They
met at a bar, of all places.”

*        *        *

          Three shots
into it and Grace was feeling no pain. In fact, she almost forgot why she was
drinking. Then she remembered and hobbled to the wet bar for another shot.

          A warm hand
covered her hand on the bottle cap.

          “Looks like
you’ve had enough,” Rick said softly.

          She went to hug
him, then quickly put her arms at her sides, unsure what to do.

          A deep laugh
escaped from his mouth. “I’m not so broke that you can’t hug me.”

          Her bottom lip
trembled. “How broke are you?”

          Rick pulled her
into an embrace and ran his palm down her hair. “I’m fine. A little sore, but
I’ll be okay. I’m sorry I didn’t come up here sooner. I wasn’t thinking.”

          She looked up
at him, confused.

          “I’ve never had
anyone waiting for me before. I didn’t think to get word to you that I’m okay.
Luckily, Phyllis set me straight.”

          Grace nodded.
“She offered to go into the locker room and check things out.”

          Rick blushed,
“Yeah, she checked things out all right.”

*        *        *

          After dropping
Tilda and Reginald off, Phyllis sighed happily in the back seat of Emily’s
Challenger. Chase rolled his eyes. If she sighed one more time…

          “All’s I’m
gonna say about Rick is
hubba hubba
!” Phyllis chirped.

          “Shut up!”
Chase, Emily and Frankie bellowed.

*        *        *

          “It was nice
for Blake and Max to drop us off,” Grace slurred.

          Rick glanced at
her and grinned sleepily. “You’re drunk.”

          She pursed her
lips. “You’re high.”

          “Yep!” he
laughed. “On you and pain meds!”

          Grace stumbled
towards him and gripped his hand. “C’mon, I’ll walk you to the bedroom.”

          He carefully
sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He began to remove his shirt when she
gently pushed his hands away and slowly pulled it up and over his head.

          Rick wiggled
his eyebrows. “You next.”

          “Huh?”

          “Your shirt,”
he clarified.

          She stared at
him lustily and removed her O’Shea jersey, tossing it onto the grey chair in
the corner. Then she slid her jeans off, casting them aside. “You next,” she
mimicked.

          Rick stood and
removed his jeans with her help. Grace gaped in horror at the large black and
blue lump on the back of his leg. “Dear Goddess!”

          He glanced at
it and shrugged. “It’s all part of the job.”

          She shook her
head. “Lay down on your stomach.”

          “Whaddya got in
mind, cutie?” he smiled. She rolled her eyes at him and sprinted into the
kitchen.

          When she returned, Rick was
fast asleep. She placed the frozen bag of peas on the back of his knee anyway,
to help with the swelling. He was so out of it, he didn’t move.

*        *        *

          Grace awoke the
next morning to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

          Rick sat at the
kitchen nook, reading the paper. He slammed his coffee mug onto the countertop,
splattering coffee. “Fuckin’ douche bags!”

          Grace flinched
at his demeanor. She’d never seen him this angry before.

          He hastily
wiped the counter with a napkin and tossed the paper aside, disgusted.

          “Morning?” she
said softly.

          Rick’s
expression softened when he saw her. She used to be self-conscience and threw a
shirt or a robe on, to cover what she considered imperfections. Now she stood
before him wearing only a lacy white bra with matching panties. He extended his
hand to her. “Morning, beautiful,” he murmured.

          “How do you
feel?”

          “Better now,”
he rasped, grazing her lips with his.

          She glanced at
the newspaper. “Bad news?”

          “Douche bag
sport writers,” he scowled. “Saying that the way we played last night we won’t
make the play-offs.
One
fucking game and they’re ready to turn on us.”

          She frowned and
glanced at his leg. “How’s your leg feel?”

          “Sore, but I
think the ice pack helped. Thanks, by the way.”