Thin Ice (19 page)

"Uh oh."

"What is it, sweetheart?” she asked absently as she studied the

"What is it, sweetheart?” she asked absently as she studied the team's vital statistics. The chart listed Eric as 6'4” and 230 pounds, said he'd been born in Barton, Minnesota, he was thirty and his birthday was February 3 ... the night they'd met.

"It's her.” Robbie made it sound as if the Wicked Witch of the West had appeared.

"Who?” Frowning, Emily looked up from her program.

Miranda Manzelrod, dressed in cowboy boots, designer jeans and a stunning powder blue Angora sweater, was making her way down the aisle. Emily watched as the beautiful blonde waved helo to three women seated two rows up and to the left of Emily, then tossed her luxurious mane over her shoulder and turned to scan the arena with a practiced eye.

Emily's stomach clenched as a primitive jealousy swept through her at the idea that the beautiful blonde had come to watch Eric play as wel. Before she had time to absorb the idea and its implications, Miranda Manzelrod caught Emily's eye and smiled.

Completely unsettled, Emily smiled back.

"Oh, no, she's coming over!” Robbie said, horrified.

"Robbie, behave yourself,” Emily said, but her dread echoed her son's.

"Helo, Robbie,” Miranda said with a disarming smile. “Are you

"Helo, Robbie,” Miranda said with a disarming smile. “Are you enjoying yourself?"

He suddenly became fascinated by his high tops. “Yes ma'am. We came to watch Eric play."

Emily tensed, but Miranda's cornflower blue eyes sparkled with welcome. “So I heard. I'm glad you could make it. I know he's happy you're here."

"That's nice of you to say,” Emily replied cautiously.

"Is this your first game?"

"Other than Robbie's, yes."

"You're in for a treat. The guys are realy revved up for the Wild, and it goes both ways.” A blow horn blared overhead. Miranda looked up at the blower with indulgent amusement. “The fans are hyped, too. This is going to be a rough one, both on and off the ice."

"The atmosphere does seem a little ... charged."

"Just watch out for flying objects. One of the disadvantages of sitting so close to the ice is you tend to get pelted with food and drink if things get crazy."

Emily smiled and relaxed. “Thanks for the warning."

"Anytime. Wel, I'd better get going if I'm going to get dinner before

"Anytime. Wel, I'd better get going if I'm going to get dinner before the game starts. Would you or Robbie like something from the snack bar?"

Feeling oddly like a guest of honor, Emily decided it best to wait until both Robbie and her stomach settled down, and declined Miranda's offer. The woman's genuine warmth confused her. After Miranda left, Emily stared blankly at her program. Had she misinterpreted the relationship between Miranda Manzelrod and Eric? If so, why hadn't Eric said something?

Maybe because there was nothing to say.

Then why had he stayed at Miranda's the night he'd kept the Subway? It didn't make sense.

"Can I get a Coke, Mom?"

"Sure, sweetheart.” A rousing roar swept through the stands. “But why don't we wait until that vendor comes over to this aisle? The teams are returning to the ice. It looks like the game's about to start."

The starting lineups were announced and the players removed their helmets for the opening ceremony. Emily zeroed in on Eric, standing tal and proud in the center of the rink. It felt good to know he wanted her here, watching him.

Thinking of their nightly telephone cals while he'd been on the road and the two quick lunches they'd shared in the hospital cafeteria and the two quick lunches they'd shared in the hospital cafeteria since his return—their evening schedules hadn't meshed—she was only dimly aware of the local band singing the American and Canadian anthems in four-part harmony.

Miranda returned just as the game started. Emily's heart sweled with pride as she watched Eric speed across the ice. His energy and determination seemed boundless. The game moved much faster than Robbie's games did, and as it progressed, Miranda treated Emily to a much-appreciated crash course in hockey techniques and terms. They shared a laugh when a flying puck smacked Eric in his wel-padded rear, booed in tandem when he was ilegaly tripped, and exchanged dry looks when a Wild player ‘accidentaly’

barreled into the net, knocking it off its moorings and preventing a Saints goal.

The stunt earned the Wild player a trip to the sin bin, which sent the Wild fans into a howling protest. Their howls became screams of denial when Eric suddenly scored on a breakaway in the last ten seconds of the period, tying the game at one al. Flushed and breathless from doing her own share of screaming, Emily thought it was adorable the way Eric's teammates crowded around him and patted him on the head with their thick gloves to congratulate him.

"I'm impressed,” Emily said when the intermission began. You know so much about the game."

Miranda laughed. “I've been coming to these things since I was a kid. Of course, I was a die-hard North Stars fan back then. I was a kid. Of course, I was a die-hard North Stars fan back then. I was a Wild fan for a while, too, but now that Bil's signed on as general manager of the Saints, I've had to shift my loyalties."

"Bil?"

"My husband. He's the guy standing in the middle down there behind the player's bench—the one with his arms crossed and a perpetual frown on his face."

"The one wearing the realy nice suit?"

"They've got him acting as interim coach until Stump decides on a replacement."

"I didn't know you were married."

Miranda smiled. “New Year's Eve. Eric was our best man."

"I see.” Wel, that explained a lot. For the first time, Emily noticed the sparkling wedding set on Miranda's left hand and wondered how she could have missed a rock like that before. Probably because it had never occurred to her to look for one, since Miranda had obviously kept her maiden name, at least professionaly.

“Congratulations."

"Thank you. I've been after Eric to bring you over for dinner but he keeps putting me off with vague murmurings about busy schedules and such.” Miranda's eyes twinkled. “I bet it's realy because he wants to keep you to himself. He thinks the world of you, you wants to keep you to himself. He thinks the world of you, you know. He wanted to die when he ripped that hole in your car's exhaust system."

"He what?"

"You didn't know? Lord. I'l kil him. He came back downstairs that night and told me everything was fine."

"Was this ... the night he caled me from your house?"

"After he delivered the PE equipment he donated to the school, he stayed for dinner, then crashed in the guest room—after staying up half the night talking shop with Bil. They used to play together for Montreal. Anyway, Eric said he hit a pothole or something and destroyed your exhaust system. He wasn't sure how to break the news to you. I guess he decided to get it fixed without teling you."

"I guess he did,” Emily murmured, finaly understanding Eric's preoccupation with the Subway ... and why it hadn't done so much as hiccup since the day he'd borrowed it. He'd apparently gotten more then the exhaust system fixed.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Tel you what. I'l help you give him hel for it after the game, when we go to Hooligans—to celebrate, I hope,” Miranda added dryly. At Emily's blank look, she said,

“What? He hasn't told you about Hooligans? We always go there after the games. Consider yourself invited."

Emily defended Eric, though why she couldn't say, considering not Emily defended Eric, though why she couldn't say, considering not once had he mentioned anything Miranda had told her tonight. “He was probably thinking of Robbie. It's a school night and...” she sent a meaningful glance in her son's direction. He hung over the banister, watching the Zamboni machine resurface the ice, no doubt pretending he was half a mile away from his principal.

"You're right. I wasn't thinking. That's something else I'l have to adjust to. Having a child.” Miranda sent Emily a radiant smile. “I'm expecting in October. A honeymoon baby."

Emily's insides curled in shame at how she'd jumped to the conclusions she had about Miranda and Eric. For the next few minutes she devoted herself to answering Miranda's questions about what to expect in the coming months. By the time intermission was over, the two women were fast friends.

Meanwhile, tensions in the dressing rooms had escalated. As the teams returned to the ice, the air filed with an electric expectancy.

The Wild came out fighting and the Saints were more than wiling to oblige. As skirmish after skirmish erupted and the crowd grew more and more beligerent, Emily grew more and more anxious. Eric appeared to remain aloof from the tempers flaring al around him, but she feared for his safety nonetheless.

"Whoa. Things are getting pretty intense,” Miranda commented mildly, while the grunts and curses that floated up from the rink had a much stronger effect on Emily. She looked around uneasily, disturbed that the fans so clearly enjoyed the game's escalating violence.

The game picked up speed. Penalties mounted. The Saints scored twice, but the Wild tied it up again. Amid the roar of the crowd, Eric seemed to become a different man. Where before he was determined, he now had an almost palpable aura of menace about him.

The Wild started hitting even harder. Eric was hit from behind as he raced along the edge of the rink with the puck. The two men slammed into the boards so hard the Plexiglas swayed dangerously.

Emily's stomach churned as they tumbled over each other like clothes in a dryer, their razor sharp skates glinting as they caught the light.

The game came to a halt as the referee sorted out the tangle. The Wild player netted a penalty, giving the Saints a power play.

Another face-off. Eric won the face-off and skated for the Wild's net, preparing to catch a pass. Suddenly a Wild player blindsided him.

"That's the one I told you about earlier,” Miranda shouted to Emily over the crowd's angry protests. “He's the Wild's enforcer, you know, their designated fighter. He's trying to start something with—

Look out, Eric!” Miranda screamed.

Emily surged to her feet with Miranda as the Wild player grabbed Eric and threw him to the ice. Eric didn't waste time looking surprised. Gloves flew as he puled his attacker down with him, surprised. Gloves flew as he puled his attacker down with him, roled on top of him, jumped to his feet and hauled the man up again by the jersey. One fist stil clenching his opponent's jersey, Eric let fly with the other. The Wild player barreled into the boards with a crash that shattered the Plexiglas.

The crowd went wild. Emily went stock stil. Two linesmen grabbed Eric from behind. He shook them off as if they were flies. He snarled something at his attacker, who sat stunned on the equipment-littered ice. His helmet spun like a top beside him. Eric's own helmet was off, his left shoulder pad poked out grotesquely from beneath his jersey, which had a fist-size rip in its back colar from where the Wild player had grabbed him. Eric's stick lay broken in two at his feet.

He turned away and skated to the penalty box. Then, to Emily's utter astonishment, he looked up at her ... and smiled.

It wasn't a smug smile. Nor was it victorious, even though he'd clearly won the fight. It was more of a don't-worry-about-me-I'm-having-a-hel-of-a-good-time smile.

In that moment, Emily realized Eric enjoyed the violence in his work. For some reason, in the past few weeks, she'd convinced herself he opposed violence as much as she did. Not true. Not true at al. From the looks of him, he'd been waiting for the fight to happen, had been looking forward to it.

Just as Ryan had looked forward to their fights, secure in the knowledge he'd be the winner, while she lay hurt and helpless at his knowledge he'd be the winner, while she lay hurt and helpless at his feet.

She had her coat on before she knew what she was doing. “Come on, Robbie. We're leaving."

Miranda turned in surprise. “Leaving? You can't leave."

"Watch me."

"Emily. You don't understand."

"I understand plenty. I understand I've made a big mistake. One I swore never to repeat."

"Listen, I don't know what you're talking about, but—"

"Let it go, Miranda. Robbie, get your coat."

Robbie obeyed, but Miranda folowed them into the corridor.

“Please don't walk out like this, Emily. Eric's going to be devastated when he—"

Emily whirled. “Devastated? That's his problem. He's the one who just knocked that man senseless."

"He didn't start the fight, Emily."

"No, but he enjoyed it."

By the time they reached the parking lot, Emily felt like she was By the time they reached the parking lot, Emily felt like she was going to hurl. Her hands shook so much she could hardly fit the key in the lock. Bile burned her throat. Tears blinded her. Dark images of the violence she'd just witnessed mingled with those of her past.

Eric, smashing his fist into the other man's face. Ryan, smashing his fist into hers. Both of them smiling afterward, letting her know they'd enjoyed themselves thoroughly. It was a high with men like that, the adrenaline rush and the release that folowed. And, Emily knew from experience, it was addictive.

She shuddered, her grip so tight on the steering wheel her hands cramped. Memories of her marriage flashed in her mind. Ryan standing over her as she cowered on the floor, Ryan spitting in her face. “Whore!” he'd shouted, then puled her to her feet and backhanded her across the bed.