Between a Jock and a Hard Place: A Romance Novella (5 page)

Jack waited for Melody to order and then
asked for his usual: an extra-thick rib eye steak, a baked potato and a large
green salad. It was why he came here...they cut the steaks to order, and knew
how to grill them. Melody picked at her lemon sole, ate a few green beans and
left the rice. A vision flashed before his eyes. Claire, tearing into the Rice
Krispies square and licking her fingers.

He lifted his wine glass, then put it
down and drank some water instead. He’d consumed the entire glass during
dinner, and combined with the beer, he needed to use the bathroom.

“Excuse me,” he said, and slid out of
the booth. “I’ll be right back.”

Melody was on the phone when he returned
to the table. She hurriedly ended the conversation and looked up. Her eyes were
bright and she looked a little nervous but he was too tired to wonder why.

“Would you like anything for dessert?”
He always asked, but he already knew the answer.

“No, silly.” She was gathering her
things; she appeared anxious to leave.

He paid and they stepped outside to a
barrage of flashbulbs. It was probably only a few photographers, but the
invasion made it seem like more.

“What the...” Jack made a gesture to
protect Melody, but she slid away from his arm and stepped forward. Wait a
minute… was she posing? He took a step back and watched her, not quite
believing his eyes. She was in animated conversation with a couple of the paps
but had somehow managed to stand so that he was clearly visible in the
background. And then it all fell into place. She had been on the phone calling
her ‘contacts’ to inform them that they were about to leave the restaurant. And
she knew how he hated this!

He regretted not ordering the car
earlier. They had to stand there and wait while it was brought around.

“Come on, guys, give me a break” he
said, when they asked him for a comment on the Canucks’ chances of winning the
Stanley Cup. “You’ve got your picture, isn’t that enough?”

He drove to Melody’s place in silence;
she was wise enough not to say anything. He pulled up in front of her condo and
turned to her. “Why did you do that?”

“Do what?” She reached out and sifted
her fingers through the hair at the back of his neck.

He shook his head. “Don’t.”

She pulled back, lips in a pout.

“You called them, didn’t you?”

Tears welled up in her baby blues. “I’m
sorry Jack, but I thought a little publicity might help me to get the part.”

He wasn’t fooled by the fake tears. “You
know how I hate to be ambushed. I would have helped you if you’d only asked.”

“Would you?” She leaned forward so that
he could get an eyeful of her cleavage. “Will you?”

He felt a stirring in his groin, but it
wasn’t enough to change his mind.

“Of course I would have, but not now.”
He was being harsh; he knew it, but any trust that might have developed between
them had evaporated when she made that call. He could either let the
relationship grind to a slow and painful end or he could finish it now. It
wasn’t a difficult decision. “I wish you luck with your acting career, but it’s
over between us. You used me and I can’t forgive something like that.”

“But Jack...”

“No, Melody. If anyone asks, you can say
that you broke up with me. I won’t be making any comment.”

“Who do you think you are, talking to me
like that?”

He looked at her and shook his head. Is
this what his life had become?

“Half an hour ago I was the guy who
could to help you get the part... remember?” He got out and walked around to
her side, opened the door. “Goodbye, Melody.”

She got out and stood on the grassy
verge, looking up at him. In the glow of the streetlight, her hair stood out
around her head like golden floss and for a moment he wavered. “Who is she,
Jack?” She spoke in her normal voice. “You’ve met someone else, haven’t you?”
Her bottom lip trembled, but he couldn’t tell if it was genuine emotion, or if
she was acting. Either way, he’d had enough.

“No, Melody” he lied. But his heart beat
a little faster at her words. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

Who are you kidding, Jack Logan? His
conscience attacked him as he drove back over the Granville Street Bridge. You
used that as an excuse to break up with her.

“Maybe” he muttered aloud. “Okay, I did.
But it was going to happen soon anyway.” That much was true, but it didn’t make
him feel better. He’d never really taken the time to get to know Melody. If he
had, he’d never have become involved, but he still felt guilty. The next time
he got involved he’d make sure he knew the woman first.

He’d been clutching the steering wheel
until his knuckles were white, and forced himself to loosen his hands. He considered
sending Melody some flowers by way of an apology, but that would only backfire.
She’d think he’d changed his mind, and he definitely didn’t want to send the
wrong message. In spite of the residual anger about the way she’d used him, he
felt lighter... a clear sign that he’d been right to break it off.

The tall apartment buildings overlooking
English Bay glittered against the night sky. Was it only two days ago that he’d
driven Claire back to her apartment? He smiled to himself. Now there was
someone who deserved flowers. He checked his rear view mirror and changed lanes
just in time to hit the off-ramp. He didn’t know her last name, but he could
find out. She’d pressed the buzzer for 803; all he had to do was check beside
the button for her last name.

The timing of their meeting could have
been better; the Canucks were half way through the quarterfinals and were
flying out in the morning, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to know her
name.

* * *

Jack called his regular florist first
thing in the morning. The flight was at eleven and time was tight.

“Yes, Mr. Logan, what can we do for you
this morning?”

 “I’d like some flowers delivered,
please.” He’d been so eager to call that he hadn’t given any thought to what
type of flowers, or what to put on the card.

“What would you like in the bouquet?”

“That’s just it. I don’t know.” He
paused. “Something that says ‘I’m thinking of you’, without coming on too
strong. Not roses, or anything like that.”

“Do you have any colour preference?”

What was this, a fashion show? “No, I’ll
leave that up to you.”

“All right, Mr. Logan. I have some very
nice myosotis. It would go nicely with some pink gerbera and some baby’s
breath. Perhaps a few white freesia. That would make a casual statement.”

“Myo... what is that?”

“It’s forget-me-not. You don’t often see
it in floral arrangements, but it’s lovely and airy.”

“Okay.” He recited Claire’s name,
address and phone number. He’d looked her up online last night.

“And what would you like on the card?”

“Just say ‘Thinking of you’ and sign it
John.”

“Did you say ‘John’?”

“That’s right.”

The florist had been in business long
enough not to question. “Right. I’ll take care of it myself.”

“Thank you.” Jack disconnected and
stared at his phone for a moment. He’d entered Claire’s number last night, and
he scrolled to it, wondering if he had time to call her. He’d love to hear her
voice again before he left, but according to the display on his phone he’d be
hard pressed to get to the airport in time. He grabbed his laptop and his suitcase
and left.

* * *

“Did you see it?” Zoey wasted no time.
“It’s on the net today.”

It took Claire a moment to figure out
what her friend was talking about. “Oh, the blog?”

“Yes, the blog. And there are hundreds
of comments already.”

“Do I dare look?”

“I think you’re going to have to for the
sake of continuity. You might want to respond to some of the disagreeable
ones.”

“Are there many of those?”

“It’s about what we expected.
Fifty-fifty.”

“Well, you did warn me. Oh wait, Zoey,
there’s someone buzzing me.”

“Sorry, kiddo. Gotta run. Talk to you
later, okay?”

Claire closed the phone and went to the
intercom. “Yes?”

“Delivery for Miss Collins.”

Puzzled, Claire let him in. She should
have asked who it was. She peered through the lens in the door and watched the
delivery man walk down the hall, holding a bouquet. Who would be sending her
flowers?

A tingle of anticipation raised the hair
on the back of her neck. Could it possibly be him?

Don’t be silly, she told herself and
opened the door before he could knock.

“Miss Collins?” he said, and she nodded.
“These are for you.”

The scent of freesia perfumed the air
and she inhaled it greedily. “Sorry,” she said. “Just a minute.” She ran back
into her apartment, grabbed a bill from her purse and handed it to him. “Thank you.”
She stuck her nose in the bouquet again. “Thank you so much.”

She was afraid to open the card. What if
they weren’t from him? What if they were from Zoey, congratulating her on the
first blog?” She fussed around, unwrapping the flowers and finding a vase.
Finally she could put it off no longer, and she opened the small envelope.

Thinking of you. John. She almost cried
with relief. For some strange reason she wasn’t surprised that he’d gone to the
trouble of sending flowers. She hadn’t imagined it... there had been something
between them. That intangible spark that was so difficult to describe when it
happened. It had been there from the moment they touched, and it was still
there, no matter where he was. She could feel it running through her body and she
wondered how long she’d have to wait until she saw him again. It couldn’t be
soon enough.

* * *

“Hey, Jack. I thought that guy from the
Phoenix was a friend of yours.” The Canucks were in the air en route to
California. Lars tapped the screen of his laptop.

Jack frowned. Had his friend run
pictures of him and Melody?

“They’ve got a new feature,” the Swedish
forward continued. “A blog about hockey violence. We’re thinking of starting a
pool on how long it takes before they mention you.”

“Thanks a lot.” He knew the Swede was
joking, but he was tired of people assuming that just because he was big, he
played dirty hockey. The opposite was closer to the truth. He’d learned long
ago that he could use his size and strength to take the opponent off the puck without
risking serious injury.

He turned back to his laptop and
finished reading the story about the success of the new hockey rink in his home
town of Little Coulee. He’d financed the project and quietly joined with
several of the town businessmen who were delighted to take credit for making it
happen. When Jack was growing up, they’d prayed for weather cold enough to
freeze the slough on the outskirts of town so they could get up a game. He
smiled at the memory. It hadn’t hurt them a bit. As a matter of fact, clearing
the snow off the ice had hastened his physical development and made him the
‘big’ guy on the team.

He switched over to the Phoenix site and
read the blog. Randy had been right. It was obvious from the outset that this
wasn’t the work of a professional writer but that’s what made it so compelling;
the story was told from the heart. As he read further, he recognized that the
blogger was talking about the young player who had been recently injured... the
same one he’d mentioned to Claire. Small world.

“Good story,” he said to no one in
particular, and read it over again. He decided then and there to blog from the
other side. Someone had to write the opposing point of view and it might as
well be him. Besides, he had a notion that he could do it without too much
animosity developing between the himself and whoever had written the piece he’d
just read. He could start slowly, outlining how the system works... the way
he’d explained it to Claire. He could do that, couldn’t he? He started to type.

* * *

“Hi Claire. Call me back, okay? Randy
says...”

Claire heard Zoey’s voice and grabbed
the phone. She’d just come back from a walk. Okay, so she’d been hoping to run
into John again, but she needed the fresh air, too. Or at least that’s what she
told herself.

“Hi, I’m here.”

“Hey. Have you looked at the blog?”

“Not lately, no.”

“Well check it out. The first reply is
up and the comments are piling up. Randy’s in seventh heaven.”

“Who is it, do you know? The other
blogger?”

“I tried to get it out of Randy, but he
wouldn’t budge.” She was uncharacteristically silent for a moment. “But
something tells me it’s a person close to the game. Maybe even someone in the
Canucks organization. I think he has an inside source there.”

“That should make it interesting.” Claire
fingered one of the soft freesia petals. “Guess what I got this morning?”

“I can’t even guess.”

“A bouquet of flowers from John.”

“I’m impressed. Are they nice? What does
the card say?”

“Of course they’re nice. The card just
says ‘Thinking of you’.”

“And you’ve been out walking along the
seawall hoping to bump into him again, haven’t you?”

“Are you making fun of me?”

“That would be a yes. And no, I’m not
making fun of you. I just don’t want you to hibernate at home waiting for him
to call, the way you did with Harrison.”

“Who?”

“That’s the spirit. Now go and read the
comments on the blog and call me back when you’re finished.”

* * *

“It’s not so bad” she said, talking to
Zoey later. “As a matter of fact it’s quite mild.”

“That’s what I thought, but I think he’s
testing the waters, as it were. Same thing you did.”

Claire nodded to herself. “You know
what’s funny? This blog sounds like John. Those were some of the things he said
to me the other day.”

“Did I hear you correctly? You were
actually talking to someone about hockey?”

She could imagine the look on her
friend’s face. “It’s been known to happen. We were talking about our families
and I mentioned that Cam plays hockey and we went on from there.”

“Did you tell him about Cam’s
concussion?”

Claire thought back. “No. I wanted to,
but I didn’t want him to connect it to the blog, in case he’s a reader.”

“Wise move. So what happens next with
the blog?”

Claire glanced at the screen. “As Emeril
used to say, I think it’s time to kick it up a notch. It’s not due until next
week, right?”

“Right.”

“It’ll be ready.”

She disconnected and stood up to
stretch, but the phone rang again almost immediately. She was laughing when she
picked it up.

“Who do I hear from more than you?”

“I don’t know.” His voice sent shivers of
delight down her spine. “How are you, Claire?”

“John?” She sat down again. “Hi.” She
couldn’t think straight.

“Did you get the flowers?”

“Oh. Yes. Thanks, they’re lovely.” What
was the matter with her? She gave herself a mental slap. “Where are you?”

“I’m in California.”

“Oh.” She tried unsuccessfully to keep
the disappointment out of her voice. “How’s the weather down there?”

“It’s hot. I wish I was back in
Vancouver right now.”

Me too.

“I was wondering if you’d like to meet
again when I come back. I thought perhaps we could start over again and make it
a real date this time.”

Her pulse went into overdrive. “I’d like
that.”

“Terrific. Let’s meet on Monday at noon
in the same spot we met the first time.”

“On the seawall?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay...” she said slowly. “Will there
be jogging involved?”

He laughed. “No, but dress casually. Oh,
and pray for good weather.”

She was beginning to enjoy this. “You’re
not going to tell me where we’re going, are you?”

“Not a chance. Is it a date?”

“It’s a date. See you then.”

* * *

“You’re coming to Sunday dinner, aren’t
you?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m fine, thank you.” The
moment she spoke, Claire wished she could take back the sharp words. Her mother
had been under a lot of stress with Cam’s concussion. Besides, he was still
there, and she wanted to see him. “Wouldn’t miss it. How’s Cam?”

Claire’s mother lowered her voice. “I’m
hoping you’ll talk some sense into him. He’s talking about going back home
already.”

Claire laughed. “As if he’d listen to
me. See you on Sunday, Mom.”