Cold as Ice (18 page)

C
arla agreed to see Devin on Sunday afternoon. What are his intentions? He cancels without an explanation and then calls to say he wants to meet up. What does he want?

“I could have driven,” Carla says as she climbs into his silver Maserati. It isn't every day she rides around in luxury cars, but today is different. Today she'll judge Devin for herself. She clicks her seat belt and brushes her hair back off her shoulders and stretches her legs as far as they will go. She tucks one leg over the other and glances at him.

“Nah, this way I can get used to navigating myself around.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Devin glances over, one hand on the wheel, one relaxed on his thigh. “Granville Island. I'm intrigued by the name.”

She laughs. “You're not the only one. It attracts ten million people a year.”

“Do we have to take a ferry?”

“No, but parking is always a challenge.”

His flexed arm catches her attention as he spins the wheel and steps on the gas.

“You're going to want that lane.” She points. “Are we getting out or is it just a scenic tour?”

“That depends on what you're offering.”

“We won't have time to see everything if we get out every five minutes.”

“Let's drive. Maybe next time we can stop at your favorite place.”

“There's going to be a next time? I thought this was the deal.”

“It is,” he says. “But if it works out, we can do this again.”

Carla represses a smile and looks out her window.

“What?”

“I didn't say anything,” she says, smiling, looking at him.

Devin's arm is extended on the wheel, relaxed, and he seems to be enjoying the drive. His T-shirt is tight around his biceps. He's wearing a gold chain around his thick neck.

“That's my point,” he says.

“You want to take that turnoff !” she shouts, pointing.

He eases into the lane and turns off. “Nice.” He seems to be trying to look out his window as he pays attention to the traffic in front of him.

“It is,” she says. “It's an enjoyable walk.”

“Wow, it's busy.”

“Always is. There's parking over there,” she points out. “And tons of shops, but you have to walk through the buildings. The market is constantly busy.”

“I'm used to that.”

“I guess so. Being from Seattle.”

“Yeah.” He raises his head.

He takes it all in. When they've driven as far as they can, Devin exits and turns back onto the main road. “Where to next?”

“Well, if you keep going, there's Granville Street. High-end shops. Again, a good place to walk and browse around. And if you drive straight, over the bridge, there's the mall.

“Was it hard playing in a city that wasn't crazy about hockey?” She looks at him.

“It was all right,” he says with a shrug. “By the time I played junior, I was living in Spokane and then Portland. That's where I learned about hockey fans.”

She smiles.

“What about you? Have you always lived here?”

She bobs her head. “Pretty much. I moved up north for a couple of years for work, and then I got a job in Kamloops before a job opened up here. That was when I met my husband.”

“You didn't tell me you're married.” The corner of his mouth arches.

“I'm not,” she says, letting her mouth widen into a grin, realizing she hasn't told Devin her story. “I was. Didn't work out.” She looks at her hands and then out her window.

“Sorry.”

“Ah. It was one of those things. We rushed into it. Thought we wanted the same things.”

“You didn't?”

“No. I didn't think it through.”

“What's there to think about?”

She looks at him with curiosity. She did think it through when Timothy asked her. It felt right at the time. He wanted to be married too. He wanted to work and give them a comfortable place to live, a condo he still lives in. He talked about having a child and a vacation in Hawaii every year. Everything came true except the baby. They didn't talk about spending Saturdays together, going on hikes and out for dinner or taking day trips to Grouse Mountain. “We wanted different things. We drifted apart and didn't see eye to eye.” Is that where they went wrong? Is that why they didn't understand each other?

“I don't know,” he says. “I've never been in that situation. How does one know?”

Carla sucks in her breath. “They say you just know.” There was that unsteadiness in her that told her to wait, but she wanted to get married and settle down so bad. She couldn't wait. She looks out her window. “I didn't know. I didn't follow my heart.”

“Kids?”

Her head turns toward him. Her stomach flips like it always does when she thinks about being a mom. “Nope.”

There's a brief moment of silence before they try talking at the same time.

“How 'bout you?” she asks, curious and prying.

“Me? Never been married, no kids.” He shakes his head slowly, staring at the road.

“And I've been separated for a year, divorced for two,” she adds, although she doesn't know why she's telling him this. He's going to think she's unsteady and difficult to be with, or worse, she has a problem that affected her marriage.

“Must be hard.”

Her eyes soften as she stares ahead. “Sometimes,” she whispers and pulls herself together to grin widely. “I've moved on.” She taps her hands on her lap.

“Are you with someone now?”

“Nope. How about you? Did you leave a girlfriend in Raleigh?”

He chuckles. “I suppose I did.”

“Why is that funny?”

“It's not. I'm glad I was traded so I can forget about her.” He chuckles again. “She was something else.” He swipes a finger down his nose and says, “I'd been trying to break it off for a while, but it wasn't easy. It was nothing serious, if that's what you're wondering.”

“I wasn't, but now I'm curious. Was she one of those puck bunny types?” Carla raises an eyebrow.

“Nah. I met her through someone.”

“And it didn't work out?”

“It wasn't a close friend.”

“Oh.”

“She lied. A lot.” He sucks his teeth. “She'd tell me she was out with a girlfriend and I found out she was at the casino with some guy friends. She swore they were gay, but I don't care, I don't like being lied to.”

“No one does. So what happened?”

“She expected me to show up at every party she went to, just so she wasn't alone. I was used.” He lets out a breath. “I was hardly around anyway. I shouldn't have expected anything more.”

“Have you spoken to her since?”

“Once when I arrived here. Never again,” he says, turning the corner.

Carla's phone vibrates and she takes it out of her purse and scrolls through her e-mail.

“You're not taking notes, are you?”

“No.” She puts her phone back into her purse. “I'm waiting on someone to get back to me.”

They drive farther and Carla tells him about the street they're on and where it leads.

“I could get used to living here.”

“You're here for six years.”

“It goes by fast.”

“Does it?” she asks. Will he stay after his contract is up? “Turn here. Follow the sign.”

“We're going to Stanley Park?”

“Sure. We can drive through it.”

“You get settled and then have to move again.”

“Maybe this time you won't have to.”

“We'll see.”

“You need more points. You need to show people you're of value, that you make a difference to the team.”

“You don't think I'm up to par, do you?”

“Honestly? I think you need to play like you did two seasons ago. You have the will.”

“I still do!”

Carla silences herself. She wants to tell him that right now he's not worth the millions he's paid but decides it's none of her business.

“What happened? You used to have forty-, forty-five-point seasons. You're not that guy anymore. Something must have happened.”

Devin clears his throat. “Maybe it's age.”

She laughs. “It's not age.”

They watch the shoreline.

“Not all years are good.”

“But you've been declining instead of improving, or at least staying average.”

“Do you always point out people's faults?”

Carla's head pops back. “I don't do that!”

“Or is it just to me?”

“You can play better. That's all I'm saying. I know your potential.”

Devin pulls over and parks in a stall. “I bet you kick some serious ass in hockey pools.”

“I usually do okay.”

He turns off the ignition. “Do you wanna walk for a bit?”

She nods, and they get out and walk until they see an opening to the seawall. It's a short distance to the public access, where they can walk down a steep embankment. Carla stops at the edge of the path. She's not wearing proper shoes. There are branches and exposed tree roots on the dirt path.

Carla stands at the top, looks at her slip-on shoes and then at Devin. His jeans are fitted in all the right places. She doesn't have to see it to know that under a layer of clothing is a sculpted, well-defined body she only dreams of.

“Maybe there's another way,” she says, eyebrows furrowed. It would be safer to walk through the ferns than the dirt.

Devin stops and turns around. “It's a little steep. You can make it. Take my hand.”

She bites her bottom lip.

“Come on.” He waves his hand, as though getting her to hurry up. “You won't fall. I promise.”

The look in his eyes reassures her that if she does lose her balance, she'll be falling right into his arms. Wouldn't that be dreadful?

She shakes her head to clear the fantasies away and holds out her hand for his. His fingers are inches from hers. One more step and she'll feel his thick fingers between hers. She eyes them as the target. Another step and her body is slanted forward. She's going to fall. Her foot is wiggling out from the dry dirt and as she puts it in front of her, she looks at Devin's rounded jawline and luscious lips. The ones she kissed. He's so easy on the eyes that she forgets to step over the raised root. Her pointed toe gets caught, pulling her forward. Her arms fling outward as gravity takes her down. She sucks in a breath so hard that she can't scream, or even try. Like a flash, Devin grabs her arm, his other hand latching onto her side. He catches her before she hits the ground. Her hand rests on his broad shoulder, firm and with such power that she feels light on her feet.

He holds her there and finds her eyes. “Are you okay?”

She can't say anything. Her throat is dry. Being in Devin's arms has made her insides all mushy, and she doesn't pull away from him holding her.

“I'm okay,” she says, breathless, feeling his body separate from hers and wishing he would hold her for a minute longer. He smells so good and his hand is strong enough to keep her standing. Surprisingly, he takes her hand. “Walk with me. Hold on to me if you need to.” He tightens his grip.

Carla's other hand is on his back; in case she falls forward, she has him to stop her. Her hand feels like it's on a hard mattress, with little cushion. Even his back muscles are impressive.

They get to the base of the path.

“I guess we'll find another way back to the car,” he says, releasing her hand. “Are we walking the whole park?”

She snickers as she realizes he's serious. “No. Not today. It's over eight kilometers long. I'd need my running shoes.”

“I'd like to do that one day. It looks like a nice walk or run, depending . . .” He looks at her with wonder.

“What?” she asks with a smile.

He smiles back.

Why do her insides feel like they're being charged up every time he looks at her and makes eye contact?

“Nothing.” He turns away.

She decides not to press him.

Bicycles speed past them and people running try to go around without bumping into them. It's a steady flow of people for an afternoon in March.

“I can't remember the last time I walked the seawall. It's been a long time,” she says.

“I'll have to remember to come here. I like it.”

“As long as you don't get recognized, you'll be fine.”

“I'll wear a hat and sunglasses.”

She laughs. “That'll work.”

“You were saying about my points earlier. I haven't reached my personal best?”

“I don't know. I'm just saying I've seen you do better.”

He smirks. “There you go again. Being critical.”

“Opinionated,” she snaps, raising an eyebrow.

“Bossy?”

“No!” she says playfully. Her lips pull at the sides of her mouth into a grin. “Absolutely not.”

“Just with me?”

She breathes in the saltwater mist from the waves crashing against the stone wall. Her stomach is unsettled; it feels like the crashing waves. Uncontrollable.

“Not just you,” she manages to say.

“Who else is on your list of players to critique?”

“There is no list. I pay attention to the newbies.” Carla shrugs. “I have to. It helps to know. I also have a memory for numbers.”