Cold as Ice (22 page)

“I bet. You played a game. They weren't even going to call you up, but a player was hurt. That night you got into a fight and scored a goal; after that they kept you on.”

Devin watches his dad. “You saw all that?”

Keith grins. “Of course! I've watched you play junior, even came to the rink when you played in Seattle. I was there in the stands.”

Devin bobs his head. All this time, his dad was sitting in the stands, where he always wished he was.

“Where are you staying?” Devin asks.

“Sandman Hotel.”

“You can stay with me for the night if you want. I don't have a spare bed, but I have a couch.”

Keith relaxes back into his seat. “Thanks, but I have my things at the hotel. If you don't mind dropping me off at the Dome, I'll pick up my car.”

Devin starts up his truck. “How long are you here for?”

“I go home tomorrow. Back to work.”

Devin drives out of the parking lot. “Where do you work?”

“I've been working for the same company for the past twelve years, welding fences, gates. . . .”

Devin concentrates on driving. “Did you ever remarry?”

“No. I've been with Tracy for the past eight years. She's wonderful.”

“You guys never married? Being with each other that long?”

“She doesn't want to.”

“But you do?”

Keith nods. “Tracy has a daughter from her marriage. We've talked about it. She has her reasons.

“I hope you settle down,” Keith tells Devin. “It makes your life complete. Marriage. Kids.”

“One day, hopefully.”

“Did you get the letter?”

Devin's eyes narrow. “The letter? Yeah, when I moved here; Mom forwarded it to me.”

“No, no, not that one. The one from Carla Sinclair?”

Devin's eyebrows furrow. “I didn't get a letter.”

“I gave her a letter to give to you.”

“Wait a minute!” Devin says, raising a hand to stop his dad from talking further. “How do you know Carla? Why would she give me a letter? What letter?”

“I gave her a letter to give to you. Did you get it?”

“No. What letter? I don't know what you're talking about.”

“I wrote a letter to you. I tried getting her to talk to you—”

“About me?”

“I asked her because I knew you would talk to her before you'd talk to me.”

Devin stares out the window, whispering, “Why didn't she tell me?”

“I don't know. She was scared.”

“You've been communicating with her? For how long?” Devin asks, his mind trying to build a timeline.

“Oh, I don't know. Three weeks. Something like that.”

“You and she have been talking behind my back?”

“She was helping me.”

“I didn't know she could keep secrets.”

“She did it for me.”

“I didn't think the person you care about would keep secrets. She didn't tell me you were talking to her.”

“I guess there wasn't a good time. I don't know. She didn't want to at first, but after I told her our story—”

“She knows about you and me?” Devin sucks in a breath. His face is warm. He's concentrating on the road. Carla's known about his background all this time and she hasn't even hinted that she knows? He doesn't like that she can keep secrets, especially this. He's tried so hard to keep his private life private, and yet Carla, the best-known sports journalist in the city, knows about his past.

“She had to know. It was the only way I could get her to help me.”

“You didn't need her help.”

“I guess not.”

“Why didn't you just get Uncle Stan to reach me? Why Carla?”

“You wouldn't have taken Stan seriously or wouldn't have reacted to him as quickly as a woman like Carla. She's in the perfect position to get your attention. Come on, a woman like Carla can't be ignored. She's in the public eye too. What more do you want from a woman who understands your lifestyle? You need her. She's good for you.”

“Why Carla? Do you know her?” Devin's blood is boiling, thinking about the two knowing each other and Devin left in the dark.

“No. I happened to flip channels and came across her. Happened to tune in one day, and she was talking hockey. It's always a big deal here in Vancouver. I remembered who she was, and when you got traded here, I thought it would be perfect if you knew each other. I called her up and chatted with her. If this wasn't going to work out, then I'd say she wasn't for you, but she was willing to help.”

“Yeah, to get a story.” He rolls his eyes.

“She didn't, though.”

“She tried.”

“There's nothing to be ashamed about, Devin. No one's life is perfect and for those who think theirs is, they're bullshitting. Life isn't perfect. It's full of mistakes.” Keith talks with his hands. “I wish somebody had told me that when I was married to your mom. It might've saved our marriage.”

“You have Tracy now.”

“I'm thankful for her.”

“It was meant to be.” Devin shrugs. “You and Mom might have divorced down the road anyway.”

“All I'm saying is, I learned the hard way. It wasn't easy, but the more you fight for what you want, the more you accomplish.” Keith shakes his head. “You gotta want it bad, though. Like making the NHL. You're good, no doubt about that, but you didn't give up when you were told there might not be a spot for you on the roster.”

Devin takes a deep breath as he turns the corner and heads down the street toward the arena. It's in the middle of the city. There are colorful lights reflecting off the Dome's white cover. Devin stares ahead. His arms are jellylike, his stomach tight. Why didn't he contact his dad years ago? Why didn't he open the damn letters? He can't blame his mom. She's been telling him to open the letters for years, but Devin couldn't bring himself to do it. He was afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid he'd forgive his dad when in his heart he was still angry for his leaving?

“Look, Devin, I want you to know that just because we didn't speak and don't know each other, that doesn't mean I don't love you.” Keith swallows and brings his fist to his mouth and clears his throat. “There hasn't been a day that I haven't thought of you. You'll always be my son.”

Devin pulls into the parking lot, thankful he can stop his truck before getting all teary-eyed. He can't bear to look at his dad. He holds his forehead, rubs it and releases his hand to the steering wheel, staring out into the open lot, wondering which vehicle is his dad's.

“If you read the letters, you might understand a bit more,” Keith says.

“Sorry,” Devin says, the last thing he expected to tell his dad. “I should have read the letters.”

“It wasn't the right time for you.”

Devin shakes his head slightly, looking at the dashboard. “I should have,” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowed. “We didn't have to wait this long.” Devin looks at his dad, wearing baggy jeans and a loose T-shirt. Was he always a scrawny man? He sure didn't get his build from his dad's side.

“I didn't know what to expect. Thought you only cared about me because of what I do now.”

Keith laughs. “No. You're my son. Doesn't matter what you do. It was me who had the problem. If I'd gotten help earlier . . . we would have known each other.”

“I'm glad you came. You have my number?” Devin asks.

“No. Your Mom wouldn't give it to me.”

“She's protective.” He writes down his number and gives it to his dad.

“You have a good mom,” Keith says. “I talked to her many times about you. She wouldn't give me your address. Instead I sent the letters to her and she forwarded them to you. I don't know what she thought I'd do with your address,” he says with a sideways grin. “Probably thought I'd show up at your door and not want to leave.”

“Does Mom know you're clean?”

“Yes. It took her years to believe me. I don't know why.” He shrugs. “I guess she didn't trust me.”

“Does she know you're here?”

Keith shakes his head.

“She'll be surprised,” Devin says.

“Maybe not. She knows I've wanted to see you. The letters weren't getting anywhere, but I couldn't stop writing them. It kept me connected with you and gave me a way to talk to you. Sounds crazy, I know, but at least writing gave me a way to tell you about me and to show you I'm not a bad person, I just made a mistake.”

Devin inhales through his nose. It takes a few minutes to get his head wrapped around the conversation.

“I've never left you,” Keith says. “I wasn't there for you to see, but I was there. I knew where you were and the highlights of your life.”

“You mean every game?”

“No. Christmas concerts . . . graduation. I was there in the crowd.”

“You were?”

“I know it's hard to believe, but any chance I got to see your face, I made the effort. I wasn't your father, I know, but I wanted to be a part of your life.”

“I'm sorry you weren't.”

“So am I. I hope you'll forgive me and we can start again.”

Devin tries to smile. So many years have gone by. Where does one start? All he can do is nod his head.

“Thanks for talking to me. I wasn't sure if you were going to ignore me.” There is a brief silence. “I'd like to keep in touch with you.”

“We can do that.”

“Maybe grab dinner or something.”

Devin keeps nodding. “Yeah. You've got my number now.” There's a pause. “Where's your car?”

Keith points in front of them. “Right there. There's one more thing I need to tell you. I want you to know in case anything happens from now until then.” Keith closes his eyes for a second. “My health isn't very good. My doctor tells me I may need a new liver. My odds are slim, but I keep hoping.”

Devin's stomach sinks. “Do you need money?”

“No, no; maybe a liver,” Keith says with a little chuckle. “Know anybody? Just kidding. My only wish before I died was to see you again. That's all I wanted. I knew you were doing well for yourself. I just needed to see you, and I have. Thank you for not turning your back on me.”

“I wouldn't.”

“We'll be in touch?”

“Yes. I'll be in San Jose. First round of the play-offs.”

“You'll do great,” Keith says with a smile. “You'll do well.”

There is a pause before he opens his door and gets out. Devin watches his dad walk over to a compact car. The idea of his dad walking away makes him hurt more, and to know he's ill and they may only have a short time together crushes him even more.

Devin jumps out of his truck. “Dad! Wait!” He's not sure what he wants. A hug? One last look? Devin stands in front of Keith and holds out his hand. “Good to see you.”

Keith takes his hand and pulls him into a friendly hug that is quick, with a couple of pats on the shoulder. A sign that everything between them is all right.

C
arla is sitting at her desk, typing up a news story, when Pamela wanders in wearing her hair down and a skirt that's cut above the knee. Pamela's on a mission. She sees Timothy at his desk and walks toward him with a bounce in her step.

Carla watches the pair interact. Timothy smiles, showing off his crooked left tooth, a feature she liked about him because when his mouth parted and he was pleased, it showed a genuine smile. She knows he's happy.

“Hi, Carla,” Pamela says as she passes.

“Hi, Pamela. You look good today.”

Pamela stops. “Thank you. I'm trying a new look,” she says, touching her long hair behind her back.

“I like it. Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Pamela steps closer. “Sure. What is it?”

“You seem to be hanging around the newsroom a lot more.”

Pamela's eyes wander. “I, uh . . .” She pauses, fiddling with her hands.

“I think there's going to be an opening for a junior reporter, and I'm wondering if you're interested.”

Pamela brings her hand to her chest. “Me, report?” She laughs. “No. That's not it at all.”

“You should try for it, if you're interested in what goes on in the newsroom. I mean, you're always here; you'd probably do okay. You know what goes on—”

“Carla? I'm seeing Timothy.”

“Oh.” Carla's face falls.

“We've been seeing each other for a while now. I didn't know if I should tell you, how you would react.”

“I'm okay,” Carla says, trying to picture the two of them together.

“You are? I didn't want you to hate me—”

“Why would I? Timothy and I are divorced.”

Pamela blows out a breath. “I was afraid of what you would think of me.”

“I . . . I'm happy for you and Timothy.” Carla folds her hands together. “I'm okay with you and Timothy . . . uh, together. . . .” Carla swallows and straightens herself. Pamela's wearing red lipstick for a change, and a fitted, light-knit dress. She is showing off a figure Carla never knew she had.

“You don't have feelings still for Timothy, do you?”

“No. No! Not at all. We're divorced for a reason.”

“Yeah, but it doesn't mean you're okay with it.”

“I am. Yes! It's been three years now . . . I'm okay.”

“Good. Phew. I thought for a minute there you were going to tell me you still loved him and wanted him back.”

Carla gushes, “Timothy means a lot to me. I'll always care for him,” she says, closing her eyes for a second or two, and then looks at Pamela. “I'm glad he's happy. And you make a good couple.”

Pamela smiles. “Thanks. Can we still be friends?”

“Of course!”

Pamela relaxes her shoulders. “Great. Do you have any idea what I can get him for his birthday?”

“Tell him to keep Freddie.”

She tilts her head. “Why?”

“Why wouldn't he keep his cat? He loves Freddie.”

“It's going to be a full house with my two cats.”

“You can't ask him to get rid of Freddie.”

“I didn't.”

“Then why did Timothy ask me to take him?”

“Oh, I . . . I don't know. . . .”

“Is it because I bought Freddie for him for his birthday one year?”

“Timothy did mention it. . . .”

Carla glares. “He needs to keep his cat.”

Pamela sighs.

“Get him a fish bowl for his desk for his birthday. It will give him something to look at when he's stressed.”

“That's a good idea!”

“Sure.” Carla's cell phone rings. She watches Pamela walk away and grabs for her phone, which is tucked into a pocket of her purse. Her fingers fold over the information from her doctor on in vitro fertilization and adoption. She hasn't given them much thought lately. Her tummy tightens as she thinks of the possibilities. She could be a mom if she wants. Does she still want to? With or without a man? Could she do it on her own? A glimmer of hope rests with her as she says hello.

“Carla.” The voice is gruff, and at first she doesn't recognize it. “Can we meet? I need to speak to you.”

“I'm at work,” she says, fishing for the name of the caller.

“Do you have some time this afternoon?”

“No.”

“Not for twenty minutes? I have to see you.”

It's Devin, she thinks. Why does he sound upset? Did Keith find him?

“I'm actually finishing up a story, and then I'm heading out to do an interview.”

“Then I'll tell you now.” He takes in a breath. “My dad came to see me after the game last night.” He pauses. “You know Keith?”

“Yes.”

“You kept a huge secret from me,” he says, his voice escalating. “Why? Why?” he shouts. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“I didn't want to hurt you. Besides, I didn't know how to tell you.” She closes her eyes, her fingers pushing on her forehead as she rests her elbow on her desk.

“You couldn't have said, ‘Hey, your dad contacted me and wants to speak to you? Here's his number.' It doesn't seem that hard,” he mocks.

“Well, it was. I know how you feel about your dad. I didn't want to come between the two of you.”

“Not saying anything was better than telling me the truth?”

She falls silent, trying to collect her thoughts.

“The whole time we were together you knew about my dad and you didn't say anything. How could you?”

“I didn't want to come between you and Keith.”

“You have.”

“I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“You wanted to know about my personal life, wanted to know about my dad, my family—” He stops himself and laughs. “But you know what gets me? You knew all along. You wanted me to look like an ass. Well, thank you, Carla. Thanks for making me look like an idiot.”

“Never! No. I don't think that at all.” Her eyes tear up.

“If you wanted to know about my dad, why didn't you just ask him yourself?”

Carla presses her lips together.

“Or did you? Ha! So you and my dad had a secret of your own. I see.”

“It wasn't like that,” Carla says, scanning around the newsroom to see if anyone is around listening. She hushes her voice. “It really wasn't like that. I swear!”

“Then tell me, how was it?”

“Did you speak to your dad about what I know?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you know I didn't want anything to do with your dad or the situation. At first I didn't know if Keith really was your dad. I didn't believe him, but he persisted and wanted to speak to you. He loves you and wants to see you. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I was waiting for a good time.”

“Anytime would have been a good time.”

“No, it wouldn't. That's not true. Had I told you, you probably wouldn't have believed me.”

“That was up to me to decide. I don't need you deciding who I speak with.”

Carla shakes her head. “That wasn't my intention.”

“You wanted to know about my family, my background, but you knew all along. You couldn't keep your nose out of my business, had to get involved. I'm done. I don't want to speak to you again.” Devin hangs up.

Carla holds her phone in her hand, dumbfounded. She exhales and rests her head on her hand. She saw this coming, yet she couldn't stop herself. Why didn't she tell Devin from the start that Keith was trying to contact him?

“Carla!” Russ calls out from across the newsroom.

She pops her head up, watching him march toward her.

“Can I see you in my office?”

She stares at him blankly.

“Right now.”

Carla follows him out of the newsroom and down a hallway. Russ swings open the door and heads straight to his desk, taking a seat on his swivel chair. He makes an adjustment and leans back, as though testing for comfort.

Carla folds her hands in her lap, straight-faced, waiting for bad news. It has to be, considering she's in the station manager's office with nothing to say and no meeting scheduled between the two of them. She squeezes her fingers together. This is it; her job is over. “I often wonder if you like your job,” he begins with squinted eyes. “There are other jobs available at the station that you might be interested in.”

“Oh?”

He clicks the end of his pen and taps it on his notepad three times before making eye contact again. “Are you enjoying your position?”

“Yes!”

“I'm going to hire a news reporter. Are you interested in switching titles?”

“I'm a sports reporter.” Carla's body twitches. “It's what I do.”

“So there's no interest in news?” he asks, hunching over his desk. “I've got a position I need to cover.”

“That would confuse our audience. I'm known for sports.”

He nods and puts his hand under his chin. “We're restructuring our sports department.”

“I'd like Ryan to be front and center in sports. He's a young guy with many connections.”

“You mean take over my job?”

“Not entirely.”

“Then what?”

“I want Ryan to be on location, be at the games and take care of anything extra that needs doing.”

Carla sucks in her lips. “You don't want me at the games?”

“I want Ryan to do all the on-location interviews.”

Carla exhales. “Ryan might be leaving.” She clams up. Maybe she shouldn't have said it, but it's a war now. She wants to keep her job, even if she has to lie a little.

“Leaving for where?”

“I don't know. It's something I heard,” Carla says, shrugging it off. “Why don't you like me at events?”

“It's not that I don't like you there.”

“I'm a woman in a man's world? Is that it?”

Russ wipes the smirk off his face with a hand. “I'm not the type to believe rumors. I like to get the facts before I know it's a true story, so I'm going to ask you this: Are you in a relationship with Devin Miller?”

Carla's eyebrows furrow. “No.”

He clicks his pen, staring her down like he's waiting to hear the opposite. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I'm sure.” She lets out a huff, as though she's going to laugh. “I know him, and that's as far as it goes. Is this what this is all about? You think because I'm interviewing guys there's a potential for me to be more than friends with them?”

“I'm just saying . . .”

“I'm not. You know my status.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” he says.

“Since when is my personal life a concern for others?”

“It is when you're doing favors for his family.”

“What are you talking about?” she asks, fiddling with her fingers.

“You're not to abuse your position.”

“I know that!”

“Didn't you try to get Devin's father downstairs to see him?” His eyebrows furrow.

“I . . . I . . .”

“You used company recognition for your personal use. Now, I don't know what your relationship to Devin is, but I will tell you, what you did is not acceptable, Carla.” He frowns. “It weakens our credentials and takes away the trust we've built.” Russ flattens his hands on his desk. “I didn't like what I heard, and if one person saw, others saw you too.”

She squeezes her hands together. “Who told you?”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It had to be someone from here, someone you talk to.”

Who would snitch on her?

Russ shakes his head. “What matters is that if you get away with it once, there will be another time.”

“You make it sound like I did something horrible, Russ. I was helping Keith see his son. I didn't hurt our reputation.”

“I don't care if the mayor wants to go downstairs. You're not allowed to bring anyone down there. That badge”—he points at her—“is for you only. You don't have a right to escort people out of the goodness of your heart. Got it?”

She nods.

“For the next week, I want Ryan doing the after-hours interviews.”

“Wait! That's not—”

“Next time,” Russ says, slapping his hand down, “you bring a cameraman with you. Understood? A story like this shouldn't be swept under the rug. It's news! You're a reporter.”

Carla purses her lips. “It wasn't supposed to be publicized,” she says, hoping for one last chance to justify the situation. “I was only helping.”

“It's news! What's the story?”

“Keith hadn't seen Devin in twenty-four years.” She looks at her folded hands in her lap. “Keith needed help to get Devin's attention. I wanted to give them a chance to see each other.”

“You should have been a news reporter.”

“I didn't find the story.”

“It would make a great feature for sports, though. Why aren't you following it up? It's your job. Now, think about putting the story together, or are you already doing that?”

She shakes her head. “It's none of my business.”

“You're a reporter. Make it your business. It's a story our audience would want to hear.”

“You're not suggesting—”