Cold as Ice (24 page)

Carla takes a breath. “Good.” She's going to regret asking but wonders about Pamela. “Can I ask you something? Does Pamela,” she says, lowering her voice so that people can't hear their conversation, “does she listen to you? I mean listen to your dreams and what really matters to you? I don't think I did that enough and I'm sorry.”

“It's not your fault. Honestly, Carla, there were other issues. We married at the wrong time. We both had some growing up to do and we rushed into things because our families pushed us.”

“My mom,” she says and smiles. “Sorry, she's a little bossy.”

“Don't let her push you around. Do what's right for you.”

“Thanks. That means a lot.”

“So, are you going to tell me his name or keep me wondering?”

“I don't want to say.”

“It's Devin Miller, isn't it?”

She bites her bottom lip.

“You have a soft spot for the guy who ruffles your feathers. Well, isn't that a surprise.”

Her cheeks heat. “It's nothing.” She shakes her head. “We're just getting to know each other. Actually, he probably doesn't ever want to talk to me again.”

“What happened?”

“His dad contacted me to get in touch with Devin, whom he hadn't spoken to in something like twenty-four years.”

Timothy whistles.

“And I didn't tell Devin I was speaking with his dad. I was waiting for the right moment, but every time I tried, I worried he was going to be mad I was going behind his back.”

“You were.”

“I know.” She fidgets with her fingers. “I didn't know what to do. His dad approached me and I thought I could help, but really, I wasn't helping at all. I should have told Devin right away and been done with it. I knew Devin's past and how he felt about his dad. . . . I was scared for him and how he might react.”

“You can't control people's feelings,” Timothy says. “What you can do is tell him the truth. Tell him what's in your heart. You can't hide from him. He obviously means more to you than you think.”

“He doesn't want to talk to me.”

“Sure he does. He probably doesn't know why he's mad. Give him time. He'll figure it out.”

“Thanks. I've tried calling him, but he's not answering.”

Timothy zeroes in on her eyes. “He needs time.”

“Russ wants me to interview him for an exclusive for tomorrow's broadcast.” She sucks in her lips, blinks her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I can't do it,” she whispers. “I don't want to expose him to something he's not willing to do. Where do I draw the line between work and my personal life?”

“You have to make that choice and stick to it. You have to do what you feel right about.”

“He said he'd get Ryan to do it if I don't, and it sounded like my job is on the line.”

Timothy waves his hand. “If you're not comfortable with it, he can't make you. Are you more upset that he wants Ryan to do it because he doesn't think you will?”

“I don't know why this is so important to Russ. Why does he care?”

“I think he cares because you care about Devin. There's a news story when it matters to someone.”

She ponders the thought. “I guess so.”

“Well? Russ only wants the story as bad as you want to keep peace with Devin.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Talk to Devin. Ask him if he wants to do the story, and if not, blow it off like it's not a big deal. Warn Devin you're not the only one asking.”

“I don't want to guilt him into it.”

“Trust me: Devin's not going to be guilted in. He'll do what he wants. He's a celebrity in Vancouver now. What he wants people to know about him is up to him. Call him again. Get your answers and then tell Russ what he's waiting to hear, whether it's good or bad news for him. Devin will back you up if he cares.”

Carla smiles. The thought of Devin excites her. Her cheeks heat up and must be glowing.

“It's a start.”

“I'll see you later,” he says, tapping her desk with his hand as he walks past.

Carla picks up the phone and redials Devin's number. No answer. She listens to his voice again and decides to hang up. She gets back to work and is writing a story when she hears her name being called.

“Carla?” Ryan stomps toward her desk. “Russ wants me to talk to Devin. Do you have his number?”

Carla stops typing and looks at him. “I don't have a number for you. You'll have to go through PR.” She looks at her screen and begins to type, although she can't concentrate. She types a few words, preparing to delete them later.

He places a hand on her desk. “Russ said you had a number to give me.”

“I don't!” she snaps. “I told Russ, Devin doesn't want to talk. I've tried. It's personal, and I don't want to get involved.”

“Are you seeing him?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well? Why else wouldn't you interview him? It's a great story for our sports department.”

“Yes, it is, if the person wants to talk.” Her lips are butted together, holding back words she will regret later.

“I'm going to ask him.”

“By all means.”

“You still don't want to give me his number?”

“What makes you think I have it?”

“I know you do.”

She places her hands in her lap and turns her body to face him. “Did you tell Russ I was trying to get Keith into the basement to meet Devin?”

Ryan shuffles his feet. “No. I . . .”

“Who else was there who knew who Keith was?”

“I didn't know who he was.”

“You were there, Ryan. You knew about the situation.”

“I don't know what you're talking about.”

“You could have figured it out.” Her chest tightens. “You saw me there.”

“I didn't know what you were up to.”

“I'm sure you had an idea.”

“I swear!” Ryan says. “I was there to work, not pay attention to what you were doing.”

Carla stands so she's at eye level with him.

“You don't like that I have more seniority than you,” she says. “Didn't you get the job in Toronto?”

Ryan tightens his lips and shakes his head.

“No? You didn't? But I gave you a good reference.”

He nods again.

“So, you're upset you're stuck working with me.”

“I'm not stuck. I could have had that job.... I turned it down,” he says with a flinch of his shoulder.

“Why would you do that? You wanted that job. Your family is there.”

“I like it here.”

“And not be with your family?”

“I can visit them.” Ryan crosses his arms at his chest. “I like it here.”

She's not sure if she should believe him. Was Ryan the one who told Russ to get her into trouble? Why didn't he talk to her at the game?

“I gotta get going. I've got to talk to Devin. Russ wants the story. Are you sure you don't have his number?”

Carla purses her lips. Devin already doesn't want to speak with her, and if she gives Ryan his number, that might make him more angry at her. “No, sorry. I can't.”

“You don't want me talking to Devin,” he says.

“That's not it at all.” She shakes her head. “I don't want us hounding him.”

Ryan touches his chin as though he's thinking of a plan of attack. Why is he so against her?

“I don't know why you're protecting him.”

“I'm not!” she says, keeping her voice firm. Is she protecting him from the media? Why does it matter? It's not like they're friends anymore. Does she care too much about Devin to see him angry? He must be livid at her to not want to speak to her again. The pit of her stomach is tightening. How can she prove to Devin she wasn't planning on hurting him? How can she make him see what she did was because she cares?

“Then what is it?” Ryan asks. “Don't act like you don't care about Devin, 'cause obviously it's come to that.”

What can she say?

“I'll talk to Devin and ask him,” she says, nervous all over again. He won't be happy to hear from her, so she'll have to be all businesslike and ask him straight-out questions and hopefully get the answers she needs.

“What? You're going to do the interview?”

She nods. “I'll do it.”

“Figures.”

“You really want to interview him? Why?”

“I just do,” he snaps. “Russ asked me.”

“Fine. Call media relations and see if he'll talk to you. Hopefully they'll give you a quick turnaround.”

“That's easy. They will,” he says with a sideways grin. “It's go time!” He whistles and hustles past her.

Carla plunks herself in her chair with her head in her hands. What has she done? As much as she doesn't want to admit it, there's a competition and it's a race to see who can get Devin's attention first, granting the interview. How will she talk to him if he's ignoring her calls?

C
arla dials Devin's number again and waits impatiently for him to answer. She clicks her red nails on her desk as though punching numbers on a calculator. “Come on, Devin,” she says through gritted teeth. “Answer.”

She lets it ring until she hears his voice mail.

“I know you're ignoring me, Devin, but I need to speak with you. Please. Just hear me out and then we can go our separate ways.” She pauses. Her eyes water as she hears herself. Can she let Devin walk away? Forget about what they had and shared? Carla breathes deep and finishes her message. “I need you to call me back as soon as you get this, please. I really need to speak to you. I'll try calling again in half an hour.” She hangs up unsatisfied and empty that she hasn't reached a conclusion about the interview she's supposed to be doing with Devin. What happens if Ryan has already reached him and he's told him about their race to talk to him? Will Devin want to talk to her when he finds out?

She busies herself with other assignments and catches herself thinking about Devin for the umpteenth time. She's flipping pages.

“Carla!” Russ yells, marching toward her. “There's a Warriors conference call at the Dome. Jared Landry fractured his wrist this morning in practice.”

“Why didn't I get the call?”

“I don't know. Can you be there?”

“Yes. I'm on my way,” Carla says, gathering her notebook and throwing it into her purse. She logs off her computer, pushes in her chair and sets out to find a cameraman to bring with her.

He sits in the driver's seat and checks his phone, remembering he has the ringer turned off. There are two messages and a missed call, all from Carla. He didn't want to talk to her up until now. He needed enough time alone to figure things out after what happened. His dad, for whatever reason, knew he could trust Carla and had had a good feeling about her. How did he know to trust her from the beginning? When was she planning on giving him the letter? The letter. He sighs. There was so much written about his life that he had to reread the handwritten pages three times to understand that Keith was just a guy who loved his family but didn't have the resources to help himself through. If there was something Devin could do for people like his dad, he would. How many families could he save?

Devin drove the two and a half hours to Seattle to be with his dad, every bit of him eager to see him, wanting to be at his bedside. Never in Devin's life had he wanted to show that he was there for Keith, until now. Has he finally let go of the past?

Devin cruises down the I-5, listening to the radio. He's home again, yet for different reasons. It feels a little distant, but perhaps it's because his mom doesn't know he's here and he's visiting a man he doesn't really know. He can't live in the past anymore. It's cost him short-lived relationships and a hardened heart.

He wonders who will be there. He hasn't seen his family in years. He'll meet Tracy, his dad's common-law wife. Thoughts come to mind. Thoughts he hasn't let himself have the pleasure of thinking because it would transpire into lost time with his dad. A surge of adrenaline shoots through his body. Anger. He's still unnerved about his dad's choices made all those years ago. Whenever he felt this way, he released the emotion by running or skating, and that would suffice until the next time he was overcome with questions he didn't have the answers to.

Devin turns off at an exit, reads the scrap of paper with his dad's address on it. He knows this street. He drives farther, and flashbacks of his childhood come to mind: riding his bike down these streets and buying Slurpees at the 7-Eleven.

He turns down the next street. Why is this so familiar? He knows the area. He's lived here. Is it possible Tracy and his dad live in the same neighborhood he grew up in?

Devin moves his hands up and down his steering wheel, taking deep breaths as he makes a right turn. He eases his foot off the gas, approaching the house with the same address he had as a child.

Devin pulls up to the house and stops on the street as he takes a moment to look at the house. The three-bedroom bungalow with a front lawn and gravel driveway brings back childhood memories. The white paint is peeling, and there are blinds in the windows instead of long, swaying curtains. There is a rosebush at the corner of the house, underneath the living-room window. Did his mom plant that? He can't remember.

His bedroom was at the back, facing an unruly garden. His mom never had the time to grow the vegetable garden she wanted, or add the stepping stone path leading to the gazebo she talked about one day of having. Devin was ecstatic the day he bought his mom the house she had dreamed of and never thought she would own. The best feeling he ever had, giving his mom what she wanted and deserved.

A woman with long, dark, tight curly hair opens the front door. She leaves the door half open and skips down the two steps, running across the lawn in jeans. Devin gets out of his truck and saunters toward her. He stops when they meet face-to-face.

“You must be Devin,” the woman says, extending her hand.

He nods, grins and shakes her hand.

“I'm Tracy. Thanks for coming. I didn't tell your dad because I wasn't sure if you'd come.”

Devin walks up the driveway, kicking rocks and remembering the gravel getting stuck in his bike wheels. “How long have you lived here?”

“As long as your dad and I have been together.” She slows down her pace. “Must be strange for you to come back here.”

“A little, yes.”

“Your dad told me the story of the two of you. I want you to know there are no secrets.” She pushes the front door open and kicks off her shoes.

Devin stays at the front door. “Where is he?”

“Lying down on the couch. Come in.”

Devin drops his shoulders and hangs his head slightly as he walks inside. From there, he can see his dad on the blue cushioned couch with a pillow behind his head and a quilt laying on top of him. Slowly, Devin makes his way over as Tracy whispers Keith's name.

Keith opens his eyes and stares. “Hi, Devin,” he says in a husky voice, as though it takes great effort to draw each breath. “You came to see me?”

“Tracy invited me. How are you feeling?”

“Have a seat,” Keith says, raising his hand toward the chair across from him.

Devin sits, leaning forward, his arms on his thighs.

“I'm okay,” Keith says. “Sore, to say the least.”

“Why did you get the biopsy?”

“To see how bad my liver is. I have some cloudy spots. . . .”

“Cancer?”

“Doesn't look like it. The doctor says I have liver disease. The biopsy will tell us what exactly.”

“Will you need a transplant?”

“I don't know.”

“You'll tell me?” Devin asks, staring into his dad's dark eyes.

Keith grins. “Yes.”

“What kind of liver disease? Did they tell you what it could be?”

“Could be fatty liver disease or—” He pauses.

“Cirrhosis,” Tracy says, walking into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies. She sets them down on the coffee table that has been pushed within arm's reach of Keith.

Devin watches her sit on a chair and pour a cup.

“Would you like some?”

“No, thank you,” Devin answers, folding his hands together.

“Can I get you something else to drink? Juice? Water?”

“I'm okay, thanks.”

Tracy sets the cup down and stands to adjust Keith's pillow as he tries to sit up. Devin jumps up, willing to help.

“I'm fine,” Keith says, slowly sitting up, and Devin sits back down.

Tracy hands Keith a cookie.

“Cirrhosis of the liver?” Devin asks, wanting an explanation.

“He could have it. We're hopeful that whatever he has will be reversed, and we're told it can. He could have a mild disease.” She brings her cup to her mouth. “We're not thinking about it.”

“I'm in good hands,” Keith says, looking at Tracy. “She takes good care of me.”

“That's good,” Devin says, meaning it. He sees the love between them. Carla comes to mind and then is forgotten when his dad asks a question.

“Is it strange for you to come back here? To this house?”

“Yeah. You didn't tell me you lived here.”

“Your mom put it up for sale and I bought it.”

“But wasn't it half yours anyway?” Devin asks, knowing that when a married couple split up, so were their belongings.

“Your mom and I made a deal.” He takes a breath. “I always loved this house. I remodeled the kitchen and knocked out a wall to make our bedroom bigger. It's the right size for Tracy and me.”

The house still looked the same, only modernized.

“You have a game this week,” Keith says.

“Yes.”

“How long are you staying?”

“I dunno.”

“You can stay here. The second bedroom is our guest room.”

“I might go home tonight.”

“Is Carla expecting you?”

“Actually, no.”

“Are you two together?”

“Apart.” Devin takes a breath and exhales as he speaks. “I'm not talking to her.”

“Because of me?” Keith's eyes open wide, his forehead wrinkles.

“She kept a secret from me. She doesn't care about me. She wanted a story.”

“I'm to blame. I put pressure on her to interview you. I wanted to see you and wasn't sure how I could get you to meet with me.”

“She carried your letter around in her purse and didn't tell me she was talking to you. All this time she had that letter but didn't give it to me.”

“She wanted to make sure the time was right. There probably wasn't a good time. You hated me.”

“I don't hate you.”

“You did.”

How can Devin deny that? He'd despised the man. Now he's sitting in the very living room he did as a child, looking at the man he'd wondered if he'd ever see again.

“And that's okay. I knew you hated me. That was the hardest part for me about making contact with you. I had to let you see that I made some bad choices, but I'm okay, and thanks to Tracy—” He looks at her and smiles. She smiles back with a twinkle in her eye. “I turned my life around and I can say I'm sorry. If I could turn back time, I would.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “I'm happy to see you. Thank you for driving all this way to see me. Are you visiting your mom while you're here?”

Devin shakes his head. “Probably not. I have to get back for the game.”

“What are you going to do about Carla?”

“What do you mean?”

“You need to see her and tell her you're sorry—”

“
I'm
sorry?” Devin laughs. “I'm not sorry!”

“You should be. You don't want to lose her, do you? She means something to you. I know she likes you. Don't turn your back on her. I made that mistake and look how many years it took for me to accept my responsibilities and face the fact that I lost what was most important to me?”

“What am I sorry for? I'm not the one who kept a secret.”

“She cares about you. She didn't want to hurt you. Why else wouldn't she have given you the letter right away, as soon as she got it?”

Devin looks down at the beige carpet. He misses Carla. Misses her peach lips on his and the smell of her body lotion. Would she care enough about him to have a serious relationship with him?

“What about the story? She wants to publicize me for a story, and I don't want that.”

“That you'll have to ask her about. What I do know is, work aside, she cares about you, and I think that's all that matters. Don't you?”

Devin thinks about what his dad is saying.

“Do whatever it takes to get her back. Even if you have to apologize. You can't let her go.”

Devin takes in the only advice he remembers getting from his dad.

“Now I know why Tracy is making a roast beef dinner. She knew you were coming.”

“We'd like you to stay,” she says.

Devin agrees, deciding to spend the night. He wants to know what it will feel like to stay in the house he has so many memories of.