True Love and Other Disasters

Chapter 14

Giant billboards of a towering Faith and Ty hung about the city of Seattle and dominated the front of the Key Arena. Beneath the shot of the owner standing in front of the team captain, the words simply said, CHINOOKS HOCKEY. GET HOOKED. To Bo’s utter disappointment and Jules’s unabashed pleasure, there was no mention of beauty and savages and no appearance of nuts-stomping at all.

In the days leading up to the game, excitement buzzed the city, and that Thursday evening the Key was packed for Game One in the semifinal against the Detroit Red Wings. From the drop of the first puck, everything went Seattle’s way. The team scored two goals in the first frame. In the second period, the Detroit offense rallied with one goal and held the Chinooks at 2-1 going into the third set. For fifteen minutes each team defended their goals, passing the puck from coast to coast without a clear shot at the crease. With five minutes left, Ty passed the puck across ice to the Sniper, Frankie Kawczynski, who made a shot through traffic. Goalie Chris Osgood got a tip of his glove on it as it sailed behind him into the net, and the Chinooks sewed up the first game 3-1.

Faith walked into the players’ lounge fifteen minutes after the game ended with Jules by her side. He wore a Chinooks T-shirt beneath a dark-blue suit jacket and a pair of jeans. He would have looked unusually subtle if the T-shirt hadn’t been two sizes too small.

“What did you think of the game?” a reporter asked as Faith walked into the room.

“I’m pleased, of course. But I’m not surprised.” She wore her new red leather jacket over her blue-and-red Chinooks T-shirt. “The team worked really hard to get here.”

“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”

She opened her mouth to answer and got out, “I don’t th-” when Ty walked out of the dressing room. Her brain froze and she lost track of all thought. He wore a pair of loose shorts around his hips and that was it. A few hours ago he’d worn even less. A few hours ago she’d touched all that smooth skin and hard muscles. A few hours ago his pants had been around his ankles and she’d had him in her mouth. She raised her gaze from the defined muscles and of his hairy chest to his face. His blue eyes stared into hers and he raised one brow.

“Will you be traveling with the team to Detroit?”

Heat crept up her chest and she tore her gaze from Ty. “No.”

He’d made her feel so good that she fought the urge to sprint across the room and attach herself to him. She thought she’d feel regret for sleeping with the captain of her team. It was unacceptable and unprofessional, and she should feel regret. But she didn’t. At least not for the reasons she thought she should. What she felt mostly was a big lump of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Her husband had been dead for a month and a half, and last night she’d had wild, amazing sex with a man who’d made her feel things she’d never felt before. She’d been a stripper, a Playmate, and a rich man’s wife, but she’d never craved a man’s touch like she did Ty’s. Or had craved, rather. It was over, but for those few short hours while she’d been with Ty, she hadn’t thought of her dead husband. Not really, and not at all while he’d kissed and touched her. The man who’d given her a great life and provided for her in death had been the furthest thing from her mind.

The reporters asked her more questions about the game and the future of the team. More players poured out of the locker room. The excitement in the room was electric; it buzzed the air and elevated voices. Faith answered questions or gave ambiguous responses or deferred to Jules, who knew specifics, and through it all, she was completely aware of Ty.

The sound of his voice cut through the noise and a warm, tingling awareness brushed across her skin and tickled her stomach. Ty had given her that one thing Virgil had always wished he could give but hadn’t been able to. A connection that could only happen through physical intimacy. The passion her mother was always talking about. The one thing she hadn’t had with her husband. Something so much bigger than her ability to stop it. Something so all consuming it had swept her up and knocked her flat like a hot, black hurricane.

Her gaze moved across the room to Ty and the knot of reporters around him. Through the other voices in the room, she heard him say, “My quick transition from Vancouver has been very easy. Coach Nystrom knows how to inspire great hockey and the players all bring their best to every game.”

“Are you getting along better with the owner of the team?”

He lifted his gaze to Faith’s and one corner of his mouth lifted in an honest-to-God smile. “She’s okay.”

Faith’s heart felt like it lifted a little too. Right in her chest. Right there in the locker room in front of players and coaches and journalists.

“Although,” he added as he continued to look across at her, “I read in the paper this morning that she thinks I’m a control nut, and if I let go, I might not be so rude and surly all the time.”

“I didn’t say all the time,” she muttered.

“What?” Jim from the Seattle Times asked her. “What did you say, Mrs. Duffy?”

“That I didn’t say he was rude and surly all the time.”

One of the journalists laughed. “Savage is notoriously cranky. I’d like to know when he isn’t scowling.”

He watched her, still smiling like he was amused, waiting for her answer. When he’s having sex, she thought to herself. He hadn’t been cranky or rude last night. He’d been wonderful and charming. He’d made her laugh and, incredible as it seemed, relax with him. Something she hadn’t done in a while with anyone, and he certainly wasn’t being surly tonight. “When he wins important games,” she answered.

“What is your strategy for Saturday night’s game in Detroit?” someone asked Ty.

He gave Faith one last look before he turned his attention to the man in front of him. “Hockey is a game of one-on-one battles. We just need to keep that in mind and win every battle.”

Faith turned to Jules. “Are you still going to be able to make the Chinooks Foundation meeting tomorrow?” she asked.

He gazed at her, then looked across the room at Ty. He opened his mouth, then closed it. A wrinkle appeared between his dark brows. “I hadn’t planned on it, but I can if you want me to,” he answered, but she had a feeling something was bothering him.

She shook her head and moved toward the door. “No. I can take my own notes.” As she stepped out into the hall, she couldn’t resist one last look at Ty, standing a head taller than the other men. She remembered every detail of the night before. His face in the dark solarium and the touch of his hands and mouth. She’d like to blame last night on Layla, but she couldn’t. Not if she was honest with herself. Last night had been all her. There’d been no teasing. No ulterior motive. No making a man want her when she just wanted his money. She couldn’t blame Layla for last night’s behavior. Not when Faith had been in complete control.

She turned away and headed toward the elevators. Last night had been all about giving in to what she wanted. About sitting in the Brooklyn Seafood Steak and Oyster House and letting Ty touch her under the table. Of putting her hand over his and taking it a step further. She’d done that. Not Layla. Not the wild, shameless person she’d created to hide behind. Last night had been about Faith letting go and being shameless all on her own.

On the drive home, she thought about her life since Virgil’s death. One moment she’d been living a nice, comfortable life. A life where her biggest decision on most days was what she was going to wear. That person, that Faith, would not have let go and moved a man’s big, warm hand to her crotch.

She pulled her Bentley into the parking garage and rode the elevator to the top floor. Her life had changed so much in such a short period of time. It had gone from a slow, easy pace to a whirlwind of meetings and activity. Her decisions had gone from what to wear to how much to pay a first-round draft pick for the next season. And while she had a lot of help with the latter decision, it was such a huge responsibility that she probably would have buckled under the pressure if she were ever allowed to stop and rest long enough to think about it.

She opened the door to the penthouse, and nothing but Pebbles’s yipping and the light in the kitchen greeted her. No “Sexual Healing” on the stereo or giggling from her mother’s room.

Faith moved through the kitchen and down the hall to her own bedroom. She took off her jacket and tossed it on a chair. She couldn’t recall the last time Virgil had stayed in the penthouse, but it had been so long ago that there was no trace of him anywhere. No clothes or ties. No shoes or combs. His toothbrush wasn’t in the marble tile bathroom.

The only thing that belonged to him was his copy of David Copperfield, which Faith had taken from the big house the day she’d left. She sat on the bed and turned on a lamp. Pebbles jumped up beside her as she took the book from the nightstand and ran her hand over the dark brown cover. She lifted it to her nose and smelled the old paper and worn leather. Virgil had always smelled like expensive cologne, but the book held no lingering trace of him.

Pebbles walked in three tight circles next to Faith’s hip, then stretched out alongside her thigh. Faith dug her fingers into the dog’s thick fur as tears filled her eyes. She missed Virgil. She missed his friendship and his wisdom, but it wasn’t her deceased husband she saw when she closed her eyes. It was another man. A man who didn’t smile easily, but who did other, wonderful things with his mouth. A beautiful, strong man who had made her feel safe within his arms as he’d held her against the solarium glass and made love to her. A man who looked at her from across the room and made her stomach go light and heavy and tingly all at the same time. A man who made her want to walk over to him and lay her head on his bare chest.

Faith opened her eyes and brushed a tear from her cheek. She’d just buried her husband and she couldn’t stop thinking about another man. What did that say about her? That she was a horrible person? As horrible and without morals as Landon had always accused her of being?

A book she’d read about grieving said that a person should wait a full year before dating or getting involved. Although could she really call what had happened with Ty the other night “dating or getting involved”? No. Not really. It had been about having sex. About scratching an itch. About letting go and finding release.

But if that’s all it was about, why the warm little tingles tonight? Why the urge to walk across the room and lay her head on his bare chest? After scratching that particular itch four times in one night, shouldn’t she be all scratched out? Shouldn’t she be over letting go? If it had been just about sex, shouldn’t she be good for a while? Especially considering how long she’d gone without?

She ran her hand down Pebbles’s fur and the dog turned over and exposed her belly. There was something deeper than the sex. Something else going on that scared her. It wasn’t love. She did not love Ty Savage. She’d been in love a few times and knew what it felt like. Love felt nice and warm and comfortable-like the love she’d had with Virgil. Or it was hot and consuming-like the love she’d felt for previous boyfriends. It didn’t feel wrong. As if one false move and the bottom might fall out of your life.

That wasn’t love. That was a disaster waiting to happen.

The next morning, Faith met with the director of the Chinooks Foundation. Her name was Miranda Snow, and she seemed genuinely happy to be meeting with Faith. “My assistant is out of the office today,” she said as she handed Faith several brochures. “These are the Chinooks Foundation’s different charities.”

Faith looked them over and was impressed. Every year, the Chinooks held a celebrity golf tournament to raise money for players and former players who’d suffered injury and needed extensive rehabilitation beyond their personal medical coverage.

“We’re currently paying Mark Bressler’s hospital bills that aren’t covered by Blue Cross,” she explained. “And for any additional rehabilitation he might need.”

“How’s he doing?” Faith asked about the former captain, whom she’d met a few times at the Chinooks Christmas parties.

“Well, he broke half the bones in his body and he’s lucky he isn’t paralyzed.” Miranda tossed a pen on her desk. “His caregivers say he’s being a real pain.”

The second charity Miranda told her about was a scholarship program to send eligible children to ice hockey camps. It was based on three criteria. Eligible children had to maintain a 3.0 grade average in school, play above-average hockey, and be of a lower income.

The third charity, the Hope and Wishes Foundation, raised money to aid children’s hospitals throughout the state of Washington with a three-pronged approach: research, financial aid, and community awareness of childhood diseases. Faith read the assembled press clippings and promotional notes about each charity event and had several questions and a comment. She wanted to know how much money each charity raised. She wanted to know how much money was spent on overhead and administrative costs, and what the foundation had planned for the near future.

“I think the PR on this is overboard,” she commented as she read some of the clippings. “We should give back to the community because they support us. Not because we get good PR out of it and might sell more hockey tickets.” It was something she’d learned from the Gloria Thornwell Society and something she just happened to agree with. A person or charity should give for the right reasons and not for the glory. There were those who would argue that it didn’t matter as long as the result was the same. Faith could understand that argument, but she’d known too many socialites who chaired events or donated money to get their photos on the society pages.

Miranda looked shocked. “I agree, but I’ve been the lone voice around here. There’s a little girl in that department who is very aggressive about promotion.”

Bo. Faith smiled. “I’ll take care of it.”

The following night, she met Bo and Jules at a sports pub to watch the Chinooks play in Detroit. The first period started off fairly even, with ten shots on goal for the Chinooks, twelve for the Red Wings. With two minutes left on the clock, the Red Wings scored on a 5-on-4 goal.

During the first intermission, Faith told Bo and Jules about her meeting with Miranda and her intention to become more involved with the organization charities.

“You getting more involved will be good PR,” Bo said as she raised a bottle of Beck’s to her lips. “I’ll get on it.”

“I don’t want to be part of the PR for the charities.” Faith smiled. “I’m sure we’ll need some promotion and advertising for each event, but I think we want really targeted campaigns. I’ll get together with you and Jim when we’ve got something more tangible.”

Bo shrugged. “The celebrity golf tournament is in July, so let me know how much you’re going to be involved in that.”

Jules tore his gaze from the big screen above the bar as the second period began. “Do you play golf?”

She thought of the putting green in Ty’s house. Of the night she’d worn his shirt. The cotton against her bare skin and scent of his cologne on the collar beneath her chin. Of him standing behind her while she’d swung at the ball. “No, but I can drive one of those golf cars,” she answered and took a drink of her merlot. On the screen above the bar, she watched Ty skate across ice with the puck in the curve of his stick. He passed off to Sam, then he skated behind the net to the other side and Sam passed the puck back to him as a Detroit defenseman collided with him just inside the blue line. The two fought for possession, shoving and throwing elbows. Ty’s head snapped back and the whistle blew. The ref pointed at the defenseman as Ty raised one gloved hand and covered his face.

“He was hit with the butt end of a stick,” Jules said, leaning across the table toward the bar.

Ty lowered his glove and blood ran down his cheek from the outside corner of his left brow.

“Not his face!” Faith yelled before she even realized she’d spoken out loud. “Don’t hurt his face.” She felt as if someone had hit her in the stomach. The Red Wing fans simultaneously cheered and booed as Ty skated from the ice and the Detroit defender skated to the penalty box. One of the Chinooks trainers handed Ty a white towel and he held it to his eye as he turned and watched the replay on the big screens suspended high above mid-ice.

“Shouldn’t he go to the hospital?” Faith asked.

Bo and Jules both looked at her like she was nuts. “It’s just a cut,” Jules pointed out.

Ty pulled the bloody towel away as the trainer looked at the corner of his eye and Faith’s stomach tilted a little more.

“Gee.” Bo shook her head and took a drink of beer. “It’s bleeding like he hit an aorta.”

“Your aorta is in your heart. Not your head,” Jules pointed out.

“Yeah. I know that, numb nuts.” Bo set her beer back on the table. “It’s called overstating something to make a point.”

“It’s called stupid.”

“Stop it! How old are you two, for God’s sake?” Faith put her hands flat on the table. “Ty has just sustained a gash to his head. This could be serious.”

Bo shook her head again. “It’s not that bad.”

“They’ll have him fixed up and on the ice by the third frame,” Jules added as Ty and the trainer stepped from the ice and headed into the tunnel.

“I don’t think so.” If she’d been hit like that, she’d need a full night’s stay in a hospital and lots of painkillers. Ty wasn’t as big a baby as she was, but there was no way he could come back after receiving such a gash.

But Jules was right. When the front-line offense took the ice in the third period, Ty was with them. The corner of his eye was only slightly swollen and was taped with white strips. Blood stained the front of his white jersey, but he skated his shifts.

In the closing minutes of the game, the score was 4-3 in favor of Detroit. Coach Nystrom pulled the goalie and loaded the ice with his first-line players, but despite a hard effort, it was Detroit’s night, and they won 5-3, scoring on an empty net in the last ten seconds of the game.

“We’ll beat ’em in our building Monday night,” Jules predicted as they all three left the bar.

The drive from the bar to the penthouse took about fifteen minutes. Pebbles wasn’t around, which meant her mother was already in bed. Faith brushed her teeth, washed her face, threw on a Looney Tunes T-shirt, and went to bed herself. The wine and excitement of the game had taken its toll and she went out minutes after her head hit the pillow. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been asleep when the telephone beside her bed rang and woke her up. She reached for the receiver in the dark and hit herself in the forehead. “Ouch. Crap. Hello?”

“Did I wake you?”

She blinked. “Ty?”

“Yeah. Are you alone or is that dog in your bed?”

“What?” She felt around and her fingers touched fur. “Pebbles is here.”

His soft laughter filled her ear. So rare it poured through her and woke her up inside. “That must mean my dad’s there.”

“He must have snuck in after I went to sleep. Did you want to talk to Pavel?”

“God no.”

She licked her lips. “Then why are you calling?”

“I’m not quite sure.”

She turned her head and looked at the glowing numbers on her bedside clock. “Do you know what time it is?”

There was a pause and then, “Three fifteen.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m in my car. Sitting in front of your building.”

She sat up and pushed the cover aside. “You’re kidding.”

“No. We just landed a half hour ago. Did you watch the game?”

“Yeah.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed. “How’s your eyebrow?”

“I got five stitches.”

“It looked like it hurt.”

“Like a son of a bitch. You should come down and kiss it better.”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m not dressed.”

“At all?”

Through the darkness, she glanced down at her Looney Tunes T-shirt. “Completely naked.”

He cleared his throat. “Throw on a coat. I promise I won’t look.”

She smiled and shook her head. “Looking isn’t what gets us into trouble.”

His voice lowered and he said, “You like trouble. Apparently, so do I.”

She did. She liked it a lot. “What kind of trouble were you thinking we should get into?”

“The kind that has you naked and in my bed. Since you’re already naked, maybe you should just come on down and go the rest of the way.”

She shouldn’t. Really shouldn’t. “That would be inappropriate.”

“Very.”

“And you don’t regret what happened the other night?”

“Not yet, but I’ve got a few twisted positions with your name on ’em. I figure that after tonight, we’ll be filled with enough shame and regret to last a while.”

“It sounds like you’ve been thinking about me.”

“A lot.”

She’d thought about him, too. She shouldn’t have, but she couldn’t help herself. And while he might not regret what had happened, she should. But at that moment, listening to his voice and knowing he was parked outside wanting her, she didn’t feel anything but a hot curl of lust tugging at the pit of her stomach. “Me too,” she answered just above a whisper. “There’s a golf tournament this summer. I think I need to practice.”

“Honey, you can practice with my nine iron all you want.”

“I’ll grab my coat.” She hung up the phone, then stepped out of her panties and pulled her T-shirt over her head. Right now, wanting to get into trouble with Ty won out over the guilt she would feel in a few hours.

She hurriedly brushed her teeth and hair and grabbed her slick black raincoat from her closet. She shoved her feet into a pair of red pumps and dropped her keys into her coat pocket on the way out the door.

Ty stood next to his black BMW parked heading the wrong way next to the curb. Darkness surrounded him, and a cool breeze blew off Elliott Bay, tossing several strands of Faith’s hair in front of her face.

“Mrs. Duffy.”

“Mr. Savage.”

He opened the passenger door. “Nice coat.”

She stepped in front of him and looked through the darkness into his face. Stark white bandage strips were taped at the corner of his left eye. The same breeze that tossed her hair about her head brought the scent of his skin to her nose and she breathed him in. She placed her hands on his chest and raised her face to his. Beneath the cotton of his dress shirt, his muscles bunched and turned hard.

Ty lowered his mouth and kissed her. His lips pressed into hers and something hot and intense flooded her senses and her fingers curled into the fabric warmed by his flesh. His tongue touched hers as his hand slid between the lapels of her raincoat. His warm hand cupped her breast and he fanned his thumb over her nipple.

Just when she gave serious thought to grabbing his wrist and leading him upstairs, he lifted his head and pulled his hand from her coat. “Get in,” he ordered, his voice a bit gravelly from exhaustion or lust or both.

He opened the door and she sat in the passenger seat and looked up at him. “What sort of twisted positions do you have planned for me?” she asked.

“Working our way from one end of my mattress to the other.”

She pulled her feet inside and remembered his king-size bed. “That could take a while.”

“Exactly.”