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That’s when the tears started, her mother’s usual ploy for getting her own way.
Tracy held firm, even when Doris Hayden hit all the guilt-trip hot buttons. Tracy was emotionally wrung out by the time her mother gave up and hung up on her.
Unfortunately, she was also too wired to sleep. Tracy had a glass of wine, hoping that would help her relax, then went to bed. She tossed and turned for several hours. Finally, she admitted defeat and rose. After making a large cup of tea, she went back to her office and focused on the one thing she knew would settle her mind—work.
* * *
IKE WASN’T AS superstitious as most goaltenders, but he knew it was a bad sign to fall flat on his ass in the pre-game warm-up before he’d even made it to his crease.
He jumped up and made a show of poking at a nick in the ice, then called for a water bottle from the bench.
Kenny brought one for him, laughing. “I was expecting a freaking crater the way you wiped out, bro.”
Ike let his brother’s comment slide. He knew Kenny was excited to be back in the lineup after having been a healthy scratch again for the past week’s games. Kenny had only played once—the night after baby Joe’s birth—before Coach had benched him again. The rationale had been that they’d needed one of the tougher fourth-line guys in Kenny’s place for the harder, more physical games, against those opponents. Facing a younger, faster team tonight, Kenny had earned his place back.
“Do you need salt to throw over your shoulder?” Jean-Baptiste Larocque added as he joined them. “We don’t want to start the game with bad mojo.”
Ike flicked the bird at the star forward, then poured water into the divot. “Nah. No bad luck involved. I must have caught it funny.”
Jake skated over and tossed Ike a puck to smooth off the newly frozen patch of ice. His blue eyes were rimmed with red and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week.
“Has your son been keeping you from your beauty sleep again, Bad Boy?” he said, to deflect the attention from himself.
Jake’s glare didn’t have its normal cutting edge. “Yeah. I’m thinking of getting a hotel room so I can get my pre-game nap in peace.”
“You can always crash at my place, bro.”
“Thanks.” Jake leaned on his stick. “I may take you up on that. Especially when we play Detroit and Toronto.”
Both teams were riding winning streaks and had strong road records. The way the Cats had been playing lately, they’d need to bring their A-game to have a chance of getting any points off either team.
“Anytime. There’s a bed with your name on it.”
“As long as you don’t take a nap while you’re on the ice, Bad Boy.” JB punched Jake in the arm and skated off.
The captain, Scotty Matthews, frowned at them as he glided past. “Stop flapping your gums and get some action going. The Oilers are going to come out hard tonight.”
The Islanders had handed Edmonton their butts last night in a game the Oilers should have won. Edmonton’s players would be looking to redeem themselves, which wasn’t good news for the Cats, who desperately needed the win.
Ike tossed Kenny the water bottle, then kicked the puck at his net. “Just fixing the ice to make sure no one else falls on their ass.”
“Aye aye, captain.” Kenny saluted Matthews, before dumping the bottle at the bench and joining the rest of the guys skating drills.
Scotty skated back around, then stopped. “So, do you need to sacrifice a chicken or something to ward off the bad luck after your tumble?”
Ike rolled his eyes. “Not this time.”
Scotty slapped him on the back. “You sure? We could razz that new kid on the equipment team.”
They both laughed. For a moment, Scotty looked like the young rookie he’d once been, rather than the grizzled veteran he was now. As Scotty skated off, Ike knew he’d miss him when the captain retired at the end of the season.
Retirement. Even though it loomed on the horizon at some point for Ike—sooner rather than later—it wasn’t something he looked forward to.
Pushing that thought from his mind, Ike warmed up, easing the stiffness from his muscles as he prepared to face shots. He practiced sliding between the pipes, right side, then left side, then right again. He’d need to be on his guard for fast break-outs tonight, especially with the speedy Oilers’ wingers.
He put his fall out of his mind and focused on seeing the puck as it began to fly at him from all angles, courtesy of his teammates. Strangely, after a dozen shots, he still didn’t feel on his game. Biscuits sailed past him when he should have stopped them.
He frowned, holding up his glove to stop the drill, and took a long drink from his water bottle. After squirting water over his face, he got back into position and nodded to start the routine again.
After another round of shots, he adjusted his stance and his grip. But things still didn’t feel right. He forced himself to focus harder, to visualize success. Gradually, he dragged himself into the right mental zone and settled into a comfortable rhythm. He was satisfied he’d be ready for the game, but something still felt off.
Ike left the ice early and headed back to the locker room. Maybe he needed to start over. He stripped down to bare skin and started to dress again, from the jock up. Right sock, then left. Right pads, then left. Pants. Skates. His trusty old chest-and-arm protector, the one he’d worn ever since he’d come up from the minors. He probably should replace it next season—it had been patched so many times—but he hated breaking in new gear.
Finally, he slipped on a clean jersey and got his mask and gloves ready. He downed his pre-game Sprite as he listened to last-minute instructions from Coach Macarty.
Confident he’d done everything so he could go back out onto the ice with a clear head, Ike began to slip into game mode. As the locker-room clock counted down, his mind became sharper, more focused.
At the three-minute mark, Scotty rose and headed to the front of the locker room. As he had every game since becoming captain, he said, “Let’s go out there and show them the Ice Cats play the best damn hockey in the world.”
Ike joined him, ready to lead the team out. When the doors swung open, he tapped the doorframe for luck and strode forward. The roar of the crowd, along with the announcer’s introduction, welcomed him to the ice. This time, he made it to his crease without mishap. Satisfied, he roughed up the blue paint and repeated his post-to-post sliding ritual.
“Good game, bro.” Bad Boy tapped his stick against Ike’s pads.
He nodded. “You, too.”
The horn sounded and Ike removed his mask for the national anthems.
As the singer began “O Canada,” Ike’s gaze slid over to the family seats. His heart warmed to see his mom and Rory, her husband, and Jake’s parents, with Emily between them. It felt weird to see the gaps for the women who weren’t there. Maggie, who couldn’t leave Joe yet, and Tracy, who always joined her sister and was a staunch Cats’ fan. It was unusual for Tracy to miss a game, even for work. Was she okay?
Not your business.
The singer switched to “The Star-Spangled Banner” and Ike forced all thoughts other than those of the players he was about to face from his head.
The first period started quickly, with Ike facing a shot within seconds of the puck dropping. He snatched the biscuit out of the air, stealing a scoring opportunity from the Oilers’ rookie wonder kid. Throwing it back out to the corner, he allowed himself a satisfied grin. Whatever had been bothering him earlier was out of his mind now.
All around him, his d-men and the Edmonton top line chirped at each other as they fought for the puck. The air was filled with grunts as bodies thudded into each other. Ike poke-checked and blocked, shoved and kicked—anything to keep that hunk of rubber out of his net.
Finally, Jake broke free and hit Kenny with an outlet pass, clearing the zone and starting a rush to the other end.
Ike kept his eye on the action while steadying his breathing and rolling his tight shoulders. A whistle stopped play. He grabbed a drink from his bottle and skated around his crease before resetting his position.
The Cats lost the face-off, but regained the puck. The battle at the other end of the ice was fierce. A linesman’s arm shot up, alerting Ike to a delayed penalty against the Oilers. Ike started to head to the bench for an extra attacker, but they touched up almost immediately and play was blown dead.
The Cats’ power-play unit cycled the puck well, but didn’t get any clear-cut chances.
“Get shots on net,” Ike muttered. “Their guy has a rebound problem.”
In the blink of eye, everything changed. One of the Oilers intercepted a sloppy pass and a breakaway was on. Two on one. Kenny and JB raced back to provide cover.
Ike watched the rush unfold, making sure he kept the puck in sight.
The shot stung as it bounced off his chest. He corralled the puck and sent it out to Kenny, but once again it was intercepted by the opposition.
There was a wild goal-mouth scramble.
Bodies went flying. Sticks clashed.
The Oilers’ agitator, “Steeler,” planted himself on the edge of the crease, his huge body screening Ike’s view.
“Get your ass out of my face,” Ike growled.
The crude reply involved an anatomically impossible suggestion, followed by a creative one involving a sheep. Ike jabbed the guy with his stick and tried to find the puck.
All of a sudden, play seemed to unfold in slow motion.
A Cats’ player was tripped and fell into one of the Oilers. They both caromed toward Steeler, who got hit from the other side by Kenny.
Ike, his gaze glued to the puck on the wonder kid’s stick, got sandwiched between the tumbling players. He saw the shot and stretched out with his catching glove to snag the biscuit as the mass of bodies hit the ice in a pile.
The whistle blew.
Steeler fell on top of Ike.
A skate blade flashed.
A sharp pain shot through Ike’s arm.
Shocked, he stared at the cut that had gone through both his jersey and his protector. A thin red line marred the skin beneath.
Around him, players peeled off and got to their feet.
“Crap, man. I’m sorry,” Steeler said as he helped Ike up.
“Are you okay?” a linesman asked.
Ike nodded, but the pain in his arm worsened. “I think I’d better get this looked at.”
He’d barely finished speaking when the cut suddenly widened and blood spurted out.
Ike clamped his other hand on his arm and started to skate to the bench.
He was almost there when his legs went weak. His vision blurred. His legs crumpled.
The arena went silent. Then, there was a collective gasp.
Someone in an Oilers jersey wrapped an arm around his waist. An Ice Cat grabbed him from the other side. Between them, they pulled him to the bench and shoved him through the gate into the care of the trainers.
Stars danced in front of Ike’s eyes as the trainers helped him stumble toward the locker room. Fire burned in his arm. He was vaguely aware of blood, wet and warm, pulsing though his fingers. Bile rose up his throat.
Once in the locker room, he gave up his loose grip on consciousness. As everything faded to black, he wondered just how much bad luck that damn fall had brought him.
CHAPTER THREE
“I REALLY APPRECIATE you staying late to get those invoices finished, Carla.” Tracy smiled wearily at her intern, then pushed her chair back from her desk and stretched. “You’re a star.”
Carla snapped a rubber band around the stack of envelopes and tossed it into the box, ready for posting the next morning. “No problem. Happy to do it. Now that I know what I’m doing, it’ll be a lot easier next month. I’ll be able to take that job off your hands completely.”
“You’re already proving yourself to be indispensable. I can’t believe you’ve only been here a week.” Tracy turned off her computer and took a sip of her long-cold coffee.
“Is it too early to ask for a permanent job?” Carla asked teasingly.
Tracy laughed. “We’ll see how you do for the rest of the month. There might be room in the budget, if those two new pitches for Helping Hands come off.”
Impressed with the younger woman’s skills and initiative, Tracy was already looking into ways for Carla to stay on once her internship was over. If she continued to be as good as she seemed, she’d be a great addition to the company.
In return, Carla would get invaluable experience at a time when other college graduates were struggling to find even part-time jobs. There were also ways in which Making Your Move could support her if she wanted further education and training. Tracy liked the idea of helping someone else achieve their dream.
“Cool.” Carla pulled on her coat and slung her purse over her shoulder. “Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you before I go?”
“Thanks, but no. I’ve kept you late enough as it is.”
“In that case, I’ll head off. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch the third period of the Cats’ game on TV when I get home.”
“I’m sorry we both had to miss the game. I promise we’ll make the next one.”
Tracy had offered to take Carla, an avid Cats’ fan, to the arena using Maggie’s ticket. Unfortunately, an issue with the Chabals’ air shipment from Paris had meant a frustrating day with long conversations with Tracy’s French counterpart and a lot of chasing around. Although the problem had finally been resolved, it had been midafternoon before she and Carla had been able to tackle the invoices.
“Can’t wait.” The younger woman grinned. “See you tomorrow.”
Carla was barely out the door when Tracy’s phone rang. Her stomach dropped when she heard Maggie’s voice; it sounded like her sister was crying. “What’s wrong, Maggie?”
“You haven’t been watching the game?”
“No. Carla and I have only just finished. Why?”
“There’s been an accident. On the ice. It’s bad.”
“Was it Jake? What happened?” Tracy leaped up and rushed out of her office.
“It wasn’t Jake, sis. It was Ike.”
Tracy’s throat seized. Her knees went weak. She gripped the banister at the top of the stairs.
“Tracy?” Her sister’s voice sounded far away.
“Ike?” she managed to force out. “What? Who?”
“There was a goal-mouth pile-up. He was cut by a skate.”
Tracy clapped a hand to her mouth, feeling slightly nauseous. “Where?”
“His left arm.”
Tracy released a breath. Ike wore special gear that covered his chest and arms. “How’s he doing?”
“They don’t know. He’s in surgery. The team doctor managed to stop the bleeding, so the paramedics could get him to the hospital.”
Tracy frowned. “He was cut that badly, even through his protector?”
“The blade sliced through a weak part in the padding—where it had been patched before—cutting Ike’s forearm almost to the bone.”
“What?” The word came out as a squeak.
“Apparently, his protector was over ten years old. You know how athletes get about their lucky equipment.”
“How can someone so obsessive about everything else be so blasé about his protective gear?” Fear sharpened her tone.
“They all think they’re invincible.”
“Until something happens to them.” Tracy’s mind raced. Ike injured... Cut... Surgery.
Anyone who followed hockey knew that skate injuries to players’ arms and legs—even on one horrific occasion, a player’s neck—were not unusual. There would be stitches by the dozen, months-long recovery periods and scars that would make Frankenstein’s monster look like a wimp.
Her stomach rolled at the thought of Ike suffering. His arm. Probably season-ending. Could even be career-threatening.
She didn’t question the urgency that finally drove her to move. She had to know. To see for herself that he was all right.
“I’m heading to the hospital now.” Tracy ran down the stairs, grabbed her purse and keys and hurried toward her car. “Is anyone with him?”
“Yes. Karina and Rory followed the ambulance, along with Jake’s parents. They should be in the waiting room. The guys will be along when the game is over.”
“They’re still playing?” Tracy shouldn’t be shocked. She knew that’s what generally happened. Still, it didn’t seem right. “How can either team be in any state to think about the game when a player is so seriously injured?”
“I don’t know, but they’ll tough it out. The Cats will try to get a win for Ike.” Maggie sniffed. “Will you call me when you know what’s happening? I can’t be there myself because of Joe.”
“Of course.”
Tracy made it to the hospital in record time, thanks to lights in her favor, little traffic on the roads and breaking the speed limit at every possible opportunity. Luck was even on her side with a parking space right near the entrance.
Members of the hockey media were milling about the reception area when she pushed through the doors. From their concerned expressions, she got a sense of just how bad Ike’s accident must have been. These guys had seen it all and they looked shaken.
Even though no one but family or team personnel were allowed in the surgical waiting room, Tracy persuaded the receptionist to call through and get permission for her to go back there.
Ike’s mother wrapped her in a hug as soon as Tracy walked into the large gray room. The tiny older woman looked as if she’d aged overnight. Her body felt frail, yet her hug was tight. Tracy had always admired her strength, knowing what Karina had been through in her life, but never more so than now.
“I’m glad you’re here.” Karina’s voice wobbled. “Ike will be, too.”
Tracy sent Rory a worried look over his wife’s head. “Has there been news?”
Rory’s weathered face looked ashen as he gently turned Karina into his arms. She laid her head against his barrel chest with a hiccupping sigh.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Ike’s still in surgery. The nurse said it would be another couple of hours.”
“He’s in good hands,” Jake’s dad, Gio, added. “Dr. Gibson is one of the best.”
Tina Badoletti nodded. “The Ice Cats made sure Ike got the top guy.”
They all stood silently for several moments, lost in their own thoughts.
Desperate not to dwell on what was happening to Ike and knowing they were all in for a long wait, Tracy ushered the two couples over to the dark gray couches and encouraged them to sit. “Can I get anyone a coffee or tea or anything?”
She took their orders and went in search of vending machines. As she waited for the drinks to dispense, Tracy sent a silent prayer heavenward that Ike would be all right.
* * *
“IT’S BEEN TWO HOURS.”
Karina’s quavering words broke the tense silence of the waiting room and jolted Tracy out of her mental debate.
Should she stay or go? She felt out of place sitting here. Technically, she wasn’t family and she was hardly Ike’s friend. Not that anyone had made her feel unwelcome. Still, the longer they waited, the more awkward she felt.
Tracy wanted to know for sure that Ike had got through the surgery and his arm was fixed. That he’d be all right. She didn’t want to wait to hear about it on the news or through social media. Plus, she’d promised Maggie. It wouldn’t do any harm to wait a bit longer.
The room was more crowded now. They’d been joined by a couple of trainers from the Ice Cats. Callum Hardshaw was there, too, though just outside the room where they allowed cell phones, getting updates from the team. The game had ended with a 2–1 win for the Ice Cats and Tracy expected Jake, Kenny and the rest of the team to join them shortly. They’d be pleased to have won for Ike, but she doubted anyone was celebrating. Ike’s youngest brother, Linc, was on his way from college. Tracy had arranged his transport.
“It’ll take as long as it takes, love,” Rory reassured his wife. His calm conviction seemed to bring the level of anxiety in the room down a notch.
“The nurse said they were almost done.” Jake’s mum patted her friend’s arm.
“But it can’t be good that it’s taking this long,” Karina fretted.
“Better the surgeon takes his time and does a fine job,” Gio Badoletti said.
Rory squeezed his wife’s hand. “He’s probably making sure his stitches are extraneat.”
Karina managed a watery smile.
Gio added, “Ike needs his catching arm fixed right the first time. We all know he’ll want to be back between the pipes as quickly as possible.”
Tracy could see from Karina’s expression that the last thing she wanted was for her son to strap on his skates again. But Karina was a hockey mum; she knew it was futile to expect anything else.
A commotion from outside the room had everyone starting nervously. Kenny pushed through the door, followed by JB Larocque, Scotty Matthews and several other Ice Cats players. A larger group of players hung back, waiting in the hall. Coach Macarty stood in the doorway talking in a low voice with Callum Hardshaw.
“Any news?” Kenny wrapped his mother in a big hug.
“Not yet,” Rory replied as Karina shook her head. “But we should hear soon.”
Jake brought a burly guy into the waiting room. From his damp hair and the scar next to his mouth, Tracy assumed the man was a player, but she didn’t recognize him. The guy hung back, watching anxiously, as Jake went across to the family group.
“I hope it’s okay, Aunt Karina, but I brought Darren Steele with me. He and Ike played together in juniors. Steeler feels terrible about what happened and asked if he could come with us.”
“Of course it’s okay. I remember Darren.” Karina waved the man over, hugging him when he joined them. “It’s not your fault. Accidents happen. On another day, it could have been you injured. Though I pray that never happens.” She crossed herself, then kissed her fingers and sent the kiss heavenward.
Steeler shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his feet. “I appreciate that, ma’am. I’d never hurt Ike intentionally. We always grab a beer whenever we play each other. In fact, we’d planned to go out tonight.”
“You can have that drink if...” Karina caught herself. “No, when he goes to Edmonton in the new year.”
“For sure.”
A tall gray-haired man in surgical scrubs came into the waiting room and captured everyone’s attention.
Tracy’s chest tightened as she scanned the man’s face. He looked tired, but she couldn’t tell whether his news would be good or bad.
Dr. Gibson cleared his throat. “I’m sure you all have a load of questions for me, but let me give you the good news first. Ike came through surgery well. Although there was extensive damage to his forearm, we were able to repair it all.”
Relief flooded through Tracy.
Even so, she felt ill as the surgeon went on to describe the injury—three severed tendons, one partially severed tendon, a sliced artery and some nerve damage. “Thankfully, the prompt attention of the Ice Cats medical staff meant that Ike’s arm was in the best condition it could have been for us to work on. That made my job a lot easier.”
“Will he make a full recovery?” Rory’s quiet question reverberated round the room.
The surgeon gave a weary smile. “It’s too early to tell, but the signs are good and there’s no reason he shouldn’t eventually be as good as new. I’ll know more in a couple of days, once the swelling has gone down and his arm has begun to heal.”
“What kind of recovery time are we looking at, doc?” Kenny asked.
“Hard to say for sure. Everyone’s different. I’d expect Ike to be back on the ice in three to four months.”
The room took in a collective breath. Months. That meant Ike would be out pretty much for the rest of the season. A huge blow for the Ice Cats.
On the bright side, at least he would be back.
“When can I see my boy?” Karina asked.
“He’s in recovery right now. Once he’s back in his room, he’ll be allowed visitors. But only family tonight. The rest of you can see him tomorrow when he’s had a chance to rest.”