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In the weeks leading up to Sylvester Armstrong’s appearance, Lynn tried to forget about the frisson of worry that had tickled her spine at Benjamin’s reaction. The bleakness she thought she’d seen flash across his face never returned, even when the other man’s name was mentioned. As far as she could tell, his attention was fixed on the team and little else.
Yet something didn’t feel right. He did nothing she could point to and say there, that’s what I mean. His nervous excitement when White Spruce agreed to postpone his presentation until the season was over was genuine, and he continued to treat her and Oscar with his usual warmth and kindness. But when he held her in his arms and made love to her, there was a distance between them, a loss of connection and intimacy. No matter how many times she told herself she was imagining things, she couldn’t shake it.
Her misgivings returned in full force the evening before Armstrong was due to arrive. As had become habit on non-game nights, she and Benjamin were curled up on her couch watching reruns of a Nineties sitcom while Oscar slept down the hall.
Dozing in the cradle of his arm, she said, “Will you come with me to the airport tomorrow, for moral support? I’m feeling a little overawed at finally meeting Armstrong. I’ve only talked to his manager, never to him. I get the impression he’s a bit...difficult.”
“No.” Under her head, Benjamin’s shoulder stiffened. “I don’t have time.”
“He arrives at eight in the morning. We’ll drop him off at the hotel and be at the rink by nine, easy.” There were only four games left in the season, and while the Canyon Cats had clawed their way into contention, every game, every point mattered desperately. Benjamin had few free hours, but if he had time to cuddle on the couch, surely he had time to come with her to the airport.
“Trust me. You don’t want me there.”
She unwound from her tucked position so she could see his face. “What do you mean? If I didn’t want you there I wouldn’t have asked.” She was beginning to believe she wanted Benjamin in every aspect of her life, for as long as he’d have her. The idea of going back to the days when he wasn’t there to help with Oscar, to make love to her, to watch silly television shows, was—well, it wasn’t to be borne.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” He pushed up from the sofa and strode to the large window overlooking the street, his back to her. “You’ll be fine. You won’t let him intimidate you.”
Had he emphasized you at each repetition or was she hearing things? “I asked this once before, Benjamin. This time, tell me the truth. Do you have a problem with Armstrong?” She shifted to her knees, sitting on her heels, her weight pressing into the soft cushion.
“It’s not him.” The floor-length curtains were drawn against the darkness outside and he fidgeted with the edges where the fabric met. “It’s me.”
She choked back a laugh and earned a glare over his shoulder. “Sorry. You don’t mean to be funny. But can you please explain what’s going on?”
He was silent so long she thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he sighed and turned to face her, feet shoulder-width distance apart, hands clasped behind his back, like a soldier at ease. But there was no ease in his stance. None at all.
“He had the career I wanted.” He spoke through tight lips. “The career I’d dreamed of since I was old enough to lace up skates. I don’t blame him. That’s just the way it went. But the least amount of time spent having it rubbed in my face, the better.”
“Who’s going to rub it in your face?” She clambered off the couch, took two long strides, and jabbed him in the chest. “Who? You think I would do that? Armstrong?”
A muscle flexed in his jaw. “No one will do anything. It’s just the way I’ll feel.”
“Fine. Get over it.”
His expression iced over. “Get over it?”
Apprehension wriggled in her belly. She didn’t want to hurt him, but it was time for some tough love. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. So you didn’t have the career you wanted. Sometimes life sucks. But you can either let it keep on sucking or make plans to change its direction.”
“You think I feel sorry for myself?” His short, brittle laugh held no hint of amusement. Her disquiet grew. “This has nothing to do with me. It has to do with my parents, who I disappointed. With my teammates, who I let down. With my coaches, who I frustrated.”
She waggled her fingers in a dismissive gesture, even as her stomach sank at the pain creasing the skin around his eyes. Had she made a mistake with this approach? It was too late to back down now. “Excuses. All of them. You need to take a hard look at yourself. If you’re still telling yourself you don’t deserve good things because you didn’t achieve your teenage goals, you’re crazy.”
"It’s not just that.” His eyes darkened, haunted by ghosts she couldn’t see. “You don’t know the worst of it.”
“Then tell me.” She softened her tone and laid a palm on his chest. “Help me understand why you’re so hard on yourself. It has nothing to do with Armstrong, not really. Does it?”
He moved away from her touch and scrubbed his hands in his hair. “No. Not really.” His gaze flickered to her but settled on a distant point over her shoulder. “I told you my father died of a heart attack. What I didn’t tell you is that I was talking on the phone with him when it happened.”
“Oh, Benjamin.” She stretched out a hand toward him but he jerked back. “That must have been awful.”
“We were talking about my career. I was accusing him of not supporting me, when all he’d done every moment of my life was do exactly that. It was a stupid argument and if he hadn’t died we would have sorted it out and all would have been good. But he did die and I’ll never have that chance. When Brewster offered me the coaching job, I vowed to win the championship. It wouldn’t bring my father back, but it would prove to everyone I’d disappointed in the past that I wasn’t a washout. And right now, it looks like I’m going to fail at that, too. I guess Armstrong’s visit underscored all that.”
Her heart cracked at the despair blazing from his expression. “You’re not a washout, Benjamin. Failing doesn’t mean you are a failure. It just means you’re human.”
“Well, then I’m more human than most.”
Her initial irritation returned, only slightly tempered by his confession. How could he not appreciate how much he had to give? “If you can’t see what you’ve accomplished, all the good you’ve done, no amount of telling will fix that. You have to realize it for yourself.”
His eyes were dark in his pale face, his lips pressed together in a thin line. “I’ve got to go.”
She wanted to wrap herself around him and not let go until he’d absorbed her belief in him. Instead, she perched on the edge of the couch and twined her fingers together. “Think about what I said, Benjamin. You deserve good things. All you have to do is believe.”
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BENJAMIN PUSHED THE treadmill speed up another notch. As coach, he had full access to the team gym whenever he wanted. At this time of night, he had it all to himself. He was alone. Solitary.
“Just the way I like it.” His mutter was barely audible over the pounding of his feet.
Sweat slid down the bridge of his nose and he swiped it away with the back of his wrist. He’d come here directly from Lynn’s house, needing to release the tension twanging in his muscles. His heart thundered, pulse thrumming in his ears, yet it still wasn’t loud enough to drown out her parting words.
She was wrong. So wrong. Belief wasn’t enough. If that were true, he would have fulfilled his father’s dreams years ago. Would have found redemption and forgiveness by now.
Her admonishment to get over it punched like an enforcer’s fist deep into his soul. He’d tried. He really had. How could she not have noticed? He felt like he’d turned himself inside out over the last weeks, focusing on the future, on the team, on Lynn and Oscar.
And still it wasn’t enough. He was still consumed by his failures.
He punched the velocity higher. His thighs burned, his calves cramped, his lungs heaved. He welcomed the pain.
It was nothing compared to the agony twisting his heart.
He loved Lynn. He wasn’t exactly sure when the revelation had come to him, but her challenge tonight had solidified it. She was strong and intelligent, caring and passionate, and the world shone brighter when he was with her. The dark places inside him were vanquished by her light.
He wanted to be the man she deserved. The man she believed him to be. But every time he thought he took a step toward that future, he let his doubts pull him right back.
He set the treadmill to max and ran faster than he ever had before.
Because that’s what he was good at. Running away.
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THE NEXT MORNING HE slouched on a bench in the dressing room, surrounded by well-dressed Canyon Cats awaiting the arrival of Sylvester Armstrong. Lynn had arranged a private meet and greet for the players before the public events began. The babble of chatter flowing around him held an edge of excitement, and even Nechayev and his cronies appeared less cynical than usual. Since their suspension after New Year’s he’d had little to complain about regarding their performance on the ice, but he suspected they’d simply become more adept at hiding their attitude.
He stretched his neck and winced. Every muscle in his body throbbed. Even his fingertips pulsed with pain. Resting his elbows on his knees took some of the strain off his back, but it wasn’t only the punishment he’d inflicted with the treadmill that caused the aches. Wondering whether his actions last night had been the last straw for Lynn clawed at him, sawed at his breath as if the air was laden with razor blades.
He wanted another chance. Needed another chance. And that meant talking to her. But he couldn’t do it today. She’d be too busy with Armstrong. Then Friday and Saturday were game days and it would be his turn to be too busy. It would have to wait until Sunday.
The door swung open. All conversation stopped.
Lynn walked in and his vision dimmed. Except for her. It was as if she stood in a spotlight, her wheat-coloured hair gleaming golden, the blue scarf draped over the shoulders of her close-fitting tan coat the same pale tint as her eyes.
Eyes that searched the room before locking with his, spearing him with their directness.
He realized he was standing, had even taken a step toward her, and forced himself to remain where he was. A frown creased the delicate skin between her brows.
Cheers and clapping shocked him from his trance. The players’ shrill whistles, hoots, and hollers heralded the arrival of the guest of honour. He was ushered in by Brewster and stood beside Lynn, nodding and smiling and waving, accepting the accolades as his due.
He hadn’t seen Armstrong in person since the last day Benjamin had played in the national league. He wasn’t as tall as he remembered and the buttons of his suit, revealed by his unfastened overcoat, strained slightly over his belly. When he retired he’d apparently abandoned the strict regimen necessary to stay at the top of his game. Much like his hair had abandoned the top of his head.
Petty satisfaction flushed Benjamin and he let himself enjoy it. He’d take what he could get.