Pipe Dreams(18)

• • •

The movie was long and he found himself nodding off near the end. When  his eyes fell closed, he drifted to the memory of the previous night.  The win on the ice. And then the kiss on the sidewalk.                       
       
           



       

He hadn't meant to kiss Lauren. But when he'd held her in his arms it  just felt right. He'd never been as drawn to anyone on earth as he was  to her. Hell. Hopefully she wasn't too upset with him for making her  talk to him again.

When the movie ended, he shut off the TV and followed Elsa upstairs,  where they got ready for bed in their respective designer bathrooms.

His was on the third floor. The master suite was the least lived-in part  in the house. There was plenty of furniture, but no pictures on the  walls and no personal touches. He hadn't turned the decorator loose on  this floor, because nobody else ever saw it.

After brushing his teeth, he jogged back down one flight to say good  night to his girl. She was in her bed already, but poking at her phone,  which she put down guiltily when he came in.

"Good night, honey." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "Tomorrow I'll  have training in the morning. But we can go out for dinner together  later. "

"Okay. Can I pick the place?"

"Within reason."

"Did you lock the doors?" Elsa was still a little weirded out by living in the city. She often asked about locking the doors.

"I sure did."

"Hans isn't coming home tonight?"

"Doesn't seem like it," he said quickly. "Probably crashing at Justin's. The trains don't run as frequently at night."

Elsa rolled her eyes. "I know they sleep together, Dad."

Yikes. He didn't know what to say about that, and not because Hans was  gay. What were thirteen-year-olds ready to hear about sex? He had no  fucking clue. The fact that it was solely his job to successfully parent  this child was beyond comprehension.

"Daddy?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think it's serious with Justin?"

"Uh . . . maybe?" Good answer, champ. Really eloquent. "Hans tells us a  lot of funny little stories about the places he and Justin go, but he  doesn't really tell us how he feels about him."

"I noticed that," Elsa said, picking lint off her comforter. "But Hans  wouldn't spend so much time with someone unless he cared. I'm worried  that he'll leave us."

"Ah." Hell. He might. "Hans will leave someday no matter what, right?  But he'll always be our friend. You can still have him over for Thai  food and orchestra gossip."

"Mmm," Elsa said, looking put out. "I don't want him to go."

"Why don't we wait until he wants to go to worry about it? He has a  pretty sweet deal here right now. He lives rent free with two people who  are pretty great. Who would want to leave us?"

"True." She smiled up at him.

"Hey, Els? Can I ask a favor?"

"Sure."

"If you happen to, uh, run into Lauren again before the play-offs are over, can you just give her a smile?"

"Why?" Elsa made a face like she'd tasted something bitter.

"Because I'm asking you to," he said quietly. "It's not her choice to  work with the team right now. But Nate asked her to step in because  Becca is taking a temporary leave."

"Becca is great, but I don't like Lauren."

Mike took the sort of calming breath that one takes while speaking to a  teenager. "You don't really know Lauren, honey. You haven't seen her for  two years. But she and I used to be close, and it's important to treat  her with respect. Maybe you're not a fan of everything that happened  when your mother and I were separated. But none of that is Lauren's  fault."

"That's not what I heard."

His blood pressure notched up. "What?"

"Mrs. Chancer said Lauren stole you away from Mom. That she's a sneaky little bitch who doesn't know that karma is real . . ."

"Elsa," he snapped, cutting her off, because he couldn't stand to hear  any more. Anger crackled through him, and he had to take another deep  breath and remind himself that Elsa was only repeating what she'd heard  from the hockey wife with a mouth the size of Long Island.

"That's what she said." Elsa defended herself. "And more."

Shit. "Okay, listen to me," he said as calmly as he could. "None of that  is true. Lauren didn't do a thing wrong. She was in no way responsible  for the time that your mother and I spent apart. That was all me and  Mom, okay?"

His daughter eyed him sulkily. "Then why did you leave in the first place?"

Mike closed his eyes and tried to think. He wasn't going to throw his  dead wife under the bus on this one. And they were both responsible for  their shitty marriage, anyway. "Your mom and I had some troubles. I know  you didn't like it, but you don't get to blame Lauren for it. Or . . ."  It actually took him a moment to come up with the name of the tennis  instructor. ". . . Tad. Or anyone."                       
       
           



       

"I didn't like Tad either."

He smiled suddenly. That makes two of us. "You don't have to like him.  But you can't be rude to him, and you can't blame him for what happened.  I mean it-be polite to Lauren. She's important to me, and she doesn't  deserve any scorn from anyone."

Elsa scowled. "Okay. Whatever."

That was the best he was going to get from her tonight. That was  obvious. So he kissed her on the forehead and told her to sleep tight.

Then he went up to bed alone, the way he always did.





ELEVEN


BAL HARBOUR, FLORIDA

APRIL 2016


Lauren flew to Florida with an extra suitcase full of dresses and  accessories. Not only had she promised Ari some wardrobe assistance, but  she was having a fashion crisis of her own, too.

Waiting at the baggage claim, she felt eyes on her back. When she turned  around, Mike Beacon was watching her from across the room.

Damn it. That was not what she needed. When she pulled her two suitcases  off the carousel at the same time, a hand reached out to help her with  one of them. She stiffened, but it was only Jimbo, the youngest member  of the travel team.

"Is that all of your bags, Miss Lauren?" he asked politely.

"That's all. Thank you."

"I'll grab this one," he said helpfully, adding one of her bags to the rolling trolley he was assembling.

"Thanks," she said again, pulling the other one after her toward the  door. She walked right past Mike, feeling his eyes following her out the  door and into the Florida sunshine toward the bus.

Hell, they were still at the airport and she already felt butterflies in  her stomach. This party made her nervous. Really nervous. Not only  would Mike be there, but the Atlantic coast of Florida had way too much  history for her. There was no way to feel the sunshine on her face and  ignore the ghosts of her own happiness swirling around her.

On the bus, she busied herself with planning tasks for the next series  of games. There would be two games in Tampa, followed by two games in  Brooklyn. Only through constant alternation of host sites could home ice  advantage be shared. The winner of the Stanley Cup would be the team  who could perform at its peak for four best-of-seven series in a row.

Play-offs season was exhausting. The end.

Her phone rang. Checking it, she saw her father's face on the screen.  Yikes. She and her dad weren't close, and she didn't often enjoy their  phone calls. On the other hand, taking his call on the bus gave her a  perfect reason to cut it short.

"Dad? Is everything okay?"

He grunted an acknowledgment. "Your mother was expecting you this weekend for your cousin's christening."

No hello. No preamble. And Lauren knew beyond a doubt that family  christenings weren't usually her father's concerns. He only wanted  gossip about the team that had fired him. And this was his subtle way of  asking.

"I'm in Florida," she said quietly. "I told Mom already. There's a benefit in Bal Harbour before the series starts in Tampa."

He made a disgusted noise. "What owner parades his players around in  tuxes before round two? They should have noses to the grindstone. It's  not party time, it's work time. Fucking amateur."

Lauren rolled her eyes. Their relationship had never been great. And  when Nate fired her father but promoted Lauren, it deteriorated even  further. "I'm sorry to miss the christening," Lauren said. She wouldn't  rise to the bait.

"When are you coming home?" he asked. "Isn't your graduation soon? You should let us take you out to dinner."

"Good idea," she said with false cheer. If he wouldn't pay for NYU, he  could at least buy her an overpriced meal for graduating from it. "I'll  send you and Mom the date. Got to go," she said. "We're pulling up at  the hotel." It wasn't even a white lie. The sign for the Dorsal Club in  Bal Harbour had swung into view.