Pipe Dreams(35)

"I can't discuss this with you," she said, walking toward the door. "You  can't just walk in here and tell me I'm making a mistake with my life."

"We've already established that I make all the big mistakes." He stood  up slowly. He stalked toward her, his dark eyes serious. And when he  reached her at the doorway, he took one of her hands and squeezed. "Let  me do this with you." He kissed her palm, and the play-off beard he was  sporting tickled her palm. "Please. I caused you pain, honey. And I want  to fix it."

But that was the wrong thing to say. If she was going to have a child  with someone, it shouldn't be with a man who was acting out of guilt.  "The consummate goalie," she whispered. "Always taking responsibility  for the whole field of play."

"No." He shook his head. "I love you, and I want to be with you. It doesn't have to be any more complicated than that."

She pulled her hand out of his grasp. "I can't, Mike. I gave you  everything once already. And look how that turned out? I can't do this  again, and I need you to stop asking me to." She jerked the door open,  the instructions very clear.

He gave her one more long look. And then he walked out.

Lauren closed the door behind him and then stomped over to the leather  sofa where she promptly curled up into a ball on its expensive surface.  Every time Mike Beacon opened his mouth, her life became more confusing.  Not a half hour ago she'd been fantasizing about him during yoga. But  when he offered to do the very thing she'd always dreamed about, she'd  thrown him out.

But of course she had. You had to trust the father of your child. And her trust in him was already shattered.

She lay there replaying the past month in her mind, trying to decide if  he was even serious. She made a list of events, because lists helped to  organize her thoughts.

1. They hadn't spoken in two years until the play-offs were clinched.

2. She put on the blue dress, which led to a night of wild sex.

3. Then he offered to get back together and have a kid.

Who does that?

Letting out a groan, Lauren flopped onto her back. Then she let herself  wonder what would happen if she actually agreed to his crazy idea. What  would he do if she just turned up at the front door of his Brooklyn  townhouse with several suitcases and announced she was back?

Lauren snickered to herself. It would almost be worth it to see the  startled expression on his face. He'd always been a  shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later kind of guy. It would serve him  right.

She was the analytical one. The planner. She'd always told herself that  the contrast made them a good fit. He could keep their relationship a  little wild and unpredictable. She would keep all the details straight  for the both of them.

But then he'd done something utterly unpredictable, and she'd never  gotten over it. There wasn't a spreadsheet in the world effective enough  to predict Mike's effect on her heart.

Her reverie broken, Lauren sat up on the sofa in a hurry. She grabbed  her bag off the floor and dug out her very last dose of the fertility  medication. It was madness to even ponder his flights of fancy. She had a  plan, and she was sticking to it.

She took the pill, and then a shower. Then she dug into her e-mail inbox  and double-checked Nate's travel plans for arriving in Tampa tonight,  and verified with the hotel that his room would be ready.

Her head was back in the game, and she worked through lunchtime, only  glancing up at three P.M. to realize she was starving. She called down  to room service to order a salad.

A knock came just ten minutes later, and she was impressed by the  kitchen's promptness. But when she opened the door, it wasn't a salad  that was rolled on a cart through her door, but rather a giant  arrangement of blue hydrangeas. She'd never seen anything so large. In  fact, it might be an entire hydrangea shrubbery.

"This isn't a salad," she muttered to the porter who had brought it.

"Are you Lauren Williams?"

"Yes."

"Sign here."

After he left her the flowers, she opened the note which was taped to the vase.

I love you, and I'll never stop. -M

Her hand paused over the wastepaper basket, where she almost tossed the note in.                       
       
           



       

But then she set it on the desk instead, wondering how everything had become so confusing.





TWENTY



For the next few days, Beacon set his troubles with Lauren aside the  best he could. Given that his team was fighting for its life in the  play-offs, he had plenty of other things to worry about. Their veteran  forward Beringer was sidelined by shoulder pain that might or might not  be something serious. And O'Doul skipped practice for what was rumored  to be a stomach bug.

Nonetheless, they managed to win game five in Tampa, where Skews was an  asshole, but nothing Beacon couldn't handle. Then they flew back to  Brooklyn for game six, feeling great.

And lost.

That left the series tied 3 – 3, and required one more trip to Tampa.  Taking the series all the way out to game seven meant that everyone was  tired. Meanwhile, Detroit beat the Rangers in just five games, so their  next potential opponent was resting up and recharging their batteries  before the conference final round.

By the time they got off the bus at the stadium, every one of Mike's  teammates wore an intense expression. They marched through the sticky  eighty-five degree air and into the subterranean cool of the arena.

"Good luck out there," Lauren whispered as he caught up to her in the procession.

"Thanks." They had barely exchanged any words since their odd  conversation about baby-making. He'd gone a little crazy to think that  she'd take him back just like that. But it was one of those situations  where he knew if he hadn't at least tried, he'd always regret it. It had  taken all his willpower not to blurt out that he hated the idea of her  having someone else's baby.

Caveman, much?

He took a sidelong glance at Lauren as the team moved through the long  hallway. She looked as deflated as he felt. "You doing okay?"

"Sure am," she said quickly. "Can't wait until the puck drops." Her smile was a little unsteady, though.

That was something to worry about later. "See you on the other side, okay?"

She gave him a little salute, and he followed his teammates into the dressing room.


• • •

Some of Beacon's teammates were wildly superstitious. They ate the same  sandwich before every game, or tucked lucky charms into their hockey  socks. Beacon wasn't very superstitious, but that didn't mean he  couldn't believe in magic.

The game seven magic began making appearances even before the puck dropped that night.

Doulie felt better, and nobody else came down with the flu. Even better,  the MRI on Beringer's shoulder had cleared him to play. An hour before  the game they gathered on a loading dock to play elimination soccer-the  team's favorite warm-up.

Beacon was the first man out, as usual. He was unaccountably bad at  elimination soccer, but it was fun to step out of the circle and watch  the rest of them duke it out. Tonight's game got down to Doulie and  Trevi and Silas, until Silas won it. He often did, too. The only man who  never played for the team was the frequent victor of their warm-up  game. Go figure.

Their good spirits held when the puck dropped, and they went out  swinging. So did Tampa, though. It was a weird, high scoring game, tied  4 – 4 going into overtime. Somehow after all that scoring the overtime  period was scoreless.

So it went to double overtime. As Mike stretched during the (fourth!)  intermission he pictured his daughter in the stands with Hans and  Justin, and wondered what Elsa was thinking.

We brought it this far, he said to himself. We can take it even a little further.

That final period saw the play go a little ragged. But Beacon's eyes  weren't as tired as the rest of him. He watched everything. Saw  everything. Anticipated everything.

Blocked everything.

Just when he thought his legs might not make it through another overtime  period, Castro got a breakaway on rebound. There was a mad scramble in  front of the opponent's net before the lamp lit.

Even then-because nothing was ever simple-Castro's goal was under  review. They stood around for two tense minutes while the officials  watched the video.

And then the scoreboard lit for Brooklyn. They'd won, and would advance  to round three. Smiling and practically sagging with relief, Beacon left  the net to hug his teammates.





TWENTY-ONE



When Lauren reentered the hotel lobby after the game, she found that it  had become ground zero for the Bruisers' victory party. Players'  families had taken over the entire lounge area by the fountain.

She was surveying the scene when Jimbo trotted up and squeezed her  elbow. "I asked the hotel if you'd made any arrangements for food and  soft drinks," he said. "They didn't have anything on order."