Hockey Holidays Read online

  “What about Pierre?”

  “Pierre? That pussy?” Harry laughed and returned his gaze to his men.

  After his third scotch, he found a comfortable chair. It was ten and most of the guests had left. His buddies had to be in bed early. Some had kids who’d be up at the crack of dawn. Before they returned to their own homes, they’d hugged and swore they’d beat the crap out of Philly.

  Kitty approached, balancing a plate piled high with food.

  “Here.”

  “Thank you. So much jaw flappin’, I forgot to eat.”

  Kitty settled her little rump on the arm of the chair. Harry dug in, picking up a skewer with ham and pineapple.

  “Did you have a good time?”

  His mouth full, he nodded.

  “I thought so. Told you.”

  He swallowed. “You did. But this is the last one.”

  “What?”

  “Who knows where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing next year. But I sure as hell won’t be a member of the Huskies.”

  Harry fell asleep before Kitty came to bed. After a restless night, he awoke at four, managing to slide out from under the covers without disturbing his wife. Feeling his way through his dark bedroom, he headed for the living room. With the heat turned down, the house had cooled. He made a fire in the fireplace and plugged in the Christmas tree. Nabbing the soft afghan that decorated the arm of the sofa, he wrapped it around himself.

  Sitting back, Harry watched the small flames grow. He turned to study the tree. About seven feet tall, and perfectly decorated by Kitty, its lights winked at him. Never much for sentiment, still, Harry’s gaze stopped at the most meaningful ornaments. There was the frog on skis he gave to her after their first ski weekend. The two hearts intertwined he presented to her after the first time they made love. The tree symbolized their life together. His eyes wetted.

  Many questions swirled through his mind. He struggled, in vain, for answers. He loved his wife, his home, and hockey. Was there any way he could continue to have all three?

  Kitty deserved to keep her gallery in D. C. But truth be told, her absence hadn’t been getting easier. Puck Bunnies tempted him on the road. He resisted but wondered how long he’d be able to hold out. On a long, hard road trip, loneliness crushed him. He’d spend an hour or more on the phone with Kitty. They’d even had Skype sex, but nothing beat the feel of her skin or the warm reassurance of her snuggle.

  The scouting job? Nope, it wasn’t for him—too far away from hockey action, and too much traveling. Hotel rooms depressed him. They showed no sign of life, of personality, nothing but sterile, empty spaces.

  He stretched out on the sofa and shut his eyes. Images of a pregnant Kitty and babies flitted through his imagination, followed by screaming triplets, smelly diapers, and Harry at the end of his rope. He sat up with a start, sweat beading his forehead.

  He could face the fiercest forwards, the biggest, brutish hockey players knocking him into the boards or on his ass, but taking care of a child terrified him. He knew hockey, not kids. What did he know about being a parent? Zip, zilch, nada, nothing—he was totally ignorant.

  He’d wanted them five years ago when he was too dumb to know better, but now? Life would be chaotic. Private time with Kitty would go out the window, along with their sex life. He shuddered. Having kids couldn’t save him. He’d have to save himself.

  The heat from the fire raised the room temperature to almost comfortable. He tucked the blanket under his thighs and fell asleep.

  “Ho, ho, ho, Santa. Time to get up,” a fake deep voice said in his ear.

  Harry yawned and rubbed his eyes. Wrapped in a blue plaid flannel robe, Kitty stood before him, beaming.

  “Merry Christmas,” she said, holding a small, rectangular gift in one hand and a cup of steaming hot coffee in the other.

  “Merry Christmas yourself, Missus. Thanks for the java.” He took the mug and eyed the other item.

  “This is for you.” She shoved it into his empty hand. Harry put down his drink and unwrapped it. Inside was a gold watch.

  “I kind of figured you deserved it for your years in hockey,” she said, joining him on the sofa.

  He fastened it around his thick wrist. “Fits perfect. It’s great. Thank you,” he said, eying the timepiece from all angles before pulling his wife to him for a kiss. Tossing the covering aside, he pushed to his feet and headed for the tree. After rummaging through the packages there, he plucked out the small ones he got at the jewelry store.

  “Here you go. Merry Christmas, Kitty. And thanks for being the best wife ever.” He handed her the presents.

  She tore open the paper. Her face lit up like a thousand stars when she saw the diamonds.

  “They’re real. Honest. They’re real.” He nodded.

  “Oh, my God! Harry! They’re too much. This is too expensive,” she said, waving the diamond tennis bracelet in his face. “You’ve got to take it back. We can’t afford it now.”

  “Do you like it?”

  “Of course. Who wouldn’t? But…”

  He put his finger to her lips. “It’s not too expensive. We can afford it. As long as you like it.”

  “But your salary?”

  “They’re buying out my contract. Even without that. Believe me, we’re not hurting.”

  “It’s beautiful. Can you fasten it for me?” she asked, turning grateful eyes to him.

  He chuckled. “Of course. There. Perfect fit. It looks amazing on you.”

  She gave him a passionate kiss. Harry eased her down on the sofa and made love to her.

  When they’d reached completion, Harry made another pot of coffee and the couple opened more gifts. Harry donned one of the flannel shirts, smiling at his reflection in the mirror. Kitty wore the diamond earrings. She scrambled up eggs and reheated leftover ham. Harry consulted the television and set up a movie lineup for the day.

  They didn’t make any calls or even get dressed. They cuddled up in front of the tube, ate their fill, drank champagne, and made love.

  In the middle of It’s a Wonderful Life, the phone rang. Harry made a face but loped across the room and picked up his cell. It was Coach Timmons.

  “Sorry to interrupt your Christmas, Harry, but I’ve got someone I want you to meet. Do you have time tomorrow?”

  “Sure, Coach. Who is it?”

  “I’ll pick you up at ten. Let me fill you in on the way.”

  “Okay. Works for me. Merry Christmas.”

  “Thanks, Harry. Same to you.”

  Harry cocked his head to the side. Not a secretive person, Coach Timmons was all hush-hush on the phone. His behavior piqued Harry’s curiosity.

  “Who was that?”

  “Coach. Wants to see me tomorrow.”

  “Oh. Hope it’s good news.”

  “Me, too.” If she only knew. Maybe he wasn’t finished after all?

  The next morning, Harry donned his new Black Watch plaid shirt and paced by the window. It was quarter to ten, his nerves had hit high alert about ten minutes earlier. He’d managed to snarf down some leftover ham and a couple of rolls with butter.

  Now he nursed a second cup of coffee as he stood, watching for the coach’s car. A few flakes from the trees swirled around, then down.

  “It’s windy. Bundle up,” Kitty said, as she walked by, carrying serving pieces.

  The clean-up after the party took two days. In the past, he’d been playing in Hartford or on the road, so he couldn’t help. But not today.

  “When you get back, I’ve got a list for you.”

  “Okay,” he said.

  The sudden beep from a car snagged his attention. “Coach is here,” he called out to his wife.

  “Good luck.” She blew him a kiss.

  Harry was out the door and down the stairs in a flash. He and the coach exchanged greetings.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “You’ll see. The man you’re going to meet is named Buster Callahan. He runs a program at the Veteran�