Hockey Holidays Read online

  The gallery had grown. Shows were bringing in a decent crowd, and she’d covered all her expenses from income earned this year—a first. Harry had provided funds to make up the difference in the past. She couldn’t completely walk away from it at this point. Kitty had worked hard to get it up and running, now was no time to quit.

  She sipped her coffee as the bare-bones of a plan formed in her head. Concessions, big ones from both sides, would be needed for her idea to work. Her brows knitted. Harry had not been in a compromising mood lately. She had to give him time to adjust to the change in his life. But time was the one thing they didn’t have. He’d be off on the road and she’d return to Washington. Decisions had to be made now. She picked up the phone and headed to the den for privacy.

  Harry lay in bed, trying to read. Finally, he put the book down. He pushed to his feet and stared out the window. Snow blanketed the trees, freezing into a crystalline coating on even the tiniest branches. The sky hung heavy with gray clouds. As he gazed at the landscape, he frowned.

  What the hell was he going to do with his life now? Tag along after the team, watching them from the sidelines for a couple of months, while his marriage deteriorated? Or would he take the scouting job and get a divorce before his being gone turned them sour toward each other?

  And that stupid coaching job! How ridiculous to turn him into a babysitter for a bunch of pimply faced, horny teens. He knew the hockey forward and backward, but they’d be more interested in the latest video game, getting laid, and smoking pot than paying attention to him.

  Harry “Deke” Edwards, washed up, a man without a life. He watched the birds, industriously combing the frozen trees and ground for food—hell, at least they had jobs. He shook his head. This damn pity party had to stop. Wound-licking didn’t make him feel better or solve his problems. Only jerks sat around sucking their thumbs and feeling sorry for themselves.

  Time to do something. Make a decision. His lips compressed into a thin line. First step would be following along with the team on this road trip. He yanked his small suitcase down from the closet and rummaged through his dresser. Time to pack. He’d think of something to say to Kitty to put her off until he’d had time to ponder life. He stopped.

  What about Kitty? And the gallery? He had no answer. If he lost her, then he’d truly have nothing, but he’d be damned if he’d live the rest of his life as “Mr. Kitty” in D.C. He folded his clothes and laid them in the valise, then grabbed his spare Dopp kit and shoved it in. He’d have to leave at seven tomorrow morning to make the plane to Philly.

  The aroma of something good lured him to the top of the stairs.

  “What’s cookin’?” he yelled down toward the kitchen.

  “Heating up some leftover roast beef and that apple pie. Hungry?”

  “I am now,” he said descending to the first floor.

  While Kitty bustled about, gathering the food, Harry set out the silverware. He opened a bottle of Malbec. They took their places at the kitchen table.

  “You’re leaving early tomorrow, right?” Kitty asked.

  He nodded, cutting off a piece of the succulent meat.

  “We have to discuss some stuff.” She hesitated, her lip trembling a touch as she put down her fork. “Where do we go from here?”

  “I don’t know.” He cupped her cheek and met her gaze with his. “We’ll work it out.”

  “I need more than that, Harry. This is a crisis. Talk to me.”

  He put down his fork. “I don’t have any answers. I thought that, after this road trip, on New Year’s, we could talk about where we go from here. Maybe by then, we’ll have direction.”

  “You want me to wait?”

  “It’s only a week.”

  “True.” She cast her gaze to her plate.

  Harry took her hand. “We can work it out, Kitty.” His lips spoke, but his mind didn’t agree.

  “Can we?” She raised her eyes to his.

  “Of course we can.” Emotion gathered in his chest.

  “We’ll see.” She turned her attention back to her food.

  That wasn’t the answer Harry expected. Had Kitty lost hope? He’d been acting like an idiot, moping around, worrying only about himself. How could he blame her?

  “What’s happening at the gallery?” he asked, stuffing a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

  “Nothing too much. We’re finally in the black this year.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Thanks. I have plans to expand, sort of. Do more shows, find new artists.”

  Beautiful and brainy, too. How did he get so lucky? Harry took her hand. “I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks.” She put down her fork. “Look, if you want to take that scouting job, I understand. The team is everything. Always has been. We could get a friendly divorce. If that’s what you want. I don’t want to stand in your way.” The color drained from her face.

  Coming from her mouth, the word divorce terrified him. For a moment, words froze in his throat. She’d read his mind. The team had been his life until he met her. He’d thought it had settled into a fifty-fifty deal, with the team and Kitty splitting his heart.

  In an instant, hearing her words clarified everything. He took her hand.

  “The team isn’t everything to me. You are,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

  Tears spilled over onto her cheeks as she raised his hand to her lips.

  “Do you want a divorce?” he asked.

  She shook her head.

  “Then let’s keep the original plan. I’ll think about it on the road. You at home. At New Years, we’ll talk.”

  “Okay,” she muttered, nodding.

  His palms sweated, but the fluttering in his heart stopped. As easily as he’d thought about divorce before, once she said it, he realized a divorce would be a huge bomb in his life, blowing up what he loved most. If he needed to move to D.C. to keep Kitty, he’d figure it out.

  “I can’t lose you. Please. I just can’t.” He pulled her onto his lap and hugged her tight.

  She buried her face in his comfy shoulder and sobbed.

  After a quiet farewell, Harry drove to Hartford. He boarded the aircraft with the rest of the team. Would this be his last time? He sat next to Buzzy and peered out the tiny window. The snow had stopped, but it had turned colder.

  The plane climbed steadily, offering a view of snowy houses before it reached cruising altitude. Once it leveled off, there wasn’t much to see. Buzzy buried his nose in Sports Illustrated.

  “It isn’t even the swimsuit issue,” Harry muttered.

  “Nope. But there’s a piece here on Ron Duguay.”

  “Duguay? He still alive?”

  “Yep. He coached in the minors for four years. You think about that?”

  “Nah.” The minors, what would he want with the minor leagues? A bunch of guys who could either shoot straight or defend but not both.

  “Turnin’ your nose up at the minors? Didn’t you start there?”

  “Only for one season. Huskies drafted me after I kicked fuckin’ butt in Scranton.”

  “Duguay jumped right from amateur hockey to the Rangers.”

  Harry read over his buddy’s shoulder.

  “He set a Ranger record for the fastest goal at the start of a game,” Buzzy went on.

  “Yeah?”

  “Nine seconds,” the winger said, whistling through his teeth.

  “That’s impressive. Did I ever tell you, MacConnell, about the time I… Harry began.

  Buzzy closed the magazine and turned his attention to his teammate. One player sitting in front of them pushed up, turning his head to listen in.

  When the plane landed at Philadelphia International Airport, the team boarded a private bus to the hotel. The men checked in before they headed to the arena to practice. The team chowed down at the barn before the game.

  Since he wasn’t scheduled to play, Harry’d watch the game from the Huskies’ private box. Before game time, H