Memories of Jed and Chrissy, of the bruises her sister had worn, flared into consciousness. She understood her father’s concerns, really she did, but, “Luc isn’t the same as Jed.”
“But his tattoos—”
“Dad, stop sounding so prejudiced. Do you seriously think tattoos mean he’s not a Christian?”
“Well, no.”
“But?” She pressed.
“But perhaps he’s not walking as close to God as I’d like to think my daughter would require in a man with whom she’s in a relationship,” he replied stiffly.
“How do you know how close Luc is to God? Have you ever asked him? Or just judged him from afar?”
“I don’t understand all this hostility, Bailey.”
“I’m not hostile, Dad. I’m simply trying to defend the man when he’s not here to defend himself.”
She paused, realizing again that attacking people when they weren’t there was what her father had often done. Her family was way too good at playing games and passive aggression, acting or speaking one way while meaning another. All her life she’d been taught to suppress negative feelings, instead of openly addressing them. Her family’s need to avoid conflict had reached gold medal levels in recent years, after Chrissy’s marriage breakdown had led Dad to try to maintain some semblance of control. And she and Rhett enabled him, as much as anything her mom had done.
She pushed back her chair. “I’m afraid I need to leave. I’ve got some paperwork to do.”
“On the Sabbath?”
She swallowed. Trying to explain that God’s grace extended to people who worked on Sundays was probably a step too far for her dad today. The concept that God might love tattooed people was probably enough for one day. “I’m sorry.” Was saying sorry when she wasn’t simply being polite or just a lie?
“But you haven’t had dessert,” her mother complained.
She swallowed. No, she hadn’t. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Not for this kind of dessert, anyway. She couldn’t wait for Luc to return.
The road trip to Saint Paul and Chicago proved a useful trip to school his emotions. Being away from Winnipeg—Bailey—helped him refocus on what he was meant to do. Play well, inspire his team, lead by example. He didn’t want anyone getting sloppy or undisciplined or letting teams goad them, like what had happened with Johansen in the Vancouver game last week. And though Minnesota’s Mitch Reilly liked to intimidate with his big presence, checking Luc into the boards, then muttering that Luc should’ve quickstepped faster, the words had ignited his sense of humor, and he’d decided to play along too. Which was why he used as many dance puns as he could in his press conference after.
“So, Luc, tell us what’s ignited this new passion on the ice. Has it got anything to do with a new passion off the ice?”
“I’m gonna guess from that comment you’re talking about the lift you’ve seen in my recent games. I guess it’s no secret that I’ve been in a spin these past few months, and I’m glad that my fancy footwork is paying off.”
That scored a few laughs, and he kept his own amusement locked behind flat lips, turning to the next reporter. Hannah Wade. Hannah James now, Franklin’s wife, and Poppy’s sister-in-law.
“Luc, I’d like to concentrate on the score-line tonight.”
“I appreciate that.”
Her lips quirked, like she was as tired as he was of some of these other reporters poking around his love life. “Three wins on the trot—”
“The foxtrot?”
“If you’re the fox.”
“Ba dum tish.”
She smiled. “Tell us how it feels to be the captain and what you’re doing to inspire your team to play hard each time.”
“I think everyone knows that I consider this a true honor. I’m working doubly hard to maintain focus and lead by example. I’m aiming to have the most shots on goal per game, if not the most goals, and I expect all the boys to want the same.”
“Except for Campbell,” she joked.
“Except for Soup”—the goalie—“that’s right.”
“And would you care to comment on that fight in that game against Vancouver?”
“Nope.” But knowing this would only lead to more speculation, he figured it was best to clear the air. “You know, it’s no secret that I’ve been someone who’s brought some grit and aggression in the past. But it’s also no secret that I’ve long been someone who stands up to injustice, and when smart-butts like Johansen want to have a go at me for doing something for charity, I really think it says something about the weakness of their character. And I can’t help but notice that Johansen wasn’t the dude asked to dance on national TV. I’m gonna guess he was just sore about not being asked. I guess we’ll know that for certain if he tries anything like that again.”
This earned a round of laughs, and a nod of appreciation from Hannah. Nothing like calling a man out in a way that would make him look cheap if he went after Luc again. And that might just serve as a warning to anyone else to not push him, otherwise he just might say something similar.
He clenched then relaxed his fingers. He couldn’t wait to return and see Bailey again.
“It’s so good to hold you.”
“It’s so good to be held by you.” His grip tightened, then she squeaked. “Although maybe not that tight.”
“Sorry, babe. I forgot.” He relaxed, but didn’t let go.
The lights of the Peg glimmered through the window, the sun setting as he drank her in, highlighting the warm bronze and red strands in her hair. He didn’t want to move from this position. Like, ever. She was the perfect height, the perfect shape, had the perfect scent, the right amount of curves and length. He loved everything about her. Everything.
He drew back. “You want dessert?” She tipped her lips up invitingly, so it was only polite to obey her request. But his kiss soon grew a little hungry, which made him draw reluctantly away.
“I think I want too much dessert.”
