Page 20

The Hawks won five to one.

Lucy should have been happy about it, primarily because Leslie would be happy. Instead, her stomach was filled with fist-sized rocks when she walked into the Ice Lounge an hour after the game. Matt had texted her that the team and a few other people from the organization would be there to celebrate the win. Maddie had to get up early the next day, but Lucy couldn’t find an excuse not to go.

There was the fact that Dax was there, of course, but she couldn’t tell Matt that was the reason she didn’t want to go. And she wouldn’t act any differently simply because Dax…and his hands…and his laugh… No!

So, with her shoulders squared and her chin raised as always, she walked into the Ice Lounge just after ten o’clock. The Lounge combined past and present with its red leather stools, polished wooden floor, and rustic, industrial ceiling lighting. As always, 80s music blared from the speakers, since Carl, the bar owner, had grown up during that period, while a mix of students, Hawks fans, Hawks groupies, and a few lost tourists filled the space.

The hockey players were easy to spot in the bar, despite the dry ice rising from what seemed to be every cocktail here. It was the Ice Lounge, after all—there was more to the name than just the bar that looked like stacked blocks of ice. No wonder hockey players were attracted to the establishment: Carl had planned it that way.

The Hawks sat on one of the raised areas that was designated as the VIP lounge by a heavy red cord, exuding so much testosterone that Lucy almost saw it hanging in the air like fog. Then again, that was probably the dry ice. Nevertheless, Leon’s voice could drown out a truck stuck in reverse.

“To Temple and West, who, for the first time today, didn’t play like eight-year-old girls!” he shouted.

“Hey, that’s discriminatory,” Fox remarked. “Eight-year-old girls would have been better than they were these last few weeks.”

“Oh hell, we get it.” That was Dax, and Lucy’s neck hairs automatically stood up.

She swallowed, but bravely continued strolling toward the platform.

“If you don’t want anyone to annoy you, Dax, keep playing well,” Matt replied cleverly. “Fuck, today, it seemed like you’d been playing together for years! What the hell happened?”

“Drank an old wise woman’s tea,” Jack remarked, shrugging and sipping his beer.

“Yup,” Dax confirmed, a fleeting grin flying across his face.

Lucy’s stomach clenched and her mouth went dry. Had the two of them made a truce or something?

“Is this old wise woman Leslie, and did she put drugs in the tea?” she asked loudly, stepping over the red cord and smiling at Jack. After all, when she fixated on Jack, she didn’t notice if Dax was looking at her.

Was he looking at her?

“Hey, don’t say that so loudly,” Leon said, shocked. “Or we’ll be accused of doping…though I’d drink anything Leslie gave me.” He made a face. “She’s horrible, not sweet like you."

“I’m horrible, too, not sweet,” she clarified, annoyed, as she plopped into the only free chair that was thankfully nowhere near Dax. “But today I have nothing bad to say about you. You played great and all the women at the bar are watching you.” She nodded to the right, because the female attention the team members were receiving was impossible to miss.

Leon grinned, then suddenly put on a serious expression and gave them a barely perceptible nod. Lucy snorted and ordered a beer from a waitress who was hurrying by, while Matt looked at Leon in confusion.

“What was that?” he asked, shaking his head. “Are you James Bond now or something?”

Leon shrugged. “I’m simply increasing my chances with them. Women like the stoic, quiet type.”

“Nonsense.” Matt clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Otherwise, all the women here would be throwing themselves at Moreau!” He nodded at their broad-shouldered, taciturn goalkeeper.

“They do,” he replied soberly.

Matt looked at him, surprised. “What?”

“It’s true,” Leon grumbled. “He gets the most female fan mail of all of us. Leslie said so the other day. But only because he’s so damn mysterious.”

“He's not mysterious,” Matt said incredulously. “He’s just too lazy to speak!”

“You’re both wrong,” Fox interjected. “Women like an authoritative leader who can keep a cool head.”

“Oh, boo, Fox!” Leon shouted with irritation, pulling the orange slice from his glass and throwing it at him. “Don’t act like that just because you’re losing to Moreau.”

Fox snorted. “I’m not losing to Moreau. You can’t lose at dating!”

“Tell that to the last ten women Dax slept with. They’d tell you something different,” Leon muttered.

“Lucy,” Dax’s dark voice suddenly cut through the chatter of the others, and her heart leaped into her throat. “Help us out. You’re a woman, right?”

She blinked and slowly turned her head. She met Dax’s piercing gaze and resisted the urge to look away again. “On good days, yes,” she replied dryly and nodded gratefully to the waitress who placed a beer in front of her.

“So tell us,” he said calmly, his gaze locked with hers, “what type of man do you like?”

She snorted. “I can’t speak for all the women in the world.”

“Okay, then speak for yourself,” he murmured, his voice growing softer with each word as he folded his hands on the table and leaned forward. “What type of man do you like? The stoic, quiet, mysterious one—or the one who talks dirty to you while he takes you on the desk in a stranger’s office?”

She choked on her beer, spitting it onto the table in front of her.

Leon chuckled. “You have a wild imagination, Dax.”

Hm, sure: Imagination .

Lucy had never been so happy to hear her phone ring. She took the opportunity and abruptly rose. But before she answered, she replied tersely: “I like the honest one. The one who tells me what he thinks and what he wants, and who doesn’t intentionally make me angry just to get my attention.” With those words, she turned on her heels and stalked toward the exit where she didn’t have to think about Dax.

“Hello?” she answered, pressing the cell phone to her ear as she pushed the door open.

“Hello, is this Lucy James?”

Lucy stopped and frowned. “Yes. Who’s speaking?”

“Oh, thank God I reached you!” A sigh of relief echoed through her ear. “I tried to reach Maddie—she had given me your number in case of an emergency—but only her voicemail answered and I didn’t know who else to call about your father!”

“Who’s speaking?” Lucy repeated woodenly, wrapping her free arm around her upper body. An oppressive feeling had settled in in her chest, and she felt it was safer to hold on to her heart.

“Sorry, this is Mrs. Marsden. I live across the street from your father. You used to ring my doorbell for candy on Halloween.”

“Right,” Lucy replied softly, letting out a slow, drawn-out breath. “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognize your voice. What about my father?”

She didn’t want to hear it. It would ruin her evening. Yet at the same time, she felt miserable for even thinking that. After all, he was her father! He had been there for her and now she was there for him…but it hurt. And it was exhausting. And her eyes were already burning even though she didn’t know what this was all about.

“Well, he’s still in the garden! It’s dark and cold and he’s been lying motionless on the hard ground for an hour, staring up at the sky. I went over earlier to ask him if he wanted to go inside and he just snapped at me, said some things that weren’t nice…” She cleared her throat audibly. “I can’t just leave him there. If he stays in the garden overnight, he’ll catch his death!”

Shit .

“He’s been there for an hour?” Lucy repeated, rubbing her clammy hand over her face and her tight chest.

“Maybe longer. I only noticed him an hour ago. I think he’s still okay, but I thought…”

“Yes, I understand. Thank you so much for calling, Mrs. Marsden. I’ll take care of it, okay? Don’t worry.”

Lucy didn’t know if she was saying the words for her old neighbor or for herself.

She was worried.

“All right, love. Should I keep an eye on him until you get here?”

“Yes, please,” she croaked. “I’ll hurry.”

She hung up, lowered the phone, and breathed in and out heavily.

He was just lying on the ground looking at the stars. Some people did that. But he was depressed and he had said more than once that his life was worthless without her mother and…and he had stopped caring about himself! About his health, about his life, about everything. She couldn’t bear seeing how he gave up on himself more every day. But she couldn’t look away, either.

“Shit,” she whispered, rubbing her burning eyes.

She had to go.

She didn’t have a car, though. Maddie had dropped her off. It was imperative that she get a car. Mrs. Marsden’s eyes weren’t the best anymore, and what if she hadn’t noticed that her father… that he…

“Shit!” she said louder, running her hands over her hair and nervously twisting the ring on her middle finger.

It was fine. No need to panic. Maddie was much better than she was at cheering her father up and convincing him to be sensible. Maddie, however, had already given half her life to their father, and now it was Lucy’s turn. To do that, she needed a damn car!

“Are you okay?”

She winced and whirled around.

Dax stood behind her, his eyebrows knitted together as he scanned her face.

“No,” she managed. “My father is… I need to call an Uber, or a taxi. Do taxis still exist? No. Nobody takes taxis. Uber, I need a…”

“Lucy,” he said gently, putting his arm around her shoulders. “Calm down. I drove here and I don’t drink during the season unless I’m hoping to run late for a photo shoot. I can drive you. Wherever you need to go.”

Blinking, she glanced up at him, rubbed her eyes, and shook her head. “I need to get to Burbank. That’s half an hour away, Dax, I can’t…”

“Let’s go,” he interrupted, directing her down the street. “You can tell me what’s going on along the way.”

“But…”

“Let’s go.”

She was too confused to contradict him.

Dax was driving too fast, but Lucy was grateful—grateful not to be alone. Grateful that he didn’t break the silence that filled the interior of the car like a haze, that every argument between them was momentarily forgotten. That he gave her time and didn’t ask what was wrong or if she was crying. She didn’t even know if she was. Everything was somehow…askew.

The last few weeks had been so damn stressful, emotionally. She was exhausted and drained—and her father was the cherry on top of the mountain of emotional whip that she’d been carrying around for weeks.

Dax made up the rest of the mountain. She liked him; there was no use telling herself otherwise. He made her laugh, made her heart stumble. She was afraid she was already irrevocably in love with him and that he would make work unbearable just by being there. No one excited her like Dax! No one gave her such a high as he did. No one confused her as he did. No one kissed like he did.

“Thank you,” she whispered, clearing her throat to free herself from her thoughts. “For driving me. It’s…thank you.”

“No problem,” he murmured, giving her a quick sideways glance. “You seem confused.”

She laughed dryly and squeezed the bridge of her nose with her middle finger and thumb. “The way I look now, Dax? That’s how I feel inside pretty much all the time when I’m with you.”

She didn’t know why she was saying this truth aloud. Maybe it was because her head was filled with so many worries and thoughts that it was a relief to get rid of at least one.

He drummed his index finger restlessly on the steering wheel. “There’s no need. I’m…harmless.”

She had to laugh. That was the understatement of the century.

He raised one corner of his mouth. “Well, more harmless than you anyway,” he added more quietly.

She glanced at her hands and grinned. For a moment, worrying about her father didn’t fully occupy her mind.

As they pulled off the highway in Burbank, she sighed heavily and glanced at her cell phone. Mrs. Marsden hadn’t called again.

Dax cleared his throat. “So, your father lives in Burbank.”

“Yes.”

“Did you grow up there?”

She nodded. “He’s owned the house for nearly thirty years and doesn’t want to move, even though it’s far too big for him alone. He doesn’t want to lose…the memories of my mother. Yet most of the ones that aren’t covered in dust have long since been eroded by time.”

“So…he’s not well?” Dax asked slowly.

“No,” she murmured, “not since my mother died. It’s like…like she took him underground with her. Only he’s still breathing and alive, and she’s not.”

Dax nodded…but didn’t speak.

Lucy understood. There was nothing to say. She closed her eyes and leaned back while Dax continued to follow the instructions on the navigation system.

“He used to be a happy man, you know?” she finally muttered, because the silence gave her too much space for her own thoughts. “Down to earth. Conscientious. Happy. Now, I barely remember what he looked like when he was happy. Somehow…we lost both parents when Mom died, and I don’t know how to bring him back. Everything we say rolls off him like rain off a windowpane. It’s frustrating, knowing he could be better if he was only willing to get help and talk to a therapist about it. But he’s so stubborn and always thinks we’re trying to force him to forget Mom.”

“It’s hard having to take care of parents,” Dax murmured. “Having to protect them even though they were the ones who protected you and were supposed to be there for you. I mean, it’s how things go sometimes—but that doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Yes,” she whispered…and knew he understood. He’d had to take care of his mother and father at a much earlier age, at a time when he should have only been worrying about his future, hockey, and hot cheerleaders. They drove the last two minutes in silence and when Dax pulled over to the curb in front of her childhood home, she suddenly wished she were alone. Her middle finger ached from rapidly turning the ring on it. Her heart was beating too fast. He was here and…Dax shouldn’t see her so weak. Desperate. Sad.

“It’s okay. I can stay in the car,” Dax murmured as if he had read her thoughts.

She swallowed and shook her head. “No. You can get out. Maybe…” She hesitantly pushed a strand of hair off her forehead. “Maybe Dad will pull himself together if he sees a stranger here.”

She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out with a heavy heart. She waved over the car roof at Mrs. Marsden, who was peeking out from behind one of her kitchen curtains. Then she turned to the front yard and opened the squeaky gate.

Her father was not difficult to find. He was lying in the middle of the dry flowerbed, which now held nothing more than rocky soil. Lucy had been told it was good for the back to lie on the ground every now and then, but that certainly did not mean earth riddled with uneven stones.

Uncertain, Lucy stopped and peered down at him. Paler than he was a few weeks ago, he was lying there motionless with his eyes closed. If his chest had not been rising and falling regularly, she might have panicked. But he was breathing. Calmly and evenly. He was fine. At least physically.

“Dad, what are you doing down there?” she asked quietly.

Her father flinched and opened his eyes. “Lucy!” he said, startled. “How long have you been standing there?”

“Not long. What are you doing down there?”

“I’m lying down. What are you doing here?”

“I’m standing,” she replied softly. “Why are you lying here? And how long have you been doing it?”

He blinked and sat up. “What time is it?”

“Just after eleven.”

“Oh. Then four hours.”

“Four hours?” she echoed in disbelief, stuffing her hands into her pockets so she didn’t tear out her hair. “Dad…it’s cold and the ground is hard. Why are you lying on the ground?”

He smiled sadly. “Oh, I just feel closer to your mother down here and…” He stopped because his gaze landed on Dax, who was standing a foot behind Lucy. “Oh, you’re not alone,” her father said, irritated. “Why did you bring a stranger onto my property at this time of night, Lucy?”

“He’s not a stranger. This is Dax Temple, Dad. I work with him. He drove me here. Could you please get up?” She held out her hand and raised her eyebrows. Her father blinked several times, but finally did her a favor and let her pull him up from the ground. “Dax Temple,” he muttered. “Isn’t that the hockey player who’s been giving you so much grief?”

Lucy’s cheeks blushed and she glanced hastily at Dax, who looked mildly amused. “Um, yes,” she admitted. “Shall we go inside? When was the last time you had a drink and something to eat?”

Her father sighed heavily and pursed his lips. “Not you too, Lucy. It’s bad enough that Maddie calls me every two hours about it.”

“Drinking water is important, Dad. Eating too. Also showering, come to think of it. She has to call because…you forget to do that sometimes.”

“I’m not demented, Lucy!” he exclaimed. “My mental state is fine.”

“I know, Dad,” she replied softly, “but even if you’re not demented, sometimes you forget to…take care of yourself.”

Her father made a sound that was somewhere between a disapproving snort and an angry growl. “You girls and your worries. I’m taking care of myself. And you should treat my daughter better,” he added, pointing at Dax. “I’ve heard your name far too many times.”

The corners of Lucy’s mouth twitched and something warm spread through her chest. It was nice that a small part of her father still cared about her, that he wasn’t thinking exclusively about her dead mother.

“He’s right,” she muttered to Dax as they followed her father into the house. “You should treat me better.”

“I gave you the orgasm of your life, Lucy. What more do you want?” he replied, pretending to be offended.

Her cheeks blazed. “That’s not arrogant at all.”

“Are you disagreeing?”

She refrained from answering, and instead crossed the hall…only to stop dead in her tracks.

The kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off, as if a horde of unsupervised kindergarten children had been baking and invited a herd of wild buffalo to help. Wild buffalo with no manners.

The dishes were piled high in the sink. Open cereal boxes and pizza boxes were on the kitchen table. A bunch of mushy black bananas and a container of moldy raspberries rested in a fruit bowl. The garbage was overflowing and flies covered the counters. Shocked, Lucy stared at the mess and then at her father. At least now she had confirmation that her father was eating something, even if that wasn’t much of a consolation.

“Dad! What the hell happened here?”

“Um, Maddie hasn’t been here for a few days,” he said, embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck.

Good heavens, what the hell all was her sister doing around the house? Why hadn’t she told Lucy about it?

“It’s your kitchen. It’s not Maddie's job to keep it clean for you.”

“I don’t have the time.”

“Dad, you were just lying out in the garden for four hours!”

“Lucy,” her father replied calmly, leaving her perplexed, “it’s not that bad.”

“Yes, it is that bad!” she protested loudly. “Because you obviously can’t take care of yourself anymore! When was the last time you did the dishes, Dad? Took a shower? When was the last time you saw anyone other than me or Maddie?”

Her father sighed and waved his hand. “I live my life at my own pace. I’m fine.”

“Only because we’re propping you up!” she snapped, unable to control herself. It was too much. “God, Dad.” She rubbed her face with both hands. “Have you at least made another appointment with Dr. Felber?”

Her father’s expression darkened. “I didn’t miss the appointment by accident, Lucy.”

She took a deep breath. “Dad… He’s supposed to help you deal with the grief.”

“I’m dealing with it in my own way.”

“No! You’re not dealing with anything. You’re wallowing in self-pity, putting Mom on a shining pedestal, and forgetting to live your life!”

“Lucy, you don’t know how I feel.”

No, but she knew how she felt. “Please, Dad,” she said gently. “Just try it once. Dr. Felber is a good psychologist…”

“Psychologists!” He snorted. “Lucy, that new-fangled stuff isn’t for me.”

She gritted her teeth. “It’s not new-fangled. And it helps. How do you know it’s not for you? And Rachel is a psychologist!”

“Lucy, none of these people know me! And they didn’t know your mother either. How would they know what I’m going through?”

“It would at least be worth a try. You can’t go on like this. You’re not well.” She waved her hand around the dirty kitchen.

“I feel like any widower would, Lucy,” he said firmly, his voice growing louder.

“You laid on the cold garden ground for four hours, Dad, because you felt close to Mom,” she replied heatedly, her voice unnaturally thin and high. “Because she’s also under the cold ground, isn’t she? Dad, that’s not normal. That’s not healthy…”

“I just need time,” he defended himself. “If your mother were still alive, she would also tell you that I don’t need a psychologist.”

“But she’s not!” Lucy snapped. “She’s been dead for three years, Dad! She’s not coming back, she’s not looking after you, and she’s not helping you live your life. Stop waiting for it! This life belongs to you. Not the two of you . You are an individual. There’s more to you than just your marriage. God, enough already, Dad,” she said harshly, glaring at him. “I’m tired of worrying all the time. I’m tired of watching Maddie destroy herself because she only cares about you and not her personal life! You need to wake up. You need help. More than we can give you.”

“You have never been married, Lucy!” her father thundered. “You don’t know what love is and what it means to lose it! Otherwise you wouldn’t talk like that.”

Lucy lowered her gaze. Her hands began to shake, her lips began to tremble—and she didn’t know how to respond. He was right. She had never been in love. She didn’t know how it felt to lose someone. All she knew was that seeing her father this way was exhausting. He needed to change his ways—just like she did. “Okay, I think we should go now,” a deep, calm voice came from behind her.

Lucy jumped and whirled around. She had completely forgotten that Dax was here. “What?” she replied, confused, blinking several times.

“Your father is fine, Lucy. Well enough to yell. You came here to make sure of that and you did. We should go,” he repeated quietly.

“But…”

“Listen to your friend, Lucy,” her father said firmly. “I don’t need you here. You don’t have to stop by every time I’m lying in the garden for a few hours.”

“Fine,” she said abruptly. “But I’m going to tell Maddie to stop cleaning up after you, Dad. Have a wonderful evening.”

With that, she swept past Dax and out of the house, which suddenly felt far too cramped and stuffy.

God, her father was unreasonable! He was stubborn and wounded…hadn’t lived a good life the last few years and…and…the thought that it would never change for him was eating through her like moths.

She couldn’t help him. She had tried but failed every time. She felt so infinitely powerless.

Tears of anger and despair broke from her eyes and wound their way down her cheeks. When the gravel crunched next to her, announcing Dax, she swiped them away roughly.

“God, look at me. I’m completely incapable of pulling myself together. Too damn weak to even try, although I really don’t want you to see me like this. It’s just…” She sniffled and wiped her nose with her sleeve. “I can’t help him. I’m his daughter and I’ve known my father all his life. I should be able to help him. Or at least get him help.”

For several endless moments, a weighty, cold silence hung between them. Then, “Look at me, Lucy.”

She sniffed and shook her head. She didn’t want to see the pity on his face.

“Lucy, look at me,” he repeated quietly and this time he gently put a finger under her chin and lifted it toward him. He raised it until she was looking into his blue eyes. “You’re not incapable. You’re not weak. Nobody thinks that. Least of all me.”

A tear rolled down his finger and she smiled shakily. “You have to say that to the crying girl, Dax.”

He shook his head. “I’m saying it because it’s the truth. You are the strongest person I know. You handle me . It’s not your fault your father doesn’t want help. There’s nothing more you can do than offer it. You give him everything you can give. Your time, your patience, and your love. Your father isn’t demented or crazy. He knows exactly what he’s doing. The way he deals with the pain while remembering your mother is not your fault. You do what you can.”

She shook her head. “But it’s not enough.”

“You are always enough, Lucy—whether you achieve your goals or not. Your father won’t change that. I won’t change that. Nothing will—not your job, not your friends. You are enough. Got it?”

She nodded. What else could she do when he looked at her with such earnest determination? When his gaze didn’t allow any argument?

“Good,” he murmured. “Would you like a hug?”

She nodded again. And the next moment, he was wrapping his arms around her and pulling her tightly against his hard, warm body. He created their own cage of calmness, his head resting on the top of her head, one hand on her neck, his arm wrapped around her middle, so she knew he would hold her if she let herself fall.

Lucy closed her eyes, sank into his arms, inhaled his scent of man and cold ice, and forgot for a moment where she was. Her anger and despair flowed from her and evaporated in the cool evening air. Nothing but calm remained.

As she was thinking about remaining there forever, he released her.

“Let’s go,” he said, clearing his throat and looking away. “I’ll take you home.”