She moaned and slid her hands down his sides to his buttocks. “I love you, John. I’ve always loved you.”
He plunged deep inside her and realized immediately he’d forgotten a condom. For the first time in years, he felt enveloped in hot fluid flesh. Desperately he fought for control while the need for her clawed at his gut. He pulled back, thrust again, and they both shattered in a reeling climax.
It was three in the morning before John slipped from her bed and began to dress. Georgeanne secured the sheet around her breasts and sat up to watch him button his pants. He was leaving. She knew he didn’t have a choice. Neither of them wanted Lexie to know he’d spent the night. Still, her heart ached at his leaving. He’d told her he loved her. He’d told her many times. It was still a little hard to believe. Hard for her to trust the joy she felt deep inside.
He reached for his shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves. Tears stung the backs of her eyes and she blinked them back. She wanted to ask him if she would see him again the next evening, but she didn’t want to appear grasping and greedy.
“You probably won’t want to go to the arena early,” he said, referring to the hockey tickets he’d given her earlier. “Lexie will have a hard enough time sitting through the game, without getting there for the early stuff.” He sat on the edge of the bed and put on his socks and shoes. “Dress warm.” When he was finished, he stood and reached for her. He pulled her onto her knees and kissed her. “I love you, Georgeanne.”
She didn’t think she would ever tire of hearing him say those words to her. “I love you, too.”
“I’ll see you after the game,” he said, and dropped one last kiss on her lips. Then he was gone, leaving her alone with Virgil’s warning plaguing her brain and threatening to destroy her happiness.
John loved her. She loved him. Did he love her enough to give up his hockey team? How could she live with herself if he did?
* * *
Blue and green floodlights circled the ice like a swirling cauldron while a half-dozen scantily clad cheerleaders danced to ear-popping rock music pumped from the sound system at the Key Arena. Georgeanne could feel the heavy bass thud in her chest and wondered how Ernie was doing. She looked over the top of Lexie-who had her hands over her ears- to John’s grandfather. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the loud noise.
Ernie Maxwell looked almost the same as he had seven years ago, with his thin white crew cut and gravelly Burgess Meredith voice. The only real difference was that now his blue eyes looked out from behind a pair of black-rimmed glasses, and he had a hearing aid in his left ear.
When Georgeanne and Lexie had first found their seats, she’d been surprised to see him waiting for them. She hadn’t known what to expect from John’s grandfather, but he’d quickly put her at ease.
“Hello, Georgeanne. You look even more beautiful than I remember,” he’d said as he’d helped her and Lexie out of their jackets.
“And you, Mr. Maxwell, are twice as handsome as I remember,” she’d declared through one of her most charming smiles.
He’d laughed. “I always did like a southern gal.”
Suddenly the music stopped and the arena lights were extinguished, except for the two enormous Chinooks logos illuminated at each end of the ice.
“Ladies and gentleman, the Seattle Chinooks,” a male voice boomed from the speakers on the huge video Scoreboard. The fans went crazy, and amidst the screams and cheers, the home team skated onto the ice. Their white jerseys appeared stark in the darkness. From her position several rows above the blue line, her gaze scanned the back of each jersey until she found the name Kowalsky printed in blue above the number eleven. Her heart fluttered with pride and love. That big man with the white helmet stuck low on his forehead belonged to her. It was so new and she was having a hard time believing he loved her. She hadn’t talked to him since he’d kissed her goodbye, and since then, she’d experienced horrible moments when she’d feared she’d dreamed the night before.
Even from a distance she could see that he wore pads on his shoulders and beneath the ribbed socks that covered his legs and disappeared beneath his shorts. He held a hockey stick in the big padded gloves on his hands. He looked as impenetrable as the name he’d been given, as solid as a wall.
The Chinooks sailed from goalpost to goalpost, then finally stopped in a straight line in the middle. The lights came up, and the Phoenix Coyotes were announced. But when they skated out onto the ice, they were greeted by an arena filled with booing Chinooks fans. Georgeanne felt so bad for the other team, if she hadn’t feared for her safety, she might have cheered.
Five players from each team stayed out on the ice and took their positions. John slid into the center face-off circle, put his stick on the ice, and waited.
“Kick some ass, boys,” Ernie yelled as soon as the puck was dropped and the battle began.
“Grandpa Ernie!” Lexie gasped. “You said a bad word.”
Ernie either didn’t hear or chose to ignore Lexie’s admonition.
“Are you cold?” Georgeanne asked Lexie over the noise of the crowd. They’d dressed for winter in white cotton turtlenecks, jeans, and wool-lined ankle boots.
Lexie kept her eyes glued to the ice and shook her head. She pointed to John, speeding down the ice toward them, his fierce gaze directed at an opposing team player who had the puck. He body-checked him so hard against the boards, the Plexiglas shook and rattled, and Georgeanne just knew they were going to break through the barrier and take out the crowd. She heard the heavy whoosh of air leaving both men’s lungs, and she was sure after such a pounding, the other man would have to be carried away. But he didn’t even fall down. The two men elbowed and hacked, and finally the puck sailed toward the Coyotes’ goal.
She watched John skate from one end to the other, grind someone into the ice, and steal the puck. The collisions were often brutal, like car collisions, and she thought of the night before and hoped he didn’t damage anything vital.
The crowd was wild, peppering the air with salty curses. Ernie preferred to direct the majority of his grievance toward the referees. “Open your damn eyes and pay attention to the game,” he hollered. Georgeanne had never heard so much swearing in such a condensed period of time, nor had she ever seen so much spitting in her life. Besides cursing and spitting, each team delivered pounding hits, skated fast, and hammered the goaltenders. By the end of the first period, neither had scored.
In the second period, John was given a penalty for tripping and ordered to the penalty box.
“You sons of bitches!” Ernie yelled at the officials. “Roenick fell over his own damn feet.”
“Grandpa Ernie!”