John laughed and skated back into the free-for-all. When the practice was over, he felt bruised from battle, but happy to be back in the war. Later in the locker room, he handed his skates to a trainer to be sharpened for the next day and took a shower.
“Hey, Kowalsky,” an assistant coach called from the doorway to the locker rooms. “Mr. Duffy wants to see you when you’re dressed. He’s with Coach Nystrom.”
“Thanks, Kenny.” John tied his shoes, then pulled a green T-shirt with a Chinooks logo over his head and tucked it inside his blue nylon sweatpants. His teammates wandered around the room in various stages of undress, talking hockey, contracts, and the new rules the NHL had instated for the coming season.
It wasn’t unusual for Virgil Duffy to ask John to meet him, especially when the team’s general manager was out of state scouting for new talent. John was the captain of the Chinooks. He was a veteran player, and no one knew hockey better than the men who had played it for thirty years. Virgil respected John’s opinion, and John had come to respect the owner’s business acumen, even if at times they didn’t agree. At the moment they were debating a second-line enforcer. Good enforcers didn’t come cheap, and Virgil didn’t always want to pay millions for a limited player.
As John made his way to the front offices, he wondered how Virgil would react when he learned of Lexie’s existence. He didn’t figure the older gentleman would be real pleased, but he didn’t fear being traded anymore. Although he wouldn’t completely rule out the possibility. Virgil tended to be a hot reactor. The longer it took for Virgil to hear of what had transpired seven years ago, the better. John wasn’t purposely keeping Lexie a secret, but he figured there was no need to rub Virgil’s nose in it either.
He thought of Lexie and frowned. Since that morning in Cannon Beach a month and a half ago, Georgeanne had kept Lexie from him. She’d hired a lipstick-wearing pit bull for a lawyer who’d insisted on a paternity test. They’d stalled the test for weeks, then on the day the court-ordered test was to be performed, she’d done an about-face and had signed a document legally acknowledging paternity. With a stroke of Georgeanne’s pen, John was legally declared Lexie’s father.
A home examiner had been appointed to interview John and inspect his houseboat. The same examiner had talked to Georgeanne and Lexie and had recommended several short introduction visitations between father and child before John would be allowed to keep Lexie for longer periods of time. At the end of the introduction period, John would receive the same custody awarded fathers in a divorce situation, only he didn’t even have to appear before a judge. Once Georgeanne had legally acknowledged John as Lexie’s father, everything began to move rapidly.
John’s frown hardened. But for now, Georgeanne still had him by the short and curlies. He wasn’t getting any pleasure out of the experience, but Georgeanne obviously liked her grip. Well, she’d better enjoy it while it lasted, because in the end, what Georgeanne wanted wasn’t going to matter very much. She didn’t want him to pay child support or his share of Lexie’s day care and medical insurance. Through his lawyer, he’d offered generous support, plus full day care and insurance. He wanted to support his child and was willing to pay for whatever she needed, but Georgeanne had refused everything. According to her attorney, she didn’t want anything from him. In the end it wasn’t going to matter. The lawyers were in the final stages of dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s. Georgeanne would have to take what he offered.
He hadn’t seen or talked to Georgeanne since that morning at the beach house when she’d freaked out over nothing. She’d blown everything way out of proportion, calling him a sneaky liar when he hadn’t really lied to her. Okay, maybe that first night when she’d come to his houseboat he might have lied by omission. So they’d agreed not to hire attorneys, but he’d already hired Kirk Schwartz two hours before she’d showed up on his doorstep. He’d already had a basic idea of his rights even before he’d talked to her that night. Maybe he should have told her, but he’d figured she’d just get pissed off and try to keep Lexie from him. And he’d been right. But even now, he wouldn’t change what he’d done. He’d needed to know. He had to know his legal options in case Georgeanne moved or married or refused to let him see Lexie. He’d wanted to know who was listed as Lexie’s father on her birth certificate. He’d wanted information. His future with Lexie was too important not to know his legal rights.
The image of Lexie standing in the kitchen at his house in Cannon Beach was still vivid in his mind. He remembered the confusion on her face, and the bewildered look in her eye when she’d glanced over her shoulder at him as Georgeanne had dragged her down the sidewalk. He hadn’t wanted her to hear about him that way. He’d wanted to spend more time with her first. He’d wanted her to find as much joy in the news as he had.
He didn’t know what she thought now, but he would shortly. In two days he would see her for his first short visit.
John entered the coaches’ office and shut the door behind him. Virgil Duffy sat on a Naugahyde couch, wearing a linen suit from Fifth Avenue and a tan from the Caribbean.
“Look at that,” Virgil said, pointing to a portable television screen. “That kid’s made of cement.”
Sitting behind his desk, Larry Nystrom didn’t look as enthused as the owner. “But he can’t hit the lake from the dock.”
“He can be taught how to shoot the puck. You can’t teach heart.” Virgil looked at John and pointed toward the screen. “What do you think?”
John sat on the other end of the couch from Virgil and glanced at the television just in time to see a rookie Florida Panther nail Philly Flyer Eric Lindros to the boards. The six-four Lindros took his time getting to his feet before slowly skating to the bench. “I can tell you from personal experience that he hits high, like a linebacker. And he hits hard, but I’m not sure he has seed. How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
John shrugged. “He’s probably worth five, but we need a guy like Grimson or Domi.”
Virgil shook his head. “Too much.”
“Who else are you looking at?”
Virgil hit the fast-forward button and together the three men reviewed other prospects. The team trainer brought in a stack of paper and sat across from Nystrom. While the video played, the two men went over each sheet.
“Your body fat is less than twelve percent, Kowalsky,” the coach commented without looking up.
John wasn’t surprised. He couldn’t afford to let weight slow him down anymore, and he’d worked hard to keep it off. “What about Corbet?” he inquired of his teammate. The Chinooks right winger had reported to training camp looking as if he’d spent his summer rooting around an all-you-can-eat barbecue pit.
“Good God!” Nystrom swore. “He’s twenty percent fat!”
“Who is?” Virgil asked, and hit the stop button. The tape ejected and a local station flashed a Pampers commercial on the screen.
“That damn Corbet,” the trainer answered.
“I’m going to have to light a fire under his lard ass,” the coach threatened. “I’ll have to suspend him or send him to Jenny Craig.”
“Get him a trainer,”
John suggested.
“Get him on one of Caroline’s diets,” Virgil suggested. “When she goes on one of her diets, she gets real cranky.” Caroline was Virgil’s wife of four years, and only a decade younger than her husband. As far as John could tell, she was a nice woman, and they seemed happy together. “Give him a cup of white rice and two ounces of dry chicken before each game, then sit back and watch him kick ass.”