Rachel Gibson: True Love and Other Disasters

He chuckled as he gazed across the room. “Do you know what a two-way defender is?”

“Someone who can defend and score.” She shrugged. “At least that’s what I think it means.”

“You’re right. That’s pretty much what it means.” He moved toward her. “Keep your eyes open for a big, hard-nosed checker. Don’t worry so much about the kid’s speed. Skating can be improved.” He wrapped his hand around the robe’s belt and pulled her against him. “If I don’t talk to you again until we get back to Seattle, don’t get bent out of shape again.” He pressed his lips to her forehead.

“You’ll be thinking about me?”

He shook his head and his lips brushed across her skin. “I’m going to try like hell not to think about you.”

The different tones and pitches of more than thirty snoring men filled the cabin of the BAC-111 as it circled Boeing Field and prepared to land. Hours earlier, the Chinooks had suffered a crushing 3-4 loss to Detroit. Game Five of the series was two days away and Faith figured Ty would need the full two days to recover from a brutal hit he’d taken at center ice from Detroit enforcer Darren McCarty.

A few plays later, Ty had put a hit on McCarty in the corner that had crumpled the Red Wing to the ice. “McCarty caught me with my head down,” Ty had told the press later that night. “Then I caught him with the puck.”

Later that night, Faith saw firsthand the extent of Ty’s bruises. He was black and blue on his right side and red across his back and hard stomach. It looked like he’d been hit by a baseball bat instead of a hockey enforcer. Ty was sore and battered and when they made love over the next few days, Faith was thoughtful enough to climb on top.

By Game Five Ty had healed somewhat, and the Chinooks managed a 3-1 win in their own house. Game Six was back in Detroit at the Joe Louis Arena and went into double overtime. With three seconds left on the clock, Daniel scored and the Chinooks advanced to the final round to face off against the Pittsburgh Penguins in their battle for the cup.

High from the win and advancement into the final round of the playoffs, the team boarded the BAC-111 and celebrated by popping Bollinger champagne. Once the jet reached cruising speed, Coach Nystrom stood, slightly bowed forward to accommodate his height. “Two months ago when Virgil Duffy died,” he began when everyone had quieted, “we all worried how the new ownership of the team would affect our run at the cup. Any time there is a change, there is cause for concern. After tonight, I think we can safely say that Mrs. Duffy has successfully filled Virgil’s shoes. I think he would be proud of her, and we want to officially welcome her to the team.” He turned to his left and Darby handed him a dark blue jersey. He turned it to show her name, DUFFY, written across the shoulders and the number one on the back in dark green. “We officially want to welcome the newest Chinook.”

Faith stood and stepped into the aisle. She took the jersey and the backs of her eyes stung. “Thank you, Coach.” She turned and looked at the scruffy faces looking back at her, at their beards that now ranged from Geico cavemen to patchy fuzz. She met Ty’s gaze and both corners of his mouth slid up in a rare smile. Her heart pinched and her eyes stung and she didn’t want to cry like a girl. “When I discovered that Virgil had left me his hockey team, I was as stunned as all of you. I was just as worried as everyone else that the responsibility would be too much for me and I’d mess things up.” She swallowed and folded the jersey across her arm. “With the help of my assistant, and everyone else, I’m proud to say I’ve done all right. I’m proud of all you guys, and I know that Virgil is proud of us too.” She thought she should give some sort of inspiring speech, but her vision blurred. “Thank you,” she said before she embarrassed herself by crying in front of her guys. She sat next to Jules for the remainder of the flight home and wished she could curl up in Ty’s lap and bury her face in his neck.

At three in the morning, when a black Beemer pulled up to the curb in front of her penthouse, she wore the new jersey beneath her raincoat. This time, however, she packed her Louis Vuitton hatbox with extra lingerie and a change of clothes.

Over the next five days, until the first game against the Penguins, their lives fell into a comfortable pattern, as if they were a real couple. Ty practiced during the day while Faith viewed rookie tapes or met with Miranda Snow of the Chinooks Foundation. She had lunch with Jules or her mother, and at night she either drove to Ty’s or he came to her home, depending on Valerie and Pavel’s plans. The only creature on the planet aware of Ty and Faith’s covert relationship was Pebbles. The second the dog set her beady eyes on Ty, she instantly fell in love, much to the 240-pound hockey player’s discomfort. The second he would walk in the door, Pebbles circled his legs so he could hardly walk and jumped in his lap when he sat. Ty would give Faith a look, expecting her to do something, but when she tried, the dog snapped at her. Pebbles was a total slut for Ty, but Faith supposed she couldn’t blame the evil little mutt.

The one and only time she and Ty argued, it was about Virgil. It happened at his house during a golf lesson when he was teaching her to “waggle.” She wore a red corset and little panties that tied at the sides, and instead of getting turned on like she’d planned, he’d just gotten irritated.

“When are you going to stop wearing that ring?” he asked as she lined up a shot.

“Does it bother you?”

He shrugged and placed his beer on the bar. He wore a pair of worn Levi’s and a ripped-up tank top. His hair was disheveled from her fingers and he looked good enough to lick up one side and down the other. “It’s a constant reminder that you’re Virgil’s wife.”

She set the club in a rack and turned to face him. “Obviously, that bothers you.”

“I think it would bother most men. I’m having sex with you, and you’re wearing another man’s ring.”

She looked into his blue eyes, brittle with anger, and she didn’t understand it. “Virgil’s only been dead two months.”

“Exactly. You can come here and have sex but you can’t take off that damn ring?”

“I already feel guilty about the sex, Ty.” Suddenly she felt naked and exposed and she moved past him toward her dress, lying on his couch. “He was my husband for five years.”

“He was your roommate.”

“He took care of me.”

“He bought you because he could.”

“Well, I sold myself to him.” She grabbed the dress and turned to face him. “Which makes me no better than him.”

“You weren’t the one in the relationship with all the power. He was.”

Which was true. She and Virgil had been friends and gotten along very well, but he’d always been in charge. “He was good to me. Better than any man I’ve ever known.”

“Then the men in your life must have sucked.” He folded his arms across his chest.

That was true too.

“He’s gone, Faith.”

“I know.” She pulled her dress over her head and shoved her arms in the short sleeves.

“You don’t owe him anything.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Her hands rose to the buttons on the front. “He left me enough money to take care of me for the rest of my life. He left me his hockey team, for God’s sake. And every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m betraying my husband.” Her fingers fumbled with the button. “I feel guilty as hell, but I feel the most guilty those times when I’m not feeling guilty at all.” She looked up at him. “Maybe Landon was right about me. I am a shameless gold digger. But I don’t even mind being called a gold digger. It’s the truth, but I thought I’d outgrown being shameless.”