Calling the Shots. Ellen Hartman
“You okay?” he typed and then pressed Send. She wasn’t supposed to text in class, wasn’t even supposed to have her phone on, so there was a good chance she wouldn’t answer even if she wanted to. He set the phone next to his gloves on the bench. He waited but it sat silent.
If Allie texted him back before he got his skates off, he decided, that was the sign that Clare was going to be reasonable. He bent and untied the knot on his right skate. He didn’t dawdle, it wasn’t fair to try to manipulate a sign, but he couldn’t help noticing moisture on the skate blade which meant an extra careful wipe dry before he stowed the skate in his bag. He’d just tugged the lace out of the top set of holes on his left skate when the phone buzzed. He grabbed it, flipping the screen open. She’d texted back, “OK.”
He dropped the phone on the bench and tugged his skate off quickly. OK. He snorted. The two of them didn’t have a single conversational skill to split between them. Still, short and unsatisfying as OK was, she’d replied. He zipped his bag and wished he still believed in luck.
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HOCKEY LEAGUE BOARD must have been up before dawn, Clare thought, if they’d had time to meet and still call her before Tim left for school. Fanatics were always so…fanatical.
She’d agreed to meet mostly just to get off the phone because she’d wanted to talk to Tim. But before she had a chance, he’d shouted that he was leaving and slammed the front door. She called his cell. When he answered, he said it was too cold to talk while he was walking.
She took a quick shower and then was lucky enough to get Lila Sykes, the mediator, on the phone, but that conversation hadn’t gone well, either. Lila had homed in on the fact that they moved a lot and most of her suggestions were aimed at making Tim feel at home in Twin Falls. Every time she said “settle” or “connect,” Clare felt more sure mediation was the wrong move for them at this time. Sure, she wanted Tim to enjoy himself while he was here, but they weren’t staying and there was no sense getting involved in a program that would make it harder to leave when her contract redesigning the data security for the Twin Falls Savings bank was up.
The hockey league would have to find another solution for Allie.
When Clare got to the rink, Danny Jackson and John Langenforth, the man she’d spoken to on the phone, met her in the same cluttered office off the lobby where she’d waited for Bryan the night before. They told her Bryan would be here soon and then excused themselves because there was an issue with the bylaws they should discuss in private.
She put her leather backpack down next to a chair, but she didn’t sit. She was chilly and nervous, on edge about this discussion and about Tim, and unhappy being in this room again.
The office was cold—probably people who spent their lives inside a hockey rink didn’t feel cold the way normal people did. Or maybe it was growing up in Twin Falls that made them impervious to cold. It was only November and already she’d forgotten that she even had toes, let alone what they felt like.
All signs of the confrontation last night were gone. All that was left, according to John Langenforth, was for her to agree to mediation and the entire incident would be swept away. Except the part where she didn’t trust Allie and didn’t want Tim playing hockey. And the part where she didn’t want any hand in mediation. And the part where she was worried about her family. Tim was pulling away so fast. Wishing for things she had no idea how to provide. She wasn’t even sure she knew what he wanted when he asked to stay in one place. Did he know?
Was it simply this?
A spot on this hockey team? Maybe the chance to belong to a place so the seasons became yours and you wouldn’t notice cold that would shock an outsider?
The walls of Danny’s office were covered with framed photos of kids and teams, and the desk was a clutter of files and magazines with sticky notes. Clare bet it would take her less than five minutes to find his online bank account and voice-mail passwords on those notes. After ten years in the computer security field, she never failed to be amazed at the cavalier attitude people took toward their private information. His password was probably hockey or puck. Men liked their passwords easy to type.
The door to the office opened, startling her away from the desk.
“Sorry,” Bryan said. “I thought Danny and John were in here.”
He had a hockey bag slung over his shoulder and a blue stick gripped in his right hand. He dropped the bag on the floor near the door, the chest and shoulder muscles under his shirt moving with tantalizing strength. His dark hair was damp, swept back from his forehead with little wings curling out around his ears and at the back of his collar. He must have just come from the shower; she caught a faint hint of soap and spicy aftershave.
He was wearing a navy crewneck sweater with a white T-shirt underneath and soft gray corduroys. When he straightened up, she was struck by how tall he was. She’d noticed the difference between him and Danny last night, but even on his own he was tall, and with his broad shoulders and the muscle she’d seen in his chest, he was…oh no. No.
Her body was not going to react to him. He was gorgeous and built, and in this tiny office with her he seemed to be breathing all the available air, but she was here for Tim, not chasing some guy. Bryan James was a parent, not a man.
She swallowed and tried to think about anything besides what it would feel like to tangle her fingers in the hair at the base of his neck.
“They stepped out to look at the bylaws,” she said. “They should be back any minute.”
He nodded, his mouth tight. Was he angry? Nervous? As confused about his kid as she was?
He sat in the same chair he’d been in last night and she stayed where she was near the wall of photos. Snow slid off the roof overhead with a crunching grind and they both glanced up, but neither of them said anything.
The silence stretched.
Working as a consultant meant she joined existing companies or groups, recommended changes and facilitated shifts in products and systems. Most of the time, she came on the scene after a breach of data security when the company was already out time, money and reputation. She was used to being around people who were on edge and uncomfortable around her. She was also used to not caring how those people felt about her as long as they managed to work logically on the issues. She’d never experienced quite this level of strained silence before.
A small voice in her head murmured that maybe she was uncomfortable because Bryan was attractive, male and just plain took up space in a way most guys, especially the tech guys she was used to, couldn’t.
She cleared her throat and watched him, hoping he’d pick up on her signal that he should start talking.
It was bad enough she was going to be the only woman in this meeting with three old hockey pals, she didn’t care to fall into the traditional female role of small-talk facilitator.
Nothing.
He seemed perfectly capable of sustaining an uncomfortable silence for hours. Gender roles be damned, she was ready to break the silence herself, except how? Hey, Bryan, did you figure out why your child hates my child yet?
Where the hell was his wife? Weren’t meetings about the kids like this traditionally the wife’s job? Shouldn’t Allie’s mother at least have come with him? She thought she’d seen a woman driving the car when Allie got dropped off at practice last night. So where was she this morning? The tension might have been eased if there were another person here. Certainly she would find it easier not to fantasize about the man’s hair if his wife were sitting next to him.
Would his wife have made time for this if they were meeting at the police station instead of the hockey rink?
Enough.
Not only was she developing a case of baseless animosity toward the missing Mrs. James, she was dangerously close to being affronted on Bryan’s behalf.
“Your wife couldn’t