“I’m okay. I just wanted to call you. I wanted to…” He stopped again. “Fuck. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
“Listen, I’ll call you when I get back.”
“Sure. That’s fine.” Her stomach churned. Something felt wrong. He did not sound like himself. “Good luck tomorrow night. I’ll be watching.”
“Thanks, Remi.” There was a long pause, then he said, “I love you, Remi.”
“Oh.” Her heart squeezed. “I love you too.”
She hung up with trembling fingers, closing her burning eyes. She’d go to bed, get a good night’s sleep and in the morning everything would be fine.
But Monday morning she discovered how not fine things were. Skimming through the morning paper while she drank coffee, she flipped the page and her eyes were immediately drawn to a small headline—“Chicago Wolves player arrested for disorderly conduct.”
She leaned forward, frowning. “Saturday night, Chicago Wolves center Jase Heller was arrested at Sage Restaurant. According to restaurant manager Brian Smythe, Heller had arrived at the restaurant with a group of teammates at about nine o’clock. When advised of the dress code by the hostess and told that he could not enter the restaurant wearing blue jeans, Heller became angry and argumentative. When Mr. Smythe reinforced the restaurant policy and again told Heller he could not enter wearing blue jeans, Heller stripped off his jeans and walked into the restaurant in his underwear. Restaurant personnel asked Heller to leave, but he refused. Police were called and Heller was arrested and charged with disorderly conduct, public intoxication and resisting arrest. He was later released on bail.”
Remi sat frozen in her chair, her coffee forgotten. What the hell? Arrested? He’d taken off his pants in a classy restaurant and made a scene?
At least he’d been wearing underwear.
She wanted to disbelieve that this could have been Jason, but the black letters on the page popped out at her as if they were in big, bold font.
She shook her head. There must be some mistake. This was not possible.
The coffee she’d drank burbled in her stomach and threatened to come back up. She shook her head. What was going on? This was insane.
April fool’s day had passed days ago. This couldn’t be a prank. But he hadn’t said a word of this when they’d talked last night and her sense of unease and dread grew.
She had to go to work.
As if she could concentrate on thirty energetic kids. But she had no choice. In fact, she was going to be late.
She drove to school in a daze, thoughts tumbling around in her head like laundry in a dryer. Nothing made sense. She felt lost, like she was wandering through a maze, not sure which way to turn, smacking up against walls, desperate to get out.
What had she gotten herself into? Had she fallen in love with a nut job? Had he fooled her that well?
No. No. They loved each other. She had no doubt about the depth of their feelings for each other, which only made the situation more bizarre. In her wildest imaginings, she could not come up with something that reasonably explained this.
All day it took monstrous effort to stay focused enough to teach, to keep things under control with a group of pre-teens who looked for any weakness, any small crack that would give them the advantage, because once they started it was even harder to bring them back.
By the time the bell rang at the end of the day, she was exhausted.
And worried sick. She hadn’t been able to eat lunch and certainly wasn’t interested in dinner.
She had to talk to someone, so when she got home she called Delise and told her what had happened. Delise hadn’t seen the newspaper article, but sounded as shocked and confused as Remi felt.
“Don’t even say I told you so,” Remi said fiercely.
“I won’t. Do you want me to come over?”
“Um…maybe. I’m going to watch the game on TV.” Seeing Jason on television would at least reassure her that he was alive and functioning.
“I’ll come over. I’ll bring popcorn and beer.”
She didn’t want popcorn and beer, but didn’t say anything, letting Delise think she was helping.
“Thank you for coming,” she said later, as they sat side by side on the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them. Delise was munching and Remi’d picked up a few kernels, but they tasted like she was eating dog kibble. One beer on an empty stomach had her a little woozy. She kept her eyes glued to the television, watching for Jason.
He was there. She caught sight of number twenty-five in the line as the national anthem played, but the cameraman apparently wasn’t as interested in him as she was and passed right by him.
“He’s there,” she breathed.
“So, that’s good.”
“I guess.” Maybe she would have felt better if he’d still been in jail or if he’d actually been hospitalized with a head injury and amnesia.
Jason did not take the opening face-off. In fact, as the game progressed, he didn’t play a lot, and when he was on the ice he seemed sluggish and slow. Was he sick? Icy fingers squeezed her insides painfully. “Oh, Delise,” she said, her voice coming out shaky. “Something’s wrong.”
Delise glanced at her and patted her leg, but Remi could tell she didn’t know what to say. Had she been rudely dumped? Or was there really something wrong? She nibbled her bottom lip until it was raw. The Wolves were not playing well as a team, and going into the third period, the score was three-one for St. Louis. Not a good start.
Even she could tell the Wolves were frustrated.
Then they got two quick goals and tied it up. They both cheered, but it didn’t make her feel much better. Gut-gnawing anxiety still chewed away inside her.
Another nail-biter, the clock ticking away time. She wasn’t sure if the same thing happened in a playoff game, if they did a shootout or if they kept playing, but she knew it couldn’t end in a tie.
The Wolves got a few more great shots on the net, but the St Louis goalie made some heart-stopping saves. She watched as Dominic smacked his stick into the boards with frustration. Where was Jason? Why weren’t they playing him much? They needed him!
And then, with only a minute forty-three seconds left in the game, there he was, circling on the ice, ready for a face-off. He crouched, alert, poised. The camera zoomed in on him and the St. Louis center, who said something to Jason. Jason said something back.
Remi had a feeling they weren’t making a bet on who’d pay for dinner after.
The ref dropped the puck and Jason smacked at it, but didn’t get control. The camera followed the puck, but then the crowd was screaming, the whistle blew and the television screen filled with an image of two players going at it, gloves off, fists flying, shirts wrenched.
“Oh dear God.” She felt her eyes go wide and her mouth hung open. She covered it with her hands. It was Jason in a fight.
Delise and Remi both sat forward, the popcorn forgotten. Remi couldn’t breathe and her heart accelerated.
The two men continued to hammer at each other and she swore she felt every punch that landed on Jason as if they struck her own body. She flinched and tensed. The refs circled them, the other players drifted over to the boards near their respective benches.
Then Jason dropped the other guy to the ice and fell onto him, punching at his face with fierce, frenzied blows.
“Jesus!” She pressed her hands to her mouth, wanted to cover her eyes, look away. She couldn’t stand it. “What are you doing?” she shouted at the television, as if he could hear her. “Stop, Jason. Stop it!”
The refs finally pulled Jason off the other player and dragged him away, bleeding from his face, chest heaving, hands still in fists.