ny Man of Mine:

Respects Boundaries

“You about done, Conner?” Sam called out. He glanced from the doorway to the top of Autumn’s head. Her messed-up ponytail tickled his cheek. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman and been fully dressed. Especially this woman. He half expected an elbow in the gut and head butt to his chin.

“Not yet, Dad.”

Instead, she dropped to her heels and slid down his body. A slow friction that ignited a fire and burned down his stomach to his groin. His fingers pressed into her bare skin. He couldn’t help it. It just happened, and a deep, heavy groan vibrated his chest. A sort of sound that only meant one thing, and he hoped like hell she didn’t notice.

“I need some water.” She turned her face and looked up at him. “Want some cold water?”

That close, her eyes were very green. Not like emeralds. Warmer. Like when the trees finally turned in Saskatchewan. “No.” He dropped his hands and turned from the kitchen. Trees in Saskatchewan? Where the hell had that come from? Yeah. He needed some cold water. He needed to dump it in his crotch.

He moved into the living room and reached for his coat on the couch. “I gotta get going.” Before he did something totally insane, like starting to have sexual thoughts about the mother of his child. About Autumn. The women who hated and confused him more than any woman on the planet. “Conner!” he called out as he slipped into his wool coat, which thankfully covered the beginning promise of a full-blown erection.

“Yeah, Dad?” He came down the hall empty-handed. “Are you leaving now?”

“I’ve had a long week.” True, but not the reason he had to go. “I’ll call you Monday after practice and maybe we’ll go to one of those kiddy fun centers you like.”

“Can we golf? I’m good at golfing.”

Autumn walked out of the kitchen, hair still in a wild just-got-laid mess, blue thermal shirt hugging her like a second skin and a glass of water in one hand. “Sure,” he said as he looked down at the buttons on his coat.

“I have to work until around two. So he’ll be at his day care Monday after school.”

“I’ll send Natalie to pick him up.”

He looked across the room at her as she shoved one shoulder against the entrance into the dining room. There was something different about her that night. She was softer. More approachable, but that wasn’t it.

“You probably know my newest clients.” He’d noticed it a few weeks ago when she’d stood at the bottom of her stairs looking at him. “The Ross twins,” she continued. “One of them is marrying Mark Bressler. I think he’s your coach.”

“Yeah, I know Mini Pit and Short Boss.” Just a few months ago, he’d flirted with Chelsea at the Stanley Cup party. He liked her, and she was cute, but mostly he’d just wanted to piss off Mark. That’s what friends were for.

“The other twin, Bo, is marrying someone in the Chinooks’ organization. Someone named Julian.”

“Jules Garcia?” He motioned for Conner to come give him a hug good-bye. “Didn’t see that one coming.” Mostly because Mini Pit scared grown hockey players, and a lot of the guys thought Jules was gay. Sam had never thought so, but the guy did favor pastels, moisturizers, and hair products.

He gave Conner a big hug, and it wasn’t until he was locked up in his truck on the way home that he realized what was different about Autumn.

Nothing.

He took the 405 through Bellevue, the lights of the city a blur sliding across his windshield as he thought about Autumn and her deep green eyes. There was nothing in her eyes when she looked at him. No resentment nor hate. No passion or anger.

Good. Nothing was much preferable to the anger he’d seen in her eyes for so many years. He’d caused that anger. Deserved his share of it, but no one had ever hated him like Autumn. Not even hockey players he’d sent flying into the boards. Living with Autumn’s hatred had always been a regretful fact of his life. One that had made his relationship with Conner difficult.

But what now? He just couldn’t ever see them as friends. First off, he didn’t have women friends, and second, there was too much bitterness and baggage. They’d been two combatants doing battle in the face-off circle for far too long. Guarded. Ready to fight. Except for tonight.

She’d been relaxed, and he’d let his guard slip, and for a few brief moments, things had been easy. Maybe too easy. Hearing her laughter reminded him of the girl she’d been long ago. The one who’d joked and laughed and made love all day. There was a lot about that time in Vegas he didn’t remember, but there was enough that he did. Enough that twisted his head around and turned him inside out with guilt and confusion.

She was the mother of his child. The woman who blew hot and cold. The very last woman on the planet he wanted twisting his head and turning him any which way.

Least of all on.

Autumn sat across her desk from Chelsea and Bo Ross. She was all business, in a black crepe dress from the forties with little cap sleeves and rhinestone buttons.

The moment the identical twins walked into her office, she knew the double wedding ceremony they wanted wouldn’t work. Bo’s dark little ponytail and black suit made her look like she resided on the wrong coast, while Chelsea was a riot of color in a purple-and-pink Pucci dress and red platform heels. They were short and cute, with big breasts and large personalities.

Chelsea leaned forward and put her hand on the desk. “We decided on the third Saturday in July.”

“The hockey season will be over,” Bo clarified.

“Mark and I will be moved into our house in Chapel Hill.”

“And Jules and I will hopefully have found a house by then.” Bo put her hand over her sister’s. “For our wedding, we were thinking understated. Black and white with a touch of pewter.”

“I doubt Jules was thinking black and white, and Mark doesn’t care as long as he doesn’t have to plan any of it.” Chelsea smiled and slid her hand out from beneath her sister’s. “I want a garden theme with lots of color. Purples and pinks with splashes of red and yellow.”

“No.”

“Black and white is boring. You need more color in your life.”

“And you’re like an abstract painting that no one gets but you.”

“Ladies,” Autumn interjected. “How set are you on having a dual ceremony?”

They both looked at Autumn like she was speaking a language they didn’t understand. “We got engaged within days of each other.”

“It seems right,” they said at the same time.

“A double ceremony is tricky.” Autumn leaned forward in her chair and folded her arms on the desk. “And every bride deserves to have her day made special just for her. Bo, you’re very understated, and Chelsea, you’re bold and love color. You both deserve your moment, but I fear your tastes are so different, they’re incongruent to the wedding of your dreams.”

“But our family will have to make two trips to Seattle.”

Bo shook her head. “Not if we have one wedding on a Friday night and the other on a Saturday.”

Autumn smiled. “Exactly.”

“I get Saturday.”

Bo shook her head. “Jules has more family. I get Saturday.”

“We don’t have to decide that today,” Autumn interrupted, and changed the subject to one every bride loved. “Have you two gone dress shopping yet? I can help you with that or give you the names of some great shops.”

“I’m not looking at dresses until after Christmas,” Chelsea said. “I’m having breast reduction surgery on the twenty-ninth, so I really don’t see the point in trying on a dress now.”

Bo looked at her sister, a deep scowl between her eyes. “I read a statistic about the number of people who die from cosmetic surgery.”

“It’s not cosmetic.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it isn’t.”

“It’s mutilation.”

Chelsea closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Do we have to do this now?” She turned and looked at her sister. “Today?”

“No.” Bo shook her head. “I’m sorry. You can have Saturday.”

“No. Jules has a big family. You take Saturday.”

Autumn felt a great stabbing pain in the center of her forehead. She was almost afraid to ask. “How involved will the grooms be in the planning process?”

“Mark, not at all. Except for the two weeks he’s taking off for my surgery, he’s on the road with the Chinooks until spring.” Chelsea raised a hand and waved it around. “And he’s not really a planner anyway.”

“Jules will help. Although…” Bo conceded, “his love of pastels might be a problem.”

Chelsea smiled at her sister. “Jules has great taste. You should let him work with the planner instead of you.”

Once the twins got past the idea of a dual ceremony and stopped arguing about who had the worse taste, the meeting calmed. Autumn quickly discovered that both women were very organized and knew what they wanted. They knew how much they wanted to spend and how much each wanted to be involved in the actual nuts and bolts of planning. They were very much alike in that regard, and the three of them went over the contracts quickly and thoroughly.

Both women were marrying high-profile men. Especially Chelsea. Mark Bressler was a hockey legend in Seattle, and she wondered if the two would mind if she submitted their photos to trade magazines. Once she became a little more familiar with the two, she’d broach the subject.

Bo pulled out her ponytail holder, then gathered her hair at the back of her head once more. “I think we’re about done here, and I need to get some work done.” Her brows lowered as she looked over Autumn’s right shoulder. “That boy looks familiar.”

Autumn glanced behind her at the many photos of Conner on the shelves behind her.

“He looks like the kid whose been in the players’ lounge the last few games. He comes with one of Sam’s tall, dark-haired, big-lipped women.”

Chelsea folded her arms beneath her breasts. “Your basic nightmare.”

“That’s my son, Conner.” She looked from one twin’s face to the other, then added, “LeClaire.”

Light dawned in Bo’s blue eyes. “Ah.”

“I didn’t know Sam had a son. How old is he?”

“Five,” Autumn answered. “Sam and I weren’t married for very long.” Which was an understatement. “Being married to a hockey player just wasn’t for me.” From the beginning, she and Sam had agreed for Conner’s sake to keep the particulars of their marriage short and sweet. It was about the only thing they’d ever really agreed on. There were only three other people who knew the whole truth. Vince and Sam’s two buddies. And as far as she knew, the buddies hadn’t spilled the truth.

“That kind of life is hard on a family,” Bo agreed. “It takes a lot of commitment and a strong woman. Hockey players are great, but some can be real dogs.”

Chelsea gasped. “Bo!”

“Oh, I don’t mean Mark.”

Chelsea cut her eyes toward Autumn. “Watch what you say.”

“It’s okay.” Autumn laughed. “Sam is a huge dog.”

Chelsea smiled. “But he’s a charming dog.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out with you. I’ve always liked Sam. He used to come over to Mark’s and pick him up when he couldn’t drive. He’s been a really good friend to Mark.”

“Yes.” Autumn didn’t know how good a friend Sam could be, but she did know that he could be a charming dog. He’d certainly charmed her six years ago. Charmed her right out of her bikini bottoms.

Bo stood and reached for her little black backpack. “Jules and I usually sit in the owner’s box for most home games. If you ever want to come and bring Conner, let me know.”

“Won’t Faith mind?”

“She’s been hanging out in the lounge, and the box is usually empty unless Jules and I sit up there.”

Autumn stood also.

“I’ll ask Faith first, of course, but I really don’t think she’ll mind. In fact she’ll probably be happy it’s getting used.”

Autumn had no intention of going to a Chinooks’ game. She wasn’t a hockey fan, and there was no way she wanted to be confused for a Sam fan. Their relationship was fine for the moment, but they weren’t friends. “Thanks.”

She showed the twins out, then moved back to her desk and put the contracts in a file. Sam was picking up Conner from his day care for a few hours. She didn’t know how she felt about Sam’s sudden transition from occasional to involved dad. She didn’t know what had inspired the change in Sam, but ultimately, it was good for Conner. She missed him when he was with Sam, but she had to admit that it did give her a needed break. Like today, she had a ton of laundry and a house to clean, and it was always easier if her son wasn’t making a mess behind her.

Before she left for the day, she pulled a few vendor files and put them on the pile of work she needed to take home. The cell phone on her desk rang, and she picked it up. She recognized Sam’s number, and answered, “What’s up?”

“I have Conner. I thought I’d let you know.”

How considerate. How so unlike Sam. “Thanks.”

“There’s a game tomorrow night.”

She sat on the edge of her desk and looked out the window at the parking lot beyond. “Yeah. Conner told me.”

“He wants to go.”

It was a school night, but as long as Conner’s schoolwork didn’t suffer, she could relax that rule. Sam was leaving for several weeks, and Conner wouldn’t see him. “As long as he doesn’t get tired, that’s fine. Just have Natalie bring him home when he starts to wear out.”

“Yeah. Uh-huh. Are you going to watch it on TV?”

“The game?” Why was Sam so chatty? “No.”

“Are you working?”

“Not tomorrow night. No.” She’d just bought one of those Bedazzlers and wanted to glue tacky jewels on something. “November is typically a slow month for me.”

“Natalie has the flu.”

“Sorry.” Maybe a cheap ugly vase or better yet, glass votive candle holders. That could be cool, and she could use them at events. Maybe.

“So… can you bring Conner to the game?”

Or on pens and… “What? Whoa. No. I’m busy.”

“Doing what? You just said you’re not working.”

What did it matter? She didn’t owe him anything. “Stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“I’ve got a list of stuff.”

“Of course you do, but what’s on your list that’s more important than taking your son to a hockey game to watch me play?”

Just about everything, but to show him how low he was on her personal food chain, she said, “My Bedazzler.”

“Your what?”

“I got a Bedazzler, and I’m going to glue glass stones on a vase or something.”

“Jesus.”

“I don’t owe you any explanation, Sam.” She stood and put a hand on her hip. “But if you want to know the truth, I hate hockey.”

“That’s like saying you hate Canada.”

“I’m not Canadian,” she pointed out.

“Conner is. Listen”—it sounded like he switched ears before he continued—“I wouldn’t ask, but I’m leaving Tuesday for a week.”

From the other side of Sam’s car she heard a little voice plead, “Please, Mommy.”

“That’s not fair, Sam.”

“I know.”

Of course he did, and he wasn’t sorry.

“You don’t have to stay the whole game,” he continued. “If you or Conner gets tired, you can leave. It’s just this one time, Autumn. I wouldn’t ask, but Conner really wants to see me put the big hurt on Sedin.”

“Conner doesn’t like violence.”

“It’s not violence. It’s hockey.”

Right. She was going to give him what he wanted this time, but she really didn’t want to, and she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. “What do I get?”

There was a pause, then he asked, his voice a deep rasp in her ear, “What do you want, honey?”

She rolled her eyes. “I want you to stop pushing me. You’re spoiled and used to everyone’s doing things your way. I don’t work for you, and I’m not one of your women. My life does not revolve around your wants, needs, and desires.”

“Autumn,” he said through a sigh, “of all the women on the planet, I certainly know that your life does not revolve around my desires.”

“Welcome to the Jungle” pounded the air inside the Key Arena in downtown Seattle. Two minutes into the second period, the score was even with two goals apiece. Walker and Vancouver player, Henrik Sedin, faced off behind the Chinooks’ blue line. The puck dropped, the music stopped, and the sound of Axl Rose was replaced by the slap of sticks on ice.

Sam sat on the bench and squirted water into his mouth. He spit between his feet and wiped the corner of his lips with the back of his hand.

“Henrik’s creating space and crowding the crease,” Mark Bressler said from behind Sam. “Tie him up and get him off Marty’s long side.”

Sam nodded, his eyes following the action on ice. The Canucks had speed in their front line, but their blue line wasn’t as fast. If the Chinooks kept the pressure on the defense and Luongo, they should give them a pretty good shellacking.

Beside him, Andre chirped at Burrows as he skated past the bench, “You’re next, nutless.”

Sam laughed and slid his gaze to the left corner behind the goal and landed on Autumn’s pink ball cap. It was like Autumn was incognito. Hat on, collar of her coat up, like she was a double agent and didn’t want anyone to recognize her. He guessed he was a little surprised that she wasn’t wearing that Pittsburgh jersey just to piss him off.

Sam felt a hand on his back, and he rose and shoved his mouth guard against his teeth. He and Vlad scissored over the wall, and he skated to the far side.

Vancouver’s Kesler brought the puck down ice, dangling the vulcanized rubber within the blade of his stick. Sam kept his gaze on Kesler’s face, reading him, and the second he looked down, Sam hip checked him against the boards. The Plexiglas rattled as he dug at the puck with the curved blade of his own stick. “You must love getting your ass handed to you,” he said as he slashed and hacked.

“Blow me, LeClaire.”

“You first, chicken shit.” He shot the puck along the alley to Daniel and took off toward the red line. The whistle blew, and the ref called offside.

He glanced at Conner and Autumn. His son waved a foam finger at him, and his heart swelled. The shadow of Autumn’s cap hid her eyes and touched the bow of her lips. He was grateful that, despite her obvious dislike of him and hockey, she’d brought Conner.

He circled back to the goal line and checked the tape on his stick. He really couldn’t ask for a better mother for his son, and as he passed Kesler, he bumped him with his shoulder. “My balls dangle better than you,” he said.

“Your balls dangle ’cause you’re an old man.”

Sam smiled. He remembered when he’d been twenty-five and cocky. Hell, he was still a little cocky sometimes. “Watch yourself, dipshit. The season is young, and the ice is slick.”

He stood near the goal line, shutting down firing lanes and waited. The puck dropped, Hendrik fed it back to Kesler, and from his right, Sam took a hard hit from Shane O’Brien that knocked him on his ass. He slid across the ice. His right shoulder slammed into the boards, and he heard the snap a split second before pain shot across his shoulder and down his arm. “Fuck.”

He tried to sit up and rolled onto his right side. Stars flashed in front of his eyes, and the whistles blew. He shook off his glove and gritted his teeth. “Son of a bitch!” The pain took his breath away, and he lay on his back and looked up at steel girders. This isn’t good, he thought. The arena was filled with the yelling of thousands of Chinook fans, and through it all, the pain and shock and the noise, he heard Conner. He heard his son’s fearful wail, but that was impossible. The roar of the crowd was too loud. Then Daniel’s and Vlad’s faces crowded his vision, followed shortly by Bressler and head trainer, Scott Silverman.

“Where are you hurt?” Scott asked.

“Shoulder. My clavicle. I heard the snap.”

“Can you move your hands and feet?”

“Yeah.” He’d broken enough bones that he recognized the signs, and he wondered how long this break would keep him on the injured list. How long before he would meet with O’Brien on the ice and kick his ass. “Help me up.”

Mark knelt beside him on one knee. “Just keep still and let Scott do his job.”

Sam shook his head and gritted his teeth against the pain of that simple act. “My kid’s here. I don’t want him to see me laid out on the ice.” And there was no way he’d let the bastards see how bad he was hurt. “Scott can do his job in the trainer’s room.” With his right hand, he pushed himself into sitting position. It hurt more than he let on. The last thing he wanted was to be taken out on the stretcher.

Scott wedged his shoulder beneath Sam’s right arm, and he was able to rise to his knees.

Fuck! Shit! Goddamn!

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.” Son of a bitch! He rose to his feet, and the arena went crazy with applause. Slowly, he skated toward the bench, his left arm tight against his chest. He was in so much pain, it crowded the corners of his vision. But more than the pain, he was pissed. Pissed that a piss-headed pissant had blindsided him. Pissed that he was going to miss a month—if he was lucky. Pissed that it had happened in front of his son.