Page 130 of On the Power Play

All's fair in love and . . . pleuritis

Delia settled into the armchair she'd pulled across the room to be directly next to the couch. Her mother was asleep, and Delia was fairly certain no matter how high she turned up the volume, she wouldn't wake her.

She'd successfully gotten her in the door to their family doctor, who had tried to check her into the hospital, but when her mother started cursing in French, he relented and gave Delia all the instructions to care for her at home. She had pneumonitis and needed antibiotics and corticosteroids, which Dr. Kemp had been sure to keep just between him and Delia. Vitamins. For the love of God, just tell her they're vitamins.

Delia had followed his advice and successfully gotten the first doses down her mom’s throat. Dr. Kemp had also threatened her mother with bad luck if she didn't drink a glass of water every hour. It didn't seem that Delia was going to have to force the issue on that, though she would have to wake her if she slept too long.

For the moment, things seemed to be looking up. Tonight, she would watch Jack play. Tomorrow, she'd clean the house and take flowers to Tenille. She wanted to be back in Edmonton cheering in the suite, but sitting there in her living room with her mom curled up on the couch felt equivalent to drinking a cup of tea next to a roaring fire. Her mother needed her for once, and she'd dropped everything and jumped on a plane. It made Delia inspect herself through a new lens, and she liked what she saw.

The puck dropped, and Delia glued her eyes to the screen, hunting for Jack at every moment, whether he was on the bench or the ice. While she was no hockey expert, she knew he was having a killer game. He stayed out longer than usual and rarely lost the puck to a defender. He was graceful and strong. Superhuman was right.

Her favourite plays were the ones where he skated in loops like he was carving a name in cursive on the ice. Not his name, a name with lots of s's and o's. It was beautiful. She cheered when he attacked the net, cringed when he slammed someone against the boards or got crunched himself, and sat on her hands as they entered the third period tied at ones.

"C'mon, Jack." She closed her eyes and tried to keep her silent prayer simple that time. Help him show what he's capable of. The crowd erupted, and Delia's eyes shot open. There was a huddle of blue jerseys with mitts slapping on helmets and she jumped from her seat. "Did they score?" she yelled at the glass. As if in response, the image cut to a replay of what she'd missed.

Gaudreau. He had the puck. Streaking down the ice. A defender barreled toward him, and he reared his stick back for a slapshot. The defender dodged right, and Gaudreau slowed his shot, tipping the puck left.

Where Jack was waiting.

Delia stood on her tiptoes. Jack arced toward the net, faked left, then flicked the puck toward the opposite side of the goal. It flipped end over end past the goalie’s glove and landed in the back corner of the net.

Delia screamed. She jumped up and down. Then clapped her hands over her mouth and dropped to her knees to make sure she hadn't given her mother a heart attack.

_____

On Thursday, Jack waited for Mary to roll another bag into the hall. He'd already taken two down and had no idea how many still awaited him. "I'm sure Tyler and Emma could've extended your rental."

Mary shook her head. "We didn't want to do that to them. They were already losing money by only charging us for the two rooms. It's not a big deal to get a hotel if we come back out."

If. That word landed like a sucker punch to his gut. If? Did Mary think they wouldn't be coming back out to Calgary? Jack's resolve to beat the Oilers compressed into granite. Two more games. Then it was a foregone conclusion they'd play the Maple Leafs. The first two games would be at home, but then he'd be in Toronto. The thought made the ache in his chest turn torturous.

Mary rolled out another suitcase, and Jack hoisted it up and carried it down the stairs. This was only temporary. Delia's mom would get better. The playoffs would eventually be over, one way or the other. He'd have the whole summer to spend however he wanted, unless he got signed for another season.

His goal in Edmonton had poured kerosene on that torch of hope. Had he done enough to prove himself? Doubtful. He'd sold tickets, but he'd been less than a team player for a majority of his time there. Last he'd heard, Beefus was healthy as a horse, but his doctor and physical therapist were requiring him to take another three weeks before hitting the ice.

Three weeks and his position on the Blizzard would be officially filled.

Alvin pulled up in a black SUV and parked in front of the steps to the house. Jack grabbed two of the suitcases and hauled them down to the sidewalk.

"Today's the day." Alvin popped the back hatch. His voice held a note of sadness, and it was only then that Jack wondered why Alvin was there in the first place.

"You're not—are you going out to Toronto to work for Delia?" Jack handed him a bag.

Alvin loaded it in the back and reached for the next one. "No, I'll be moving on to a new client. Starting next week."

"Another singer?"

"A politician."

Jack put his hands on his hips. "Anyone I'd know?"

"It's not something I can talk about."

"Right." A clatter sounded behind them, and they both looked up to the porch where Mary was attempting to bring two more suitcases out onto the step. Jack jogged back to help.

It didn't take long to get everything in the back, and after Mary ran back into the house twice for things she'd forgotten in the shower and the fridge, they were strapped in and ready to go.

Mary rolled down her window. "Good luck with the games. I know Delia wishes she could be here."

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