Page 97 of Ice Ice Maybe
To my surprise, he listened, slumping against the wall, sliding to the floor, and following my instructions.
In. Out. In. Out.
“Very good,” I said. “This time, take a little longer when you release the air. That’s it. Slowly. Evenly. Do it four times as you feel your body relax.”
As he focused on his breathing, I quickly texted Zena to let her know I was running late and stuck in the elevator with Mitch. She replied with the horrified face emoji. I pocketed my phone, figuring distraction was my best bet to keep Mitch calm until someone could get us out. I bit the bullet to engage in a simple conversation.
“Look, Mitch, since we’re alone and have some time, I want to sincerely apologize for my behavior in the past,” I said.
“I’m not in the mood for small talk right now,” he said.
I ignored him and said, “I shouldn’t have antagonized you. I’m sorry.”
Mitch eyed me suspiciously. “Then why did you do it?”
There was no way I was going to tell him about Mr. Dalton’s plan, but maybe I could admit some other things that had been going through my mind at the same time that we were in our fake relationship.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “It’s complicated, but I will tell you I didn’t like you trying to get back with Zena when you knew we were together. You would have done the same thing, right?” When he nodded, I shared a little more. “There’s no doubt you’re a force on the ice. The way you handle the puck, it’s like you’ve got some kind of sixth sense. Half the time, I can’t even follow your moves, let alone anticipate them. It’s incredible, really, but …”
“But?” Mitch prompted, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it.
“But every time I see you play, it reminds me of what I lost,” I said. “What I could have been.” I swallowed hard. “Maybe one of the other reasons I was pushing your buttons was because deep down, I was jealous.”
Mitch was quiet for a moment, then said, “Interesting…” He studied me, then surprisingly added, “Maybe I can relate.”
“Seriously?” I said. “How?”
“Because you had something I wanted too,” he said. “Zena. I was jealous, too.”
We sat in silence for a bit, letting the admissions sink in.
“Can I ask you something?” I ventured. “Why Zena? I mean, you could have any woman you want, so why pursue a woman who you knew was not interested in you any longer?”
“You want to know the truth?” Mitch asked. “I think it was because she was the one thing I couldn’t have. It’s stupid, right? I wanted the victory.”
“No—not stupid,” I said. “It’s probably more human than you think.”
He nodded, thinking about it. “Not being able to have something is why I started playing hockey. My old man, he tried to go pro and failed, so he did everything he could to discourage me. Told me I’d never amount to anything, that I was wasting my time, that I sucked.”
“Wow,” I said. “Parents are supposed to be supportive of our dreams and aspirations. That must have been tough to hear from your own dad.”
“It was, but he had his own demons he was dealing with,” Mitch admitted. “It also made me push harder because I didn’t want to end up a bitter man, just like him. It motivated me to prove him wrong, you know? I was determined to prove myself, and there was no turning back until I succeeded.”
I nodded. “Yeah …”
“But you know what?” he asked. “Meeting Belle, it opened my eyes and made me realize my obsessions distract me from the truth. It’s easy to take your eye off the ball, or in this case, the puck.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “Zena has done the same for me. She made me realize that if I go through life with blinders on, I may avoid some bad stuff, but I will also miss the good. How did she know I was missing something? It’s like these women can see right through us, huh?”
Mitch chuckled. “You got that right.”
We shared a moment of understanding, then I held out my hand. “Glad we could chat about this and clear things up a little. I don’t expect us to be best friends, but maybe this will allow us to be in the same room without biting the other person’s headoff. You won’t hear a peep out of me for the rest of the season. I promise. I’ll keep my head down and maintain the ice, and you can do what you do best: win us that Stanley Cup.”
Mitch shook my hand. “Deal. And by the way, that sucks about your injury. One of my buddies blew out his ACL and never played again. For what it’s worth, I’m not sure how you would have done in the NHL, but you can trash-talk with the best of them.”
I shook my head. “I think I’ll stick to being myself from now on. Turns out, playing the bad guy is exhausting, and the guilt hangover isn’t worth it.”
“Believe me, I know …” Suddenly, Mitch stood up, wiping his brow. “Man, it’s getting freaking hot in here. Reminds me of that time my car broke down in Death Valley. One hundred and twenty degrees and the worst day of my life.” He pulled off his shirt, then shook a finger at me. “Don’t get any ideas. I was feeling constricted. I wish we had some ice under our feet.”
