The Husband Hour(27)
“Okay, so like I said, I was assigned to write an article about the hockey team.”
“You like hockey?”
She nodded.
“Have you ever been to see one of the games?”
“Um, no.”
“I thought you just said you like hockey.”
“I do. I watch the Flyers. Do you mind if I tape this?” She positioned her mini–cassette recorder between them.
“Very professional.”
Was he teasing her? No. His expression was serious.
“So who’s your favorite player?” he asked.
“On your team?”
“No. The Flyers.”
She thought quickly. “éric Desjardins.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Not a bad choice, though I’d have to go with Primeau.”
Lauren nodded. She needed to get control of this conversation. “Okay, well—we should get started because I know you don’t have much time.”
“What do you think their playoff chances are this year?”
She looked at him, his dark eyes and square jaw. Something deep inside of her twitched.
“They’ll make the playoffs,” she said. “I just don’t know if they can go all the way.”
He smiled. “I’m with you on that.”
She felt her heart might stop.
Focus.
“So what do you think is making your team successful this year?”
“Well, we haven’t succeeded yet.”
The comment threw her for a second. She recovered with “But you’re leading the division.”
“We are. Today. But success is winning the league championship, and real success is states.”
“Okay. So I’ll ask you what you asked me about the Flyers: What do you think of your chances?”
“Cutler’s been strong in net. Everyone’s working really hard. I think if we’re focused, we can do it.”
She checked the recorder, praying it was working. She glanced at her notes and said, “You have the most goals and most assists in the western division. You have to see that as some kind of success.”
“Doing your job isn’t success. It’s doing your job. Right? I mean, you’re going to write this article and it will run in the paper, but is that success?”
“It feels like success to me,” she said.
“All right, well. Maybe it’s different for writers.” He looked at her hard. “You sure you’re Stephanie’s sister?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just seem so much more serious.”
“I’m not that serious,” she said defensively.
“Don’t get me wrong,” he said. “I’m all for serious. If you’re not going to do something with intensity—with intent—why do it at all?”
His eyes met hers. She forgot her next question.
“We’re playing Radnor Friday night. You should come,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah, I was planning to go to a game before I finished the article.”
“This will be a good one. We’re going to win.”
“That’s confident of you.”
He smiled. “I think when you want something badly enough, you make it happen.”
They won the game. Rory had a hat trick that night. Back then, Lauren had believed what he said, that personal will was strong enough to make something happen, to direct fate.
She wondered how long he himself had continued to believe it.
Chapter Sixteen
Matt’s strategy was to run in circles on the boardwalk within the boundaries of Margate. He knew Lauren had to cross through Margate to get back to Longport, so unless he’d already missed her, it was inevitable they would cross paths. Stephanie told him Lauren usually got home around six in the morning, and if it was an hour-and-a-half round-trip run, she should be hitting Margate by a quarter of six.
Pathetically winded, he had slowed to a trot by the time he spotted her in the distance, her brown ponytail waving. He had the luxury of watching her for a few seconds, noting she had, truly, an incredible quiet beauty. She would look great on camera. And then she was in shouting distance.
“Lauren, hey—wait up,” he called, picking up speed to keep up with her. Praying he could summon some unknown reserve of stamina.
She did a double take, then ignored him. Undaunted by her lack of welcome, he ran up beside her.
“What a surprise,” he said.
“Give me a break.”
“What? I’ve been totally out of my running routine since coming here. And I usually run with a partner, so this is great luck.”
She glanced at his feet. “Your sneakers look like they’ve never seen the light of day.”
Busted! He glanced at hers, and the thing was, they seemed pretty new.
“So do yours.”
This seemed to take her aback. “I have to replace mine every few weeks. I run twelve miles a day,” she said.
“Me too! Gets expensive, right?”
“Go away, Matt. I want to be alone.”
He matched her pace, breathing too heavy to talk. She glanced at him and increased her speed. By the time they reached Longport, his heart was pounding so hard, he was certain it was going to give out. He dropped to the ground and looked up at the sky. The light suddenly dimmed, and he thought, This is it. Going out in a blaze of physical and professional failure.