was stupid and rash and real. It felt real, but she didn’t know if he felt the same way. During the concert, she wrapped her arm around his and watched the bright stage show and Cher’s parade of costumes. She liked it more than she thought she would, but when Sam started to snore, she woke him, and they left early. They moved to the casino and played blackjack and craps and roulette. Mostly he played and she watched. They drank free booze until about 1:00 A.M. Autumn felt light and hazy, and as a joke, she bought Sam a Cher T-shirt. They’d both laughed like it was the height of hilarity when he put it on. And when Sam decided that they needed to find an Elvis impersonator, she thought it sounded like a great plan. “Elvis impersonator” was on her list, but unfortunately, the only one stil awake was at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel.
Even years later, she was never quite sure how they’d arrived at the chapel or whose idea it had been to go inside and watch Elvis marry people, but what was clear, what had always remained clear, was standing outside the chapel, looking up at the marquee and the bright flashing names of the most recently wed. In big orange letters: Just Married, Donna and Doug.
“We should get married.”
She looked at him, the orange light bathing his face and glowing in his blond hair. “Are you kidding?”
He shook his head. “No. It just feels right.”
Her heart pounded boom boom boom in her chest, and her stomach got al light and queasy. “Sam…” She swal owed hard. “I don’t think—”
“Don’t think.” He pul ed her against him, and his mouth swooped down to take hers in a ful , wet kiss that sucked out her breath and overwhelmed what little wits she had left. She loved him. Somehow, she’d fal en in love with Sam, and she wanted to be with him. Maybe it was fate. Meant to be. Love at first sight. Right?
He pul ed back. His lips wet from the kiss, he looked at her from beneath lowered lids. “Say yes.”
“Yes.”
He smiled, and within an hour, they were Mr. and Mrs. Samuel LeClaire. He’d paid for the Hound Dog Special, which in hindsight was apropos given Sam’s hound-dog ways. But hindsight was always twenty-twenty, and that night the Hound Dog Special meant goodies that included four candid wedding photos, roses, and a plush Hound Dog keepsake. Once outside, they’d watched their names flash in bright neon, and instead of rings, they got their names tattooed on the other’s body. By the time they made it back to the hotel room, the sun was just rising over the desert. They ordered room service and made love without a condom. At least she thought it was love. She’d felt it in every part of her body, including her heart. She woke just after noon, alone except for her stuffed Hound Dog. Sam was gone, but she wasn’t worried. He’d come back. He always did, and they were married now. Their future was together. He’d never come right out and said he loved her, but he had to. He’d pursued her since that first night at Pure, and last night they’d promised to “love each other tender.” She smiled and stretched. The wedding had been impulsive and rash, to be sure, but she didn’t regret it.
By three, she got a little concerned, and by four she was worried that something had happened to him. She didn’t have his cel number and cal ed the front desk. She asked to be connected to his room and was informed that he and the rest of his party had checked out. Checked out? She slid her feet into a pair of flip-flops, grabbed her room key, and headed to his suite. Except for the maids changing beds and vacuuming, the place was empty. No suitcases. No Sam. He must have checked out to move into her room. So where was he?
She’d spent the rest of the day and night waiting for him to come pounding on her door. Every time someone passed her room, her heart stopped, but it was never Sam. She couldn’t believe he’d left her without a word. She was confused. Where was he? As she stared at the photos of them, standing before the Elvis impersonator, she told herself that he’d come back. He would. He had to because they were married. She told herself he’d be back as she waited and worried and watched the news for any report of an accident. She even stayed an extra day, waiting, but he never even cal ed. By the next afternoon it became clear that he wasn’t coming back, and she boarded a smal plane to Helena. She arrived home a few hours later, numb and hurt and confused. Had anything that had happened been real? It had sure felt real, and her heart ached like it had been real.
The wedding certificate was real. Sam had turned her head, broken her heart, and knocked the wind out of her, and what was she to do? He’d married her and left her in a hotel room. She didn’t know if she should fly to Seattle and talk to him. He probably wouldn’t be that hard to find. She didn’t know what to do and felt like she was living in a fog. When she did final y hear from him at the end of the next week, it was through his lawyer, demanding a divorce. He’d left her stunned and her heart crushed. Too bad that hadn’t been enough for him. A month later, when she’d informed his attorney of her pregnancy, she’d been so scared and alone, and she’d hoped—hoped even though she knew better—that he’d tel her it was okay. That he’d be there for her and the child. That he’d help her out so that she wasn’t total y alone. Instead, he’d demanded a paternity test.
The next time she laid eyes on him again was the day she’d put Conner in his arms. He’d had tape across his nose and one of his eyes was blackand-blue. Her heart had squeezed, and her throat had hurt from holding back emotion. He’d looked at her as if he real y didn’t remember her, and any love she’d felt for him turned into a deep, burning hatred. Right there in his lawyer’s office, and she’d wished she’d been the one to punch him. If he hadn’t been holding her son, she might have.
Autumn shut the notebook on her desk and rose from her office chair. Now she felt nothing. Peace settled across her heart as she walked from her office and moved upstairs. Life was good. Her son was in the bedroom asleep across the hal from hers. Her business was great, and she didn’t hate Sam. She was sure that he would always do things to make her mad. He was selfish and couldn’t help himself, but she didn’t hate him. Her heart didn’t ache; nor did her head feel like it was going to explode when he walked into a room. When she’d opened the door that evening and seen him with Conner in his arms, she’d just felt relieved that her son was home. Safe.
She was free from the hot and cold emotions. Free from the push and pul of love and hate. Free to feel nothing for Sam. Nothing at al .
Chapter Eight
Sam stood in the tunnel of the Joe Louis Arena and waited to hit the ice. He hated playing in Detroit. Hated the stinking octopus. He stood behind Logan Dumont and in front of Blake Conte. Captain Walker Brooks hit the ice first amidst a wal of booing Red Wing fans. Sam had always found jeering crowds amusing. He fed off al that passion, and no one was more passionate about a sport than hockey fans. When it was his turn to step onto the ice, he stuck his glove under one arm and skated across the ice, waving like he was a conquering hero. He looked up at the fil ed seats and laughed. He might hate playing at the Joe Louis, but he loved playing hockey. He’d been on the road for over a week and was exhausted and jet lagged, but the second the puck dropped, that al went away. Adrenaline pounded through his veins and rushed across his skin. He dominated behind the blue line, using his body to agitate and intimidate. He closed firing lanes and spent four minutes in the sin bin for cross- checking and hooking. The latter was complete bul shit. It wasn’t his fault that Zetterberg got tangled up in Sam’s stick. He should go back to Sweden and learn how to skate like a big boy. Pansy ass.
The coaches sometime bitched about stupid penalties, but they al knew that was just the way Sam worked. It was the cost of doing business, and when the Chinooks won, like they did that night against the Red Wings, no one bitched. He drew his paycheck—and these days it was a big one, with lots of zeros—for hitting hard, shutting down goal-scoring opportunities, and making plays for the wingmen. He had one of the hardest slap shots in the league and one of the hardest right hooks. He liked to think he used both judiciously. Of course, that wasn’t always true. Most of the time he started shit to intimidate and make his presence known. To make an opponent hesitate. To make a mistake, but sometimes he just started shit for the sake of starting shit. Sometimes he went toe-to-toe because he liked it.
It wasn’t as if he fought as much as Andre; but, as Mark Bressler repeatedly pointed out, Andre was the team enforcer, and fighting was his main job. After the Detroit game, Sam and the rest of the Chinooks boarded the team jet and flew home. He spent a week in Seattle before heading out for Phoenix, Nashvil e, and Pittsburgh. While he’d been in town, he split his time between work, Conner, and a couple of female friends. But when he boarded the jet and headed toward Phoenix, it wasn’t the friends he thought about. By the time he touched down in Pittsburgh a
