BRITTNEY MULLINER
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Brittney Mulliner
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Face Off
1. Holly
2. Mikey
3. Holly
4. Mikey
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12. Mikey
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CONTENTS
Also By Brittney Mulliner
About the Author
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2021 Brittney Mulliner
All rights reserved.
ISBN-13: 979-8711548010
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
ALSO BY BRITTNEY MULLINER
UtahFury Hockey
Puck Drop (Reese and Chloe)
Match Penalty (Erik and Madeline)
Line Change (Noah and Colby)
Attaching Zone (Wyatt and Kendall)
Buzzer Beater (Colin and Lucy)
Open Net (Olli and Emma)
Full Strength (Grant and Addison)
Drop Pass (Nikolay and Elena)
Scoring Chance (Derrek and Amelia)
Penalty Kill (Brandon and Sydney)
Power Play (Jason and Taylor)
Center Ice (Jake and Dani)
Game Misconduct (Parker and Vivian)
Face Off (Mikey and Holly)
Snowflakes & Ice Skates (Lance and Jessica)
A Holiday Short Story to be read between Center Ice and Game Misconduct
Royals ofLochland
His Royal Request
His Royal Regret
Her Royal Rebellion
West Penn Hockey
Cheap Shot (Coming Soon!)
Young Adult
Begin Again Series
Begin Again
Live Again
Love Again (Coming Soon)
CharmedSeries
Finding My Charming
Finding My Truth (Coming Soon)
Standalones
The Invisibles
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Rule 613(a)
Play shall start when one of the officials drops the puck between the sticks of two opposing players.
https://www.usahockeyrulebook.com/page/show/1084660-rule-613face-off-procedures
HOLLY
“Sadie, my love, please stop kicking Mommy’s seat.” It took everything in me to keep my tone calm, but between my three-year-old treating my chair like a trampoline and the traffic in downtown Salt Lake City, I was on the verge of losing control.
“Mommy, play the turtle song,” she begged for the fifteenth time since we got in the car. I was normally grateful when a new song captured her attention. It gave me a break from the foxes, sharks, tacos, and the song that shall not be named by the most annoying princess in the world. Sorry—most annoying queen in the world. Sadie was always quick to remind me Elsa was a queen.
But the turtle song was so much worse than any of those.
“Not right now. I need to find your school.” I glanced between my phone and the signs on the freeway. Three more exits? That didn’t sound right. I’d be past downtown by then. I couldn’t check the route on my phone amidst the morning rush hour traffic, so I just had to trust the navigation until we got off. Each minute that ticked by made my anxiety rise.
“Mommy, I’m hungry.”
I checked over my shoulder for an opening in the line of cars so I could get closer to the exit lane. “Sadie, you had eggs and two pieces of toast less than twenty minutes ago.”
“But I’m hungry for candy now,” she whined.
“I don’t have any candy, and it’s too early for any. You can wait until snack time.” If we ever got to her preschool. I should have come here over the weekend so I knew exactly where I was going, but time flew by and there were more vital things to get done. Since I was able to register her online, I crossed it off my mental checklist and let it slip.
At least we were mostly settled into our new apartment. It had taken three weeks to unpack the last box, but it still didn’t feel like home. It wasn’t the nicest place, and much smaller than the house we’d had in Boulder, but it was safe and cozy and ours.
“Please. I’m so starving.” She kicked.
I ignored her and checked my phone again. The sign for our exit appeared, and I got over, waving my hand in thanks to the person behind me for letting me in.
“At the light, turn right,” the robotic woman’s voice instructed. I listened closely over Sadie’s pleas for sugar.
“Honey, I need you to be quiet for a few minutes.”
“Turn left.” I only caught the end of the directions and quickly moved into the left turn lane.
“Please!” Sadie cried, and I picked up my phone, making sure we were actually going to Beehive Early Learning. The address looked correct, but we were still a few blocks north of where it was located. I selected the fastest route, but maybe the shortest would be better next time.
I had fifteen minutes before I needed to be at my office.
For my first day of work.
I planned this all out so I would arrive with plenty of time, but now it was looking like I was going to be late. The perfect first impression. Stupid phones and stupid technology and stupid traffic.
“Mommy!” she cried with another kick.
“Almost there,” I told my daughter, and me. A few turns later and I saw the white, yellow, and green sign that welcomed us to a fun day of learning.
“Okay, Sadie. This is the new school we talked about. You’re going to make so many new friends and have fun new teachers.
You’ll get to play on that big playground.” I pointed through the window as I unbuckled and opened my door.
When I got out and opened Sadie’s door, she was pouting. Oh no. We were nearing meltdown mode.
“Are you ready?” I asked in an attempt at sounding excited.
“No.” She crossed her little arms and looked away from me.
“Come on, sweetie. We talked about this. You’re going to love this place.” I reached under her arms to undo her buckles and straps.
“No!” she screamed in my face. “I don’t want to.”
I inhaled through my nose and counted to three.
“I wanna stay with you!” Her tear-filled eyes stared me down like she knew exactly what she was doing.
“I have to go to work today.”
Her bottom lip trembled. Oh boy. Here it was. “I want Grammy!”
And there was the knife to my heart. She wanted my ex-motherin-law. Her favorite person on earth, who hadn’t seen or spoken to Sadie since the divorce was finalized four months ago. The woman that used to take Sadie two or three times a week to play or shop or bake had disappeared from her life, but Sadie wouldn’t let her go. She’d told me she was respecting her son’s wishes, putting distance between herself and us, but it didn’t seem fair. Sadie was the one suffering.
“Grammy isn’t here.” She was back in Colorado with her loser son.
“I want her!” The tears started, and I knew it would all go downhill from here if I didn’t get her out and distracted in the next few seconds.
“Let’s just go see.” I lifted her out of her booster and grabbed her backpack before shutting the door and heading up to the building.
“No!” she cried while pushing away from me.
“Welcome to Beehive Early Learning,” The woman at the front desk took in the situation and immediately came around the desk. She looked young, maybe twenty, with brown hair cut into a bob and freckles across her nose. “You must be our new friend, Sadie.”
Sadie wiped the back of her hand across her face and nodded.
“I’m Marcy, and I’m going to be one of your teachers. I’m so happy to meet you.” The angel then pointed over her shoulder, through the large windows, into a large play area. “Most of your classmates are already here and would love to meet you. Do you want to meet them, Sadie?”
To my shock, Sadie nodded and pushed against me, so I sat her on the ground. She reached out for Marcy’s hand, and together, they walked to the door that led into the playroom.
Marcy looked back at me and pointed to the desk. “Set it there,” she whispered and glanced down at the backpack I was holding.
I nodded and watched them go into the other room. A little girl with long red hair ran over to Sadie, smiled, and said something, then they ran off together to a corner set up with coloring books and crayons. She didn’t look back for me once, and it was all I could ask for.
I put her bag down on the counter, then turned and hurried back to my car. At this rate, I’d be about five minutes late, but that was the best I was going to get. I put the address into my phone’s navigation, praying it was correct, and started to pull out of the lot.
A few blocks later, I almost turned onto my new office’s street when a little silver car flew through a red light and nearly hit me. It took about five seconds for my heart rate to return to normal. What was wrong with this morning? It was like the universe was out to get me or trying to prevent me from starting my new job.
Finally, I pulled into the parking garage and found an open spot. Before I got out, I flipped down the visor and checked my makeup. No black streaks or smudges. I wasn’t used to wearing so much, but that would have to change quickly. Working from home had several perks—being able to wear sweats, leave my hair in a top knot, and have pimple patches on my face was at the top of the list. But all good things must come to an end.
My mommy blog had supported me through the hardest time of my life. I was able to make just enough to support myself and Sadie, but over the last six months, that income dwindled until I had no choice but to look for a more stable position.
I grabbed my purse, binder, and a small box of examples my new manager asked me to bring. With my arms full, I closed my car door with my hip and hurried toward the elevator on the opposite end of the row. I tried to tug down the hem of my button-up, but my attempt made little difference. When I glanced back up, a large man in black joggers that hugged his muscular legs and a black T-shirt that stretched tight across his broad shoulders got there first and stepped through the doors.
“Hold it!” I yelled, certain he would since I was only a few yards away. “Please!”
He kept his head down and outright ignored me.
“Rude,” I called when the doors closed just as I reached them. I had no idea how long it would take to come back to the garage, so I glanced around for another option. A door to the stairwell was propped open so I started up. It was only two or three levels. At least, I hoped so.
By the time I got to the third floor, which was actually five floors above the garage, I was panting and had sweat dripping down my back. I flung open the door and stepped out to see the same man standing in front of the elevators, still staring at the ground. He was ruggedly handsome with thick brown hair that looked like he ran his hand through it all day long and a beard that few men could pull off without looking like a lumberjack. His shoulders rose as he sucked in a deep breath and then marched forward, completely oblivious to the death glare I gave him.
How
self-absorbed could you be?
I walked up to the woman sitting at the front desk and smiled, nearly sagging against the high counter. “Hi, I’m here to meet with Chloe Murray.”
The woman glanced up and grinned. “You must be Holly. Come on back. I’ll show you where her office is.”
“Thanks.” I peeked at the office around me, and my nerves settled as I strode behind her. This was just a normal workplace with normal people. The fact that it was the front office of the Utah Fury was irrelevant. I was here to work, and besides maybe a free T-shirt
or mug with their logo, I doubted I’d have anything to do with the team.
“You can set your things down here.” The receptionist stopped at an empty desk, and I gladly unloaded my arms.
“Thanks.” I smiled and readjusted my shirt again. I’d had another outfit planned, but Sadie spilled chocolate milk on the silk top, so I grabbed a backup which, as I was quickly finding out, didn’t fit properly.
“Hi, Chloe. I’ve got Holly here for you.” She stopped next to the open door and smiled at me once more before heading back to her desk.
“Holly! Come in!” Chloe was more stunning in person than she was over video calls, with thick brown hair and a smile that made you feel like she knew something you didn’t.
“Hi. I’m so sorry about being late.” I sat in the chair she gestured to. “It took longer to get to the preschool than I expected, then my daughter had a breakdown––”
“Please, don’t worry.” She waved me off. “I’m a mom too. I know how those mornings go.”
I laughed and leaned back in the chair. “I really appreciate that.”
She put her elbows on her desk. “And being on your own is new, right?”
I was careful not to mention being a single mom during the interview process, but Chloe seemed to have a sixth sense for knowing things. She saw the connection between my social media and mom blog, and how I could apply those ideas to building the social media presence for the team and individual players.
“Yeah, it is,” I admitted.
Normally when people heard that, they looked at me with pity or judgment. Chloe did neither. She just nodded. “How long?”
I almost laughed. I’d been raising Sadie on my own long before my ex, Peter, and I separated, but that wasn’t a story for the first day.
“Officially, four months, but I filed nine months before that.”
“And you have sole custody?”
I nodded.
“Most of what you’ll be doing is flexible, so if you need to work from home while she’s sick or anything like that, we’ll adjust as needed.”
That was more generous than I could have imagined. “Wow. That’s really great to hear. Thank you.”
“Plus, if you ever need babysitters or playdates, you’ll have plenty.”
“Oh, there are a lot of parents in the office?” I asked.
“And on the team.” She grinned and turned a frame on her desk to face me. I’d been studying the players to make sure I knew the guys I’d be talking about, and I easily recognized the five in the picture: Erik Shultz, Olli Letang, Grant Fisher, Brandon Cullen, and Reese Murray.
I froze. “Reese.”
“Is my husband,” she finished. “And Erik is my brother.”
I blinked. I should have known that. “Wow.”
“I’m not showing you to impress you. I’m showing because if you look, each of them is holding a child or two. We’re a big family here, and we help each other out.” Her smile warmed. “You’ll fit right in.”
I highly doubted that, but I nodded. “Thanks.”
“Now, let’s see if Taylor is available so we can dive into the good stuff.”
MIKEY
As if my week couldn’t get any worse, my agent had to call and tell me he flew in this morning for a meeting. At first, I assumed there was a rookie he was trying to sign, or he was going to go to the university to check out some up-and-coming star.
No. He was here for me. Jackson had been to Salt Lake exactly once, back when we signed my contract for the Fury. He had no reason to come in and check on me. I only had a few endorsements, and last I checked, I still had two years with each of them.
Jackson didn’t do casual visits, so something was going on.
“Meet me at the front office at eight.” That was all he said before hanging up, giving me thirty minutes to shower, dress, and get to the arena.
I pulled out my wireless earbuds and shoved them in my pocket as I stepped out of the elevator and headed to the conference rooms. Jackson stood by the door, typing on his phone, and only looked up when I was in front of him.
“What’s going on?”
He typed again, then pocketed his phone. “Coach Romney asked to meet with us.”
I glanced into the conference room just a few feet away, and my heart dropped. “And the general manager and president?”
Jackson shrugged. “Yes.”
This was not good. So far from good. My performance had been suffering for a while, but they couldn’t trade me. It was past the cutoff for this season. My contract was up next season. I shouldn’t even be under consideration for the chopping block.
“They didn’t tell you anything?” I didn’t believe that he didn’t know exactly what was going on.
“Let’s just go in and see what they have to say.”
I wanted to push him out of my way and run. Since we lost the championship last year, the organization had been pushing on everyone to get their crap together, starting at the top. The owners brought in fresh blood—a new president and general manager and it was rumored that we’d lose Coach Romney, too, if we didn’t win this season. That was the very last thing any of us wanted, and we’d been proving ourselves. We were back to second in our division and had reworked the lines so we had more scoring chances no matter who was on the ice.
He opened the door, and I stepped in behind him. Coach stood and shook hands with both of us.
James Elton, the president, stood next, and Jackson introduced himself. I’d only met the man during a few press events, but Chris Bush, the GM, was more involved.
“How are you doing, Mikey?” he asked.
“I’m doing well,” I answered before looking around the room. I couldn’t get a clear read on anyone’s expression.
“I don’t want to draw this out,” James said. “We’re aware of your injury from two seasons ago.”
A broken ankle that took twice as long as it should have to heal. It was like my body was protesting. Every time I even tried to lace up my skates back then, it throbbed and all the physical therapy I’d done disappeared. It was almost a year and a half ago, and it still flared up from time to time.
“Right,” I said when no one else spoke.
“We’re concerned that your performance has never quite returned to what it was before the injury,” Chris said.
I looked to Coach. Was this what he thought too? Why did it take so long for him to say something? Why not have me work with
Amelia? Why not send me back to Madi? Why wait to bring it up now?
“I wasn’t aware it was an issue.” I stared at him, waiting for him to meet my gaze, but it was like he was avoiding me.
“All of your numbers are down from last season, minutes per game and shots on goal, assists,” James said as if he was looking at a spreadsheet with last quarter’s sales, not a real person’s professional record. “We expect a certain level of achievement from our players, and it doesn’t appear that you are hitting those marks.”
“What are you saying?” Jackson finally spoke.
“We would like to see Mikey’s performance improve before the season ends, or we’ll have to release him to the farm team.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor. They were going to send me, a twotime Stanley Cup Championship winner, back down with the rookies?
“Or he can be released from his contract early, if he prefers,” Chris said as if “he” wasn’t sitting across the table from him. It was one thing to find out they’d been talking about me, without giving me any sort of heads up or feedback, but for them to ignore me now was just insulting.
“Why are we just being made aware of these concerns?” Jackson asked, and I finally felt like he was earning his commission.
“We feel the team is at a critical point,” James answered. “We need to make changes. Take things to the next level, and if someone can’t keep up, then this team might not be the best place for them.” I shot a look at Jackson urging him to step up.
“Well, you need to give us clear and defined expectations of the improvements you would like to see from my client. You said you want to see his numbers where he was last season. Is that it, or does he need to exceed those numbers? We need quantifiable responses, not generalities.” Jackson stood. “And I’d recommend not threatening your players with being forced into the AHL. It’s bad for morale and all that.”
Jackson walked out, and I followed, not wanting to be in that room for a second longer. I wanted to scream or tear something apart. He pulled me into the next empty room and closed the blinds.
“What was that?” I roared. My world was crumbling in on itself. I wasn’t ready to retire. I was only twenty-eight. It felt like giving up. Hockey was my life. It had been since I stepped onto the ice for the first time at two. What would I do without it?
“They have no right,” Jackson spoke, mostly to himself. “You have to give them your very best, Mikey. I know you push yourself every single day. You’ve proven your worth to this team, but something is going on over our heads. I need you to kill it. Do not give them a single reason to believe they’re right. I’m going to fight on my end. I’m not going to let them push you out for no reason, but you’ve got to give me ammo to work with.”
I nodded. “I’ll do everything I can. I’ll give it my all.”
“I mean off the ice as well. No partying, no drunken hookups, nothing. I don’t want to see your name in the news unless it’s because you saved a cat or helped an old lady cross the street. Just lay low, keep your head down, and do your job. Let me deal with the rest.”
It wasn’t like I had any other choice. “I just wish someone said something before now. I feel blindsided.”
I wanted to speak to Coach. He had to know more about what was going on. Maybe they’d taken him by surprise too. I didn’t want to believe that he would let me go into that meeting blind if he had a chance to talk to me first.
“We should have suspected some changes with the players after the president and GM came in, but I wasn’t concerned for you.” Jackson checked his phone. “I’ve got some calls to make. Focus on yourself and what you need to do to improve. If you need extra physical therapy, I’ll make it happen. If you need more practice time, I’ll find a rink. Whatever you can think of.”
“Thanks, Jackson.” I sank into a chair while he let himself out. I needed a few minutes to myself. A bomb had just been dropped on me, and I had days, maybe weeks, to disable it and save my career. Were any of the other guys getting this talk? I couldn’t be the only one. There were guys who cost more than me and were performing worse. I hated thinking of my teammates, my brothers, that way, but I was being shoved into a corner. Chris and James
weren’t thinking about the Fury as a hockey team. They saw the organization as a business. They would make their decisions based on profit and losses, not what was best for the men on the ice. They wouldn’t care about angering fans with bad trades. They would only do what their spreadsheets said would make them more money.
In all my time on the team, I had never felt like a pawn. Like a number, here to make money for other people. I’d put my heart and soul into the only thing I’d ever loved. My stomach rolled. Was this how it was going to be from now on? I couldn’t survive like that.
I wanted to talk to Coach. And Hartman. If there were things I needed to improve, I needed to know now. Well, a week or a month ago would have been better, but I couldn’t fixate on that. I could only change things moving forward.
I stood and pushed the door open, meeting resistance.
“Oh!” A female grunted as her papers dropped to the ground.
“I’m so sorry. Here, let me help.” I knelt and gathered the papers and held them up for the woman I’d accidentally hit.
She was stunning. Beautiful in a wholesome way with warm honey hair that fell like a sheet over one shoulder and deep brown eyes I wanted to get lost in. Those eyes didn’t look particularly friendly though, and her full, pink lips were frowning. She was glaring at me with more anger than one accident deserved. “You’ve done enough.”
She took the papers and walked away, leaving me to clumsily stand and face Chloe and Taylor, who wore matching looks of disgust.
“Way to make a good first impression.” Taylor sized me up before heading after the woman.
“Who was that?” I asked Chloe.
“Don’t worry about it.” Her eyes searched my face, and I flinched. The woman had supernatural powers, and I wasn’t in the mood to deal with her level of crazy.
“Fine.” I turned and started toward the elevators when she grabbed my elbow.
“What was that meeting?” she asked quietly. This was Reese’s wife and Erik’s sister, Chloe. Not boss lady. She was concerned, as a
Pride member.
“Chris and James are disappointed in my performance. They’re talking about letting me out of my contract a year early or sending me to the farm.”
Her eyes widened. “What? That’s insane. We’re only down by two points in the division. You guys have all been killing it.”
I shrugged. “Evidently, not me.”
She glanced around. “Have they talked to anyone else?”
“Not that I know about.”
“I’ll find out what I can.”
That was a promise. She could be forceful and overstep from time to time, but she was also the biggest advocate for the players. She was powerful and had a way of making things work in her favor.
“Thanks. I’ll see you later.”
She offered me a sad smile and squeezed my arm before letting me go.
It wasn’t until I was walking to my car that I remembered the new woman. If she was working with Taylor and Chloe, it was only a matter of time before we all knew who she was, where she was from, and her entire life story.
I’d never admit it to the guys, but this was the first time I was interested in finding out. Which was horrible timing. I needed to focus and train. Crushing on a woman that seemed to already hate me was not an option.
HOLLY
“S
o what’s the story?” Chloe asked as soon as she stepped into the conference room. It was just me and Taylor, so far, since we were a few minutes early.
“With what?” I asked.
“‘You’ve done enough?’” She wagged her brows. “You’ve been here for an hour and you already have an enemy?”
I hadn’t expected them to hear that. I was just so sick of that guy. He walked around like he was the most important person on earth.
“I asked him to hold the elevator earlier, and he ignored me. I got up here at the same time as him, and he acted like he didn’t see me. Maybe he can’t, ’cause he opened the door on my face.” I chuckled like it wasn’t a big deal, but the mom in me really wanted to find him and give him a lesson in being kind and respectful. I swear, my three-year-old had better manners than him.
“Well, I can’t speak for the elevator, but I know he’s pretty distracted right now. I wouldn't hold it against him for not seeing you when he opened the door. I’m pretty sure he has tunnel vision.”
Taylor looked at Chloe with bunched brows. “What do you mean?” Her dark brown eyes held more concern than curiosity. She was stunning with thick black hair and the most flawless, light brown skin, but her expressive eyes were what I noticed first. She showed her every emotion with a glance.
Chloe hesitated for a few seconds. “He just got some bad news.”
“Like team-wide bad news?” Taylor asked with growing concern. “I’m not sure yet.”
I watched their back-and-forth exchange, feeling completely left out. Chloe was the first to realize it. “Sorry. Mikey—that’s his name— is on the team, and he told me some pretty distressing things. He’s not normally so rude.”
I guess we all had bad days, and if what she was saying was true, he was having one of the worst. Wait. Her words, all of them, finally sank in. “He’s on the team?”
They both nodded. “Mikey Dankowski, defenseman. Been on the team for five years. Single.” Chloe recited these facts like stats on the back of a baseball card.
“Comes across like a player or a jerk, but really, he’s a big softie,” Taylor added. “All of his friends have settled down, and he’s the last man standing.”
“Yeah, I think he’s resisting based on principle, but we all know it’s only a matter of time before he meets a woman that can put him in his place.” Chloe smiled while eyeing me. “So what’s your story?”
I was about to ask what exactly she wanted to know when more people began walking into the conference room. I took the opportunity that the momentary distraction offered to check my phone. Marcy, from Sadie’s school, texted to let me know she was doing great. She had settled in and was having fun with the science projects.
I sent her a quick response, thanking her for the update, then put my phone back in my purse. When I looked up, no one seemed to be paying any attention to me, and for the first time since I woke up, I was able to relax. It was a huge relief knowing Sadie was doing okay. My worst nightmare was that she’d hate it and would cry and ask for me the whole day. I felt guilty enough about returning to work without that. At least I knew she was having fun.
“Everyone, I’d like you to meet the newest member of the social media team, Holly Evans.” Chloe waved her hand toward me. “Would you mind telling us a bit about yourself?”
I smiled at the ten other faces. My coworkers. Up until recently, I didn't think I would ever be in this position again.
“Hi.” I stood. “I recently moved here from Boulder, Colorado. I have a three-year-old daughter, and while I was a stay-at-home mom, I built up a following as a mommy-blogger on social media.” I started to sit, but Chloe spoke again.
“She’s being modest. In just two years, she went from zero to over two million followers with several brand sponsorships. I’m actually one of her faithful followers, and when I found out she was looking for a full-time job, I knew we had to get her here. She’ll be focusing on the social media accounts for the team, as well as helping individual players with their social media presence, as needed.”
The rest of the group nodded and smiled, a few offering kind welcomes.
“You’re joining us at a great time, Holly. My name’s Matt, and I’m a social media specialist.” He was a tall, thin man that looked like he’d barely grown into his body. He wore a beanie tugged low, only allowing a few wisps of blond hair to poke through. He pointed his thumb to the guy next to him. “Cam and I will be here to help with anything you need from graphics to analytics.”
Cam was Matt’s opposite. He was about my height, and heavyset, with black hair that curled around his ears and a warm, sincere smile.
“Thank you.” I smiled despite feeling awkward walking in as the new person and being their manager.
“I’m George.” The quiet man at the end of the table, wearing a backward Fury’s hat and a perpetual scowl held up two fingers in a mini wave. “Team photographer. If you need any images that aren’t already in the drive, then let me know, and I’ll get them for you as soon as possible.”
I nodded.
“He’s really great about making sure you have individual shots to work with as well as team photos.” Chloe winked at him, and George rolled his eyes.
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unintentionally sunk as the result of a cannon shot, and spot and red sailed into harbour. With Thomas's miss I scored eleven. Unfortunately, off my next stroke, Thomas again went down.
"Billiards," he said.
"You don't think I want to put the rotten thing down, do you? It's such a blessed rabbit. Directly it sees a hole anywhere it makes for it. Hallo, six more. I shall now give what they call a miss in baulk."
"Oh, good miss," cried Myra, as spot rested over the middle pocket.
"That was a googly. You both thought it would break the other way."
The game went on slowly. When Thomas was ninety and I was ninetynine, there was a confused noise without, and Archie and Miss Blair burst into the room. At least only Archie actually burst; Miss Blair entered sedately.
"Who's winning?" cried Archie.
"What an absurd question," I said. "As if we should tell you."
"All right. Dahl—Miss Blair, have you ever seen billiards played really well?"
"Never."
"Then now's your chance. Ninety, ninety-nine—they've only just begun. This is Thomas's first break, I expect. There—he's got a clear board. You get five extra for that, and the other man is rubiconed. Ninety-nine all. Now, it is only a question of who misses first."
I put down my cue.
"Thomas," I began, "we have said some hard things about each other tonight, but when I listen to Archie I feel very friendly towards you."
"Archibald," said Thomas, "is a beastly name."
"So I told Miss Blair. For a man who was, so to speak, born with a silver billiard-table in his mouth to come here and make fun of two persevering and, in my case, promising players, is——"
"You'll never finish that sentence," said Myra. "Try some more billiards."
"It was almost impossible to say what I wanted to say grammatically," I answered, and I hit my ball very hard up the table at the white.
"It's working across," said Archie, after the second bounce; "it must hit the red soon. I give it three more laps."
"It's going much more slowly now," said Miss Blair.
"Probably it's keeping a bit of a sprint for the finish. Wait till it gets its second wind. No, I'm afraid it's no good; it ought to have started sooner. Hallo, yes, it's—— Got him!"
"It hasn't finished yet," I said calmly. "Look—there!"
"Jove!" said Archie, shaking my hand, "that's the longest loser I've ever seen. My dear old man, what a performer. The practice you must have had. The years you must have devoted to the game. I wonder—could you possibly spare an hour or two to-morrow to play cricket for us?"
CHAPTER IV
A FEW WIRES
A hundred and eighty for none. The umpire waved his lily hand, and the scorer entered one more "four" in his book. Seeing that the ball had gone right through a bicycle which was leaning up against the pavilion, many
people (the owner of the bicycle, anyhow) must have felt that the actual signalling of a boundary was unnecessary; but our umpire is a stickler for the etiquette of the game. Once when—— But no, on second thoughts, I sha'n't tell you that story. You would say it was a lie—as indeed it is.
"Rotten," said Archie to me, as we crossed over. (A good captain always confides in his wicket-keeper.)
"Don't take Simpson off," I said. "I like watching him."
"I shall go on again myself soon."
"Oh, it's not so bad as that. Don't lose heart."
The score was two hundred when we met again.
"I once read a book by a lady," I said, "in which the hero started the over with his right hand and finished it with his left. I suppose Simpson couldn't do that?"
"He's a darned rotten bowler, anyway."
"His direction is all right, but his metre is so irregular."
At the end of the next over, "What shall I do?" asked Archie in despair.
"Put the wicket-keeper on," I said at once.
The idea was quite a new one to him. He considered it for a moment.
"Can you bowl?" he said at last.
"No."
"Then what on earth——"
"Look here; you've tried 'em with people who can bowl, and they've made two hundred and twenty in an hour and a half; somebody who can't bowl will be a little change for them. That's one reason. The second is that
we shall all have a bit of a rest while I'm taking my things off. The third is that I bet Myra a shilling——"
Archie knelt down, and began to unbuckle my pads. "I'll 'keep' myself," he said. "Are you fast or slow?"
"I haven't the faintest idea. Just as it occurs to me at the moment, I expect."
"Well, you're quite right; you can't be worse than some of us. Will you have a few balls down first?"
"No, thanks; I should like to come as a surprise to them."
"Well, pitch 'em up anyhow."
"I shall probably vary my length—if possible without any alteration of action."
I am now approaching the incredible. The gentle reader, however, must not be nasty about it; he should at least pretend to believe, and his best way of doing this is to listen very silently to what follows. When he has heard my explanation I shall assume that he understands.
Bowling is entirely a question of when you let go of the ball. If you let go too soon the result is a wide over the batsman's head; if too late, a nasty crack on your own foot. Obviously there are spaces in between. By the law of averages one must let go at the right moment at least once. Why not then at the first ball? And in the case of a person like myself, who has a very high action and a good mouth—I mean who has a very high delivery, such a ball (after a week of Simpsons and Archies) would be almost unplayable.
Very well then; I did let go at the right moment, but, unfortunately, I took off from the wrong crease. The umpire's cry of "No-ball" and the shattering of the Quidnunc's wicket occurred simultaneously.
"Good ball," said Archie. "Oh, bad luck!"
I tried to look as though, on the whole, I preferred it that way—as being ultimately more likely to inspire terror in the batsman at my end. Certainly, it gave me confidence; made me over-confident in fact, so that I held on to the next ball much too long, and it started bouncing almost at once.
The Quidnunc, who was convinced by this that he had been merely having a go at the previous ball, shouldered his bat and sneered at it. He was still sneering when it came in very quickly, and took the bottom of the leg stump. (Finger spin, chiefly.)
Archie walked up slowly, and gazed at me.
"Well?" I said jauntily.
"No, don't speak. I just want to look, and look, and look. It's wonderful. No elastic up the sleeve, or anything."
"This is where it first pitched," said the Major, as he examined the ground.
"Did you think of letting in a brass tablet?" I inquired shortly.
"He is quite a young man," went on Archie dreamily, "and does not care to speak about his plans for the future. But he is of opinion that——"
"Break, break, break," said Simpson. "Three altogether."
"Look here, is there anybody else who wants to say anything? No? Then I'll go on with my over."
Archie, who had begun to walk back to his place, returned thoughtfully to me.
"I just wanted to say, old chap, that if you're writing home to-night about it, you might remember me to your people."
Blair was about the only person who didn't insult me. This was because he had been fielding long-on; and as soon as the wicket fell he moved round about fifty yards to talk to Miss Fortescue. What people can see in her——
Well, directly my next ball was bowled he started running as hard as he could to square leg, and brought off one of the finest catches I've ever seen.
"The old square-leg trap," said Archie. "But you cut it rather fine, didn't you? I suppose you knew he was a sprinter?"
"I didn't cut it at all—I was bowling. Go away."
Yes, I confess it. I did the hat trick. It was a good length half-volley, and the batsman, who had watched my first three balls, was palpably nervous. Archie walked round and round me in silence for some time, and then went over to Thomas.
"He's playing tennis with me this evening," he began.
"I was beaten at billiards by him last night," said Thomas proudly.
"He's going to let me call him by his Christian name."
"They say he's an awfully good chap when you know him," replied Thomas.
I got another wicket with the last ball of the over, and then we had lunch. Myra was smiling all over her face when we came in, but beyond a "Well bowled, Walter" (which I believe to be Brearley's name), would have nothing to do with me. Instead she seized Archie, and talked long and eagerly to him. And they both laughed a good deal.
"Arkwright," I heard Archie say at the end. "He's sure to be there, and would do it like a shot."
Like a wise captain Archie did not put me on after lunch, and Simpson soon began to have the tail in difficulties. Just after the eighth wicket fell a telegram came out. Archie took it and handed it to me. "From Maclaren, I expect," he said with a grin.
"You funny ass; I happen to know it's from Dick. I asked him for a wire about the Kent match."
"Oh, did Kent win?" said Archie, looking over my shoulder. As I opened it, the others came up, and I read—
"Please be in attendance for next Test Match." "HAWKE"
I got three more that afternoon. One from Fry, one from LevesonGower, and one from Maclaren. They all came from Lord's, and I've half a mind to take my telegrams with me, and go. Then Myra would probably get six months in the second division.
"But I shouldn't mind that," said Myra. "You could easily bowl—I mean bail—me out."
A silly joke, I call it.
CHAPTER V
AT PLAY
I selected a handkerchief, gave a last look at the weather, which was beastly, and went down (very late) to breakfast. As I opened the door there was a sudden hush. Everybody looked eagerly at me. Then Miss Fortescue tittered.
Well, you know how one feels when that happens. I put my hand quickly to my tie—it was still there. I squinted down my nose, but there was no smut. To make quite sure I went over to the glass. Then Simpson exploded.
Yet nobody spoke. They all sat there watching me, and at last I began to get nervous. I opened my mouth to say "Good-morning," but before I got it out Miss Blair gave a little shriek of excitement. That upset me altogether. I walked up to the tea-pot, and pouring myself out a cup said, with exaggerated carelessness, "Rotten day, isn't it?"
And then came the laughter—shout after shout.
I held out my hand to Myra. "Good-bye," I said, "I'm going home. Thank you for a very jolly time, but I'm not going to be bullied."
"Oh, you dear," she gurgled.
"I am rather sweet before breakfast," I admitted, "but how——"
"It was too heavenly of you. I never thought you would."
"I think I shall go back to bed."
"It was rather rough luck," said Archie, "but of course the later you are the worse it is for you."
"And the higher the fewer. Quite so. If this is from Breakfast Table Topics in The Daily Mirror, I haven't seen them to-day; but I'll do my best."
"Archie, explain."
Archie took up a piece of paper from the table, and explained. "It's like this," he said. "I came down first and looked at the weather, and said——"
"Anyone would," I put in quickly.
"Well, then, Blair came in and said, 'Beastly day,' and then Simpson
—— Well, I thought I'd write down everybody's first remark, to see if anybody let the weather alone. Here they are."
"It's awful," put in Myra, "to have one's remarks taken down straight off. I've quite forgotten what I said."
This was the list:
Archie: "Bother." (So he says.)
Blair: "What a beastly day!"
Simpson: "What a jolly day!"
The Major: "Well, not much cricket to-day, hey?"
Myra: "Oh dear, what a day!"
Miss Blair: "What a terrible day!"
Miss Fortescue: "Oh, you poor men—what a day!"
Thomas: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
Me: "Rotten day, isn't it?"
"I don't think much of Thomas's remark," I said.
Later on in the morning we met (all except the Major, that is) in the room which Myra calls hers and Archie calls the nursery, and tried to think of something to do.
"I'm not going to play bridge all day for anyone," said Archie.
"The host should lay himself out to amuse his guests," said Myra.
"Otherwise, his guests will lay him out," I warned him, "to amuse themselves."
"Well, what do you all want to do?"
"I should like to look at a photograph album," said Thomas.
"Stump cricket."
"What about hide-and-seek?"
"No, I've got it," cried Archie; "we'll be boy scouts."
"Hooray!" cried everybody else.
Archie was already on his hands and knees. "Ha!" he said, "is that the spoor of the white ant that I see before me? Spoorly not. I have but been winded by the water-beetle.
"Sound, sound the trumpet, beat the drum, To all the scouting world proclaim One crowded stalk upon the turn Is worth an age without a name."
"Archie!" shrieked Myra in horror. "It is too late," she added, "all the ladies have swooned."
We arranged sides. Myra and I and Simpson and Thomas against the others. They were to start first.
"This isn't simply hide-and-seek," said Archie, as they went off. "You've got to track us fairly. We shall probably 'blaze' door-posts. When you hear the bleat of a tinned sardine that means we're ready. Keep your eyes skinned, my hearties, and heaven defend the right."
"We ought to have bare knees really," said Myra, when they'd gone. "Boy scouts always do. So that when they go through a bed of nettles they know they've been."
"I shall stalk the stairs to begin with," I said. "Simpson, you go down the back way and look as much like a vacuum-cleaner as possible. Then they won't notice you. Thomas and Myra—— Hush! Listen! Was that the bleat of a fresh sardine or the tinned variety?"
"Tinned," said Myra. "Let's go."
We went. I took the Queen Anne staircase on my—in the proper stalking position. I moved very slowly, searching for spoor. Half-way down the stairs my back fin slipped and I shot over the old oak at a tremendous pace, landing in the hall like a Channel swimmer. Looking up, I saw Thomas in front of me. He was examining the door for "blazes." Myra was next to him, her ear to the ground, listening for the gallop of horses' hoofs. I got up and went over to them.
"Hast seen aught of a comely wench in parlous case, hight Mistress Dahlia?" I asked Thomas.
"Boy scouts don't talk like that," he said gruffly.
"I beg your pardon. I was thinking that I was a Cavalier and you were a Roundhead. Now I perceive that you are just an ordinary fathead."
"Why," said Myra at the foot of the stairs, "what does this button mean? Have I found a clue?"
I examined it, and then I looked at my own coat.
"You have," I said. "Somebody has been down those stairs quite recently, for the button is still warm."
"Where is Scout Simpson?"
At that moment he appeared breathless with excitement.
"I have had an adventure," he said hurriedly, without saluting. "I was on the back stairs looking like a vacuum-cleaner when suddenly Archie and Miss Blair appeared. They looked right at me, but didn't seem to penetrate my disguise. Archie, in fact, leant against me, and said to Miss Blair: 'I will now tell you of my secret mission. I carry caviare—I mean despatches—to the general. Breathe but a word of this to the enemy, and I miss the halfholiday on Saturday. Come, let us be going, but first to burn the secret code.' And—and then he struck a match on me, and burned it."
Myra gurgled and hastily looked solemn again. "Proceed, Scout Simpson," she said, "for the night approaches apace."
"Well, then they started down the stairs, and I went after them on my— scouting, you know. I made rather a noise at one corner, and Archie looked round at me, and said to Miss Blair: 'The tadpoles are out full early. See yonder where one lies basking.' And he came back, and put his foot on me and said, 'Nay, 'tis but a shadow. Let us return right hastily. Yet tarry a moment, what time I lay a false trail.' So they tarried and he wrote a note and dropped it on me. And, afterwards, I got up and here it is."
"The secret despatch," cried Myra.
"It's addressed to the Scoutmistress, and it says outside: 'Private, not to be opened till Christmas Day.'"
Myra opened it and read: "Your blessed scouts are everywhere. Let me just have five minutes with her in the nursery, there's a dear. I'd do as much for you."
But she didn't read it aloud, and I didn't see it till some time afterwards. She simply put it away, and smiled, and announced that the scouts would now adjourn to the billiard-room for pemmican and other refreshments; which they did. The engagement was announced that evening.
CHAPTER VI
IN AND OUT
"Well," said Thomas, "how are we going to celebrate the joyful event?"
We were sitting on the lawn, watching Blair and Miss Fortescue play croquet. Archie and Dahlia were not with us; they had (I suppose) private
matters to discuss. Our match did not begin for another hour, happily for the lovers; happily also for the croquet-players, who had about fifty-six more hoops, posts, flags and what not to negotiate.
"It's awfully difficult to realise it," said Myra. "My own brother! Just fancy—I can hardly believe it."
"I don't think there can be any doubt," I said. "Something's happened to him, anyhow—he's promised to put me in first to-day."
"Let's have a dance to-morrow night," continued Thomas, relentlessly pursuing his original idea. "And we'll all dance with Miss Blair."
"Yes. Archie would like that."
"I remember, some years ago, when I was in Spain," said Simpson——
"This," I murmured appreciatively, "is how all the best stories begin." And I settled myself more comfortably in my chair.
"No," said Simpson, "I'm wrong there. It was in Hampstead." And he returned to his meditations.
"Tell you what," said Thomas, "you ought to write 'em an ode, Simpson."
"There's nothing that rhymes with the lady."
"There's hair," I said quite unintentionally.
"I meant with Dahlia."
"My dear man, there are heaps. Why, there's azalea."
"That's only one."
"Well, there are lots of different kinds of azalea."
"Any rhymes for Archie and Mannering?" said Simpson scornfully.
"Certainly. And Simpson. You might end with him—
"'Forgive the way the metre limps on, It's always like that with Samuel Simpson.'
You get the idea?"
"Hush," said Myra, "Miss Fortescue has passed under a hoop."
But it is time that we got on to my innings. Archie managed to win the toss, and, as he had promised, took me in with him. It was the proudest and most nervous moment of my life.
"I've never been in first before," I said, as we walked to the wickets. "Is there any little etiquette to observe?"
"Oh, rather. Especially, if you're going to take first ball."
"Oh, there's no doubt about my taking the first ball."
"In that case the thing to remember is, that when the umpire calls 'play' the side refusing to play loses the match."
"Then it all rests on me? Your confidence in me must be immense. I think I shall probably consent to play."
I obtained guard and took my stand at the wicket. Most cricketers nowadays, I am told, adopt the "two-eyed stance," but for myself I still stick to the good old two-legged one. It seems to me to be less wearing. My style, I should observe, blends happily the dash of a Joseph Vine with the patience of a Kenneth Hutchings; and after a long innings I find a glass of—— I've forgotten the name of it now, but I know I find it very refreshing.
Being the hero (you will admit that—after my hat trick) of this true story, I feel I must describe my innings carefully. Though it only totalled seventeen, there was this to be said for it: it is the only innings of less than a hundred ever made by a hero.
It began with a cut to square leg, for which we ran a forced single, and followed on with a brace of ones in the direction of fine slip. After that, I stopped the bowler in the middle of his run-up, and signalled to a spectator to move away from the screen. This was a put-up job with Myra, and I rather hoped they would give me something for it, but apparently they didn't. At the end of the over, I went up and talked to Archie. In first-class cricket, the batsmen often do this, and it impresses the spectators immensely.
I said, "I bet you a shilling I'm out next over."
He said, "I won't take you."
I said, "Then I huff you," and went back to my crease.
My next scoring stroke was a two-eyed hook over point's head, and then Archie hit three fours running. I had another short conversation with him, in the course of which I recited two lines from Shakespeare and asked him a small but pointed conundrum, and afterwards I placed the ball cleverly to mid-off, the agility of the fieldsman, however, preventing any increment, unearned or otherwise. Finally, I gave my cap to the umpire, made some more ones, changed my bat, and was caught at the wicket.
"I hit it," I said, as I walked away. I said it to nobody in particular, but the umpire refused to alter his decision.
"I congratulate you," said Miss Blair, when I was sitting down again.
"I was just going to do that to you," I said.
"Oh, but you were kind enough to do that last night."
"Ah, this is extra. I've just been batting out there with your young man. Perhaps you noticed?"
"Well, I think I must have."
"Yes. Well, I wanted to tell you that I think he has quite an idea of the game, and that with more experience he would probably be good enough to
play for—for Surrey. Second eleven. Yes. At hockey."
"Thank you so much. You've known him a long time, haven't you?"
"We were babes together, madam. At least, simultaneously. We actually met at school. He had blue eyes and curly hair, and fought the captain on the very first day. On the second day his hair was still curly, but he had black eyes. On the third day he got into the cricket eleven, and on the fourth he was given his footer cap. Afterwards he sang in the choir, and won the competition for graceful diving. It was not until his second term that the headmaster really began to confide in him. By the way, is this the sort of thing you want?"
"Yes," smiled Dahlia. "Something like that."
"Well, then we went to Cambridge together. He never did much work, but his algebra paper in the Little Go was so brilliant that they offered him the Senior Wranglership. He refused on the ground that it might interfere with his training for the tug of war, for which he had just obtained his blue —and—— It's a great strain making all this up. Do you mind if I stop now?"
"Of course I know that isn't all true, but he is like that, isn't he?"
"He is. He put me in first to-day."
"I know you really are fond of him."
"Lorblessyou—yes."
"That makes you my friend, too."
"Of course." I patted her hand. "That reminds me—as a friend I feel bound to warn you that there is a person about in the neighbourhood called Samuel Simpson who meditates an evil design upon you and yours. In short, a poem. In this he will liken you to the azalea, which I take to be a kind of shrubby plant."
"Yes?"
"Yes, well, all I want to say is, if he comes round with the hat afterwards, don't put anything in."
"Poor man," smiled Dahlia. "That's his living, isn't it?"
"Yes. That's why I say don't put anything in."
"I see. Oh, there—he's out. Poor Archie."
"Are you very sorry?" I said, smiling at her. "I'm just going, you know."
"Between ourselves," I said later to Myra, "that isn't at all a bad girl."
"Oh, fancy!"
"But I didn't come to talk about her. I came to talk about my seventeen."
"Yes, do let's."
"Yes. Er—you begin."
CHAPTER VII ALL OVER
"May I have a dance?" I asked Miss Blair.
She put her head on one side and considered.
"One, two, three—the next but five," she said.
"Thank you. That sounds a lot; is it only one?"
"You may have two running then, if you like."
"What about two running, and one hopping, and one really gliding? Four altogether."
"We'll see," said Miss Blair gravely.
Myra, who was being very busy, came up and dragged me away.
"I want to introduce you to somebody. I say, have you seen Thomas?"
"It's no earthly good introducing me to Thomas again."
"He's so important because he thinks the dance was his idea; of course I'd meant to have it all along. There she is—her name's Dora Dalton. I think it's Dora."
"I shall call her Dora, anyhow."
I was introduced, and we had a very jolly waltz together. She danced delightfully; and when we had found a comfortable corner she began to talk.
She said, "Do you play cricket?"
I was rather surprised, but I kept quite cool, and said, "Yes."
"My brother's very fond of it. He is very good too. He was playing here yesterday against Mr Mannering's team, and made six, and then the umpire gave him out; but he wasn't out really, and he was very angry. I don't wonder, do you?"
I had a sudden horrible suspicion.
"Did you say your name was Dora—I mean his name was Dalton?"
"Yes. And just because he was angry, which anybody would be, the wicket-keeper was very rude, and told him to go home and—and bake his head."
"Not bake," I said gently, my suspicion having now become almost a certainty. "Boil."
"Go home, and boil his head," she repeated indignantly.
"And did he?"
"Did he what?"
"Er—did he understand—I mean, don't you think your brother may have misunderstood? I can't believe that a wicket-keeper would ever demean himself by using the word 'boil.' Not as you might say boil. 'Cool his head' was probably the expression—it was a very hot day, I remember. And ... ah, there's the music beginning again. Shall we go back?"
I am afraid Miss Dalton's version of the incident was not quite accurate.
What had happened was this: I had stumped the fellow, when he was nearly a mile and a half outside his crease; and when he got back to it some minutes later, and found the umpire's hand up, he was extremely indignant and dramatic about it. Quite to myself, sotto voce as it were, I murmured, "Oh, go home!" and I may have called attention in some way to the "bails." But as to passing any remarks about boiling heads—well, it simply never occurred to me.
I had a dance with Myra shortly after this. She had been so busy and important that I felt quite a stranger. I adapted my conversation accordingly.
"It's a very jolly floor, isn't it?" I said, as I brought her an ice.
"Oh yes!" said Myra in the same spirit.
"Have you been to many floors—I mean dances, lately?"
"Oh yes!"
"So have I. I think dances have been very late lately. I think when the floor's nice it doesn't matter about the ices. Don't you think the band is
rather too elastic—I mean keeps very good time? I think so long as the time is good it doesn't matter about the floor."
"Oh, isn't it?" said Myra enthusiastically.
There was a pleasant pause while we both thought of something else to say.
"Have you," we began.
"I beg your pardon," we said at once.
"I was going to say," Myra went on, "have you read any nice books lately, or are you fonder of tennis?"
"I like reading nice books about tennis," I said. "If they are nice books, and are really about tennis. Er—do you live in London?"
"Yes. It is so handy for the theatres, isn't it? There is no place exactly like London, is there? I mean it's so different."
"Well, of course, up in Liverpool we do get the trams, you know, now.... I say, I'm tired of pretending I've only just met you. Let's talk properly."
At this moment we heard a voice say, "Let's try in here," and Archie and Dahlia appeared.
"Hallo! here's the happy pair," said Myra.
They came in and looked at us diffidently. I leant back and gazed at the ceiling.
"Were you just going?" said Archie.
"We were not," I said.
"Then we'll stay and talk to you."
"We were in the middle of an important conversation."
