The best mistake, p.1
The Best Mistake, page 1
Cover image Ice Hockey Skates © Ronniechua, iStock.com
Cover design © 2022 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2022 by Traci Hunter Abramson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: December 2022
ISBN 978-1-52442-241-7
For Tracy Bentley
Whether you realize it or not, you always make life a little brighter for everyone around you. Thank you for always letting your light shine.
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the many people who helped this story grow from the glimmer of an idea to what it is today. Thanks to Lara and Scott Abramson for the many brainstorming sessions. Thank you to my fabulous editor, Samantha Millburn, who always makes my work shine. Thanks to the rest of the Covenant family who have been so supportive, especially Ashley Gebert, Amy Parker, and Jessica Bybee.
I also want to thank the members of my various critique groups for pushing me to become better: Daniel Quilter, Eliza Sanders, Connor Olsen, H.Y. Gregor, Ellie Whitney, Paige Edwards, Kyla Beecroft, and Kori Pratt.
My appreciation also goes to my family, who supports me in everything I do, and to the readers who encourage me to continue on my writing journey. Truly, I appreciate you more than words can express.
Chapter One
April 1956
Madison Square Garden
New York City
Game five of the Stanley Cup. The roar of the crowd. Skates cutting across the ice. Miles reached for the puck with his hockey stick as his opponent tried to move past him on the offense. Miles missed on his first attempt to steal but not on his second.
With less than three minutes to go in the third period, the score tied in this deciding game, Miles took control of the puck and pushed toward the goal.
The New Yorkers in the stands booed his steal. They might as well have cheered. He used their displeasure as motivation. He might be playing for the Montreal Canadiens now, but he had started out as a New York Ranger, and he had something to prove.
He cut past one defender. Then he made a quick stop, pulled his stick back, and shot. The goalkeeper made a stab at the puck with his glove but only managed to deflect it as it whipped past him and bounced off the back of the net.
The ref signaled to confirm the score, and Miles’s teammates rushed toward him, practically tackling him in celebration as the crowd erupted in frustration.
Miles looked at the clock. Two more minutes. He glanced at the bench to confirm that his coach wanted him to remain on the ice for the faceoff and then took position.
The rookie, Robert Marcell, skated to the center of the rink.
“Let’s go, Robert!” Miles shouted, both to encourage Robert and to make sure the young player knew where Miles had positioned himself.
The ref moved to the center, held the puck between Robert and Hal, the New York player facing Robert, then threw it down.
Both players’ sticks scraped against the ice and crashed against each other as Robert and Hal fought for control of the puck, which bounced twice before settling onto the ice. Then suddenly, they pushed the puck free, and it slid directly to Miles.
Miles controlled it and made his turn. He took one step, then another. A shout of warning came, and Miles caught a blur of movement in his peripheral vision. He sent the puck flying back to Robert, but that didn’t stop the Ranger player charging toward him.
Miles tried to stop, but he wasn’t quick enough. His opponent slammed into him, checking him hard into the boards. Miles’s knee buckled, and pain exploded inside it as his skates slid out from under him and he crashed to the ground.
The crowd cheered his misfortune as Miles grabbed at his knee and rocked back and forth in an attempt to fight the pain flaring there. He blinked rapidly against the sudden moisture in his eyes when he tried to straighten his leg. A new bolt of pain tore through him. Not now! Miles screamed in his head just as the crowd roared in exasperation. Miles caught sight of Robert, fist lifted victoriously in the air, the puck once again in the back of the Rangers’ net.
Miles tried to push up to a stand only to slide right back down when his left knee failed him. Pain shot through his leg in time with his heartbeat. He couldn’t be injured. He just couldn’t. Not now. Not in the last game of the Stanley Cup Finals.
Maybe it was just a bruise. He willed that to be the case as he gripped the rink wall and tried to stand again. Again, he fell back to the ice. More pain ricocheted through him, this time accompanied by a sick sensation in his stomach. Hockey was his life. It was his everything and had been for as long as he could remember.
The team doctor appeared at his side at the same time Robert approached.
“What is it? Your knee?” Dr. Tremblay asked.
“Yeah.” Miles started to push himself up again.
“Let me help you.” Dr. Tremblay hooked an arm around Miles’s waist.
Robert stepped to the other side of Miles, and the two men pulled Miles up so he was standing on his good leg. Miles tried to put weight on his injured leg again only to wince in pain. His throat clogged, and panic burst inside him. Knee injuries ended hockey careers. He wasn’t ready to hang up his skates yet.
He blinked hard against the fresh tears trying to form in his eyes. Hockey players didn’t cry, not even when a single moment threatened to take away everything.
Gritting his teeth to fight the pain and emotional turmoil swirling inside him, he balanced on the blade of his good leg while Robert and Dr. Tremblay pulled him forward.
“How bad is it?” Robert asked as their line changed and fresh players rushed onto the ice to take their places.
“I don’t know.” Miles dropped onto the bench.
Instantly, Dr. Tremblay knelt in front of him, his hands probing Miles’s knee. “It’s already starting to swell. We need to get you to the hospital for some X-rays.”
Miles glanced at the scoreboard. “Not yet. The game isn’t over.”
Dr. Tremblay must have known it was useless to argue because he simply straightened and turned to watch the last few seconds of the game with him.
The final buzzer sounded, the score Canadiens five, Rangers three. They had won the Stanley Cup. The thrill of victory flooded him, momentarily edging out the pain as he shot to his feet. Then he took a step and received a jarring reminder of his injured state. They had won the championship, but how much had Miles sacrificed to make it happen?
***
Linda pushed her way out of the back of the car before her driver could open the door for her. Fear pulsed through her as she hurried toward the emergency room entrance. Her father had to be okay. He just had to.
A heart attack. Or so her mother had said when she’d called twenty minutes ago. Was fifty-two even old enough to have a heart attack? More importantly, would he survive? Was he still alive?
A new wave of panic seeped through her. She couldn’t imagine a world without her father in it.
She should have known he’d been pushing himself too hard. She had been working by his side for over two years now, although her position as one of his vice presidents had been restricted to a single project: the acquisition of the building on East Seventy-Third Street. It would provide a home for Steps Academy, a private performing arts high school due to open in the fall. Linda hoped her involvement with the project would earn her a position on the board of directors, but those dreams would have to wait. Her father’s health needed to come first. He had to be okay.
She hurried through the double glass doors and to the reception desk. “Kenneth Bancroft. Is he . . . ?” Her throat closed up as fear and concern bubbled inside her. She drew a deep breath and tried again. “Is he okay?”
The slightly heavyset woman behind the desk flipped through the pages of the ledger before looking back up at Linda. “Your relationship to the patient?”
“I’m his daughter.”
“One moment.” She picked up her phone and relayed the information that Linda had arrived.
Linda didn’t know whether the receptionist’s calm manner was because everything was all right or because Linda was too late. Linda’s stomach churned uncomfortably, and she wrung her gloved hands together.
As soon as the receptionist hung up, she motioned to the double doors to her left. “Your father is in exam-room two. After you pass through the doors, turn right.”
Hope took flight. “But he’s okay?”
“The doctor will be able to give you more information on his condition.”
Linda gripped her leather clutch. If they were letting her see her father, that had to be a good sign. Didn’t it? She nodded to the receptionist. “Thank you.”
She followed the woman’s directions and passed through the double doors.
She checked the room numbers on the wall, stopping when she reached one marked Triage 2. She furrowed her eyebrows. The receptionist had said to make a right, but this room was on the main hall. She must have told her wrong.
A curtain hung in what was essentially a large doorway. Linda rapped her knuckle against the wall beside the opening to make her presence known, then she pushed back the curtain. But when she glanced inside, it wasn’t her father sitting on the examination table, but rather a man wearing a pair of shorts, an undershirt, and an ice pack.
A very attractive man whom her mother would deem of marriageable age. Her cheeks heated.
The serious expression on his face softened slightly when he looked at her, but he didn’t appear to be the least embarrassed by his state of undress. He shifted the ice pack on his knee and winced. “You don’t look like a nurse.”
“I . . . I’m sorry.” Linda averted her eyes to the floor for a moment before forcing herself to meet his gaze. “My father was supposed to be in here.”
A nurse approached with a wheelchair. “Excuse me, ma’am. I need to take Mr. Donnelly to X-ray.”
Linda looked at Mr. Donnelly’s ice-pack-covered knee. Instantly, she was transported back to a moment two years ago when she had sat in a hospital, her own knee swollen and throbbing. Empathy rose within her, but it was quickly swallowed by another wave of urgency. Where was her dad?
The nurse motioned to a single chair in the curtained-off room. “You’re welcome to wait here if you’d like.”
“No, I’m sorry. I’m looking for my father, Kenneth Bancroft,” Linda said.
“Is he a patient?”
“Yes. I was told he was in exam-room two.”
“I’m sorry, Miss Bancroft, but this is triage.” She pointed to the hallway behind Linda. “Take a right up there. He’ll be in the second room on your left.”
“Thank you.” Linda turned to the man again. He was trying not to smile and doing a poor job of it. “I’m sorry for the confusion.”
“I’m not. You were a welcome distraction.” Mr. Donnelly’s eyebrows lifted, and he added, “Stop by to see me anytime.”
Linda’s blush deepened. She stepped back quickly and let the curtain fall between her and Mr. Donnelly.
Embarrassed and annoyed at herself, she found the correct room. Despite her earlier blunder, she couldn’t keep herself from hurrying into the room. A sigh of relief whooshed out of her when she spotted her father. He was propped up in a bed, blankets covering his lean body, an IV hooked to one arm. His naturally fair skin was paler than usual, but he was awake, alert, and breathing.
Linda rushed to his side and took his hand. “Dad, are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine.” He studied her a moment. “Are you all right? You look a bit flushed.”
Linda wasn’t about to confess that she had just walked in on a man in his underclothes, especially not when that man had worn a cocky grin and the mere sight of him had completely flustered her. “I’m okay.” She looked around the room. “What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing yet.” He held up his free arm. “They keep running tests. I told your mother that I’m fine, but she and the doctor are insisting I let them check me out.”
“Mom said you had a heart attack.”
“It was mild. It’s nothing to worry about.”
Linda wasn’t convinced. An IV attached to his arm, wires attached to his chest. He hadn’t looked this pale since the last time her mother had planned a charity ball at their home without telling him. “Where is Mom?”
“Conspiring with the doctors.” He motioned for her to come closer. When she leaned toward him, he said, “Help break me out of here and I’ll buy you that pony you’ve been asking for.”
“I asked for a pony when I was six.”
He winked at her and gave her a charming smile. “I think you’ve waited long enough.”
“Sorry, Dad, but I’m on Mom’s side on this one. You need to wait here and see what the doctors say.”
“I’ll buy you a new car.”
“I have a car. And a driver.” Before he could offer any more bribes, Linda laid her hand on his arm. “Sorry, Dad, but you’re staying here. This is one time when your bank account isn’t going to give you what you want.”
Chapter Two
Miles was going stir crazy. He should be celebrating with his teammates right now, but instead, he was stuck here in a hospital room while the doctors ordered one test after another. How many times did they need to poke and prod him to know that his knee was messed up?
Fears crowded in on him. A knee injury, especially one at his age, wasn’t good. Not that twenty-seven was old, but in hockey years, he was getting up there. Would this end his career? Or was it possible to come back from this? His stomach clenched. He’d seen far too many teammates end up out of the game after one hard hit.
He closed his eyes, willing this to be a bad dream. The moment of his injury replayed in his mind, the sound of skates slashing across the ice, the shouted warning, the vibration of his shoulder against the boards, the pain in his knee. What he wouldn’t give to go back in time, to do something—anything—differently to change the outcome. He opened his eyes and looked around the hospital room. He couldn’t go back. He had to look forward. But what would the future hold?
A new sense of dread swept over him. What would he do if he couldn’t play hockey? This game was his life. He had poured his heart and soul into being one of the best from the moment he’d signed on with a minor league team in Toronto. He’d been only seventeen. Later, he’d survived the move from Canada to New York when the Rangers had signed him, only to get traded to the Canadiens three seasons later.
And now he was a Stanley Cup champion for the second time in his career. Would this championship be his last?
Think of something else. Anything else. Like the woman who had accidentally visited him. Miss Bancroft. Or was it Mrs. Someone? Miles shook that thought away. She hadn’t corrected the nurse when she had addressed her as “miss,” although how she was still unmarried was a bit of a mystery.
Beyond her gorgeous green eyes and striking figure, she had looked so put together: perfectly styled blonde hair, a classy blue dress and matching heels, white gloves, and an expensive handbag. Too bad she hadn’t stuck around. It would have been nice to have someone to talk to while he tried to ignore the throbbing in his knee and the what-ifs playing through his mind. He tried to shift to get more comfortable, but the movement only made the pain worse.
Where was the doctor? Shouldn’t someone have told Miles what was going on by now? A candy striper could have at least stopped in and given him a magazine to read while he waited.
The curtain slid open. Robert Marcell peeked inside. “You alive?”
“Maybe.” Miles waved him into the room. “What are you doing here? I thought everyone went back to the hotel.”
“They did, but since we hadn’t heard from Doc yet, I decided to come check on you.”
“You should be celebrating with the rest of the team.”
“Go get drunk with a bunch of guys who like to pick fights?” Robert shook his head. “No thanks. I want to last in this game beyond my twentieth birthday.”
“Rookie, you’re smarter than you look.”
“Thanks. I think.” Robert closed the curtain behind him and waved at Miles’s knee. “What did the doctor say?”
“Nothing. I haven’t seen him yet.”
The curtain slid open again. This time, the team doctor walked in. “How are you doing?”
“You tell me, Doc.”
“I just looked at your X-rays and consulted with one of the physicians here.”
“And?”
Dr. Tremblay glanced at Robert briefly before turning back to Miles.
This didn’t look good. Miles adopted his best tough-guy expression. “You can talk in front of the kid. You know everyone will get the story before the night is out anyway.”
