I DIDN’T EVEN NEED to use the washroom. I washed my hands, touched up my lipstick and gave myself a pep talk.
Max is a free agent. He can date or sleep with anyone he wants.
We have a professional relationship.
I am not jealous.
My only job is to make sure he succeeds on the ice.
I patted my hair into place and then took a deep bolstering breath. I could do this.
I opened the door and paused. Leaning against the wall, across from the door, was Max.
“Hi, Max!” I sounded way too high pitched and chipper. I cleared my throat.
“Having a good night?”
“Um, yup.”
His eyes traveled down the length of me. His voice sounded casual. “How’s your date going?”
I rapidly blinked not sure how to answer. Not sure if I wanted him to know I wasn’t on a date. “You’re here with the team?”
“I am.”
I did not understand why he was waiting for me or why he wanted to talk.
He let me know when he asked, “Did your parents go out of town?”
“How did you know?”
“I saw your dad with a suitcase.”
My stomach did a slow flop. “Yes. They went down to Seattle for the weekend.”
He stared at me for a long moment. “Phone.”
“What?”
“Give me your phone.”
I didn’t even ask why he wanted it. I unlocked it and handed it to him.
I watched as he typed something in before passing it back. I peeked down at the screen. He had entered his phone number in my contact information.
My breath caught in my throat. Why had he given me his number?
OMG! Did he want a bootie call? Did he want to come over? Is that why he was giving me his number? My heart raced in my throat.
“Do you want me to call you later?”
“Text me when you get home safe.”
I stopped, confused. “What?”
He pushed himself off the wall, looming over me. “I want to know when you get home safe. Text me when you do.”
My lips parted, but before I could answer he disappeared into the men’s room.
I shut my eyes in mortification. It was laughable that I had thought for even a fleeting second he wanted to come over later. He had a puck bunny salivating over him. It embarrassed me that I had thought he’d want to see me.
With my head down, I made my way back to Ola.
She gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m so sorry, but I need to leave. My boyfriend called. His car broke down in Surrey and he needs me to come and get him.”
“That’s fine. I’m not feeling that great.”
We paid for our drinks. As we walked out, I glanced over my shoulder. Max stood with his back to me. The cute blonde was all but glued to his side.
The whole thing depressed me.
I took a cab home, letting myself into my childhood home. I sighed as I stood in the dark foyer of the huge silent house. Friday night and I was home by 10 PM. So much for having a social life.
Time for soft clothing, popcorn, and Netflix.
While the popcorn popped, I checked my phone again.
Max had given me his number. Not because he wanted a bootie call, but because he was treating me like a kid sister that he needed to take care of. It kind of made me happy that he was thinking about me, but he wasn’t thinking about me in the way I wanted him to.
I started to text him that I was home, but then stopped myself. How lame would I seem if I texted him at 10 PM? I could envision him, at the bar, with some puck bunny sitting on his lap and then his phone would buzz with my text. A text that would scream sad loner.
I tossed the phone on the counter. It wouldn’t hurt for him to believe that I was on some hot and heavy date. I’d text him after the movie.
CHIMES WERE PLAYING in my dream. Long, echoing chimes on repeat.
I sat up straight in bed, heart pounding. The chimes sounded again.
The doorbell.
The clock read 3:21 AM. Oh no!
Oh no, oh no, oh no.
No one rang the doorbell at this time of night unless something bad had happened.
I ripped the covers off and raced down the stairs. I stood there, for a long moment, while my heart hammered in my chest and I braced myself to face whatever I would need to face. Was it the police? Had something happened with my parents? Whatever it was, I needed to face it.
Heart in my throat, I swung the door open.
There stood Max with a stiff posture.
“Max.” I sounded thick and stupid.
His nostrils flared as his eyes went up and down, taking in my yoga pants, droopy ponytail, and bare feet.
“Are you alone?” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
Was I dreaming?
I nodded, confused and disoriented.
His eyes narrowed. “I didn’t get a text.”
I looked to his vehicle that sat in the long driveway, and then back to him. “You know where I live?”
“Your address was in my GPS. Why didn’t you text me?”
The tone of his voice made my eyes widen. He was not a happy camper.
I put my hand on my forehead, trying to process this. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“Exactly.”
I hadn’t texted him, but in my defense, I thought it was too pathetic to be texting him that I was home alone while he frolicked with some hot bunny.
“Were you worried?”
He glowered. He ticked off his points with his fingers. “Home by yourself. On some date. Didn’t text.”
In that moment, I made the game time decision to not tell him that I hadn’t been on a date. “So, you drove here to check up on me?”
A muscle in his jaw ticked. Finally, he spoke. “I wanted to go to bed, and I got tired of waiting.”
It dawned on me that Max had been waiting for me to text him that I was okay. And when I hadn’t, he had gotten into his vehicle, to drive across town to check on me. That fact staggered me.
“Max.” My voice had more feeling than I wanted it to.
He turned and stalked back to his truck. He slammed the door of his vehicle and then the engine roared to life.
He unrolled his window and called something to me.
“What?”
He pointed at the door. He wanted me to go back inside. I nodded but stood there, waiting for him to drive off. A moment passed before I realized that he would not drive away until I moved inside.
Confused, I stepped inside and shut the door. Only then did I hear the roar of his vehicle.
What had just happened?
I LAY IN BED, replaying that Max had been so concerned about my safety that he had driven to my home in the middle of the night to check on me. Did that mean he cared? It must mean a small part of him cared.
I picked up my phone.
Me: Sorry I didn’t text. Thank you for checking up on me.
Max: Why didn’t you?
I curled up on my side, thinking. The guy had gone out of his way for me. He deserved my honesty.
Me: I came home early and fell asleep in front of a movie.
Max: What time?
Me: 10 PM
Max: What happened to your date?
Me: I was with my girlfriend and she needed to leave early.
I lay there for a long moment, wondering if he’d text back.
Max: So, no date?
Me: No date. How was your date?
Max: I wasn’t on a date.
Me: Didn’t look that way to me
Max: I came home alone
I smiled. Now that made me happy.
Me: Night
Max: Night
I SAT in the executive box with Dad and watched our fifth regular game of the season. I had packed my bags and tonight I would travel with the team for their first set of away games. Dad had accompanied me and the team for all our pre-season games, so this would be the first time I traveled alone with the team.
We were only three weeks into the regular season, and Max was the second highest scoring player in the NHL league. Although he single-handedly ensured we won most of our games, the Vancouver fans refused to accept Max. Tonight he had already scored two goals, but the fans refused to show their appreciation. I studied the sea of faces. There were no homemade signs in the crowd, scribbled with his name or number, nor did they chant his name like they did the other players.
“Come on, go, go,” Dad yelled at Max.
I sat clenched and tight, watching as Max took advantage of his breakaway. With speed he moved up the ice, weaving past the opposing defense.
Slap!
Max scored his third goal of the game, and the goal siren sounded across the stadium.
A hat trick.
In the rare event of a hat trick, when a player scores three goals in one game, fans show their appreciation by throwing hundreds of hats onto the ice. In response, the player would skate around the ice, pick up a couple of hats with his stick and bask in the love of the crowd. Dad and I watched in horrified silence as seven measly baseball hats drifted to the ice. Seven hats was worse than insulting. It was the fan’s declaration that they didn’t like Max.
In response, Max didn’t even acknowledge the hats. With an indifferent expression, he skated back to the bench. The Jumbotron flashed his accomplishment, and the announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, trying to drum up enthusiasm, but the crowd remained mute.
Dad and I exchanged glances.
“They hate him,” he stated.
“They’re stupid.”
Dad shook his head in disgust. “What does Katrina say?”
“She wants to get him in front of the media.”
That was an understatement. Katrina was relentless in her pursuit to get Max back in front of a camera. She emailed me, messaged me or phoned me daily about getting Max’s media ban lifted.
“And?” Dad pushed.
Anxiety rolled through me. “The media will only focus on his past and his fight with Joseph Flanynk. Max needs to win the hearts of our fans. Unless he can do that, he is bad for our brand because the media will only focus on the negative.”
Dad gave a sharp nod. “I agree.”
I sagged in relief, but I wasn’t sure if it was because of Dad’s approval or if it was because it meant I had bought Max some more time out of the limelight.
He continued, “We sell tickets because the fans love hockey and they love this team. Max needs to win over the love of these fans, or else….”
“Or else what?”
Dad shrugged but didn’t answer me. “How do you feel about these upcoming away games?”
“I’m fine.”
Immediately after the game, we were taking a bus to the airport to catch a red-eye.
“Ottawa first?”
“Ottawa, Boston, Buffalo, Minnesota and then Detroit.”
“Tell Max to watch his back in Minnesota. In fact, the entire team needs to be vigilant. Their hatred there for Max runs deep, and that translates into angry fans and dirty plays.”
I shook my head, feeling sad for Max. “Everyone seems to hate him.”
“They used to love him. He was a star there.”
“And then he beat up Joseph.”
“They lost the Stanley Cup and turned on him. The entire city turned on him.”
“How?”
He cleared his throat but didn’t speak.
“Dad, tell me.”
“I heard that he got death threats.”
I worked to cover my gasp. “Serious death threats?”
“Enough that it involved the police. He needed police security until he left the city.”
This shocked me. “Do you think he’ll be in danger there?”
Dad sounded thoughtful. “It might be a good idea if you sit this trip out.”
“Why?”
“It will get rough in Minnesota.”
“Forget it,” I argued, surprising myself. An hour ago, I had been dreading this trip. Now I was pushing to go?
“It doesn’t hurt if you don’t go.”
“I’m not a coward. This is my job. Let me support the team.”
Dad stood there for a long moment before nodding. “Be careful.”
With my father’s warning ringing in my brain, I sat back to watch the rest of the game. Max’s focus on the ice and the bench was absolute. He seemed completely indifferent to the fact that our fans didn’t seem to like him. How did a person survive going from celebrated celebrity to being hated by the public? Most people I knew would have gone into hiding. It was a testament to his character that he could block out that energy.
