Chapter 22

SEPTEMBER 21

T-MINUS 0

This is it.

Training camp starts today. The sixty-four players here, including fifty-two who are contracted with the Aces and twelve who’ve signed professional tryout contracts, have been divided into two groups for day one. I’m in Group A, and first thing up at ten o’clock this morning is the on-ice testing.

This isn’t just a few laps around the ice. This is tough, rigorous testing, measuring our speed, endurance, and aerobic capacity. This year instead of riding a bike and using the VO2 test, the team has elected to use a different way to check our heart rates and the lactic acid levels in our bloodstream. We’re fitted with heart monitors before we skate longer and longer distances over timed intervals.

Can this device tell when a heart is broken?

Ha. Guess my heart is still functioning despite the raw agony constantly throbbing in my chest.

I swore to myself I’d never feel that again. I’d never care about someone that much again.

The only thing that keeps me from losing my shit altogether is those four words Kendra said as I left—I’ll think about it.

It gives me hope. A tiny flicker of hope that sometimes flares up bigger and brighter, and other times nearly goes out, leaving me gasping in thick, dark misery.

I finish with an all-out sprint to measure my acceleration and power. Then I get my finger pricked to measure the level of lactic acid in my blood.

That fucking needle stabbing my finger hurts more than anything.

Okay, maybe not.

I’m feeling good. Really good. Physically, anyway. My hamstring feels back to normal, thank God, and I’ve been working out at my max capacity for the past week. Right now I’m deeply grateful for all Greg’s sadistic pushing. There are guys nearly puking after they finish the skating efficiency test. My lungs are straining, my thighs burning, but I feel good about it.

The day is grueling, but it’s a short day. We’re back on the ice Saturday morning, though, for an hour, followed by off-ice testing, including bench pressing, chin-ups until our muscles fail and we can’t do more, and standing jumps.

I’m ready. This is what all the pain and sweat have been about for the past few months.

Sunday we start scrimmaging. I can’t wait. I’ve been playing the past couple weeks, but even though I wanted to work hard, I also knew I had to keep some gas in the tank for this. I need to impress the coaching staff who is watching us, and now is the time to go all out and show them what I can do.

Competition is tight. There aren’t that many open roster spots. The young guys are hungry.

We all have to be available to the media after our off-ice workouts each day, and they’re all eager to talk to me, full of questions about how I’m feeling about being back, jokes about the hit I laid on Duper in the scrimmage, and how the young prospects are looking, including our first-round draft picks from earlier this year.

I’ve been away from this for a while, but I never minded talking to the media, and it’s kind of fun to have that attention and talk to people who love the sport as much as I do, even if they don’t play it. Even so, I feel like I’m putting on an act. Going through the motions.

Saturday I get a text message from Kevin, saying that he and his parents are coming to the Fan Festival on Sunday afternoon, which is being held outside the practice facility. The players have to be around to sign autographs, hand out hot dogs and play some ball hockey with our mascot Blade. Cool. I haven’t seen Kevin since that day at the beach with Kendra. When he thought she was my girlfriend.

I spot Kevin, Don, and Julie in the stands from on the ice when we start our scrimmage. Kevin waves and I give him a nod. But I have to remember my main focus is showing the coaches what I’ve got.

After the scrimmage, I shower and change for the Fan Festival. I run into Kevin and his parents in the lobby. Kevin and I do our secret handshake and he beams at me. “You looked good out there, Max,” he tells me earnestly. “Like you never stopped playing hockey.”

I smile at him. “Thanks, bud. I’ve been working hard.”

“How are you feeling?” Don asks.

“Great.” Other than that hollowness in my chest that hasn’t gone away since I came back from New York the other day. “Feels good to be on the ice with the team. Looking forward to playing Monday. Come on, let’s go find you a hot dog.”

We head outside to the party. Crowds of people have gathered, people of all ages, nearly everyone wearing Aces jerseys, some the white ones with black and silver, others the black home jerseys. I smile at a mom carrying a baby in a tiny Aces jersey and hat as we skirt the edge of the crowd toward one of the hot dog stands. I pass by Blade, who gives me a high five. I know the dude inside the costume and he’s kind of an ass, but I guess it takes a certain personality to put on a giant dog costume with a cap, goggles, brown leather bomber jacket and scarf, and dance around with a hockey stick, getting fans wound up.

I spend a half hour sitting at a table with Rosser signing autographs on all kinds of things—jerseys, hats, T-shirts, photographs. I smile and pose for selfies with flirty women and bro fans, and I pose for parents to take pictures of their kids and me.

My time’s just about up and I see Army and Duper approaching to take a turn. They’re with Blade for some reason, who’s striking poses with his hockey stick and hugging kids. Modi from the Aces’ Communication staff says, “One last autograph from these guys!”

I look up to see the last person. My jaw damn near smacks the table and my Sharpie falls out of my hand.

Kendra.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Army standing with his arms crossed, a watchful scowl on his face.

“Hi, hockey dude,” Kendra says. “Can I have your autograph?”

I just gape at her. “Kendra.”

She smiles, waiting.

My heart hammers out a rapid rhythm. “Uh. What do you want me to sign?”

She purses her lips, then holds out her left arm, palm up.

I pick up the Sharpie. “This is permanent ink.”

“Good.”

It’s permanent ink, but obviously it won’t last forever. I stare at her smooth forearm for a minute. Then I pull the cap off the pen, stand up, and lean forward for a better angle. Starting near her elbow, so she can read it, I print I love you, Kendra. Then I add my usual messy scrawl that supposedly says Max Hall and #11.

She smiles, then looks up from my autograph and meets my eyes. Heat throbs around us in the noisy crowd.

Then Blade comes up behind Kendra and taps her on the shoulder. She starts, turning to see the mascot standing right there with his goofy permanent smile on his big black and brown snout. She blinks, then gives a tentative smile.

Blade takes her hand and draws her away from the table.

I frown and straighten behind the table. What the hell is he doing?

Blade pats his chest as if his heart is pounding. He bows, gives Kendra a twirl, and then dips her over one arm.

My eyes bug out. What the fuck? He could drop her onto the ground!

He doesn’t, but when he brings her back up, her cheeks are pink and she’s laughing, but to me she looks uncomfortable. People are watching. She holds up her hands as if to tell him no, and then my blood pressure spikes as the son of a bitch hugs her, one of his paws going to her ass.

I vault over the table and lunge at him. “Get your fucking paws off her, you…you dog bastard.” I tackle him to the ground and hear an “umph” from inside the costume.

I vaguely hear the crowd around us making noises of shock and a few nervous laughs and shrieks.

“Max!” That’s Kendra.

I can hear Brad’s muffled voice inside the costume yelling, “What the fuck, man!” I drive a punch into his padded nose, which does nothing but make me feel better. I punch him again.

“Max! Get off him!”

Then hands are grabbing me and I’m hauled up to my feet. I pant and glance sideways at Army and Duper, each of them holding one of my arms.

“Are you insane?” Duper mutters to me. “What are you doing?”

“He grabbed her ass!”

“Shhh.” Duper pastes on a big smile as Rupper helps Brad stand. His costume is askew and there’s dirt on his dog butt. Blade straightens his head and his bomber jacket while Rosser picks up his hockey stick and hands it to him.

“Ha-ha, Hallsy, no need to be jealous.” Duper’s got a grin as fake as Brad’s plastered on his face, and he’s talking loudly so the crowd can hear. “Brad here’s just paying a compliment to the lady.” In a lower, terse voice, he says to Brad, “Right?”

Brad nods and I can feel his angry glare from inside the costume, despite the happy smile on the dog snout. He pats me on the shoulder, again takes Kendra’s hand, and bows, then waves and disappears.

“Jesus Christ,” Duper mutters again. “Fighting with the mascot? What the fuck?” Then he glances around. “Get out of here. We’ve got people lined up for autographs.” He slaps a hand on my back, laughs loudly, and calls out, “That was funny, Hallsy! Lucky you two didn’t get five for fighting!”

Laughter ripples through the crowd, and people move to line up for autographs again, some following Blade so they can play ball hockey with him. Apparently, most people watching think that was some kind of stunt.

I unclench my fists and suck in a breath. I meet Kendra’s eyes.

She’s trying not to laugh, biting her bottom lip. I grab her hand and drag her away, stalking across the parking lot toward the practice facility. We pass security and go around to the back entrance the players use. I lead her inside, up some stairs, and then down a hall to an empty dressing room. I bang the door shut behind us.

I reach for her and haul her into my arms and up against me and slam my mouth down on hers. Her hands curl over my shoulders and she makes a needy little noise and she’s kissing me back, pressing herself against me. Our tongues slide together and a growl climbs up my throat.

I grab her ass and haul her higher, lifting her feet right off the floor. She wraps her legs around me and I spin and back her up against a wall, my mouth still fused to hers. “Fuck, Kendra,” I gasp. “What are you doing here?”

She bumps her pelvis into me and my dick surges. “I came to see you.”

“Christ.” I rest my forehead against hers. “Jesus Christ. Please tell me you’ve thought about things. Please tell me you believe me, that I love you so goddamn much. Please tell me you love me, too.”

“I do.”

Her words suddenly create a feeling like a puck is lodged in my throat. I’m so choked up I can’t speak. Can’t breathe. My legs turn to mush and I have to lower her to the floor. I stumble back a few steps, pulling her with me, and drop onto a bench with her on my lap. I press my face between her breasts, my eyes stinging, relief flowing through me and making my muscles weak.

She slides her fingers into my hair, holding my head against her, rubbing her face on my head. “I love you, Max.”

“Fuck.” The word comes out in a pathetic croak. “I love you, too, Kendra.” I pull in a breath through my nose and her scent fills my head. “I love you so much.”

She shifts and I lift my head and our eyes meet. The connection soothes me and calms me. Her smile reassures me. Her touch lights me on fire, her hand in my hair, her other on my stubbled jaw, sensation rippling through me.

“Kendra.”

“I’m here. I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For not being sure. For being afraid. I just needed to make sure…”

“Of me?”

“No. Of myself.” She sighs and glides her fingertips from my jaw down the side of my neck and over my shoulder. “When we first met, I didn’t know anything about you. I thought you were gorgeous and you had a hot body.”

I smile.

“I saw the shadows in your eyes and I was curious. But I’ve looked long and hard inside myself, and I didn’t want to hook up with you because I wanted to fix those shadows. It was pure sex.”

I bark out a laugh. “Good to know you were using me for my hot body.”

“Come on, Max. We were using each other. And what’s wrong with that? There was a serious chemistry between us right from the start, and the sex was fantastic. What made it even better? I actually liked you, when we talked. I really thought it would be just one night. Even though I gave you my number, I didn’t think I’d ever hear from you again. But I did. And I got to like you even more.” Her smile grows wistful. “I was curious about you, and that was why I asked Duncan what your story was. I found out that your wife had died. And I had to wonder…was that what attracted me even more to you? That wound that needed healing?” She sighs. “Maybe it was. I don’t know. Anyway, we got to know each other more and I started falling in love with you.” She strokes my hair back from my face. “I love your determination. Your perseverance. Your passion for your sport. I love you for how much you love junk food and yet you’re so incredibly disciplined. I love you for the sacrifice you made for your wife, and how you were there for her at the end.”

“I never wanted to talk about Ariana to you. I thought maybe it would bother you.”

“That I’d be jealous?”

“I guess.”

“Well, as a psychologist I can tell you that jealousy is about a fear of losing something you have to someone else. How could I be jealous of her?” I touch his face. “I could be envious, though, of what you two had. And maybe I was a little.”

“I-I want you to know that I’ll always love her.” I don’t want to hurt Kendra, but I have to be honest. She nods, her eyes wary but listening. “But the way I love you is different. You’re different. Our relationship is different. The way we interact is different. I won’t make comparisons. There is no comparison. You’re different people. And you’re the one who’s here, Kendra. You’re bright and glowing—you admire my determination, but I admire how you never get discouraged. Things get you down and you get back up and change direction. You’re a fighter. I love how you want to make things better, how confident you are that you can do that.” I smile. “I love how you talk about sex toys and make no apologies for being a woman who enjoys sex.”

Her eyes glow. “Thank you.”

“So how did you figure out that you weren’t trying to fix me?”

“Because of how I felt when you ended things with me. I was heartbroken, yes. I loved you and that hurt so much.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, regret slamming through me.

“But I didn’t have that feeling of powerlessness, that I always had with my mom. Or with some of the other men I was involved with. Or with some of my patients. When I realized I couldn’t help them, I felt completely, utterly powerless. And I hated that. But with you…I had faith in you.” She touches my face again, her gaze steady on mine. “Even though you weren’t ready to move on, I knew that one day you would. I had faith in you to fix yourself.”

My heart turns over in my chest. “Thank you.”

“And I thought about something you said the night we ended things. You didn’t say you didn’t love me. You said you couldn’t. All along, I felt you were falling in love with me, too. Even though we kept saying it was just sex, it was just convenient—it wasn’t really convenient. We live in two different cities! If we wanted convenient, we could have found someone a lot closer to home to hook up with.”

“Good point.” I smile wryly.

“And you saying that you couldn’t love me, not that you didn’t love me, meant you really did love me…you just weren’t giving yourself permission.”

I nod slowly. “You’re right. That’s what I realized. That’s what I tried to tell you.”

“I know. And I’m sorry I didn’t believe you right away. I was just so scared. I thought I’d had my heart broken before, but my feelings for you are nothing like they were for other guys I was involved with. This is…real and true. Because I’ve learned to meet my own needs for love and affection and support. I don’t depend on someone else to give me my sense of self. I’ve found my own self. I believe in myself and what I can do. Before, when things didn’t work out, I always wondered what was wrong with me. This time…I didn’t.”

“You knew it was all my damn fault.”

“No…” Her smile glows. “It’s not about blame. Until you came to New York to bring me Buster, I thought it was timing…we were good together but you weren’t ready. But it never made me feel there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t loveable…so that’s how I know that I didn’t want a relationship with you just because you were damaged and needed help. You didn’t need my help. And I didn’t need to fix you.” She bites her lip and looks up at me through her eyelashes. “That doesn’t mean I don’t need you, though, for other things.”

“Are you talking about dirty things?”

Her slow smile is warm and sexy and…everything. “Those, too.”

“We need to get out of here.”