Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2)

by Isabo Kelly

  She barely managed to get away from him, choosing to make a beeline to the bar instead of telling the stupid viola player to fuck off. She leaned her elbows against the marble bar, took a deep breath and ordered a drink. Something strong enough to stop her brain from whirling.

  “Come sit!”

  She turned toward the voice; it was Jonathan. He sat, somewhat at ease, at a table no more than two steps away. She grinned, took the drink, tipped the bartender and headed over to accept the invitation.

  “Thanks,” she said as she sat in one of the empty chairs and smiled. “How are you doing?”

  Jonathan smiled back at her and patted her hand. “He’s going to be fine,” he said, ignoring her question.

  She was glad she’d swallowed the sip of her drink she’d taken before she started talking. “What?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You told A that you’d bring a hockey player. You’re as pale as a sheet. You went to the game where Evans got suspended and St. Laurent got injured, and you’ve been a mess since then. Doesn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out you’re worried about the guy you were supposed to bring. And you were bringing St. Laurent.”

  She blinked.

  “Kayleigh, I’m a litigator, not an idiot. Though some confuse the two, the truth is that I spend way too much time making sense out of the crazy. And he’s going to be fine, otherwise they would have had a press conference like they did with the other team and their goalie. The only reason he’s under lock and key is because of LeBlanc.” He looked down at his watch. “Give it about…say five more minutes, and then blow this overdressed popsicle stand and go check on Lucky Seven.”

  She nodded and smiled. “Thank you.”

  Suddenly she found herself genuinely relaxing. It was as if she’d been given permission to breathe again. Jonathan and Kassie were chatty and awesome enough to make her forget the people she didn’t want to see…or talk to. Finally, there were footsteps, and Jonathan’s face lit up in a way that made her realize Arun had joined them.

  “You should go,” he said as he came over to join them. “You’ve done your time, Kayleigh. Seriously. It’s OK.”

  She raised an eyebrow and took another sip of her mystery drink. “You sure?”

  Arun nodded, patting her on the shoulder. “Now.”

  She needed no more suggestion, no more prodding. “OK.”

  Max

  Max’d had enough of waiting. He’d been hidden away at the very luxurious house of the team owner, so he had to fake symptoms he was not having until it felt…safe. Then he had to go see the doctor, who had a horrible accent. Apparently, it was because the team’s doctor was from Boston…

  But he did ask if he could dance. The doctor, as well as the other people in the room, laughed.

  He was glad the only part of the response he caught was “yes.”

  As he and the team owner left the doctor’s office, Monsieur “call me Arnie” Dawes wondered aloud, “So why do you want to dance?”

  He smiled. Dawes’s interest was genuine. So he spilled the beans. “I was…invited to an event by a girl…and it was formal so…”

  “So you need to dance, of course.” Then Dawes looked up at him, focused. “Event’s formal. You have a tux?”

  Merde.

  He’d forgotten the tuxedo he’d purchased (and worn, and dry-cleaned) after the Special Olympics Gala. His family was with Alain doing something, and he was …

  Merde.

  Dawes smiled, clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “I…”

  “I can’t let one of my boys go to a gala without a tux, Lucky Seven.”

  He nodded. The offer was genuine; his percée was never wrong. So he accepted.

  Unfortunately, the fitting took a long time. He was lucky; the tailor was nice, even though he turned out to be another member of the unofficial recruiting committee for the French national team. Aside from that, it was good and put him into a tux, a sufficiently warm topcoat, and a car, with enough time to get to the gala.

  And then there was horrible traffic.

  But finally, he arrived.

  “Merci,” he said to the driver as he got out of the car.

  There was a huge staircase to his left, and he started to climb it, two stairs at a time.

  Except he looked up only to see a solitary figure in a long black coat heading right toward him. As the figure came closer, he was transfixed.

  Kayleigh.

  He focused his percée, and she was upset, worried, and concerned. She wasn’t looking at him, so he went up another stair. The sound of his dress shoes hitting the stone steps echoed through the silent night, producing the desired effect. She looked up.

  She was gorgeous, bundled up in that coat, her eyes wide; his percée told him she was curious, questioning, which meant she was trying to find the source of the sound. His heart pounded against the chest and his breath made clouds in the cold as he waited.

  When her eyes stopped searching and met his, there was a split second before her heels started to pound against the steps as he opened his arms. He held his breath until she reached him, and he held her.

  “I made it.”

  “You’re here.”

  He shrugged. “I am.”

  Relief, joy, guilt, and something else came pouring out of her as she leaned toward him. Her lips met his in an explosion that almost knocked him over. He let himself get lost in her, his hands in her hair, the way she responded to his lips on hers, the sweet taste of her mouth…

  She pulled away, breaking the kiss so suddenly it made his head spin. But instead of pulling away completely, she and put her head on his shoulder. “You’re here,” she whispered. “I…I didn’t expect you to come. Wanted you to. But I just…”

  “I wanted to…surprise you,” he managed, the letters mixing on his tongue and ending up in a weird place between the English and the French. “I got the OK from the doctor today and I…”

  Her responding smile was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She put her arms around him, and he couldn’t help himself; his lips brushed her cheek, matching hers as she turned just at the right moment. His fingers explored the strands of her hair that escaped from her hat.

  “Cold?”

  He smiled at her, the concern in her eyes melting his heart. “No.” He turned toward the door. “In?”

  She shook her head, and he could see she was filled with determination. “Home.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kayleigh

  She barely remembered the cab ride.

  All she remembered was Max, the feel of him next to her, how she couldn’t wait to get him out of the tuxedo that peaked out from under his long winter coat, to break the unspoken rules they’d been following. She remembered the furtive kisses she’d stolen, the way his carefully tied bow tie came apart at the slightest movement of his fingers.

  “You wore a tux,” she murmured against his cheek. “You would have killed in a tux.”

  She saw the confusion in his eyes, then remembered who she was talking to. So she leaned over and kissed as close to his lips as she could get from her position. “You’re probably gorgeous in that tux.”

  “Probably?” he said as he leaned toward her that little bit more, his lips landing on hers.

  “Definitely,” she murmured against his mouth. “Definitely.”

  “Do you want to go back?” he asked, his words hesitant and mostly lost in his accent.

  She shook her head and breathed him in. “I want to get you out of that tux as fast as possible. Which means my place.”

  He laughed, and she loved the sound of his laugh. “OK, bébé. I…it’s OK…”

  For the millionth time, she was glad she lived in a walkup, a small building, right next to a coffee shop. She took his hand as the car pulled over, and they got out. But she didn’t remember much about how she got them up to her apartment, only how fast their heavy coats, his jackets, her dress, and bra had found their way
to the floor. The clothing littered the path, obscuring the hard wood floor from her frozen feet.

  She expected him to say something, but he didn’t. She turned on the light near her bedroom and let him lead her inside. Because he was amazing.

  He had exquisite control over the way he moved those fingers along her skin. He kissed like his mouth was on fire and, dear god, his hands. Forward and backward around her breasts. She’d wanted him to touch her, had yearned to feel those skilled fingers against her skin. And now that she finally was, she wanted to roar in triumph.

  Not exactly roar, but…luxuriate in the feel of him. His hands, now his mouth on her breasts. He was hungry and she would let him feast. All over her, as much and as often as he wanted. This would be amazing, special, and…dangerous.

  Although his shirt had to come off. Yet as she leaned closer to it, he moved back. “Non, petit, non bébé,” he managed, his accent deeper, “non yet. OK? We take it slow, hm?”

  She sighed and nodded. The full force of Max’s answering smile could have been classified as a lethal weapon. And in the remains of his tuxedo? Holy shit.

  Max

  There came a point where he wondered why he held off her questing fingers. Urged on by the desire he saw in her eyes, he gave up the fight. “Viens,” he whispered. “Come on…”

  She did. Her hands made short work of the buttons on his shirt, and he found himself forgetting to breathe as she kissed him, His pants came down faster, her fingers easily exposing his body to the cold of his bedroom. He didn’t resist her; he couldn’t. He wasn’t strong enough, and that was OK.

  He let her push him back, straddle him. Her smile was dangerous as she pulled his boxers down, beautiful and everything he wanted. The feel of her hands on his shoulders put him in perilous danger of losing it all…

  Merde

  He flattened his hands on the mattress, pushing up to meet her mouth. “Viens,” he murmured. “Viens, bébé.”

  “On my way,” she replied against his mouth. Her chest against his, her legs suddenly around his waist. He moved slightly, and he entered her. She was wet, slick, and ready for him.

  “What happened to taking it slow?” she murmured as he positioned his hips just so, moving inside her, trying to find the rhythm they both needed.

  “We lost it,” he managed, his ability to speak hampered by his breath and his movements. He hoped his words came out somewhat intelligently.

  She came. God she came. So did he, thankfully. Tight around him, and oh. She fell onto his chest, put her head on his shoulder, and sighed, kissing his cheek. “I don’t want to move,” she informed him.

  In response, he put his arms around her, hugging her close to him. “Don’t.”

  And she didn’t.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Max

  It was a normal visit; any athlete had to visit the PT clinic before being cleared to come back from an injury, right?

  He took a breath, stared up at the ceiling, and hoped he could find answers there. But there was nothing. Only busy, overwhelmed thoughts from the people buzzing around him. No nerves. No fear. Except for his.

  Tabernac.

  “Mr. St. Laurent?”

  He looked up at the sound of his name. “Oua…yes?”

  “Come this way.”

  He nodded, and stood up, trying to think of the best way to deal with the questions that ran around his head. Merde. He had to tell Kayleigh about his percée, his grandfather had reminded him. And it wasn’t as if it was something he hadn’t thought about. Just…

  Merde.

  “Mr. St. Laurent?”

  The therapist, Nathalie—Semenov’s Nathalie—had called him a second time, and he felt horrible. “Sorry,” he managed, forcing the English words out of his mouth as he followed her into the exam room.

  She patted the table, and he got on, closing his eyes and attempting to clear his mind. He failed. Completely. All he could think about was Kayleigh and how he couldn’t lose her.

  As Nathalie’s hands began to do their magic, he felt something…different. She was suddenly separated from her emotions; she was witnessing something. He opened his eyes and saw her. She stood still; almost completely motionless, her eyes looking at almost nothing. He felt betrayal from her, but it wasn’t hers. Felt observation and confusion, then resolution.

  “Tell her,” she said suddenly, conviction in her voice. “Whatever it is, tell her or you’ll lose her.” And then…was it…surprise, embarrassment? “Sorry,” she said shaking her head. “Every once in a while, I read something and it gets me so angry I need to vent about it. Didn’t realize I was talking out loud.”

  Max knew the excuse for what it was, understood it, and closed his eyes before responding. “J’y…I do the same, you know,” he said, smiling in a way that he hoped was friendly.

  Then he let the conversation go; forced himself to clear his mind. He let her work her magic, massaging out the kinks in his muscles, the places where his coach was most concerned about; on his shoulder, his back, his neck. When she was done, he got up from the table and looked up at her. “Merci bien,” he managed. “And I will.”

  Because he had to tell Kayleigh about his percée.

  Kayleigh

  Kayleigh saw Max’s number on her phone and grinned, waving to Arun and Kassie in apology before leaving their lunch table stepping outside into the cold alleyway. “Well hello there,” she said. “You got me during lunch break.”

  “So I have perfect timing for the first time in my life.”

  She giggled. “You do.”

  “Good.” He swallowed. “I…I have…I need to talk to you.”

  “OK. Sure.” She paused, sitting down on the ledge just outside the building. This didn’t sound good. “What’s up?”

  “Can you come over?”

  He was nervous. This was…bad. Serious. She wondered what the hell it could be. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine…”

  Fine. Emotionally messy not physically messy. “Can it wait? I’m in practice…”

  She waited, waited to hear what he said.

  “Yes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. And then “It can wait until you get done with practice.”

  “So I’ll meet you at 5:30?”

  “Sure. Come to my place.”

  “I’ll see you then.”

  Max

  He’d been pacing since he’d put the phone down. A few minutes at the window, a huge bottle of Gatorade, then back at the window. Breathed in and out. Forced himself to sit down, make a cup of tea. He couldn’t relax; he couldn’t breathe.

  He was going to lose her. And there was nothing to do about it except stare at the window, listening to the wind.

  Finally, there was a knock on his door. “Allô?”

  He opened it to see her standing there. He put his arms around her, held her tight, and breathed her in.

  “Hi,” she whispered. “Hi, there.”

  He kissed her. With her coat on, her bag still on her shoulder, he kissed her. Lost himself in the taste of her mouth.

  But she pulled back. “I adore you,” she said. “Just…adore you. But there’s something on your mind.”

  He nodded; it was all he could manage.

  Her hand brushed his cheek. “Is it the doctor? The PT session not go well?”

  “It was fine,” he said as she put her violin down. “A normal session.”

  “I’m glad.” She smiled up at him, then fell onto his couch, folding her arms. “So what did you want to tell me?”

  He couldn’t get the words together; he was lost in her, savoring the moment as if it would be his last.

  “Just say it,” she said. “Come on.”

  Mon dieu.

  Like it was nothing, and he could tell she meant it. But merde. “OK.”

  He took a breath and dropped his shields. Reached out, past the wall he now was able to build. And then he found her. Another breath. She reached for him, and he felt the sudden fe
ar inside of her when he didn’t take her hand.

  “I…have…” He swallowed. Merde. “I am…” Yet another breath. As if oxygen would lift the English words out of his mouth so he didn’t have to say them. “I can read…les emotions, how someone is feeling. I know…en famille, my family, we call it…percée.”

  She said nothing. She sat there, staring at him, like he’d lost his mind. And maybe he had.

  Kayleigh

  She stared at Max, trying not to focus on the flashbacks she was having to the first time she saw Bryce drunk, high and raving about something. This revelation was important to him, this secret of his, and focusing on her own frames weren’t helping.

  I can’t do this.

  But she nodded. “OK.”

  His shoulders didn’t relax; he clearly wasn’t convinced by her sudden calm. “I…am not your brother.”

  Holy shit.

  She blinked, wondering when she’d had the conversation with him where she explained about Bryce’s difficulties. Then she realized she hadn’t.

  She needed to sit down. She saw his fingers clenching, his body ready to spring, then reached for the kitchen chair herself. She closed her eyes, ran her hands through her hair then looked back up at him.

  “I am not…the first person en ma famille to…be this way,” he began. He moved toward the table and sat down across from her, his elbows on his knees. “Mon grand-père. He knew…what I had when I was small.”

  She nodded, tried to breathe. Followed the path of his fingers up his shirt, watching as he grabbed his collar, pulling out a necklace she’d once seen and never asked about.

  “They…passed this down in my mother’s family. Usually through the women, but I…” He shrugged. “Am special…?”

  So he was serious. This was…something his family knew about. Either he had a mental illness, a delusion, or his entire family suffered from the same ideas.

  “I can’t…I have…”

  He sighed and he stood, turned around toward the window. “This is the first time I have told anybody,” he said softly. “I cannot…I do not know what I can do to help you understand.”