Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2)

by Isabo Kelly

  She closed her eyes, knowing that if she left them open, she’d see him. And how painful this revelation was for him. But she’d never be anywhere if she focused on his pain and forgot about her. She wouldn’t do him any good.

  She couldn’t stay.

  “I…”

  “It’s OK,” he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper. “You can…make it to the door?”

  The memories of the last time she’d left his apartment overwhelmed her, how she’d almost never been able to leave on her own. And yet now, she got to her feet, focused on the door, and put one foot in front of the other toward the door.

  “À la prochaine,” she whispered as she closed the door behind her, not knowing whether it would be the last time.

  She held her breath as she headed down the stairs that separated his apartment from the street, shoving her hands in her pockets and bracing herself for the cold just outside the door. It was nothing compared to the hole in her heart.

  “Ah, belle fille.”

  A familiar voice in Parisian French. She looked up to see Max’s grandfather’s twinkling eyes.

  “Bonjour,” she said formally, her voice still scratchy from the tears she refused to cry. And then…in French, “He needs help. Please. I…”

  He paused, then sighed. “Not all in the world is the same, you know? It is like…” he paused, scratched his chin. “They say in English that if it…what is that…if it quacks like a duck, it must be a duck?”

  She nodded. “That’s it.”

  “But, petite belle fille, it could be, you know the…trumpeting of a goose or something like that. You need to pay attention. Because it might sound like a duck, you know, but it’s another something totally.”

  “Non, monsieur,” she said, respectfully. “I’ve seen this duck before. I’m sure of it…my brother…my other brother. Bryson. He didn’t get help for a long time, and…it hurt.”

  “Are you sure, petite fille, that you are seeing a duck? That mon petit grandson is a duck who needs to be treated like a duck? Or a goose who honks as well as he was meant to?” He reached out his hand, patting her shoulder. “You have to decide yourself, whether he is a duck to help or a goose to embrace…”

  “Thank you,” she said, as respectfully as she could manage. “I appreciate it. Thank you.” She smiled.

  And as she turned to leave, she could hear his voice.

  “I too, petite belle fille, had to tell the difference between ducks and geese once upon a time.”

  When she finally set foot on the snowy cobblestoned streets, she was confused, her vision filled with ducks and geese.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Max

  His grandfather had told him not to worry about the “petite belle fille,” but Kayleigh still remained on his mind.

  Fortunately, her brother hadn’t said a word when he’d seen the man at the first few practices after he’d been cleared. The team had left him alone under the watchful gaze of his parents (who were spending this visit looking quite cozy with each other, something he did not want to consider).

  But, he mused as he continued to let the trainers put him through his paces, not even being alone on the ice was a good thing. He was grateful for the sound of the whistle.

  He headed toward the boards, where the coach stood with a clipboard and a smile.

  “Good,” Coach MacArthur said, smiling. “You look amazing out there, but I don’t want to shove you on the ice too quickly. Start preparing, Lucky Seven. There’s a few more games, but I think you get two days in the press box and then back in the game before the Classic. We’re playing Toronto. Which means if we play like we’re supposed to, we’ll be back to par.”

  Max nodded.

  “But the big kicker, Lucky, is that Dobrynin is back, playing defense in that slot with Evans. So we’re going to need you on the offensive side. Emerson’s line needs a winger, and it’s not going all that great. I need to be able to move Driscoll down to the third line where he belongs, and you would fit that right wing spot with Smythe and Emerson. You good with that, Lucky Seven?”

  Offense. He could do that. “OK.” Words were hard, but plus ça change…

  “Now get on the ice, we’re all using that pond out there as tune-ups. We got an advantage in Tarrytown, so we’re gonna use it. Get a couple laps in out there, get used to that kind of ice surface. Also maybe try the eye black…see if that’ll work for you. Donnie’ll have it in his box of tricks.”

  Once again, Max nodded. And started to organize himself.

  Kayleigh

  December.

  A month that had been full of ducks, geese, and her family. There had been family celebrations, most of which allowed her to avoid the rest of Chris’s hockey team. Chris himself, being smart, didn’t ask; she didn’t answer.

  But it wasn’t as if Max and the secrets he’d shared had been far from her mind; she’d had heartfelt conversations with her mother, her father and Bryce. About things she’d never wanted to understand. Until then.

  She did miss Max. It was cold without him. But as she put her bow to the strings, she knew full well that until she figured out if he was, as his grandfather put it, a duck or a goose, she wouldn’t go anywhere near him.

  But this late in December also meant final rehearsals, and practice with the bands that would be playing during the first and second intermission at the Winter Classic. And so she closed her eyes, put her chin on the rest, and tried not to cry as the lead singer of the band playing during the first intermission sang about loss.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Event: Family Skate Queens

  Location: Queens Bank Park

  Day before Winter Game

  Kayleigh

  She saw the reporter talking to Chris and Melanie, of course. Emily was trying to be official but Mark, her boyfriend and new member of the team, wasn’t letting her. She leaned against the wall.

  “You look bored, Kay,” Bryce informed her. “You need to…smile.”

  She raised an eyebrow and stared at her brother. “You need to be quiet.”

  He laughed, and she put her head on his shoulder. “Love you, Bryce.”

  “Love you, too, Kay.” He tousled her hair. “I see your boy out there.”

  She started to answer him, but she couldn’t get the words out. “He…”

  “Chris said something was wrong. ‘Cause, I love you, Kay, but seriously, you’ve…” He paused, rubbed his head and sighed. “Does he…is he…in need of a good doctor he could trust?”

  This wasn’t a time she could appreciate her brother’s way too insightful nature. She also couldn’t smack him. Instead, she settled for words. “I need to figure things out,” she said, trying not to stare at Max. “I don’t know where I stand.”

  “Where you stand?”

  Her brother looked like he’d eaten a rotten egg. She almost burst out laughing at the sight, but was able to hold back the onslaught. “It’s not him, it’s me,” she said, deciding that was the safest way to play it.

  Now he looked wary. Wary was easier in the face of her parents’ impending arrival.

  “Come on, you two,” her father said, the hat Chris had gotten him for Christmas covering most of his bald head. “Let’s get a move on.”

  Her mother adjusted her scarf, then her perfectly coiffed hair, before shaking her head. “You’d better come along. There will be trouble later otherwise.”

  And knowing her family as well as she did, she followed her parents onto the ice, waving at the group as she did so.

  Max

  His parents were holding hands and laughing like two teenagers. This had not happened, not in a long while. He figured he’d be seeing the end of the world and not in a beer mug if things continued as they were. But he wasn’t going to worry about it.

  Until the music started playing.

  It was a plaintive, song about loss.

  Merde.

  His grandfather chose that moment to skate over to him. “Ah,
petit fils,” he said, a smile on his face. “You realize that we…are skating on a baseball field.”

  He knew, of course. Especially considering Pedro had come to see this. His friend the outfielder was in a heavy jacket that proclaimed the name of the stadium’s primary tenants. Signing autographs, waving to people. Staying as far from the ice as he could. “Oui, grand-père,” he answered formally, dodging out of the way of a skater so unstable he had to be related to Smythe, the team’s Oklahoma contingent.

  “You going to go to her?”

  He shook his head. His grandfather’s statement didn’t need clarifying. There was only one “her.” And that was Kayleigh, skating with the rest of her family, her parents and the brother that wasn’t Chris. “She has to decide,” he said. “I…need to wait.”

  His grandfather nodded. Thankfully, the man let the topic drop. But he couldn’t help watching her. He didn’t focus on her; he knew his heart wouldn’t be able to take it.

  New Years Eve

  Location: Melanie and Chris’s Townhouse

  Brooklyn

  Kayleigh

  Family was everywhere. Which was a good thing. Chris had even managed to convince Alex and Nathalie to join the family gathering. Her parents, Melanie’s, Melanie’s sister, her boyfriend, his parents, her brother…a small gathering but a close one. Chris and Mel had set out hot cocoa, soup, tea, and hot toddies for those who weren’t going to play hockey the next day. Like Max

  Damn it.

  She had to decide to fish or cut bait, to stay with him or run. And so she got up to get a glass of water.

  The kitchen of her brother and Mel’s townhouse was downstairs, she knew the way. And nobody decided to follow her, so she took a deep breath and ran the faucet. “Damn it,” she said, “how do you believe something so impossible from someone so rational. How do you make that leap?”

  “You either trust them or you don’t,” Alex said out of nowhere. “If you trust the person, even the impossible is possible.”

  “Thank you,” she said. She took a deep breath and turned back toward where Alex was standing, glad for an answer. “Water?”

  “Thank you.”

  And as she gave him the glass of water, she wondered what she’d do with his advice.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Event: The Winter Classic

  Location: Queens Bank Park

  Max

  “St. Laurent?”

  Max lifted his head, focused on his coach’s words.

  “We need a pre-game interview subject. You’re it.” He smiled. “You can do this.”

  Max stretched again, took a breath, and headed out into the hallway where Clint Beauchamp was standing.

  “Max St. Laurent, welcome back to the Empires and this big game.”

  He smiled back and took the hand that was extended. “Thank you so much, I am glad to be back to help my team today.”

  “This is a big game for the Empires. Toronto is moving up in the standings and this game might, if we’re all lucky, be foreshadowing a big race in your team’s future. How did you prepare for this game?

  He smiled, once again being careful with his words. “Our team is lucky…we have a pond not far from our practice space, so we had some days on the pond. It’s a different game, you know, outside, so it was good for all of us to remember what it’s like.”

  “But you, Max. You’re back from a major injury, and not only back, but you’re now going to play forward? On a line with M.F. Smythe and Chris Emerson. Are you intimidated?”

  And that was it. This time, he had a plan, and he was ready. First he locked his percée down and took a breath. This was a question he’d been asked most of his hockey career, so he was ready to answer it. Even when Clint Beauchamp asked it.

  “I’ve been playing offense and defense both since I was a kid, you know, since…juniors and all, so playing offense is…something I do,” he began, deliberately referencing one of Beauchamp’s favorite subjects. “And it’s our team, so if they need a guy to play on that wing, who can fit that moment, and they ask me, I do. I think our coach knows our team and knows who can play where, so if he says play there, I will do my best.”

  When he’d finished answering the question, he opened up his percée, and instead of anger, there was surprise and…excited understanding. “Yeah,” Beauchamp replied. “That’s right. You have played both offense and defense since playing in Juniors. But that’s because you had a great coach in Juniors. Marcel Voisin, has a great reputation, and for a good reason.”

  Max nodded, glad the reporter had taken the bait. “Yeah, Quebec has a great system…the QMJHL. So many great people, including Coach Voisin, helped at every level, you know? And my family and my team.”

  And after all of that, Beauchamp nodded, satisfied. “Great talking to you, Max! Good luck today.”

  “Thank you,” he replied before heading back into the locker room to cheers from his teammates. He’d made it through the interview, but all the triumph reminded him was that Kayleigh was no longer in his life.

  Kayleigh

  She followed the rest of the orchestra onto the field, taking a deep breath as she walked through the tiny path the stadium crew had created. It was cold, but she’d been in worse. Unfortunately, that didn’t make it any easier because her fingers were still freezing. Once again, she was grateful for the electric violin.

  “Holy crap,” murmured Pete, the first chair of the second violins. “It’s crowded…”

  She nodded, but she’d expected it. Tickets had sold out despite the dire predictions of below-zero weather. But this was New York; the two other outdoor games that had been held in the tri-state area had sold out. New Yorkers knew how to bundle up, and the other team was from Toronto. Again, no big surprise the game had sold out.

  As Kayleigh sat down on top of her heated seat cushion, she looked around at the stadium. It was filled to capacity; she didn’t think about where her parents and the rest of the Empires family had been assigned to sit. All she focused on was the brief sounding of a tuning note.

  Finally, Arun joined the orchestra, standing on the podium provided for him. His face was serious, focused. She focused on him, setting her violin on her shoulder and placing her chin on the rest.

  Finally, the downbeat.

  Max

  The team only had a short time to finish getting ready after Max finished his interview.

  Finally, there was a knock on the locker room door. “OK, guys.”

  “Now remember,” Coach MacArthur said. “We follow the path out of the dugout that will take us to the copy of the Kosciuszko…”

  “Why did they choose that bridge?”

  Max was glad someone had asked; he’d wanted to know too.

  “It connects Brooklyn and Queens,” the coach replied. “They wanted to have us walk into the stadium on that bridge as a symbol of the journey from where we usually play to here. Did a good job too, barely recognize that ugly bridge. Anyway, architecture aside, they’ll announce us, and then we walk across that bridge. Stay together. Don’t move to the music. Just follow your line mates. Defense, forward. Stick together. Right?”

  “Right,” the team shouted, clapping.

  “We got this, boys,” said Emerson. The guy who’d be playing on the center of his line. His captain.

  And they lined up, leaving the locker room one by one. They stayed together in single file, waiting at the dugout, listening to the familiar PA announcer’s voice.

  “And your New YORK EMPIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIRES!”

  At the sound of the team name, they started to move across the bridge, crossing the stadium, and into the sight of the fans. It was magical.

  He followed his teammates, then waited at attention and held his breath.

  Kayleigh

  The anthems were fast; the Canadian singer insisted she sing a capella; the American singer wanted the orchestra. They’d practiced both, but she knew it was a game-time decision.

  After the anthems
, the orchestra was shuttled off the ice and sent into an area where they’d be able to watch the game.

  “This is exciting,” she said.

  Jonathan nodded as Arun sighed. “Here we go,” he said and pointed out at the stadium below. “Puck drop. Game time.”

  Yes, Kayleigh thought. It was time to play.

  First Period

  Max

  The puck dropped, and Max felt the exhilaration immediately. He stayed focused, watching the puck as it moved. He skated down the ice with his line mates, holding the line, and then…

  There was an open side. Evans’s new/old defense partner, Dobrynin, wasn’t doing what he was supposed to, and there was going to be a goal scored if he wasn’t careful. He felt the other players’ uncertainty and so he immediately moved into position to cover the hole he saw on the left side. But it was too late.

  The player he was supposed to be paying attention to had gotten past him, the defenseman he was covering, and everybody else on the ice. Now he had the kind of shot on goal that not even a perfectly executed dive in the way of the puck would stop. And Semenov, wonderful as he was, had no chance.

  And then, the red light.

  Tabernac.

  Kayleigh

  Nooooooo!

  There were assorted snarls and curses that matched her own, and even a few cheers. Toronto had scored, with five minutes left in the period. Damn it.

  But five minutes left in the period also meant she had to start to get ready to go out and play. Layers, gloves, and deep breaths all were the order of the moment. As was the extra jersey her brother had given her.

  “Kayleigh!”