“I can guess.”
Her brother behaved like a buffoon when he was away from the place he’d turned into a sanctuary. Caroline couldn’t help but wonder how far Tyler was from a breaking point, if things were bad enough to call her.
“Good,” he said. “So keep the little critter away from things that…”
“She’s not a critter,” she snapped back. “She’s our sister.”
“Yeah, well whoever she is, her snooping is going to take the world down.”
“Snooping?”
“There were pages out of place,” he said. “Dad’s been railing about it for an hour. It’s why he’s going on about nuclear weapons.”
“You mean he’s not going to bring the country to the brink of war?”
“For that notebook, he probably will.”
“So, if by chance it ended up—”
“Don’t ask me, don’t even joke about it, Caro,” he replied. “Don’t, not for a second. Whatever happens, I don’t want to know about it. And you need to be squeaky clean. Because he’ll burn the world down looking for a leaker.”
She hung up the phone with her brother and finished the wine she’d poured. If her father was going to burn the world down looking for a leaker, she’d have to make it enough to ensure he would end up in jail.
MAX ALMOST DROPPED his phone once he’d read President Crosby’s latest series of tweets. Nuclear war, death, destruction, the works. Dammit.
He took a deep breath and held himself together. He couldn’t stop Crosby from putting his finger on the trigger, but he could help get Crosby out of the game by helping Caroline and her sister.
So he headed towards the restaurant. It was a random place in the middle of a massive strip mall that reminded him of home; of random errands he and his brother went on during Thanksgiving; and the intertwined moments of Chrismukkah that made them all smile.
But the smile on his face was wiped away by the clouds in the sky and the solemn expressions on the faces of the Secret Service agents as they ushered him into the restaurant’s banquet area. There were two people sitting at a table. A young girl, her face as pale as the napkin, and Caroline.
His heart clenched when his eyes met hers. There was sadness there, and he wanted to pull her into his arms, to somehow wash the fear and the sadness away.
Instead he sat down in the empty seat next to her and smiled. “I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.”
He knew her well enough to see the mask she wore. The prim, proper and polite exterior held back what had to be tears. Sadness lived in those eyes for a reason, and now he knew what that reason was.
“I saw the tweets” he said.
“I know what you meant,” Caroline’s voice was tight, polite as her expression.
“The rolls are great,” the teenager said, smiling. “Covered in honey and like a croissant. Have one. Or twelve. Make yourself feel better maybe?”
Max couldn’t help but laugh. “I might,” he replied. “I just might.”
“I like you,” the teenager replied. “I’m Jess. And you’re Max.”
“I am,” he replied. “Nice to meet you.”
“You’re a good person,” Jess continued, the focus in her eyes almost blinding him. “What you do. What you did for Emily…the Pack.”
Emily Parker-Roth. It was the second time in a week he’d thought about her and the Parker Pack, the foundation that became her family’s focus. The first had been when his boss had assigned him the Hadassah Trauma paper he had yet to finish.
But confronted with the look in Jess Crosby’s eyes, he smiled. “Thank you,” he said. “But I’m sure you’d do the same if someone needed your help.”
The smile that broke across Caroline’s face at the words was priceless, enough to make his heart burst inside his chest.
“Wow,” Jess said, reaching for her soda. “Thanks for saying it. Whether or not it’s true, or whether I’m not strong enough to help those in need.”
“What will happen if they think it’s you?”
Caroline’s words were clear, even though it took his brain a little bit to settle down and follow the change of subject. “I have to tell my boss that there might be trouble. But they’re…used to that these days. Tell my brother there might be trouble. I have a friend also willing to back me.”
“The one you run the ‘Hockey for Hope’ league with?”
He nodded at the specifics of Jess’s question. “Adam Klein’s a good guy. He’s willing to do what he can.”
Caroline nodded, suddenly business. “Okay,” she said. “And he’s the one you’re getting the name of the reporter from?”
He nodded again. “Yes. He’s the one.” And then he paused. “But you? What will happen if they find out?”
She laughed. “You saw what happened this afternoon. You see what I’ve been hiding from for most of my life. If I want the world to change, if I want things to get better, then I need to start with me. I need to start with what I can do.”
He wanted to kiss her, wanted to take her into his arms and tell her it was going to be okay. But it wasn’t. The handoff could be fine and everything else could go to pieces.
Instead, he took her hand, ordered dinner and hoped for the best.
AFTER DINNER WAS OVER, Caroline nodded at Jess who reached into her bag. “If you want to see this you can,” Jess said as she took out a fluorescent pink folder containing the pages they’d printed out for this exact purpose. “You know, because I like you. And I trust you.”
Caroline held her breath. Because this moment, the one where Jess gave Max the folder? That was the point of no return. Where their discussions about notebooks were no longer theoretical and all the chemistry in the world wouldn’t be able to save them if they were found out.
She watched as Max smiled at her sister, holding the bright pink folder in his hands. She tried to figure out what was going through his mind as the papers rustled under his fingers. Did he believe her? Did he believe them?
Finally, he lifted his head and closed the folder. “Wow.”
Caro nodded, put her hand over his. “Yeah. Wow.”
“I’m in,” he said. “I’m in.”
That was the last thing he said as they stood at the table, preparing to leave. Him to his car, and her, with Jess, to the apartment across the street.
Somehow she managed to get Jess to walk ahead. “So,” she said, “I’ll call you tomorrow?”
He nodded. “I don’t know where I’ll be, but I’ll let you know.”
And instead of letting him say anything she didn’t want to hear, she kissed him. Kissed the words away from his mouth, kissed the goodbye away from his tongue. Her hands settled in his hair, and the softness of the dark strands made her think of things she didn’t want to think about, how he’d feel skin to skin next to her, how…
“Caro,” Jess interjected, her voice apologetic. “You have the keys…”
She pulled herself away, the expression on his face almost painful to look at. “Tomorrow,” she said.
Max nodded. “Tomorrow.”
They’d change the world soon—and they’d walk away from each other. Both for better or for worse.
SEVEN: FRIDAY
F riday was an easy day at the office. The official work day finished early enough for him to meet Klein and get practice in before Shabbat started. And he needed the workout; the punishing grind that a pregame practice put him through served as the best form of stress relief. Saturday would be a mess if he was jumpy, let alone the fact that he’d never sleep if he didn’t burn off some of this mess.
“You set?” Klein asked as they headed off the ice.
He nodded. “Thank you, by the way.” Klein had given him the name of the reporter and the set up; he had detailed how they’d recognize each other and the catchphrase they’d use. It was almost as if the exhibit at the Spy Museum was all preparation for Saturday’s handoff.
“Not a problem,” Klein replied. “You going to se
rvices or do you have time for dinner?”
“I’m good for dinner. Hungry.”
Klein nodded. “Excellent. “
Soon after, they were sitting at an outpost of a chain Chinese restaurant located not far from the complex where the ice rink was.
“You have a fallout plan? Does she?”
He took a long swallow of his tea. “Don’t know what I need to prepare for.”
“Prepare for the worst,” Klein said, tapping a chopstick on the table. “Always prepare for the worst and expect the best. “
“So a house in Virginia Beach, maybe the Outer Banks. Then ponder a future?”
“You wouldn’t last in either of those place,” Klein shook his head. “You’re too in need of motion.”
It was true. His friend was right. “So what then? Go try to play hockey in some far-off destination? Start a hockey program in Israel?”
Klein shrugged. “Don’t know it’ll have to be that much, but that’s your worst case scenario.”
And suddenly he felt better, more relaxed, despite the fact he knew all too well that Caroline would be nowhere near him when this was all over. “Good. Food?”
A nod from Klein. “Sounds good.”
CAROLINE FOUND herself alone on Friday night, another bottle of wine at her fingertips. It was still closed. She went for the Oreos instead, deciding that if one was going to get completely wasted, it would be better to have it be as a result of eating sugar than anything else.
She’d started the day with an email from Abigail, telling her that if Jess was responsible for anything to do with the notebook, her parents would sue for custody. It followed the usual ‘pattern’ of Tyler going first, and Abigail following if the instructions or threats weren’t heeded.
It had been a long while since she’d had to deal with either of the two; she’d been allowed to live her life separately from them for most of her late teens and twenties. Now they’d pulled her in, and it was suffocating.
Yet at this time in her life, she didn’t sit there and take it. She acted, reacted and pushed forward on something she should have done a long time ago. Every step took her away from Max, but towards a future she could see him in. All she had to do was wait. And hope.
By 11, pm, long after Jess had gone to bed, she pulled enough of herself together to call him. He answered on the first ring.
“Hi,” she said.
“How are you?”
Even when concerned, his voice made her think of things she couldn’t have, like him. “I got an email from my older sister this morning,” she said, forcing herself to get down to business before she started getting too sentimental. “As of Monday I have papers with my attorney ready to be filed, requesting legal custody of my sister. I may end up following through. I may not. My family will be playing chicken. I don’t know what that will mean.”
“Is Jess going to be okay? Are you?”
“Eventually. Maybe. I think so.” She smiled and found herself glad she had these moments with him, even if they were fleeting. “I wish…I wish we were better, I wish there was a chance for us to be better…to be us.”
“I figured after last night that it wouldn’t be a good idea if we were seen together after tomorrow. Even though I wish we’d had a chance.”
Pragmatic. Completely pragmatic. The advantage…or disadvantage of a guy with a brain. She thought of him, sitting somewhere, wondering what he was wearing.
Then she reminded herself that this wasn’t the conversation they should be having now, that they should be focusing on other things.
She paused, then she figured she should probably go for broke, even if this was all they were going to have. “I would have enjoyed feeling those hands of yours on my body.”
“It would have been nice.” His voice was suddenly pitched a bit lower. How did those old sex phone lines work? He could have made a ton of money…
Then he said, “Especially nice to see the expression on your face when you came.”
Yes. Like that one. Could he hear her thoughts?
But how he’d said it, and before he took it back, she paused. Then she said, “Calling your name, of course.”
“Black bra on the floor?”
“Lace,” she said, settling into her couch, grinning at the unicorns on her pajamas, taking the stopper out of the wine bottle. “Black, lace. Matching bra and panties. This would be… ”
“Your breasts comfortable in my palms, the rough heel of my hands stroking them…”
“Your hands are a bit further down, I think. On my hips. Mine are caressing your six-pack abs, slowly moving down.”
“Your breath on my face is enough to get me hard,” he confessed, his words half garbled, probably because he could barely say them.
“Which means you’d be up to having… my lips all over you, around you, my tongue caressing you.”
“All of it,” he said. “Every bit of it. With champagne or moscato or whatever bubbly wine you drink chilling on the table.”
“A bath. A bubble bath. All I’d need to be refreshed is my name on your lips after I’d ridden you hard enough to come.”
“So instead of sleeping, we’d end up wet? Together? In the tub?”
“Any tub I’d have would be big enough,” she said, “to fit us both.” In this fantasy, it could be huge. Because that was all it was: a fantasy. “One day.”
He exhaled harshly. “Your sister out with her friends, settled and happy, and you’d text me. I’d come running no matter where you were.”
“Would you wait for me?”
There was a moment she couldn’t believe she’d asked him, when they’d gone from phone sex to questions about a future that wouldn’t even be possible until a few different things fell into place. But she’d asked him anyway because she wanted him.
“Yes,” he said. “Because tomorrow, I’ll have to settle for a hand off, and if I’m lucky, a kiss goodbye.”
“So tomorrow? I’ll find you?”
“Yeah. At Kettler. Go in, through admission, put your stuff down in seats, then meet me between the locker room and the ice. Text me when you’re ready.”
She swallowed. “I will.”
There was no pause between the end of her sentence and the moment she slammed the end button on her phone. She didn’t want to hear him say goodbye.
EIGHT: SATURDAY
M ax walked into the locker room with the closing song from Saturday morning services still in his head. Make the world better, be the change you wish to see, put to a bright tune made for an interesting earworm.
It also took his brain away from the things that would happen in less than an hour. Even sitting in front of his locker as he organized his pads, skates and the rest of his uniform, he went through the mental checklist of things he needed to do before getting on the ice.
Shoes, shirt, pants off, pads on, socks on: the familiar routine kept his mind occupied as he tried not to stare at his phone. His teammates, as well as some of the players from the next games filed into the locker room, sat down and began the process of organizing themselves.
Klein was in the other room, getting ready to get on the ice for the first game, and they’d gone over the info again, during lunch. The reporter would be waiting by the line for the beer, wearing an Empires cap. Caroline would give Max the drive and walk out of his life. Then he’d pass the drive to the reporter—a woman—on his way back to the locker room.
He took a deep breath. Tried to focus. Even as he laced up his skates, he could barely keep his mind on what he was doing. Only a few minutes away now...
His phone vibrated against the metal of the locker, the sound almost deafening in the pre-game quiet. She was here. Game on.
CAROLINE HELD her breath as she walked into the complex, the Secret Service agents with her somehow showing their displeasure with every move. She paid the entrance fee and went towards the walkway, finding a spot not far from the set of stairs that led up to the rink itself.
“This
is a bad idea, Ms. Crosby.”
“Since when did you ever notice,” she answered as the guards took a position not far from where she stood. “This is the best choice I’ve made in a while.”
This time, as usual, they kept quiet. Watching the ice, watching her as she sat down.
Here, she texted.
And then she waited. Waited for him to come and meet her, to see her, to finally have a moment where she kissed him, touched him, before she had to say goodbye. Before she had to let him go.
She stared at the walkway. And held her breath.
MAX WAS TALL ANYWAY, but he felt every inch of his height as he left the locker room on his way to save the world.
That’s what he and Caroline had been doing all this time. Saving the world, not building a foundation for something powerful, not kissing and touching and talking and preparing. There were way too many things that stood in their way, and he’d be an idiot to begrudge her any of it. Jessica needed stability, and once this information leaked, he couldn’t be seen anywhere near Caroline or Jess. He knew it. She knew it. Even though it hurt.
He sighed, squared towards the walkway, his skate guards clanking against the floor. His heart slammed against his chest with each step, the fear and concern driving him forward.
Finally, he saw her. A few words to people, a few moments to spend and then there she was. In a long black coat that looked horribly out of place amongst the sweats and tee shirts, her horrible hockey taste emblazoned on a hat. He could spot her anywhere.
“Hi,” he said softly.
But she didn’t speak. She kissed him. Her mouth fused with his, her hands going from his cheekbones down his chest, further still, under his jersey.
He wanted more, wanted to slam her against the nearest surface, rip her clothes off and finally take that step, finally …
Her hands suddenly felt cold beneath his skin, her fingers moving purposefully around his pads, the hard plastic of what had to be the flash drive finding purchase between a pad and his chest, her lips not letting go of his once. When her hands moved, her fingers running through his hair, he wanted to bask in her, with her and around her.
Rogue Desire: A Romance Anthology (The Rogue Series) Page 25
