Icebreaker

by Deirdre Martin

  “Break it,” Adam said simply.

  “I could do that,” Saari replied as if he were doing Adam a big, fat favor.

  “Not you could. You will.” He motioned for the team to get on the ice. “Seven,” he reminded Saari. “Don’t forget.”

  The confused look on Saari’s face as he entered the pub was priceless. Adam had deliberately sat in a back booth facing the door, not only so Saari would see him but also so he wouldn’t know who Adam was with. As Saari approached the table, he watched the younger man’s face go from guarded to absolute shock when he saw it was Temu Tikkanen, a great Finnish player for the NHL.

  Saari was momentarily speechless as he nervously extended his hand to Tikkanen’s to shake. “I—it’s a pleasure meeting you. You were my biggest hero when I was growing up.”

  Tikkanen was unsmiling. “Sadly, it is not a pleasure to meet you.”

  Saari looked utterly destroyed, color draining from his face as he turned into a stammering child in the presence of his idol. “I-I don’t—”

  “Sit down, Esa,” said Adam firmly.

  Saari sat next to Adam, looking dazed. Tikkanen was eyeing him with contempt. At first glance Tikkanen looked like just another handsome and distinguished European businessman. But the longer you looked at him, the more the scars became noticeable, and the longer you looked into his eyes, the more you could see a hardness that only came with years of physical struggle. That was the face that was staring at Saari with such displeasure that Adam almost felt sorry for the little bastard.

  “You want anything to drink?” Adam offered.

  Saari’s eyes quickly swept the table to see what the two other men were drinking. “A beer would be fine.”

  Adam nodded, motioning the waiter over to order a pint for Saari. There was no small talk as the men waited for his drink to arrive. The silence had to be excruciating for Saari, especially since Tikkanen just kept staring at him. By the time Saari’s beer arrived, he was staring down at the table, unable to bear the scrutiny.

  Saari barely sipped his beer.

  “Since you seem to have a hard time giving a shit about what I said,” Adam began, “I thought Temu might help you put things in perspective.”

  Tikkanen finally broke his silence, but instead of speaking to Saari, he turned to Adam. “Adam, would you mind if I spoke with Saari in Finnish?”

  “Not at all,” Adam replied, putting his pint to his lips.

  Tikkanen and Saari began speaking in their shared native tongue. “How many Stanley Cups have I won, Saari?”

  “Two,” Saari replied, still unable to look at his hero directly.

  “Tell me why I won them.”

  “Because you’re a great player,” said Saari, his voice quivering with admiration. “You were the first Finnish player to make it into the Hockey Hall of Fame.”

  Tikkanen’s expression didn’t change. “When you were a little boy back in Finland staring at my poster on your bedroom wall, dreaming of coming to the USA to play one day for the NHL, did you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with?”

  Esa looked shamefaced. “No, sir.”

  “Then I’ll tell you. I was the first player to represent my country here in the birthplace of hockey. They said I was soft, that all Europeans were pussies. They claimed we had no guts, that we were all flash and no substance and that if you hit us enough, we’d collapse like a house of cards. I showed them otherwise. They speared me, and I came back for more. They slashed me, and I took it, and then next time I met up with them in the corners, I made them pay. Now the league is filled with Europeans. I was one of the ones who did that. Me, Borg from Sweden, and Vlad from Russia. We worked our asses off to gain their respect, and in the end we got it.

  “Adam here tells me that you’re a party boy who thinks it’s fine to come strolling into practice late; that you even think it’s okay to slack off in practice if you produce on the ice. Which makes me want to ask you just one question: who the fuck do you think you are?”

  Saari’s face turned red as he shrank in his seat.

  “What you fail to realize, Esa, is that you’re not just playing for your team, you’re playing for all of Finland. You fuck up on the ice, we all look bad. You don’t respect the game, we all look bad. Are you hearing me?”

  Saari swallowed nervously. “Yes.”

  “You make me ashamed to be a Finn. I don’t like that, not after all the work I put in to proving myself. You want to be a hero to all those little boys at home who now have your poster on their bedroom walls? Set an example. Give them a reason to be proud of their country and its hockey players, so that if one of them gets a shot at playing here, they’re taken seriously. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If I ever hear anything about you thinking you’re some hot shit young turk who doesn’t have to obey the rules because he’s talented, I will personally come to your flat and fuck you up so badly your career will end right there and then. We clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” Saari managed to squeak out.

  Tikkanen sat back, satisfied, and switched back to English. “Good. You think they have any Finlandia here? Let’s order some shots so I can clear the taste of bile from my mouth. Then we’ll call it a night so you two can get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s practice.”

  22

  “Hello? Is anybody in there?”

  Sinead blinked as Maggie waved a hand in front of her face. They were in one of the booths in the Hart’s dining room, having dinner. They’d been trying to get together at least one night a week. Their shared memories made for some wonderful laughs.

  “I’m here,” Sinead assured Maggie, even though she hadn’t been for a few minutes. She was thinking about the Joyce Toys case and all the other damn cases she had to wrap up. She was also thinking about Adam, even though she hadn’t seen him in six weeks.

  Maggie looked dubious. “You’re here now, but you weren’t a few seconds ago.”

  “Just thinking about work,” said Sinead, taking a small sip of her martini.

  “And Adam.”

  “A bit.”

  “His case should be wrapped up soon, right?”

  “God, I hope so.”

  “Then you could go out with Oliver,” Maggie teased. “That’s Mom’s dream.”

  Sinead scowled. “He’s not my type. Plus he’s having serious issues with alcohol, which worries me a lot.”

  “That’s too bad.”

  “It is. He’s brilliant, and if he throws it all away because he can’t get his act together, it will be awful.”

  “Agreed.” Maggie began buttering a roll. “Look, I wanted to ask you something, and it’s no biggie if you say no, okay?”

  “Great opening,” Sinead said dryly. “What’s up?”

  “I was wondering if you could watch Charlie for an hour next Wednesday night. Brendan is going to be working late, and I have an old client who was just in a car accident, and she’s really in desperate need of a massage.”

  Sinead jumped at the chance. “Absolutely,” she said, even though the prospect made her nervous.

  “Thanks so much, Neenee.”

  Sinead took another sip of her drink. “Have you talked to Brendan about my ‘loan’ offer?”

  Maggie looked sheepish. “I keep meaning to get around to it, but . . .”

  “Don’t put it off. It’s important.”

  “I know, I know. I’ll talk to him soon. I promise.”

  Sinead was just about to remind Maggie their parents helped Quinn with his rent when he was just starting out as a journalist when the pub door swung open, and in walked Adam.

  “Shit,” Sinead whispered vehemently.

  Maggie turned. “What?” She spotted Adam. “Oh.” She turned back to Sinead. “He better not have the balls to come over here if he knows what’s good for him.”

  “Maggie, don’t cause trouble. Please. Just block me.”

  “What?”

 
“I said block me. So he doesn’t see me.”

  Maggie discreetly looked over her shoulder. “Too late. Christie’s just handed him his beer and he’s walking over here.”

  “Shit,” Sinead repeated.

  She was composed by the time Adam reached the table, even though her emotions were running as wild as undisciplined children. Coincidence he was here? Here to see her? Here just to have a couple of drinks at the bar?

  “Hey,” he said. His trademark greeting.

  “Hello,” said Sinead, reaching for her martini. Her throat had suddenly become parched.

  He extended his hand to Maggie. “You must be Maggie. I’m Adam.”

  “I know you are.”

  Sinead gave her a pointed look.

  “Nice to meet you,” Adam said.

  Maggie smiled tersely. “Nice to meet you, too.”

  Adam turned his intense gaze back to Sinead. “I was wondering if we could talk.”

  Sinead squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. “Well, right now I’m having dinner with my sister—”

  “No, no, you should talk now,” Maggie insisted. “Get it over with.”

  Sinead glared at her sister. She couldn’t believe she’d said that. No, actually, she could. She just wished she hadn’t.

  Adam looked uneasy. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” said Maggie with a smile so sweet it could kill. “I need to talk to my parents about something anyhow.”

  Sinead wanted to sock her. “Tell Mom to hold my dinner. I’ll have it in a little while.”

  “Right, then.” Maggie turned to Adam. “It’s so nice to finally be able to put a face to your name,” she purred sarcastically. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  Adam sat down in the booth opposite Sinead.

  “How can I help you?” Sinead asked as if she were talking to a client—which she was.

  The formality seemed to throw Adam for a moment, which puzzled Sinead. He’d appeared unexpectedly. Did he think she’d be convivial?

  “I assume this is about the case?”

  Adam smiled slyly. “In a way.”

  Sinead’s heart battered against her ribs. “Explain.”

  Adam rolled the beer bottle between his palms. “First, I want to apologize for calling you gutless. I was talking out my ass.”

  “An apology from Adam Perry. I believe this is historic.”

  “I’m serious, Sinead,” he replied, seeming distressed that she might not be taking him seriously.

  “I know you are,” she assured him. “And I appreciate it. Apology accepted.”

  Adam blew out a long breath of relief that segued into a shamed expression.

  “I gave no thought to how hard you have worked to get where you are, or what you need to do to make sure nothing jeopardizes that. I reacted viscerally; the only thing my brain latched onto was that you wanted to split up with me, and once that got lodged there ...” He shook his head, looking embarrassed.

  “But I’d explained to you it would only be temporary,” Sinead reminded him quietly.

  “I know. But I was on my high horse and couldn’t get down. Now I realize that the professional worlds we move in are very different. Mine is black and white, and yours is anything but.”

  “That’s exactly right.”

  “That’s probably the most eloquent I’ve ever been outside a locker room,” Adam said self-deprecatingly.

  Sinead smiled. “I’m honored to be the recipient.” She suddenly felt shy. “So—?”

  Adam’s gaze was unblinking as he regarded her across the table. “I think I’ve figured out a way for us to be together without jeopardizing things for you.”

  “What’s that?” Sinead asked cautiously.

  Adam leaned across the table toward her. “We’re going to get together frequently to discuss my case, and if that leads to something else, well, it’s technically not dating, right? It’s just hooking up.”

  “But that’s what all the men in the firm do. They just hook up.”

  “But you’re not really just hooking up. You’re having a relationship with me.”

  “So, basically, I’m lying.”

  “I suppose.”

  “You suppose?”

  “C’mon, Sinead, it’s perfect. Do you know how long it took my Neanderthal brain to come up with that?”

  “Hours.”

  “Days.”

  “Not technically dating . . .” Sinead mused. “You should have been a lawyer, you know that?”

  Adam grinned. “I’ll admit, I am pretty proud of it.” His gaze was intense yet hopeful. “What do you say?”

  Sinead surprised herself. “I have to think about it. It’s not that I don’t want to get back with you,” she assured him. “I just need time to go over it all in my mind. Explore all the angles. Make sure I’m not compromising myself.”

  “Spoken like a true attorney,” Adam said unenthusiastically.

  A great tenderness for him swept over Sinead. “You understand, don’t you?”

  “I guess I have to.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snide.”

  “You didn’t. Just disappointed.”

  “I am.”

  “A few days. That’s all I ask.”

  “Fair enough.”

  He paused, his face more open and vulnerable than Sinead had ever seen it. “I don’t want to lose you, Sinead.”

  Overcome with emotion, Sinead looked down at her hands. Even her ex had never said that to her. I don’t want to lose you, either, she thought. But I need to make sure I examine the ramifications.

  Sinead lifted her head to gaze back at him. “A few days,” she repeated quietly. “That’s all I need.”

  “You’re right. The guy’s totally devious. He should be a litigator.”

  Sinead tried to ignore the harrowing sight of Oliver in his bright red boxers, white undershirt, and black socks as she chatted with him on his couch. He’d called in to the office that morning to say he was “working at home”—a euphemism for hung over. He’d been “working at home” a lot lately. Sinead decided she’d pay him a lunchtime visit.

  She’d never been to Oliver’s apartment, but it was exactly the way she’d always imagined it would be: an unholy mess. Being a neat freak, the mess and clutter actually made her itchy. If she could hire a team of Merry Maids to clean it, she would, but she knew Oliver would be insulted. She could hear his voice in her head: This is how I roll, baby doll. There was no way he brought his conquests back here; his seductive prowess had to take place at their abodes.

  Oliver made a sour face as he chugged down a cup of coffee as thick as motor oil. “What’s your hesitation?”

  “I don’t know,” Sinead lamented. “It’s just not sitting right with me.”

  “It’s not like you’re going to be stupidly blatant, right? ‘Oh, yeah, here I am out to dinner holding hands with my client.’ Your whole relationship will be entirely private. And before you say anything about how it makes you just as slutty as the mighty men of Kaplan, Epps, and Callahan, allow me to point out to you that you’ll be having a relationship with this guy, not just relations.”

  “But we’ll be sneaking around. Kind of. And if the partners find out—”

  “It’s all bullshit, Sinead,” Oliver said vehemently. “You could threaten to sue them for gender bias, you know. Just the mention of that to the outside world would dry up half the firm’s billings. I think Adam’s idea is great. Shit. Why didn’t I think of that? It’s airtight, dude-ess.”

  “Is it? It’s splitting hairs. It’s a loophole.”

  Oliver ran his hands over his unshaved face in frustration. “Sinead? You’re an attorney. You’re well acquainted with loopholes. You love loopholes. As the old song goes, loopholes are a girl’s best friend.” Oliver’s eyes hooded. “And think about how much fun it will be, meeting for dinner and then leaving separately, only to clandestinely hook up later for some love squeezins.”

 
“You’re right.”

  “Of course I am. I just described my whole social life. Stick with me, kiddo. I’m always right.”

  “Not always.”

  Oliver lifted a bushy eyebrow. “Pardon moi?”

  She had to be delicate. “You were right when you told me you were the firm’s top litigator. But it’s starting not to matter anymore.” She winced. “Jeff commented to me recently about how you’ve been racking up the sick days and working at home a lot. That’s not good.”

  Oliver heaved a long-suffering sigh. “As long as I deliver—”

  “They’re going to fire you if you don’t cut back on your drinking and carousing,” she cut in. “They asked me to persuade you to tone it down.”

  “Pshaw! They would never fire me.”

  “Jeff wasn’t kidding, Oliver,” Sinead admonished worriedly. How could he not take this seriously?

  “Did he use the A word?” Oliver smirked.

  “Which one? Alcoholic or asshole?”

  “Alcoholic.”

  Pain began to throb in her chest. “You are, Oliver,” she said quietly. “You might be a functional alcoholic, but you still are one. You drink every day.”

  “Wow,” Oliver mocked. “Listen to you. When did you switch sides?”

  “It’s got nothing to do with switching sides,” Sinead said vehemently. “It’s got to do with honesty. I love you, and I don’t want to see you destroy your career. It’s not charming anymore, the rumpled, hungover attorney barely making it to court on time but still able to kick ass when the pressure’s on. I think you need help.” She hesitated. “Jeff said that if you wanted to go into rehab, the firm would be willing to pay for it.”

  “Fuck Jeff, and fuck you,” Oliver snarled. “I’ve been nothing but a friend to you, and this is how you thank me? By stabbing me in the back?”

  “Oliver, please try to listen to me,” Sinead pleaded. “You know I wouldn’t be saying any of this if it didn’t worry me.”

  “Did you at least try to defend me to Jeff?” Oliver sneered. “Or did you kiss his ass the way you’ve been doing since the first day you started working there?”

  “Fuck you, Oliver,” Sinead snapped.