A lump formed in Sinead’s throat. “Yes.”
“Sinead, this is way, way premature. You’re overreacting.”
“How is it premature? You told me you agree with my ex-husband on the issue that ended my marriage. What are we supposed to do? Pretend you never said that? Obviously, you’re not going to change the way you feel, and neither am I. So what’s the point?”
Adam looked at a loss for words. “I just—I don’t even know what to say.”
“I’ll be in touch about the case.”
“Okay.” He still looked stunned.
Adam walked her to the door. Sinead wished he hadn’t. It would make things so much easier if he wasn’t standing there beside her. The sense of unease was overwhelming.
“Thank your mother again for a great meal,” said Adam awkwardly.
“I will.”
“Good night.”
Sinead walked out into the silent hallway, the sound of the door closing behind her echoing as loud as a sharp clap of thunder. You have no right to feel sad, she chided herself. You pulled the plug. She chanted it over and over to herself until she got home to her own place, where the mantra changed. Stupid. Stupid, scared woman, jumping the gun. What have you done? Don’t think about it now. Don’t.
She changed out of her clothes into sweats and made herself a martini. And then she did the only thing she knew how to do right, the one thing on earth she knew she wouldn’t screw up. She worked.
30
“Madonn’, what the hell were you thinking?”
Anthony’s eyes were bulged out of his head as Adam told him about his breakup with Sinead. They were sitting at the bar at Dante’s after closing time; usually they talked sports, politics, and Stooges. Tonight the talk was personal.
Christ, it had happened so fast it was unreal. One minute he was enjoying the warmth and hospitality of Sinead’s family, the next she was dumping him. Adam hated to admit it, but it probably wasn’t smart to open with the line, “I agree with Chip.”
Adam took a sip of his whiskey, awaiting Anthony’s pronouncement. “That’s it?”
“I think you’re a moron.”
Adam scowled. “Don’t mince words or anything.”
“Seriously, dude, I know you come from bumpkin land, Alberta, but thinking it should be the mom who stays home? That’s kind of fucked-up.” Anthony lit up a cigar. “My brother was a stay-at-home dad for a while.”
“Yeah?” Adam was dubious. “And how did that work out?”
“It didn’t. Drove him wacko.”
“You do realize you’re bolstering my case here, right?”
“Wrong. The reason it didn’t work was because he hadn’t figured out how to reinvent himself when he retired.” Anthony looked thoughtful as he puffed his cigar. “He used to hang out here all the time with the baby. Drove me nuts.”
“Why did he hang out here?”
“Because he’s a pathetic SOB, that’s why.” Anthony narrowed his eyes, sizing Adam up. “You wanna know what your problem is?”
“Sure.” Adam was amused. Anthony loved analyzing people.
“You won’t compromise. Not in work, not in your personal life, nothing.”
Adam was unapologetic. “That’s why I am who I am.”
“No, that’s why you lost your girlfriend in three seconds flat.”
“I never said I wouldn’t compromise. She didn’t even give us a chance to talk about it. She just flew out the door. But you know what? I bet that even if I was willing to compromise, she wouldn’t. Part of the problem is that she’s a workaholic. She identifies herself totally with her job, and—”
“Don’t you?”
“That’s different.”
“Why? Because you have a dick?” Anthony threw some scotch down his throat. “Look at it this way: what would happen if you took five years off from your career to watch a kid, and then went back to playing hockey? You think you’d still be at the top of your game? Don’t think so. Same goes for her.”
“I suppose,” Adam grumbled.
“No, I’m right, and you know I’m right. She’s got more to lose if she’s the one who stays home. It sucks, but it’s true. The ladies of the world have a tougher time.”
“We shouldn’t have even been talking about it,” Adam said with a frown. “But I wanted to know what led to her divorce, so . . .”
Adam exhaled between his clenched teeth, hoping for clarity. He felt like a dog chasing its tail. Was he right? Was she right? Were they both wrong? He’d been surprised by how quickly she was willing to just—end things. That’s it. We’re done. To him, it was a sign that her dislike of being vulnerable ran much deeper than she was willing to admit. It also showed how uncompromising she was.
Well, it was better like this, anyway. He could concentrate 100 percent on hockey. It wasn’t like he was the only player who thought that way. Hell, Ty Gallagher had been known as “the warrior monk” throughout most of his career, eschewing a personal life to keep his focus on the game laser-sharp.
“Sinead and I splitting up is probably a godsend,” he told Anthony. “Now I can concentrate on bringing the Cup to New York.”
Anthony was looking at him like he was pathetic. “Jesus, you jocks are pitiful. I remember Mikey trying to convince himself of the same thing when he was on the Blades and Theresa and he were on the outs. It’s just a way to make yourselves feel better about being such losers in the romance department.”
Adam snorted loudly. “Says the guy whose idea of playing sports is tossing a ball of pizza dough back and forth with his sous-chef.”
Anthony thrust his chin out defiantly. “Hey, I know what I know.”
“You know dick, especially when it comes to being a professional athlete.”
“Whatever,” Anthony said dismissively. “I still think you’re a moron for not insisting you guys talk it out.”
“Like I said, we shouldn’t have been talking about it at all. It’s not like we were planning to get married or anything like that.”
Anthony raised an eyebrow. “No? Is that why you met her family? Because the relationship was casual?”
“Get off my case, okay?” Adam was getting irritated. He shouldn’t have brought this to Anthony to discuss. He should have gone straight to Ray—who probably would have told him the same thing: You’re an asshole, Adam.
“Hey, you’re the one who came to me, not vice versa.”
“Yup. You’re right.” Adam drained his scotch glass. “I should run. It’s late. I have practice tomorrow.”
“Yeah, I gotta get up early, too: produce delivery.”
They slid off the barstools.
“You should rethink this, dude,” Anthony continued. “Seriously. You two were great together. Mr. and Mrs. Uptight Nutball. It was a match made in heaven. Like me and Vivi. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Psycho Chef.”
Adam patted his shoulder. “You have a great way with words, Ant. Thanks.”
“Seriously.”
“When the playoffs are done I’ll see if—”
“Loser.” They walked to the door. “You free Thursday night? I got a couple of other chefs coming over for a poker game. You in?”
Adam shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
After all, he had nothing else to do.
31
Two weeks later, Sinead was sitting across from NHL Commissioner Welsh at a large, oval table in one of Kidco’s conference rooms. It was early morning, and her adrenaline level was high. Welsh was tilting back in his chair, smirking. Little did he know that in a few short minutes, the smirk would be replaced with a look of distress.
“To what do I owe the honor?” Welsh asked.
“Believe me, there’s nothing honorable about what’s about to take place,” said Sinead.
Welsh sniggered quietly.
Sinead interlaced her fingers and put her hands on the table. “I’ve put the Perry case together. Here’s how it’s going to go: I’m going to insist on a trial. I’m going to subpo
ena coaches and referees and players and GMs and people from the league office. I’m going to ask them to testify to whether they believe that you and the league are conspiring to prosecute Adam.”
“Oh, please. No one will want to testify.”
“It doesn’t matter if they testify,” Sinead said sweetly. “What matters is that I’m putting them on the stand, and every reporter in every city with an NHL team will be covering the trial; so will a myriad of legal reporters. So will ESPN, which will help generate interest in hockey.
“Whatever questions I ask my witnesses, they’ll either say no, you and the league are not conspiring, or they’ll take the fifth. Based on the interviews I’ve done, I’m betting they’ll take the fifth. That’s not good for you, Mr. Welsh. Every reporter there is going to follow up, and they’re all going to reach the same conclusion: that the NHL is a corrupt, conspiratorial clique.”
“You don’t have the balls.”
Sinead stood up, hands splayed on the table in front of her as she leaned toward Welsh, her eyes boring into his. “Try me. The first time someone takes the fifth on the stand, you’re dead. You’re over. You want Adam Perry’s scalp? Go for it. But just remember it comes at a cost: yours. It’s your choice.”
Welsh maintained his contemptuous gaze as Sinead picked up her briefcase and walked out of the conference room. Now it was time to wait and see.
32
Sinead could barely concentrate when she got back to the office. Every time Simone told her she had a call, a tingle went through her. Just as she was beginning to give up hope that she’d get word today on what would happen, Simone told her there was a Justin Barry on the line. Sinead snatched up the phone.
“Justin.”
“Sinead.” Usually uptight, he sounded elated. “Congratulations! We just got word the Philly DA is dropping the charges against Adam.”
“That’s wonderful,” said Sinead, barely able to breathe.
“He’s going to give a press conference tonight at six. It’ll be on ESPN. Do you mind if we tell Adam?”
“No, of course not,” Sinead replied, slightly disappointed. “He should know as soon as possible.”
“Hold on a minute, will you, please?” Sinead could hear Lou Capesi bellowing something in the background. Justin got on the phone with a heavy sigh. “Lou wants you to come down and celebrate with us.”
Sinead hesitated a moment. “I guess I could do that.”
“See you in a bit, then. And again, congrats—and thanks.” Sinead was just about to hang up the phone when Justin hurriedly added, “Just one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Do you know what your fee will be?”
“I haven’t tallied it up yet. But you can rest assured that the appropriate party will receive my bill by the end of the week.”
Curt Justin was back. “Thank you.”
Sinead put down the phone. She’d won. She’d won.
She ran down the hall to tell Oliver.
“I won!”
Oliver jumped up from behind his desk. “Way to go, cupcake!” He picked her up and swung her around.
“I’m kind of in shock,” Sinead said breathlessly as he put her down.
“Don’t lie, you flat-chested little weasel. You knew you’d win.”
Sinead felt bashful. “Well . . . yeah.” She picked at her cuticles. “Lou Capesi wants me to come down and celebrate.”
“So go. The big guns will pop the champagne corks tomorrow.”
“They’re telling Adam right now.”
“Better scoot down there so he can give you his special thanks,” Oliver said lewdly.
“I hate you.” She kissed his cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
The PR office at Met Gar was packed with people. Lou was running around like a maniac, wheezing so hard Sinead was afraid he’d have a heart attack. He’d ordered in a few pizzas, but Sinead didn’t touch them, worried that it might make her face break out.
She was unprepared for the round of applause she received when she walked in. She thanked them humbly and then went to get herself a glass of champagne. That’s when she heard another round of applause. Adam had arrived.
He made a beeline straight for her. He went to kiss her, and then at the last moment seemed to realize what he was doing and quickly switched to her cheek instead.
“This is amazing,” he marveled. “Amazing.” His eyes shone with gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough, Sinead.”
“I’m just glad things worked out in our favor.” He was standing so close to her it was torture. Adam must have sensed it; he took a step back.
“How did you get Welsh to back down?”
Sinead smiled slyly. “I made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”
Adam laughed. “I guess your reputation as ruthless is true.” He studied her face. “You look tired,” he murmured.
Sinead shrugged. “Just work.” He thinks I’m unattractive. Well, I don’t care.
“Working day and night?”
“Not like it was a few weeks back,” Sinead replied, trying to ignore what she thought might be an implicit criticism. “Oliver’s back.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes, it is. The office was pretty boring without him.”
“How’s your family?” Adam asked cordially.
The question surprised her, but it shouldn’t have. Adam Perry was the consummate gentleman. “Fine. I’ll tell them you asked.”
“Thanks.”
“How are Ray and Rick?”
“Sounds like a cartoon,” Adam mused.
“It does.”
“They’re both doing well. I think I may have told you Ray might come down if we make the playoffs?”
“You did.”
“Rick is still looking for a job. The longer it drags on, the more angry he gets about my helping him out.”
“Oh, I meant to ask you about that,” Sinead blurted.
Adam furrowed his brows. “About Rick?”
“More about getting a sibling to accept financial help.”
Adam listened as Sinead explained Maggie and Brendan’s situation to him. When she was done, she looked at him hopefully. “Well?”
Adam grimaced. “I hate to tell you, but there’s no way to get them to do it, especially if the one who’s resistant is the guy, and he’s proud. The first time I mentioned it just to Rick, it was no go; the second time, I mentioned it to both Rick and Susie. Susie worked on him after that, telling him to think of the kids. I know she said, ‘Wouldn’t you do that for Adam if the situation was reversed?’ and he admitted he would, which is major, considering our relationship. Try talking to them together. If that doesn’t work, see if you can get your sister to ask if he’d do it for you if the shoe was on the other foot.”
“I told her that if it makes it easier for them to accept the money, it could just be a loan, not a gift.”
“That’s what I did.”
A minute ago Sinead had wanted to run away. Now—pathetically, in her opinion—she wanted to keep the conversation going a little while longer.
“Any special plans for the summer?” she asked genially.
“I might take Dylan and Carrie for a few weeks, give Rick and Susie a break, you know?”
“Take them where?”
“Rent a cabin or something. I haven’t really thought it through.”
Sinead hesitated. “You’re free to use my house in Bearsville.”
“That’s very generous of you.”
“I’d rather the house were used than let it just sit there, empty.”
“True,” Adam said quietly.
Sinead could feel the growing sense of impatience in the room as she and Adam stood talking. “There are tons of people waiting to speak with you. Go on.”
“Thank you,” he repeated softly.
“It was my pleasure,” Sinead replied, glad he’d walked away before her eyes began to fill. She missed him, but some things just weren’t meant
to be.
Once the PR celebration wound down, Adam went to work on his skates and sticks, thinking about Sinead. Despite her cordiality, her unease was palpable, the exhaustion on her face worrisome. Clearly she’d been driving herself into the ground—for him.
Adam missed her, and he could tell she missed him, too. Maybe that was why she was so eager to tell him others wanted to speak with him, so she could get away. Like him, she disliked displaying vulnerability. It was either that, or she truly disliked him now. Maybe she thinks I’m some kind of Neanderthal, a throwback to the fifties. She’d ended their relationship so quickly she hadn’t even given him a chance to say that off the ice, he wasn’t a “my way or the highway” guy. Yeah, he was old-fashioned, but he was open to compromise, depending on the situation. Well, too late now. It was better this way; he’d be able to devote himself completely to the playoffs. Screw what Anthony said. He was wrong. There’s a difference between being a chef and a professional hockey player.
Adam marveled at how his life changed overnight. One day the lawsuit was hanging over his head like the sword of Damocles; the next day it was gone. He wasn’t an egomaniac by any means, but he was proud of himself : he’d stuck to his guns, he’d refused to change the way he played, and in the end, things turned out the way they should have, and the bad guys were going to pay. He felt vindicated. Of course, none of it would have been possible without Sinead.
Talking to the press turned out to be less excruciating than Adam expected, especially since their questions were straightforward. Sinead was at the top of his list of people to thank. He didn’t care if he sounded like a broken record; more than once he commended her on all her hard work.
He’d always hated having his picture taken, and tonight was no exception. But he bore it like a champ, reminding himself that if the Blades won the Cup, he’d be expected to do a lot of press. That he’d do happily.
Returning to the locker room after the press conference, Adam was unprepared for the reception awaiting him: his teammates began banging their sticks on the floor in salute. Adam, who rarely let down his guard around the other Blades, could not hide how moved he was and smiled broadly at their show of support.
Icebreaker Page 22
