Icebreaker (27 page)

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Authors: Deirdre Martin

Tags: #Women lawyers, #Contemporary, #Legal, #General, #Romance, #Hockey players, #Fiction

BOOK: Icebreaker
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Time raced by. Before she knew it, half an hour had passed, and it was time to put Charlie to bed.
God, please, don’t let him begin crying again
. She turned off the TV and took a deep breath. “Bedtime, big guy,” she said softly. Charlie began crawling away from her, and Sinead gingerly picked him up. He began flailing in her arms, howling for Maggie and Brendan. Sinead carefully carried him upstairs, afraid of dropping him. She was surprised to find herself on the verge of tears.
Incompetent. Please stop crying, you’re scaring me. I don’t know what to do
.
In Charlie’s room, she turned on the night-light and carefully placed him in his crib. He pulled himself up and stood, clutching the bars of the crib as if he were in a prison cell, screaming. Should she leave him like that? Should she keep trying to put him on his back? Shit.
“Oh, don’t cry, Charlie,” she cooed, picking up yet another teddy bear. She hummed and made him dance along the crib railing. Charlie’s tears sniffled to a halt, and he reached for the bear. Sinead handed it to him. He looked at it a minute, then tossed it, resuming his crying.
Sinead closed her eyes, trying to rub away the tension in her forehead. She knew babies weren’t like this all the time, but still. Was Charlie a “handful,” as her mother might say? She thought of the sacrifice she would have had to have made to have a child and told herself she was relieved things hadn’t worked out with Chip. But if that were true, then why did she feel so sad?
“Hey.”
Adam, deep in thought as he walked toward Met Gar, turned around to see Teddy Rawson, Commissioner Welsh’s henchman, hustling toward him. Adam frowned. He needed Teddy’s “You better change your game” bullshit like he needed a hole in the head.
“What’s up?” Adam asked curtly.
“You got a minute?”
“Depends.”
Rawson looked around. They were standing in the middle of the sidewalk, irked pedestrians parting to go around them. “C’mon. Let’s have a drink in the bar outside the players’ entrance into Met Gar.”
“Is this the hockey commissioner’s new approach?” Adam asked acidly. “Threats don’t work, so now you’re going to try to befriend me?”
“It’s not that at all,” Rawson swore. “Five minutes of your time.”
“Whatever.”
Adam shrugged, walking with the stocky man through the concrete plaza that surrounded Met Gar. Rawson had been a helluva player in his day, tough as nails, his willingness to drop his gloves legendary. He’d broken his nose more times than Adam could count, and the scars on his face bore testament to a player who gave it his all. He’d always respected Rawson, until he retired and became Welsh’s henchman—or “Welsh’s bitch,” as Michael preferred to call him.
The bar was largely empty save for a few suits. Adam went to sit at the bar, but Rawson motioned him toward a table instead. “This’ll be better.”
Interesting,
Adam thought. Whatever Rawson was going to throw at him, he didn’t want the bartender to hear it.
“What can I get you?” Rawson asked.
“Corona.”
Rawson nodded and went to get their drinks. Adam took in his surroundings; the walls of the bar were decorated with huge, color photos of some of the best athletes who’d ever played hockey and basketball at Met Gar, Ty Gallagher among them. Adam’s eyes lit on a team picture of the Blades on the ice, gathered around the last Stanley Cup they’d won. Envy flared up inside him. He was going to have that experience this season if it killed him.
Rawson returned with their beers, sitting down across from Adam, who was watching him carefully.
“So what’s the deal?” Adam asked.
Rawson looked embarrassed. “Look, this hard-on Welsh has got for you? I don’t agree with it. I think it’s bullshit.”
“Yeah?” Adam was skeptical.
“Yeah. The only reason I do what Welsh wants me to do is because I need this job. Otherwise, I’d go tell him to fuck himself.”
“Go on. I’m listening.”
“I don’t know why he’s got it out for you, but he does. It’s like he’s on a mission from God to bring you down. He’s fucking obsessed with it.”
“No shit. It’s obvious the officials have been told to crack down and are listening to him loud and clear.”
Rawson grimaced. “Yeah, I know. It’s embarrassing.”
“So you wanted to have a drink with me to tell me Welsh is out to get me? I’ve pretty much figured that out.”
“No, it was important to me that you know that my doing Welsh’s dirty work is nothing personal. I think you’re a great player, Adam. You embody the old-time values; you play the game the way it’s meant to be played. I respect you. But like I said, I need this job. Integrity isn’t going to pay my bills; you hear what I’m saying? Sometimes a guy has to do what he has to do.”
“I hear ya,” Adam murmured, feeling bad for him.
Rawson looked relieved. “Good. Because I’d hate you to think I feel the same way Welsh does.”
“Welsh . . .” Adam shook his head, puzzled. “Why me, man? There are so many goons still in the league; why does he have to go after guys who are physical but can actually play?”
“I know,” Rawson agreed. “Part of the problem is, the guy’s not a hockey person. He’s a suit. He’s a corporate lawyer. The board of governors brought him in to break the union and help them ratchet up revenues.”
Adam took a slug of beer. “Yeah, well, he’s a lawyer who’s pissing up the wrong tree, I can tell you that.”
Rawson sniggered. “He’ll find that out soon enough, won’t he?”
“Yep.” Adam took another slug of beer. “You miss playing, Teddy?”
“Every goddamn day.”
“You skated the Cup once, right?”
“Yeah. Toronto, 1967.” He looked nostalgic. “Greatest night of my life. Even greater than when my daughter was born, but don’t tell my wife that.”
Adam laughed. “Game six of the finals that year was amazing. When you were elbowed in the face in the middle of the third period and you pulled your own teeth out on the bench and didn’t miss a shift? I remember watching that game clip and thinking, ‘That’s how tough I want to be.’ ”
“And you are.” Rawson took a drink. “The league has changed so much since then. It’s a damn shame.”
“I agree.”
“Not much we can do. I wish there was some way I could help you out, Adam.”
“Hey, no worries, Teddy, okay?”
“Okay.” He lifted his beer bottle. “To old-time hockey,” he toasted.
Adam clinked his bottle against Rawson’s. “Old-time hockey.”
25
“This place is
amazing.”
Adam stood on the deck of Sinead’s weekend house, marveling at the panoramic view. The house, all wood and glass, was perched high atop a hill looking out over rolling green meadows and mountains. Adam couldn’t believe she didn’t come up here every free moment she had. It was beautiful and peaceful, no sound at all but the wind winding through the trees and the occasional cow mooing in the distance. No honking horns, no trucks backfiring, no fire engines . . . he loved it. Manhattan was great, but given the choice, this was where he’d choose to be.
Sinead joined him on the deck, her hair pulled back in a taut ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head. Even when she “dressed down” in jeans and a simple T-shirt, she was gorgeous. It bugged him a bit that she insisted on being the one to drive up here, but since it was her car, he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. She told him he was sexist. He preferred to think of it as traditional. It felt weird being in the passenger seat. At least he’d won the battle for what music they played on the drive up. Sinead tried to foist jazz on him, but he couldn’t take it. He tried, but he couldn’t. He liked straight-on classic rock; luckily, she didn’t complain.
Sinead took a deep breath. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”
“It’s amazing. It must be beautiful in the winter, too.”
“It is, though the driveway can be a bitch when it snows. I can’t tell you how many times we—I—got stuck going up and down.”
Adam touched her arm. “It’s okay to say ‘we.’ It doesn’t bother me.” He paused. “You still haven’t told me what it was, exactly, that finally made you two pull the plug.”
“We just wanted different things,” Sinead said stiffly. “That’s all.”
Adam decided not to push. It was obviously a sore subject, one she wasn’t prepared to open up about yet. He kissed her shoulder and then put his arm around her. “Relax.”
She gave him an odd look. “I am relaxed.”
He kneaded her shoulder. “Relax more.”
Sinead laughed, feathering her index finger along his jawline. “This was a good idea.”
“I agree.”
“Does being in the country make you homesick?”
The question took Adam by surprise. “A little, I guess. I miss people more than the place, you know?”
“How’s Ray?”
Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s Ray. Always busting my balls. He wants to come down if the Blades make the playoffs.”
“That would be great. And your brother?”
“I’ll invite him down, but he probably won’t come.”
“That’s too bad,” Sinead murmured sympathetically.
Adam shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Mr. Stoic.”
“That’s me.”
“Hungry?”
“Starved.”
“Good. I asked the caretaker to load up the fridge with food. We’ll see what he got, and then maybe tomorrow we’ll decide on something we want for dinner and go into town to shop.” Sinead paused. “Unless you want to eat in town tomorrow night. There are some really nice little cafés.”
“Are you kidding me? The only human being I want to see this weekend is you.”
Sinead blushed. “I’m flattered.”
Adam sweetly kissed the side of her face. “I mean it.”
She slipped out from under his arm, extending a hand to his. “Let’s have lunch.”
“Venison, I hope. Shot here in these very same woods.”
“You’re pushing it, mister. C’mon.”
Sinead lay propped
up on one elbow, head resting in her palm, watching Adam sleep. He’d just finished “massaging” her following a long hike, and after a more than respectable period of afterglow, he’d drifted off. Sinead envied him: she’d never been able to nap. The minute her head hit the pillow, her mind began its rapid-fire assault, bombarding her with worries and to-do lists and replays of her day. No wonder she had insomnia: she was incapable of relaxing. Until now.
I could lie here all day like this,
she thought. There was something wantonly delicious about rolling around in bed naked in the middle of the day. She smiled to herself. They’d have to come up here more often.
Reaching out, she carefully pushed a lock of damp hair off Adam’s forehead, noticing for the first time a small, thin scar along his hairline. An old hockey injury, no doubt. She lightly traced her index finger along the needle-thin white line. Close as she now felt to him, there was still so much to learn about him. She felt greedy; she wanted to know it all right now. But being with Adam was a little like watching a striptease: what lay beneath his surface was revealed very slowly and carefully. It tantalized, teased at the imagination. But there was no doubt in her mind that the payoff would be worth it.

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