When I Fall in Love (Christiansen Family) (6 page)

“He’s really sorry, Max. You have to know that. You’re so busy, and he didn’t want to ask over the phone.”

“I called. I left a message. It’s on him.”

Silence. Then, “He just wants to find a cure.”

“Don’t we all? But there is no cure for HD, and I’m not going to be the poster boy for pity. Listen, I’ll try to make the party, okay?”

“Max
 
—”

He hung up, put the phone on a bench, then went to the pull-up bar and grabbed ahold. Twenty-five pull-ups and he’d call it quits. He didn’t want to be sore for culinary school.

Max poured it all out on the ice eleven months of the year, from the Blue Ox summer camp, to training camp, to preseason games and PR events, to photo shoots, to the grueling weekly schedule all the way through play-offs and into the championship. He smiled and gave interviews and conditioned and showed up early for practice and lived and breathed and dreamed hockey.

For one measly month
 
—no, three weeks
 
—he just wanted to cook. Just wanted to enjoy slowing down, creating culinary delicacies, expanding his palate. . . .

Max Sharpe, chef.

He was on twelve when his phone vibrated again. He let it go until he hit fifteen, then dropped and scooped it up. “Lizzy, listen
 
—”

“Lizzy?”

Oh, Jace. He blew out a breath, testing the impatience roiling through him. Normal or overly sensitive? He schooled his voice into something flat, easy. “Hey, dude. Sorry. I thought you were someone else. You back in town?”

He imagined Jace in his penthouse apartment overlooking the dome of the Minnesota capitol building. Someday he hoped to have his own fancy digs, with views of someplace beautiful. Jace had arrived. It only took him fifteen years.

Max didn’t have that long. Ten years, tops, to make the Hall of Fame. To leave a legacy.

“Yep, got back last night. Hey, remember that lead you gave me for the culinary vacation packages?”

“Yep. Great deals. Why?” Max propped the phone against his shoulder, held out his hands. Were they shaking? He couldn’t tell. He reached for a bottle of water and unscrewed the lid. No, not shaking, and his grip felt solid.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I hooked up Eden’s sister Grace with a trip.”

“Cool. She’ll have a great time. Where is she going?” He lifted the bottle to his mouth, drank.

A pause. “Hawaii. I thought
 
—wait. Aren’t you going to Hawaii?”

Max nearly choked. Spitting water out, he coughed.

“You okay, Max?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, sure. Uh, Hawaii. Right, I’m going.”

“Swell. I told her you’d meet her at the airport
 
—”

“What? Jace, c’mon, dude. I’m on vacation. I don’t want to have some fan hanging around me. I’m tired of fans. I’m going there to escape.”

“Did I mention she’s Eden’s sister? She’s been around hockey players her whole life. Trust me, the fascination died long ago.”

Max sat on the bench, pressing his finger to his pulse to take his heart rate.

“Again, hear me. She’s Eden’s
 
—and Owen’s
 
—sister.”

A jump in his pulse there, and Max had no doubt it was due to the flash of memory. Owen, bleeding on the ice. Max, holding the stick that had just crushed his eye. The chaos of the fight still echoing in the frigid night air. Then Owen writhing, screaming.

Owen, whose position Max had filled
 
—some might say stolen
 
—after Owen had to quit hockey. Max, earning accolades meant for the star player from the Christiansen family.

Jace must have read his thoughts, his silence. “She doesn’t know, of course.”

Because Jace, the only one who really knew, hadn’t told her?

Jace read that thought too. “It’s between us, Max. But I’m pulling rank on you here. Grace is . . . well, she’s a homebody. According to Eden, she doesn’t like to travel by herself. She even got her degree in home ec. Online, believe it or not. So traveling to Hawaii is sort of a big deal.”

Nice. A clingy fan afraid of traveling. That would be oh-so-fun.

“She’s an amazing cook. She catered a wedding this weekend, and you would have died at the food.”

“Awesome.” He got up, grabbed his shirt, and headed to the locker room. “This is my
vacation
, Jace. For three weeks I get to be a bum
 
—surf and cook and hang out in the sun. I need this to get my head right, enjoy life a little.”

“Enjoy it with Grace. Listen, she’s a lot of fun. You’ll like her.”

“No,
you
listen. I don’t care how much fun she is. I have plans. A lot of them.”

“Take her with you.”

“Parasailing? Cliff-diving?”

Silence.

“I thought so.”

“Dude, you owe Owen.”

“Now you’re just playing dirty.”

“If that’s what it takes. But I promised Eden you’d keep her safe, make sure she has a good time, and I need you, Max. I’m using my nice voice and I’ll even add in
please
, but I’m not really asking.”

Max wanted to throw the phone. “Fine. I’ll pick her up at the airport. And make sure she gets to the resort. But that’s it. After that, she’s on her own. That’s the best I can do.”

Jace went quiet and Max braced himself. Then heard, “Okay. Deal.”

“When is she arriving?”

“She’s on an early flight tomorrow to LAX, then to Hawaii.”

“Okay. Tell her I’ll meet her in baggage claim in Honolulu.”

“That would be great. I think she’s a little queasy about flying, so she’ll be glad to know there is someone waiting for her. I’ll send you her flight information.”

Perfect.

“And, Max? No hanky-panky.”

Max hung up on him.

B
Y THE TIME
Max touched down in LAX on his first leg to Hawaii, he’d formed a game plan: find Grace Christiansen and set some ground rules. Like, he’d be glad to make sure she got to class the first day, but he wasn’t her tour guide. Wasn’t her entertainment. Wasn’t her date.

No hanky-panky.
Jace’s words still burned in his ears. As if he’d fool around with Owen Christiansen’s sister. Or anyone.

He wasn’t that stupid, wasn’t that heartless.

He liked having fun, but not at the expense of everyone’s future.

Max hitched his carry-on messenger bag over his shoulder. He’d packed it full of culinary magazines and a political thriller. Just in case the movie on the next flight was something lame, like a Marvel Comics remake. Better to nose into his reading material and set his playlist on a loop for the hop over the ocean.

Vacation started now, regardless of the ball and chain Jace had hooked him up with. Which he planned to shake off as soon as his guilt would allow.

After all, he did owe Owen. The thought never drifted far from his mind, not once over the past five months, so Jace really didn’t need to throw it in his face. Still, it didn’t mean Max had to saddle himself with some needy tourist for three weeks. The only three weeks where he forgot his life, escaped his tomorrows.

Max stopped at a Starbucks and picked up a latte, then headed to the gate.

He found the waiting area jammed with travelers. People rested their feet on their carry-on bags, some chowing down McChickens, a few standbys checking their flight status. He leaned against a pole and surveyed the group, looking for someone who might resemble Eden, Jace’s pretty fiancée. It might have been helpful if Jace had texted a picture along with the flight number
 
—conveniently the same as Max’s.

Eden had blonde hair and knew how to carry herself. In fact, in a way, she scared him. It had taken all his courage to call her from the hospital the night of Owen’s accident. So if Grace was anything like Eden, she’d be uptight and a little scary. The perfect travel companion.

Or maybe she was the opposite
 
—easygoing, almost reckless. Irresponsible.

That might be worse.

Well, he wasn’t going to let Grace Christiansen destroy his vacation, regardless of her persona. He wouldn’t be a jerk; he’d just introduce himself and remind her that, although they might be cooking together, the camaraderie ended there. He had a full agenda of surfing, parasailing, snorkeling, hiking, and beach bumming scheduled.

Alone. It was just better that way.

He spied a girl leaning against the wall. Short blonde hair, pretty, wearing green cargo pants, hiking sandals, a tie-dyed scarf around her hair. Maybe in her midtwenties. She seemed put together, in a crunchy-granola kind of way. He knew Grace was a couple years younger than Eden and worked as a chef . . .

Could be her.

He walked closer, just to do a drive-by, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

She looked up, away from him, but he caught the glint of something silver. He risked it and waited for her to look back.

A lip ring protruded from her bottom lip. It seemed unlikely for Grace, of the conservative Christiansen family.

He kept moving, glancing at the passengers, his gaze lingering on anyone who might look his age. His eyes fell on a woman sitting at the end of the row, her mouth tight, her blonde hair in a neat ponytail, bangs tucked behind her ears. She wore a jean jacket, a pink shirt underneath, and a pair of white jeans with fancy strappy heels. He guessed her to be an LA girl, maybe heading to Hawaii for a summer break. She crossed her legs, her arms folded, and watched foot traffic as if annoyed.

Apparently sitting with the masses was beneath her. Imagine sitting next to
that
for six hours.

“Excuse me, but are you sitting there?” A woman with brown hair pulled up in a messy bun, wearing low-cut jeans, a red-striped T-shirt, and a pair of Converse tennis shoes, smiled at him. She held an iPod, the buds connected to her ears.

Max looked behind him and realized he had stopped in front of one of the only vacant seats in the area. “No.”

“Do you mind?”

He moved, and she sat down. Dropped her carry-on on the floor with a thud. He’d bet the bank this was Grace. Pretty, put together, even surprisingly friendly. Jace had mentioned she was fun.

“That looks heavy.”

“It is. Books. I hate flying, so I like to distract myself.” She glanced up at him. Smiled. She didn’t look so terrible. Even seemed to be the kind of person who might be just fine on her own, once he settled her in.

Please, please
 
—“I know this sounds strange, but is your name Grace?”

She shook her head. “Sorry.”

Too bad. “Okay, thanks.”

Max checked his watch and moved to the check-in line the moment they called the flight. Oh, well
 
—the flight was full, and who knew but she’d latch on to him right away. He should probably delay any meeting or suggestion he wanted to hang out.

Better yet, what if she didn’t even need him? What if Jace was overreacting?

He’d put money on that last supposition. Jace did have an overactive protector gene. It was what had made him good at his position as team captain. And enforcer.

Max pulled up the boarding pass on his phone and waved it over the scanner at the flight check-in, then headed down the Jetway, greeting the flight attendant before climbing into his seat. Shoot, he’d wanted an exit row. Or better yet, first class, but he’d opted out of an upgraded ticket in hopes that his flight would bump him up.

He took the window seat, then pulled out a culinary magazine and shoved his bag beneath the seat in front of him.

One by one, passengers filed in past him. He watched them
out of the corner of his eye, wondering, calculating. Lip ring girl bumped past, headed toward the back. He spied the brunette a couple rows ahead, climbing into her middle seat.

He plugged in his earbuds and turned on his music. Rascal Flatts came on and he closed his eyes, leaning his head back.

Movement in the seat next to him made him open one eye. Super. Preppy LA girl landed next to him. She’d shoved her bag, a canvas backpack, under the seat in front of her and now folded her hands on her lap, looking straight ahead.

By the set of her jaw, he’d guess she had no intention of making polite seat conversation.

Perfect. No, really,
perfect
. He could escape into his personal entertainment without guilt.

It was the movement of her hands that caught his attention just as he closed his eyes. They shook.

He glanced at her posture out of his peripheral vision. Stiff. Even . . . holding herself together. This wasn’t the relaxed annoyance of a frequent traveler.

And her lips were moving. He turned off his music and pulled out one earbud.

Yes, talking. Quietly, as if only to herself. “This is a bad idea. This is a bad idea.”

He might agree. “Um, are you okay?”

She startled and looked at him. She had blue eyes, so blue that for a moment, he had the sense of falling. In fact, up close she didn’t look quite as snooty. Maybe it was the way her lipstick smudged, just a little, around her mouth, or the coffee stain on her shirt as if she’d stirred the creamer in too vigorously.

She looked away. “Yeah. I’m fine.” But her hands continued to shake on her lap.

He had the weird urge to clasp her grip in his. Instead he said, “You don’t look okay.”

That came out wrong, because she looked at him again, a sort of horror on her face. “Really?”

“I mean, of course, you look fine. But . . . nervous, maybe.”

“Oh.” She nodded, started a smile, but it vanished before it took root. “Yeah. I . . . don’t fly very much. And this is a long flight
 
—over the ocean, no less. I hate flying. Did I mention that? I hate flying. I mean, it’s not like I’ve flown so much as to create a severe aversion to it, but just the concept, you know? Big metal plane in the sky, water below, nothing in between? I’m thinking the entire thing doesn’t make sense.”

“Not if you put it like that. But it’s pure physics and
 
—”

“Don’t tell me. I’m going with magic and a lot of prayer to keep us in the sky here.”

“Okay.” Again, he had the strangest urge to hold her hand. Or distract her. “While you’re praying, maybe you could pray that guy up there doesn’t take his shoes off.” He gestured to the man across the aisle in front of them, who had already leaned his seat back against regulations and pulled out an eye mask and a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

She looked at Max again, this time with quiet fear in her expression. “Why?”

“Because he looks the type to get that comfortable, and my guess is that he’s been on a business trip for a few days and hasn’t washed those socks.”

This produced a tiny smile. “Really?”

“I hope not, but . . . And count your blessings because you could be sitting back there.”

She turned her head.

“Don’t look!”

She jumped. But cut her voice low. “Why not?”

“Because that poor mother will have everyone staring at her in about twenty minutes when we take off and the baby in her arms erupts into screaming.”

“Screaming.”

“And wailing. But here’s the good news. As long as you behave yourself, I promise not to take off my shoes or burst into tears. So I’d say, as far as flights go, you’re pretty blessed already.”

A second smile and this time it stuck. “You’re sort of funny, Mr. 9A.”

“Thank you, 9B. Now please tell me you brought some reading material because it’s a long flight to the beautiful islands of Hawaii.”

She winced.

“Okay, how about I let you do my crossword if you promise to leave me at least three blanks at the end?” He handed her his culinary magazine.

“Seriously?”

“I’m just that chivalrous.”

“Agreed.” She took the magazine and his proffered pen. “You don’t mind?”

“Well, I was going to offer to hold your hand, but it might get awkward and a little sweaty, so maybe the crossword is the right fit.”

She laughed then, something sweet, like the sound of a puck swishing into a goal, fast and bright and clean.

Again, Max had the sensation of falling, and he actually wrapped his hand around the arm of his chair.

“I’ll go with the crossword puzzle,” she said, still smiling.

“Good selection, ma’am.” He put his earbuds back in. Turned
on his music to drown out the pounding of his heart. Good grief, he acted like he’d never spoken to a woman before.

Or maybe just not a woman he didn’t, deep down, want to get rid of.

And he’d handed her his crossword puzzle, effectively shutting off more conversation as she bent over and tried to fill in the blanks. He rolled a couple one-liners through his head, trying to figure out how to retrieve the moment.

Or maybe not. Because then what? He’d enjoy her company, maybe share some laughs, and they’d part ways.

Although, wasn’t that exactly what he needed? A no-strings, easy, six-hour friendship where he got to be the guy on a plane and nothing else?

He pulled out his earbuds. “Let’s start with one down.”

Grace just might make it all the way to Hawaii without getting sick. Thankfully, her Dramamine seemed to be holding because so far she’d only experienced one rush of heat, one thickening of her throat and urge to grab the vomit bag in her seat pocket. And that had been on the first flight, before she touched down at LAX.

She’d only
nearly
turned around and bought a ticket for home. Only
sort of
considered it.

Only played the painful conversation of defeat through her head five or six times before she finally found her gate.

If she never flew again, it would be too soon.

Until.

Until the man in the seat next to her turned out to be a gentleman. She’d seen him touring the gate area like a stalker and sized
him up then. A big guy, with wide, sculpted shoulders, dark hair trimmed short
 
—military style
 
—and brown eyes that matched the hard-edged look. With his coral necklace, the casual black-and-white jersey shirt, and a pair of faded jeans, she pegged him as a soldier on leave, maybe even Special Forces, a man escaping his high-stress world. He walked with a cool, detached swagger that suggested he knew just how the girls looked at him.