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“Because of you. How hard you work,” I say, my tone one hundred percent serious.Thisis why I waited for her tonight. “I needed you to know that. The real reason I pulled you into the equipment room is to tell you what hit me tonight right outside the tunnel. When you told me the press made bets on me. You—you, Everly—have to put up with that shit all the time from them. And you have to put up with me. All of a sudden, I understood what you’ve been dealing with from their side—not just mine. But in the press box too. You’re tough and strong, and you have been putting up with so much. It only seemed fair that I do this for you.”
Her lips part in a slow, sweet smile. “Max,” she says softly, like she’s genuinely touched. “Thank you. That really means a lot to me.”
Ah, fuck. My heart lurches toward her. She cares so much. More than I expected. “You really want this to work, don’t you? This makeover?”
“I do,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “Maybe this sounds silly, but I made a promise when Marie…died,” she says, taking a breath, steeling herself perhaps as she sets a hand on the edge of the shelf full of helmets next to her, “to try to live my best life. To work hard, to do good, to appreciate everything I have—my friends, my job, my…body.” Something about that last word seems to knock her off-kilter. And it’s like she needs a moment. But she pushes on. “To reach for the moon. To be an example. And I want to be excellent at everything I do.”
“You are,” I say, so damn impressed by her. “You’re powerful and strong.”
“You’re strong too. It took a lot of guts to talk to the press tonight.”
I wave a dismissive hand. “Nah. Just some drugs.”
“What? You’d better not be on drugs.”
I wiggle a brow. “I think I’ve been a little high all day long.” I pause, locking eyes with her. “On you.”
“Stop it,” she whispers, but it’s playful and seems to saygo on.
Here in the equipment room, surrounded by helmets, sticks, pucks, pads, and all kinds of gear, I reach for her hair, stroking the ends of the ponytail. “I have not been able to stop thinking about what it was like to kiss you.”
“Max, you really shouldn’t do this. I really shouldn’t do this,” she says, but she reaches for my shirt collar, her nimble fingers playing with it.
“I know,” I admit. Neither one of us stops touching the other.
“Things are intense here at work. I found out today Elias is competing for the promotion now, and it’s tougher,” she says with a sigh.
A dose of protectiveness rockets through me. “The guy who looks like he’s twelve? The one who’s always asking us to sign hockey sticks to give away during the intermissions? It’s not just me that he asks—he asks all the guys all the time.”
She laughs lightly. “That’s him. He used to play in college too. Which he likes reminding me of.”
“Fuck him. He doesn’t deserve the job. You do.”
“It doesn’t even matter. He used to play. He’s got connections. His uncle’s the general counsel, and I don’t want to be the…” She doesn’t finish the thought but it’s clear what she means—she doesn’t want to be the woman who’s getting silky gifts from one of the players.
I think about her dilemma for a minute, but I don’t have any useful answers. There’s nothing I can do right now anyway. I’ve got my own problems. “I wish it weren’t like this either,” I say heavily.
I wish, too, I didn’t need her so much right now in my professional life. But there’s a message on my phone from my agent telling me he’s proud of me for saying something to the media tonight. There’s an image of the bagel of the day. There’s a memory of the injury in my rookie season that could have been so much worse.
But there’s something else I need to say tonight to her too. Something important. I let go of her hair, and she drops her hand from my collar. “You’ve been trying to do your job for over a year, and I’ve been an asshole.”
She tilts her head, her smile kinder than I deserve, considering how I’ve railroaded her. “But that’s not who you are. You’re not a jerk. You’re kind of soft underneath.”
I growl. “Pro tip: do not ever call a man soft.”
She rolls her eyes, then sets a hand on my chest like she’s feeling my heart beating under her palm. Hell, I can feel it speed up as she spreads her fingers across the fabric of my shirt, then says, “I’ve seen you with your nephew. You’re soft when it matters. And thank you in advance for trusting me.”
I didn’t trust her for a long while. But things have changed now that I’ve gotten to know her. I’ve seen her heart, her passion, and her hope for the future. “I do trust you, Everly. I didn’t when we started this, but I do now.”
Her smile deepens, touches someplace inside me that’s rarely touched. “I’m glad,” she says.
I should say goodnight to her. I should leave this room. I should get on that bus. But a glance at my watchtells me there are twelve more minutes before we have to leave.
My gaze swings down to her pants, then back up to her face. “I really want to see how you look in them,” I say in a needy rasp.
She’s quiet for several seconds before she whispers, “Do you want me to send you a picture later?”
More than I want my next breath. “Yes,” I say in a rough demand. But I know that won’t be enough to satisfy me. I tip my chin toward her. “Give me a sneak peek now.”
