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“I’m confident it will be.”
“Will you stay the night?”
“Yes,” he says, then he cuddles with me until we finish the tale as old as time. When it’s over, he says, “The Beast definitely had it bad for Belle.”
That’s what my friends said about Max and me. Maybe that’s true. But it’s too early for me to linger on that especially when I still have so many questions about him.
As the credits finish rolling, I return to the reason he came over earlier. “So tell me your story, Max. The one you wanted to share when you came over.”
He runs a hand through his messy hair, blowing out a breath, then sits up. “You know that fight at the end of the other season?”
It was front-page sports news. “Of course. Goalies don’t usually fight.”
“I came home one night to them in bed,” he says, wasting no time with the details. “Looking back, therewere signs—but I didn’t see them at the time. Instead, I’d been looking at rings.”
My chest tightens with hurt and rage.For him. There’s no jealousy, which surprises me—just fury that she hurt a man who cared so deeply. “That’s awful. I didn’t realize it was at that point.”
“I didn’t buy one,” he says, and his tone is surprisingly free of emotion, unlike mine. He doesn’t even sound that bitter even when he says, “Fun fact:thatmade it super easy to get over her.”
I can’t help it. I smile at his deadpan tone.
“You like hearing that. That I got over her,” he says, an observation.
“Well, yeah.”
He moves closer to me, whisking his beard across my cheek, making me shiver. “I am so your type.”
I fight off the spark of lust to roll my eyes since he deserves a big old eye roll. “Only you would taunt me about liking you.”
He wiggles his eyebrows. “Yep.”
But then his mirth burns to ashes. He’s dead serious again. “Obviously we broke up. Even though she didn’t want to. She tried to convince me it was a mistake and it wouldn’t happen again, and that it was a one-time-only thing. But it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t,” he says, then he blows out a heavy breath. “But I was still pissed then. Hurt then. And hurt people hurt people. Since I had better stats than Bane and had beaten LA in the Cup a few years before, I said something to the both of them like ‘You fucking deserve a guy who comes in second.’ It wasn’t my finest moment but in my defense he was fucking my girlfriend at the time,” Max says it without remorse and I’m glad.
“They both deserved that.”
“I think so too.” He pauses, then continues. “A few weeks after I caught them, I’m playing LA. He’s chirping at me the whole time. He’s taunting me. He’s trying to score on me constantly—like he needs to prove something. But he’s not getting the puck in. I block every shot. Only every time I do, he gets more and more agitated and then he gets right in my face in front of the net and says, ‘Your ex tastes like mine.’”
My jaw comes unhinged. That’s villainously awful. “He saidthat?”
Max just nods heavily, breathing out hard. “And I put down the stick and pulled off my gloves, and I was ready to throw the first punch even though I know I’m not supposed to. But I was fucking ready, and then he laid one on me. Right in the jaw.”
It was a brutal fight. I saw it. And I know the rest. It’s one of the sport’s most famous fights. “The benches cleared because you don’t hit goalies. That’s another unwritten rule,” I say. “Bane looked pretty bad after the game. But that’s probably not any consolation.”
Max looks at me, an apology in his eyes. “It wasn’t my finest moment.” My heart squeezes for him. I reach for his hand, holding it. He grips me tighter, like I’m his lifeline. “And I had no idea it was going to get so much worse.”
34
THE UGLY TRUTH
Max
It was inevitable that I’d tell her the ugly story. At first, I figured I’d tell her so she could do her job better. So she could help me with my image. Now I wonder if my intention was always for other reasons.
Because I want her to know me—even the ugly parts.
I go down the cave of the past to places I don’t want to go. But she’s worth it.
“And Lyra was at the game. After we were tossed out for the fight, she was there in the corridor, checking on him. The press saw her take care of Bane,” I say, his name tasting like acid on my tongue.
