Page 10 of Home Ice

He paused. I understood he was checking whether I was ahead of him. I wasn’t. I was listening.

“The plan is to have the two of you seen together. You would have a few dinners in public and maybe a charitable appearance or two. Nothing scripted. You would just be yourself, and there would be photos of you and a great guy having a great time.”

I nodded.

He spread his hands. “And I want to be straight with you about why. Right now, every reporter in this league wants to know who the newly out rookie is dating. That question is going to follow you into every scrum until it gets an answer. This is the answer. It takes the entire subject off your plate so you can focus on hockey. You’d be publicly dating somebody with none of the responsibilities of real dating.”

“Everyone would know?” I asked. “Him, the team—“

“Everybody involved is in on it. Max, most of all. His people are excited, too. Nobody’s being fooled who matters, and the fans who want to believe it get a story that makes them happy. If anybody would get hurt in this, we wouldn’t do it.” He picked up his phone, thumbed to something, and turned it around. “That’s him.”

The photo was of a young man, laughing at something out of frame with sawdust hanging in the light behind him. He had dark hair pushed back off his forehead, dark eyes, and a couple of days of beard growth trimmed neatly. I kept looking at his forearms. He’d rolled his sleeves up past his elbows, and when he braced one hand on the sawhorse, the muscle stood up along his forearm, and a vein ran over the top of it. He was handsome.

“He seems—“ I looked for the word. “Professional.”

“He’s a pro’s pro. You’ll like him. Everyone likes him.” Mark took the phone back. “Now, here’s what I want you to do. Take the time you need. Talk to Hal. Sleep on it if necessary. There’s no—“

“I’ll do it,” I said.

Mark stopped with his mouth still slightly open.

“Yeah?”

“Sure. It makes sense. It helps the team, and it helps him.” I shrugged. “It’s just dinners. I like good food.”

Mark tapped his fingers on the table. “Any plans for dinner tonight?”

I grinned. “Sounds like I have them now.”

Mark laughed. “Okay. Well. I budgeted forty minutes for this and a follow-up call, so you’ve given me my morning back.” He was scrolling on his phone already. “You’ll still talk to Hal. I insist on that. I want him to read everything before you sign anything.”

“Sure.”

“So, Max’s people suggested a place in the West Loop tonight if it worked for you. It will be mellow with one photographer outside when you leave. All you need to do is dinner and a one-block walk. Is it too fast?”

“Tonight’s fine. We don’t fly out until Friday.”

Mark smiled and shook his head. “You know what most guys are like when I bring them anything? Anything at all? Wait, and I’ll tell you next week. I once watched a nine-year veteran take three weeks to approve a birthday tweet.”

He stood, and I stood. He put a hand on my shoulder as he walked me to the door. “You’re making my year, you know that? Between you and me, I needed it.”

“Happy to help,” I said. Making things easy for people by being good at something made me feel useful.

Hal would have questions. He always did. That’s what I paid him to do. I knew what my answers would be.

I was easy to work with. You could ask anyone.

***

The players’ garage was empty. The rest of the team was already gone. My truck sat where it always sat, the third spot from the pillar. I got in my truck, started the engine for the heat, and called Hal.

He picked up on the second ring.

“There he is. National news.”

“That was yesterday. I’m old news now.”

“You’re going to have to walk me through the neighbor haircut sometime; I’m seeing questions.” Papers shuffled on his end. “So. The team called me about a thing, and I told them I hadn’t talked to you yet, so talk to me.”