“Go right ahead,” he said and Billy stepped into a dark alcove shuttered by thick curtains. Music thumped and boomed in the small space. When Maddy reached his side, he pulled back the dark fabric.
Instantly, his heart plummeted.
There wasn’t any stripping, per se. But the girls were wearing practically nothing and were curled up on the laps of his teammates, looking like they would take off what little they had on without much asking.
All the guys sat in low, leather chairs, a big table between them, covered in food.
“There’s your steak,” he said, brightly, hoping she might be blinded by the steak and not see the girls.
“Billy?” she whispered, her eyes wide.
A beautiful woman wearing a blue dress that hugged every curve and hollow of her body came up to them. He didn’t look, he honestly didn’t. He kept his eyes on the woman’s. Beside him, Maddy stiffened.
“Can I take your coats?” she asked in a French accent.
“No,” Maddy said, quickly. Too quickly. She wasn’t mad, she was just nervous.
The woman in blue left and Maddy pulled on Billy’s hand.
“It’s French, babe,” he said, trying to calm her down, because he wanted to stay even though she was uncomfortable. “It’s just the way things are here.”
Vincent, at the table, stood slightly, waving Billy over.
“Come on,” he whispered, pulling Maddy along with him. They got to the table and he shook hands around the table. It was Vincent and five other guys. Christ, talk about being invited into the inner sanctum.
Belznick; Reed; O’Hare; Bern, who didn’t play tonight because he was injured; and Murphy. All of them with Stanley Cup rings.
So. Fucking. Cool.
“Who is the girl?” Vincent asked in his ear.
“My wife.” He turned to introduce her, but Vincent stopped him.
“Wife?”
“Yeah. Maddy.”
“Dude. Do you see any other wives here?”
“Uh, no.”
“That’s right. We don’t bring wives.”
“But … she’s cool. I mean …” He didn’t know what he meant.
“So’s my wife,” Vincent said. “But she sure as hell isn’t here.”
Vincent leaned past Billy and looked at Maddy, his smile sincere. “Your husband was awesome tonight,” he yelled over the music. Maddy’s face lost some of its stern white lines.
“Yes.” Her eyes rolled over Billy with hot familiarity and pride. “He was.”
“Have a seat,” Vincent said, pulling out a chair for Maddy, acting all chivalrous, and Billy felt like he was getting a lesson in lying. A lesson in living two lives. “You want some steak? There’s not much else on the menu tonight.”
“Steak is perfect.”
Vincent lifted his hand and made a gesture to the woman in the blue dress, who vanished behind another set of dark curtains.
Their steaks arrived. He ordered two beers and gave one to Maddy; no one batted an eye at her being underage. He touched the neck of his bottle to hers, but she didn’t smile. She drank like she was dying.
At the front of the table one of the girls took O’Hare’s hand and led him away to a dark corner. In the shadows he saw the flash of her white skin as she peeled off her dress and danced for him.
He tried not to be turned on, but it was impossible. The game, the invitation, the shadowy corner where the girl was dancing: all of it made Billy’s blood pound.
“Billy,” Maddy whispered. “Let’s go. You want a dance, I’ll dance for you. But this place isn’t us—”
“Billy!” Reed yelled from across the table. “You put Popov down tonight, man.” The other guys started talking about the fight and Billy felt himself expand under their praise. These men, these veterans of the game, they accepted him. They’d invited him into their world. Their party.
He glanced back at his wife, whom he loved with all his heart.
Next time he wouldn’t bring her.
Ruth didn’t let any moss grow under her ass—they were scheduled to tape Billy’s introduction episode on Friday.
On Wednesday afternoon Madelyn declared a temporary and necessary detante and knocked on the door of the editing suite.
“Go away!” Ruth yelled, which is what she yelled at everyone, so Madelyn walked in anyway. The room was dark, a series of cubicles off a long center hallway, with editing equipment tucked into each one. She followed the flashing lights and the dim hum of audio to the back cubicle where Ruth was sitting with James, their senior editor.
On the screen was Luc Baker, former NHL player and one of Billy’s friends from way back.
“How’s it coming?” Madelyn asked.
Ruth pulled off her dark-rimmed glasses. “Good. Really good. The guys love Billy but they love making fun of him, too.”
Madelyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Sounds great.” Her sarcasm was unmistakable.
“It’s good-natured. Honestly. We had to find an ex-girlfriend to get anything concrete. I think you’ll have a lot to work with on Friday.” Ruth was clearly trying to extend some kind of olive branch, but Madelyn wasn’t interested.
“I came in to see if you’d found his family.”
Ruth put her glasses back on and turned toward the screen. “Trim that up a little,” she told James. “Let’s cut him off after the laugh. And use the headphones, would you?” Ruth asked James and then came around the partition to stand in the dark, a foot away from Madelyn.
“Phil’s handling the family—he said he couldn’t find any of them.”
Maddy blew out a long sigh. Thank God.
“Why do you ask?” Ruth’s eyes were black and sharp behind those glasses. “Ms. Baumgarten.”
Of course, Madelyn thought, I’m just surprised she didn’t find out earlier. Ruth was a search-under-every-rock kind of woman.
“Spill it Ruth, I can tell you’re dying to.”
“You and Billy were married for two years,” Ruth said.
“A long time ago.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Ruth asked. “When I brought up the idea—”
“Because it’s not something I talk about. Ever. And I don’t want to talk about it now either. Promise me it’s not part of the show. Do me that courtesy.”
“I wouldn’t have pushed if I’d known.”
“Yeah, Ruth, you keep telling yourself that. Just promise me that my marriage won’t be part of the show. And if Phil finds Billy’s family, you let me know. They’re bad news.”
“How bad?”
For a moment she thought of how Denise’s addictions had made her blank. Empty. And Janice had been all too full of jealousy and resentment. Madelyn hadn’t seen them since before the divorce, but she had a hunch they’d probably only gotten worse. People like that usually did.
“Very bad.”
“Okay. I promise.”
Madelyn wasn’t sure she could trust Ruth, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”
“This is going to be great. I know it might be hard to see that right now, but it’s going to be amazing. For all of us.”
“I hope you’re right.”
Billy was mad. He was mad because it was five a.m. on a Friday morning. Which was ungodly, really. Unless he had to be on the ice, there was no reason to be up at five a.m.
And he was in a suit. Which he hated.
Plus, the little impish teenager person in charge of his makeup had been smoking crack. Clearly.
“You’re kidding, right?” Billy asked the girl when she came at him with mascara.
“Nope.” The girl advanced, the little black wand thing outstretched, and Billy shook his head. “Trust me.”
“No.”
“Mr. Wilkins …”
“Back off,” he said and put his hand against the girl’s forehead like kids do.
“Gina!” The girl screeched and Billy dropped his hand just as Maddy and a formidable Italian wom
an rounded the corner.
“What’s wrong?” Maddy asked, putting her hands on her lean hips. She was wearing green today and her eyes glowed. She looked gorgeous. Though a couple of steak dinners wouldn’t hurt her.
“Tell me,” the makeup imp flung her hands up in his direction, “what am I supposed to do with him?”
“Charming the crew already?” Maddy lifted an eyebrow, watching him in the mirror.
“Powder is fine. I don’t need anything else.” He shrugged, his skin flushed at her nearness. He could touch her if he wanted. Just reach out and stroke her face. Her hair. He wondered what she would do if he tried to hug her.
Because truth be told, he could use a hug right now. There was no way this show was going to be anything but painful. Even if he didn’t end up a laughingstock, he still had to wear makeup, and get his hair fussed with. And that didn’t even include the lights and that set out there. The stools where he guessed he and Maddy were going to sit and talk.
Talk. For like twenty minutes. About something other than hockey.
Could he do that?
Should have thought of that before, huh, Wilkins?
The makeup girl laughed. “You need a whole lot more than powder, buddy.”
He looked at her, slightly incredulous. “I could squash you. You get that, right?”
“Okay, Sue,” Maddy said, stepping in. “Let Gina finish up with Billy.”
“Fine!” Sue stomped off and the Italian woman leaned over his other shoulder. She and Maddy stared at him in the mirror.
“I feel like a bug,” he muttered.
“We can’t hide that scar,” Gina said, ignoring him.
“The point is not to hide it,” Maddy said.
“You want me to highlight it?”
“No. Lord, no.”
“That nose is going to cause a problem,” Gina said.
“You know,” he muttered. “I’m sitting right here.”
“Blush and powder,” Gina said, her eyes darting down his body. “What about that suit? I’m pretty sure wardrobe’s got to have something from when Hugh Jackman—”
“What’s wrong with my suit?” He’d spent a couple hundred bucks on it. Granted, he might not have tried all of it on, but still.
The women just laughed over his shoulders.
“Did you iron that shirt?” Maddy asked.
“It’s new.”
“I can tell.” She pointed to the crease where the shirt had been folded. “Do you even own an iron?”
“This is bullshit.” He pulled the paper towel thing from around his neck and shifted to stand.
Maddy put her hand on his shoulder and he stopped. All of him just stopped, completely reined in by her touch. His heart would have stopped if she’d asked it to.
“This is what you signed on for,” she said.
“Out there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the set, where people were testing lights. “Not here. Not …” He sighed, hands on his hips and then finally blurted, “Not you.”
He watched her in the mirror. Her cool imperial beauty. Would she give him this? Any sane man would have his doubts.
“Can you give us a second, Gina?” she asked and Gina vanished into the shadows behind the set.
“You can have your pound of flesh, Maddy. I owe you. But Christ, it’s going to be hard enough going out there—”
Awkwardly she patted his shoulder. “Okay. You’re right.”
She tucked her hands out of sight, like secrets she had to keep. Her gaze touched his face, and he would have given anything for her actual touch right now.
“Have you seen the video footage?” he asked.
“Yeah. Ruth found an ex-girlfriend.”
“Ex …?” He couldn’t for the life of him figure out who would be an ex besides the woman standing behind him.
“Sandra Marks.”
He groaned. Sandra had been a black six month period in his life about three years ago. “Ruth must have really dug to find her.” The wood grain on the arm of his chair was suddenly fascinating. “What about my sisters?”
“Apparently we couldn’t find them.”
“That’s too bad.” The bitterness and sadness tasted like chalk in the back of his throat. “They’d make good television, wouldn’t they? Very Jerry Springer.”
“I don’t do that kind of television, Billy.”
“Of course not. Did … did they find out about us?”
Maddy nodded. “Ruth did.”
It was so strange to feel bad for her because of her association with him. “Even if she put it on the front page of the paper, no one would believe you were slumming with a Wilkins.”
“I was never slumming.”
He pointed at their reflections in the mirror. “Look at us.”
Both of them came from nothing, and he still carried the dirt of 12 Spruce under his nails and in the seams of his suit. But she looked like her dress cost more than the house she grew up in. Like she’d ridden in limos down Spruce on her way to someplace else.
“Where is your family?” she asked. “Do you know?”
“Mom died ten years ago. Dad … well, Dad never came back after the … accident.”
“I’m sorry, Billy. She was a good woman—I know she tried.”
That she understood how complicated Mom was, how hard it had been, broke his heart all over again. “She always liked you.”
Maddy laughed. “Because she knew I was on the pill and wouldn’t let you knock me up.”
“That, and you made me do my homework.”
“A mother’s dream, clearly. What about your sisters?”
“Last time I saw either of them was at Mom’s funeral. Denise has been in and out of rehab a few times.”
“Oh, Billy. I’m sorry.” The way she said it, she wasn’t surprised. Denise had started down the road to destruction when she was sixteen years old.
“She went twice. I stopped giving her money about five years ago. She was messed up again. I told her I’d pay for her to get better, but I wouldn’t give her money for more drugs.” He crossed and uncrossed his legs, unable to get comfortable. “She told me to fuck off.”
“And you haven’t talked to her since?”
“All she wanted was money, Maddy. I couldn’t keep giving it to her knowing she was killing herself.” That wasn’t all of it, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it. He cleared his throat, wishing things could be different, but after all these years he was so damn tired of not being able to figure out how he could change anything.
“I know,” she said, shocking the hell out of him. “I talked to her about two years ago. She called me up out of the blue.”
“And?”
Maddy shrugged. “She asked me for money. I sent it.”
Her guilt on top of his own was crushing, and taking a chance, a huge one, he took her hand, slipping his fingers through hers. Holding his breath, he waited for her to pull away. Stealing the moments to memorize the silk of her skin over the hard knots of her bones.
“I stopped answering her calls after that.” She pulled her hand away, and he released it one piece at a time. Palms, fingers, crimson nails.
“Don’t beat yourself up, Maddy.”
“I could say the same to you.” How strange that she still saw him so clearly, especially the guilt and worry he carried over the decision to sever ties with his family.
“It’s not the same. I was their brother. All they wanted was money, how hard would it be to just give it to them?”
“I remember what they were like,” she said. “Even before you got drafted they treated you like you were their own private bank. Like you owed them, when all they’d ever done was take from you, their whole lives.”
“Denise has a kid. A three-year-old at the funeral.” The words erupted from the guilty place they lived. “And I walked away from that kid, knowing … knowing what her life must be like. I set up a trust fund for her, but I can’t trust my sisters to manage it. So, I’
m … Oh hell, Maddy. I’m ignoring them because I don’t know what else to do.”
Their eyes met again, this time without the mirror between them, and it was the most intimate, most real moment he’d had with a woman in years.
Blood churned through him, thickened with the desire he’d always felt for her.
Like he was a damn kid again, he got a hard-on—because Maddy Baumgarten had turned those whiskey eyes his way.
Remember when we’d kiss for hours? The words were burning on his lips. Remember how we’d touch each other? Love had made them gentle. Tender. No lover since then had wanted his tenderness.
“Hockey is all you have left, isn’t it?” she asked.
His dick deflated, the desire vanished.
Reality was as good as a cold shower any day.
He sat back in his chair, not even meeting her eyes in the mirror. Instead he stared at his hands, the scars and scabs his life had left on him. “You gonna call Gina back, or do my makeup yourself?”
“After the break we’re going to reveal our top-secret guest. Trust me when I say you do not want to miss this. It’s the segment everyone is going to be talking about.” Maddy smiled into the camera until the red light on top went black.
“Commercial. We’ve got ninety seconds,” the stage manager called out and suddenly the set erupted with activity. She closed her eyes and let Gina brush powder over her nose.
“We gotta stop the sweating around here,” Gina muttered.
“Please, I haven’t broken a sweat on air in five years.”
“Yeah, well, maybe you can give some tips to Billy. He’s looking like he’s fresh off the ice.”
Gina vanished. A chair appeared to her left and the big screen was unfurled behind her, where they would show the clips of Billy’s teammates and his ex.
As she flipped through her cards, she was aware in a very distant way of Billy sitting in his chair, and she leaned away. She needed distance from him.
Strangers, she reminded herself. We’re strangers.
“Watch it, cold hands,” Billy muttered as Peter mic’d him, clipping the small lavaliere mic between the buttons on Billy’s shirt.
“Test,” Peter said and then waited for the response from the booth through his headphones. Finally he nodded and backed away.
Crazy Thing Called Love Page 7