The Right Fit

by Daphne Dubois

  “Who skates with head down in neutral zone?” he’d asked. “Even Bantam know better.” Insinuating that Antony’s sloppy defense had contributed to the hit.

  When he called Maxine, she was breathless on the other line. “I screamed in a bar full of people. I thought you were dead! And they kept showing it over and over—even in slow motion.” She took a few breaths. “I don’t think I can watch a live game again. Are you all right? They said you were okay, but I need to hear you tell me.”

  “I’m fine.” He’d smiled. “Head like wood. No damage.”

  “I’ll feel better when I see you tomorrow. When I can hug you and kiss you.”

  Now, on the plane, headed back to Maxine’s waiting arms, Antony closed his eyes and slept the entire flight back to Toronto.

  ****

  Yawning through the deluge of a bizarre dream he couldn’t quite retain, Antony made his way to the taxis already waiting for him and the other players. The sky was darkening with a few snow flurries swirling outside the window. “Big storm comin’,” the cabbie said.

  Antony nodded off several times, jerking awake when downtown traffic horns blared around him. Using an image of Maxine to push his tired self to his own apartment, Antony opened the door and dropped everything in the hallway.

  Marc was there, smiling widely. He motioned to the kitchen where he’d taken out food to reheat for supper. “Hard head, they’re calling you,” Marc said. “I saved all papers. Fighting as good as goals. Remember I tell you?”

  “Oui,” Antony put a hand on the wall to steady himself. “But hit is no fight.” His gaze went to the kitchen where two sets of dishes were laid out.

  Marc frowned up at him. “Long flight?”

  Pulling out his phone, Antony checked for a text from Maxine, but the screen was blank.

  “I taped games,” Marc said. “Supper is ready. Sasha set everything up before she left.”

  Antony put the phone on the hall table. The easy thing would be to appease Marc’s request; stay at the apartment, eat with him, watch a game or two and listen, but Antony was tired of listening to Marc tell him how everything he was doing was wrong. He didn’t have the strength tonight to go over every game he’d just played on the road.

  He picked up his car keys from the hook on the wall above the hall table. “Non,” he said. That one word seemed to hang in the air between the brothers.

  “You’re leaving.” There was no hint of a query to his tone. “To see her.”

  “Oui.”

  Marc’s hands gripped the armrests. “Going to fuck your good fuck charm?”

  “Don’t call her that,” Antony’s voice was low, challenging.

  “Does she know?” Marc licked his lips and then a sneer slipped into place. “How you use her?”

  “Ce n’est pas comme ca—”

  “It’s not like that?” he mimicked. “Did you tell her truth about how you became hockey hero of our family?”

  “I won’t fight you.” Antony turned and made his way toward the door to their apartment.

  “You put me in this chair! Don’t walk away from me!”

  Antony put his hand on the doorknob and counted to five.

  He heard Marc breathing heavily behind him. There was a sniff, but this time Antony didn’t turn around and apologize. He was tired of apologizing for the same mistake over and over.

  “I’m done,” he said then left the apartment and took the elevator down to the parking garage.

  The cool air helped clear away some of the dark guilt that had wrapped itself around him. Antony slid into the front seat, grateful for the size of the sport utility vehicle. He needed to get to Maxine. Once he was in her arms, everything would be all right. Antony reached inside his jacket pocket but it was empty. He groaned remembering he’d left his phone on the hall table. A heaviness seemed to pull him further into the seat, like gravity was twice the force.

  His head was throbbing now. Antony rubbed his temple, too many images from his past were racing to the surface; his hands covered in blood, the car flipped over, the police lights, and Marc begging him through his tears.

  Everything turned hazy and then Antony went limp, falling forward into nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Maxine held up the top and eyed the dimensions. Her computer was open on her bed nestled among a nest of cut up sweaters. The vintage poster of the pin up girl with the partially knit sweater blinked back from the screen.

  She knew the sweater didn’t have to match perfectly since Antony would be too preoccupied appreciating her see ends to notice the pattern, but she wanted the length to be exactly right.

  The sweater had to hit just under her breasts, the same as the girl in the picture. She slipped it over her head, careful not to smudge her makeup—which matched the pin up girl perfectly, especially the lipstick. Maxine started to get lightheaded thinking about the various parts of Antony she could leave lipstick marks.

  He was finally coming home.

  Maxine wanted nothing more than to be in his arms all night, and even the next day. She’d already taken tomorrow off, anticipating a day of leisurely, delicious sex with Antony throughout her apartment.

  “You’re getting as bad as Stuart,” she reprimanded herself.

  But ever since she saw Antony suffer the hit on the ice, a part of her had been holding its breath, waiting until she could put her hands on him, feel his heart beating. She knew how big and solid he was, and to see him bowled over, and sent sprawling across the ice as if he was nothing but a ragdoll was nauseating.

  He’s dead, her heart had screamed. But while the crowd went ballistic, some booing, some cheering, Antony simply pushed himself to his knees and slowly got up.

  “Your boyfriend is Rhino Man or something!” Stuart had said.

  Standing in front of the mirror on the back of her bedroom door, Maxine took in her handy work with a critical eye. The bottom half of the sweater she’d cut away wasn’t exactly straight, and the seams across the shoulders were a bit tight, making her worry she had sausage arms.

  Then she stood taller, arched her back, and raised her arms over her head in a seductive pose. With the short black skirt and fishnet stockings, the effect was perfect. The bottom edge of the sweater lifted, showing off the swell of the bottom of her breasts.

  Antony would lose his mind.

  Maxine wondered how long she should tease him. Maybe she’d have him strip for her first or maybe he could pull the lose thread on the sweater, to continuously reveal her breasts as the yarn unraveled.

  With nimble fingers, she tugged at the cut edge, looking for the longest piece she could offer him to pull. Maxine was leaving nothing to chance in this seduction. She wanted him to know beyond any doubt that she was his.

  “Je suis à vous,” she whispered, wondering if he could feel her pledge through the miles that separated them.

  She closed her eyes, wishing he was already there with her, touching her, kissing her, claiming her body with his mouth and hands. The desire was overwhelming. She grabbed her phone off the bedside table and dialed him, ready to leave him a sexy message. She stood in front of the mirror, smoothed down the sweater, and then played with the fringe, back and forth, barely grazing her nipples, now hardened with the thoughts of Antony’s tongue.

  “Allo?”

  Maxine almost dropped the phone. “I thought you were still flying. I was going to leave a message.” She laughed a bit. “So, are you home now?”

  “Oui.”

  His sexy French accent still made her knees weak. He sounded like he was smiling.

  Maxine swallowed, trying to stay casual. “Listen, there’s something we need to discuss,” she started. “I was hoping I could come over. Is it all right to come over? Are you alone?”

  There was a pause on the other end, and then he said, “Oui.” His breathy anticipation almost made Maxine tell him everything she was planning, but she had to be prepared to draw this out, the payoff was too great to resis
t.

  She hung up without another word, grabbed her long winter coat, and called a cab. Maxine knew it was stupid to wear high heels in the snow, but she reasoned while winter boots were warmer and better at preventing a fall on the icy sidewalk, they would totally ruin all the work she’d done on her sexy outfit.

  After paying the cabbie and tiptoeing through the snowbank, she passed through the foyer, her cheeks blooming with color, and stepped into the elevator. Using the key he’d given her, she unlocked the door to his apartment and stepped inside. Her heart swelled when she saw his luggage in the hallway, his phone was on the hall table.

  The living room was dark. She glanced in the kitchen and saw Antony had set out two place settings for supper. A warmth eased over her frayed nerves.

  It didn’t matter if she’d shown up in her housecoat and sweatpants, he’d still sweep her into his arms. “Antony!” she sang out.

  There was the sound of a flush from the bathroom down the hallway.

  Maxine slipped out of her winter coat, letting it fall on the floor at her feet, and then she leaned against the wall, directly facing the hallway. She tilted up her chin and raised her hands over her head for the optimal seductive pose. One knee slightly bent and crossed in front of the other.

  The bathroom door opened.

  Maxine closed her eyes. He could take her up against the wall if he wanted. Please let him want that, she prayed.

  Something moved over the carpet toward her. She kept her eyes closed and bit her lower lip, bracing herself for him to take her. The seconds ticked by excruciatingly slow.

  He cleared his throat then said, “Maxine, I presume?”

  She opened her eyes and screamed, dropping her arms and crossing them in front of her chest. “Oh! I thought you were Antony!” Maxine pulled down the sweater with one hand while she reached for her coat with the other. A clumsy choreography of tripping on her heels and disastrous attempts to put her arms in the right sleeves resulted in Maxine hugging her winter coat to her chest inside out.

  “I’m so sorry.” The embarrassed heat rose to the top of her head. “You must be Marc.” She smiled weakly and held out her hand, making sure to keep the coat in place. “I’m really happy to finally meet you.”

  He wheeled closer and took her hand, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go. His eyes never left her face.

  “Wow,” she said, adding a nervous laugh. “You look so much like him…well, except for the eyes,” Maxine said, noticing the icy baby blues staring back at her.

  He tilted his head and let his eyes scan her down to her shoes.

  She adjusted her weight and bumped against the wall. “So,” she started. “Marc and Antony. Was your Mom a fan of Cleopatra or something? You know, Mark Antony, the Roman soldier who was her lover…I think, or—never mind.”

  “Non.”

  He even sounds like Antony.

  She hugged her coat tighter. “I thought Antony was alone,” she explained. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, although it was beginning to sound like a plea for help now instead of an apology.

  “Obviously.” He wheeled past her and into the kitchen. His shoulders were even broader than Antony’s. He opened the fridge and pulled out a beer bottle. “Would you like a drink?”

  Maxine shook her head.

  “Make yourself comfortable. May I take your coat?” He grinned.

  She laughed, feeling some of the tension unwind. “The Laurent charm is genetic I’m guessing.”

  Marc twisted off the bottle cap and tossed it in the sink. He handed the bottle to Maxine and pulled out another for himself. Taking a sip, he stared at her over the rim of the bottle. “Please stay, we can talk.” Then he grinned again.

  He wheeled to the living room, positioning himself beside the couch. Maxine managed to slip her coat on the proper way. She sat down across from him; her eyes fell on Antony’s luggage in the hallway. Is he in the shower? Taking a nap?

  “Did you know Antony was going to be traded to the minors?” Marc asked her, leaning forward, his countenance bordering on intense curiosity.

  She peeled her eyes away from the hallway. “Um…no. What’s the minors? Is that another team?”

  His blue eyes opened wider. “I thought every puck bunny knew hockey lingo.”

  Maxine ignored the comment and took a nervous sip of beer. “I don’t know much about hockey,” she said. “I didn’t even know Antony played until last week.”

  “Huh.” Marc rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Well, he’s doing better now.” He took a long sip of beer. “I guess he has you to thank.”

  Maxine smiled, but it felt wrong. “Thank me?”

  “Oui.” He took another drink then plunked it down on the coffee table. “Every time he scores with you, he scores on ice.”

  The smile was frozen on her face, the muscles stuck in place. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re his”—he paused and scrunched up his face like he was thinking hard—“how do you say in English? Oh, right, you’re his good fuck charm. Why else would he keep you around?” Marc leaned forward in the wheelchair bringing his face closer. He dropped his voice like he was telling her a juicy secret. “Have you seen other girlfriends? Models, actresses…” He waved a hand toward Maxine’s coat. “Not like you.”

  She put down her beer and stood. “Where’s Antony? I know he came home, I can see his luggage.”

  Marc’s eyebrows came together. “He told me he was leaving to see you. Oh, wait. Are there two good fuck charms?”

  The thought kicked her in the stomach, but she remained stoic. “I just spoke with him and…” Maxine eyed the phone on the hall table. Then she turned back to Marc. “You pretended to be him! Where is he? Where’s Antony?” She left the living room and made her way down the hallway to his bedroom. She flung open the door, but the room was empty. In fact, it looked like nothing had been touched. The bed was perfectly made.

  She went back out to the hallway. Marc was waiting for her.

  “Don’t be mad,” he said, putting his hands up. “You should know he was using you.”

  “He’s not using m—” But Maxine couldn’t finish the sentence. A wedge of fear had lodged itself in her deepest consciousness.

  Marc’s voice became softer. “Antony needs new hockey contract. Our family depends on it…my medical costs as well. Please, don’t tell him I told.”

  “I’m not sure what to say.” She shook her head, the emotions were tumbling around pulling her heart, stretching her reasoning. If Antony isn’t here, where is he? “Why would he leave his phone behind?” she said in a trance. “He always has his phone.”

  Staying quiet, Marc wheeled back to the kitchen and retrieved another beer from the fridge. “I’m curious,” he said, his tone smooth and confident. “Does he have to fuck you right before game or does it last over week? Maybe we should start chart, oui?”

  Maxine took in the broad shoulders coupled with the strong arms. Her gaze lingered lower, his diminished thighs and miniscule legs looked abnormal paired with the strength of his upper body. But it was the expression on Marc’s face while he belittled her that sent a jolt through Maxine; a half smirk, trying to guise a grimace of hate.

  “You need help,” she said. “You torment Antony for wanting a life.”

  Marc’s lower lip quivered, then he burst out laughing. “You? You’re not his life! Hockey is his life!”

  Maxine continued, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill out. “You’re so blinded by self-pity and jealously you can’t do anything but suck back beer after beer.” She made her way to the door, barely keeping her dignity intact. Everything Marc was saying cut deeper into her soul, her confidence was bleeding out.

  “Ask Saint Antony about sucking back beer after beer.” His voice changed, became adamant.

  Maxine rolled her eyes. The absurdity of his prompt made her forget her earlier disgust. She turned and said, “I’ve never even seen Antony drink.”

  “Non,” he said, his
eyes becoming darker. “Not since my accident.”

  One by one the small hairs on the back of Maxine’s neck stood. There was a boldness in Marc that reminded her of Antony. Which brother was lying to her?

  The instinct to leave the apartment was strong, but Marc had opened up this Pandora’s Box and she wasn’t about to leave without some answers. “Antony told me it was a drunk driver,” she said.

  “Oui,” he said. “We were same team, major juniors, celebrating win. Did he tell you that?”

  A cool sensation crept up her spine. Maxine shivered under her winter coat.

  “He insisted on driving. My little brother was always showing off, trying to upstage me.” Marc shrugged and took a sip. “He walked away with few scratches. The drunk ones always do, eh?”

  “Antony was driving when you crashed?”

  “Right off road, flipped over in ditch. I felt spine snap. I was awake whole time. Most people black out.” Marc raised the beer to his mouth. “Not me.”

  Maxine was certain her stomach would lurch and bring up its contents. This was all too much for her heart and mind to fathom.

  Marc calmly wheeled around her and opened the apartment door. “Bon soir, Maxine,” he said. “Je suis désolé de ce qui est au revoir.”

  Without answering, Maxine rushed past Marc, toward the elevator. Her throat had started to close, she couldn’t take a deep breath. Every promise of love Antony had ever made to her was a lie. No, she scolded herself, Marc is lying.

  But there were all those times, the little voice in the dark corner of her fears piped up. He insisted on seeing you before he went to Philadelphia instead of waiting like you asked. You thought it was devotion. But maybe…just maybe he was using you. Why else would he be with you when he could have any woman he wanted?

  Maxine pushed her way through the foyer and out onto the sidewalk. The snow was falling in clumps, accumulating on the streets. Maxine’s high heels made little tracks in the fresh snow. Numb with emotion, she flagged down a taxi, determined to find Antony and get some answers.