Icing the Puck (New York Empires Book 2)

by Isabo Kelly

  Captain. Emerson. The voice sounded angry. And close. Max finished lacing his right skate, looked up at his Captain’s expression and saw granite.

  “You need to stay away from my sister. I don’t give two shits that you’re helping her or she’s helping you. This helping shit needs to stop. I told you to stay away from her. You’re too young and too fucking immature to give her what she deserves.”

  His percée was useful for once in his life. Emerson talked about his sister, but at the core of his captain’s anger was betrayal. To Emerson, Max had betrayed some confidence. That was easier to deal with because he could understand where that came from. And for the first time, it didn’t bother him. So he stood. But that was it.

  “You’re not saying anything. Open your fucking mouth and goddamn promise me you’re not going to touch her again.”

  The captain waited a half second before continuing toward him. As if the captain had become an arrow, heading toward its target. And still, Max said nothing. There was nothing he could say that would stop this. Not then at least.

  Faster, closer. He stood his ground, and then he ducked, pivoted and lightly grabbed Emerson’s arms midpunch. “You don’t need this,” he whispered. Clear, soft and sure. “Not now. Not avant…”

  Except of course it didn’t matter because there was an elbow. It was hard, slamming into the center of his chest. He lost his breath, but caught himself right before he hit the ground.

  The look on Emerson’s face was beyond angry. Merde.

  He didn’t want to punch the captain. He had no desire to punch Chris in the face or anywhere else. Didn’t want to punch Kayleigh’s brother in the face.

  But as the rest of the team came into the locker room, Jahr and Karpov grabbed the captain to hold him back, while Smythe and a few others grabbed Max. Evans, for his part, came in and shook his head at them all.

  “Can’t we all just get along?” Evans wondered aloud, even as his hands were ready to push people further apart.

  That made Max laugh. Then the rest of the team, now that the tension was finally broken, followed suit.

  Kayleigh

  Kayleigh found herself at the evening’s game instead of the rehearsal. She felt horribly guilty, but the Philharmonia and the team had decided that her presence was more important at the game. So there she was, sitting in the stands at the BBC. As the third period started, she sipped on her soda and settled in to watch the action. The game itself was going pretty well; the team was leading after two periods, and nobody had made any stupid mistakes that resulted in unwarranted penalties.

  She was sitting next to Mel on one side and some random person on the other. Mel made nervous noises every five minutes, and the woman on the other side had freaked out when Kayleigh had celebrated the Empires’ last goal.

  “Hockey’s in my blood,” she’d said unapologetically. “My brother’s out there.”

  “As is your boyfriend.”

  Mel’s whispered comment didn’t require an answer; she wasn’t going to let her brother’s girlfriend and her interest in romantic relationships mess up her hockey watching mojo. Max was important, yes; she spent time with him, but he wasn’t her boyfriend. And yes, he also kissed well.

  “I’ve been watching my brother play in various places and guises for years when I could,” she continued, ignoring Mel. “School, Uni,” she shrugged. “It’s always been fun.”

  But there was something in the air. And she wasn’t sure what it was; were things too perfect? No injuries, no horrible penalties, nothing out of the ordinary.

  “You okay?” she asked Mel.

  “Fine. Enjoying the game when they’re not acting like idiots…”

  She’d ask Bryce, but Bryce was waiting at his apartment for their parents. And the last thing she wanted to do was to stress Bryce out with a phone call that asked about “things in the air.” So instead, she sat back, settled in, and focused on the game.

  Max

  Third periods were always exciting, especially when the team was doing well. The ice felt good under his skates, and the home team was playing dumb, five minutes in. They’d just forced their top line to send the puck clear out of their offensive zone. Intent on nullifying an icing call, he skated after it, catching it on his stick before it went over the line. He skated it around the back of the net before making an outlet pass toward Smythe. It landed on his stick. He felt Smythe’s relief and went back to position, watching the play as it developed. Smythe handed the puck over to Karpov before heading off to the bench for a change.

  Max focused, tight, closely.

  All of a sudden, he felt the shoulder, the elbow, and then the shove to the wall. He elbowed back but the push was too strong coming on the other way. There was a loud noise, and then there was nothing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kayleigh

  Her breath stopped suddenly and completely as Max hit the ice. He didn’t move. He wasn’t moving. “Oh, god.”

  She didn’t even know she’d stood, but she was standing and now she had to go…somewhere. Somewhere she could get to someone who would let her see where he was going. She had to. She absolutely had to.

  Melanie, who was sitting next to her, took her hand. “It’s fine….really.”

  She shook her head, took a deep breath and headed out of the closest exit, toward the elevator, her heart in her throat. One of the guards downstairs took pity on her, leading her toward the player’s entrance.

  “You’re family,” the guard said. “We know who you are.”

  She could barely speak as she saw the stretcher, followed by three people who were speaking in rapid French. She could hear Paris in the woman’s voice; she had to be his mother, and the man in Timberlands and a coat had to be his father. The grandfather stood to the right of the woman, half separating her from the father who constantly tried to stand by her.

  She found herself trying to breathe, to force herself to do something that was slightly productive. Except all she could manage was one word. “Max…”

  “We don’t speak French,” the paramedic said. “Who the hell can speak French here?”

  Kayleigh raised her hand. “I do.”

  “Good.” He pointed at Max’s mother. “You tell her she and you can come with us. And put,” he pointed to Max’s father and grandfather, “these two in the taxi. Tell them we’re going to Maimonides and we’re off.”

  After following the instructions the paramedic gave her, she got into the ambulance and held her breath.

  Somehow, after the harrowing ride in the ambulance, pulling up to the hospital only to discover that there were no French translators on staff was not surprising. A very helpful nurse explained they had a phone system, but the concept didn’t erase the look of panic that remained on Max’s father’s face.

  Also unsurprising was the fact that Max’s mother didn’t panic; the Frenchwoman seemed almost impenetrable. Ice and calm except for her hands. They shook despite the fact that his grandfather didn’t stop massaging her shoulders.

  Damn it.

  Kayleigh wanted to snarl, but she didn’t. And so she put up a nonthreatening finger. “I’ll be back,” she said in French.

  Fast feet took her to the waiting room just outside. Past the bathroom that smelled like the cleanser they used, the tile floor that clicked against her shoes. Finally she fell against the simple chair near a window that had a view of the east river and pulled out her phone. She had three messages, the impudent device proclaimed. One of them had to be from her brother’s girlfriend. She called her immediately.

  “Kayleigh omigod…”

  “Melanie? I need Emily’s number. I’m at the hospital, and they don’t have a direct human translator. I can speak French but not well enough. She has to have the name of the person they were going to get for Max.”

  There was a pause, and she heard the kind of rustling that usually meant the phone was being moved from one hand to another.

  “Kayleigh? It’s Emily. How can I h
elp?”

  “Do you have the name of or access to that translator? The one that they were going to get for Max?”

  “Yes. I can call the one they’d had in mind for him. What did you tell my sister?”

  “I told her that the hospital didn’t have a direct French translator available and we need one. Now.”

  “Why the hell don’t they have…”

  “Because they have a telephone system, and the only live actual translators that will come into the rooms for patients are Spanish-speaking ones. And Max’s parents and his grandfather are freaking out. And I can speak French well, just not the kind of French they’re going to need to be calm.”

  “All right,” Emily said. “I’ll call her and tell her it’s an emergency.”

  “Thanks Emily. Really.”

  Kayleigh hung up the phone and took a deep breath.

  After finishing the conversation, Kayleigh headed downstairs to the main entrance to wait for the translator.

  And leaving the floor, that room, for that long, hurt. She had no idea what was going on in Max’s room, no clue what his parents were doing. More importantly, no clue what this person looked like. Every time she heard the sound of clicking heels against the tile floor, she looked up, hoping to see someone, but whoever had made those footsteps usually walked right past her, purpose or concern in their expression.

  She took a deep breath and began to pace, trying to focus on something…anything other than the fact she was terrified of losing Max.

  “I’m looking for Kayleigh Emerson?”

  She nodded “Here,” she said. “That’s me.”

  “You need a translator?”

  She swallowed. She had to say it. “My boyfriend’s family is upstairs. They do not speak a word of English, barely at least, and the doctors have a phone system which doesn’t work well enough, and the only hospital translators translate…”

  The translator sighed. “Yep. Happens all the time. What language?”

  “If you can, you need to switch between Parisian French and Quebec French…or some kind of something that fits them both in some way…”

  “You know they’re not the same, right?”

  Kayleigh sighed. She wasn’t an idiot, but she didn’t have time for shenanigans. “Yes. I know. But his mother is Parisian and his father is a Quebecker. So you need to figure out what you can do to communicate to them both so that they both understand.”

  The translator nodded. “Take me to them.”

  She had to wait out in the hallway as the woman spoke to Max, his parents and his grandfather. She didn’t have any official family status, and so this…well…

  She paced the hallway outside of the room, holding her breath, trying not to lose her mind. He wasn’t her boyfriend. Not really. He kissed well, and he had a nice smile…

  And she was going to lose her mind.

  Breathe. In. Out, as the clock ticked, the minutes passing by. People coming in and out of the room. Finally, the door opened. “He’s going to be OK,” said the translator, smiling.

  “When can I see him?”

  “That depends on his family.”

  “Tu peux venir,” said an older gentleman with a smile that was achingly familiar.

  “Merci,” she answered, her voice tenuous but as pleasant as she could make it.

  Without a thought, it seemed, his grandfather put his arm around her. “Tiens, petit,” he said, his Parisian accent clear. “It will be OK.”

  And at that moment, she believed him.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Max

  The light was harsh when he opened his eyes. The beds were soft. People were holding his hands. He blinked again. And nothing. Just people.

  His heart pounded against his chest. No feelings, no nothing, no nerves. Clarity.

  The realization was almost enough to make him pass out again.

  But he held on tight and remained conscious. He was aware of the beeping monitors and everything that followed. Of the people in the room. He focused and felt his grand-père’s worries, focused on his mother and felt her sudden calm, on his father and felt him, too.

  Could he now control his percée? Had the knock on his head managed to make his life easier?

  But there was no time to consider that, no time to even discuss it because there were footsteps. And Kayleigh.

  He started to try and sit up, but all that got him were angry looks, beeping monitors and not very far off the pillow. And so he lay back down, taking Kayleigh’s hand in the process. “Tu es venu?”

  “Yeah,” she whispered as she squeezed his hand. “I came. I’m here. Not for long though…”

  He saw his father and the doctor nod.

  “You’ll be back?”

  “I’ll visit wherever you are.”

  And that was good enough for him.

  Kayleigh

  Kayleigh tried to visit Max. Many times. Nobody would let her see him. Not in the morning, not in the evening, not in the afternoon nor in the wee hours between any of those. Not at his apartment, not in his hospital room. It was as if he’d fallen off the face of the earth. At first she thought it was because he needed space to recover. But as time went on, so did her concern, and she began to try and get information from anybody she could talk to. Nobody. Not her family, not the team. Nobody.

  On girls’ night, three days before the gala, after way too many shots of tequila, she spilled the beans. “I miss him,” she said.

  “Oh my god,” Sousa murmured pouring a glass of water and shoving it toward her as Melanie walked through the door. “You didn’t see it?”

  Kayleigh shook her head before taking a long drink of water. “Don’t know what you’re talking about,” she managed, now that she was starting to feel her tongue again. “I haven’t seen Max. I can’t get near him.”

  Sousa shook her head, pity in her eyes. “Yep, it figures. There’s this Quebec TV reporter…LeBlanc or whatever his name is? Anyway, he’s been going on a whole bunch of different sports shows. He’s been talking about how the fact that the New York dude didn’t get penalized for Max’s injury, but Brody Evans got suspended.”

  Apparently she hadn’t been paying attention. “Evans got suspended?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And why did my family not tell me this?”

  “Because here’s the thing. LeBlanc is basically saying, Why did Evans get suspended when the New York dude that hit Max didn’t get a penalty? That Evans wouldn’t have acted if the dude that hit Max got the kind of…disciplinary action he deserved for playing in such an unsafe manner.”

  “Which is amazing that he’s doing this, but…”

  “Anyway,” Melanie said as she sat down and poured herself a glass of moscato, “apparently Max himself is locked up tight. Nobody’s seeing him. Nobody even knows where he is right now. At least the ones who do aren’t saying anything.”

  Emily nodded as she hung up her coat on the rack. “Yep. We don’t even know where he is, either officially or unofficially. So no visitors, no nothing. Because of course, if anybody sees him, they’re going to want to talk to him, and if we want to make it clear that he’s injured, seeing him in public isn’t a good idea unless and until he’s cleared. You remember what happened with the Norwegian dude on the New York team last year? Nobody saw him, nobody talked to him. Turned out the injury was, in fact, as bad as they said, but you know, when we’re pushing an injury inconsistency, it’s always better to be safe than sorry and control the situation.”

  “I have to say,” Kassie, the Floridian flautist who came to join them, said, “that it’s kinda cool someone who the league needs to listen to is standing up for this. League’s had a problem with enforcement consistency for a while, and seeing this officially neutral party say something in a way the league can’t ignore? I love it.”

  Emily smiled for a moment then rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but LeBlanc is going a little apeshit.”

  “Better apeshit than letting this stand,” Melanie
informed her sister. “The officiating and the suspensions have been inconsistent and awful. And even you need to admit that.”

  “Which means,” Sousa said meaningfully, “if you want to give Max something…send him something.”

  Kayleigh nodded, took long drink from her glass of water, and thought about her email.

  From K_emerson@nyharm.com

  To: Max_SL7@empiremail.com

  I miss you.

  From: Max_SL7@empiremail.com

  To: K_emerson@nyharm.com

  I miss you too. When is the gala of yours?

  To: Max_SL7@empiremail.com

  From: K_emerson@nyharm.com

  It’s fine. Seriously. Totally fine. It’s in less than two days and you’re not going to make it. I almost forgot about it myself except they reminded us in practice. Don’t worry.

  To: K_emerson@nyharm.com

  From: Max_SL7@empiremail.com

  Send me the details ;) you never know what will happen.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kayleigh

  Kayleigh had been primped and powdered to within an inch of her life, and her dress was killer. She knew she looked gorgeous, but she didn’t have the heart for glamour. Not tonight.

  Nevertheless, she shook hands and smiled with board members, charming them as best as she could, sharing stories of her childhood, explaining how the design of the rink had been altered to allow the Empires to watch the orchestra play during the intermission, and genuinely doing her best to keep her game face on.

  And it worked, at least until she ran into Joe. “Thought you were bringing someone,” he said.

  The board members hadn’t mentioned it, nobody else had. Not even Arun or Jonathan when she’d seen them in the coat room. “And that matters because?”

  “It just makes you look bad, is all. You know. Most of us are settled in good sturdy relationships, and you…well are not,” Joe replied.