Going All In

by Cassandra Carr

  “It’s open, Emerson.”

  The tone of his coach’s voice sounded ominous, the fact he didn’t use the nickname he’d been saddled with made things feel worse. But he opened the door all the same, revealing a large living room suite, the coach sitting at a table.

  “Come on in,” he said, “and close the door.”

  He did, not saying a word, instead finding a seat across from the coach on a wood backed chair.

  “You knew this was coming,” the coach began. “I told you it was coming. Streak or no streak. You dress, but you’re not playing, and if you, the media, anybody, bothers me about it, it will take you longer to touch the ice. That shit will put your season in jeopardy.”

  He nodded. He couldn’t speak, there were no words he could use to answer, other than, “Yes Coach.”

  “Don’t fuckin’ yes me to death, Emerson. Your ass is mine to do with as I see fit. Hell, I can make you hang up a Canada Sucks flag every day if I goddam want to.”

  Coach’s face was red but Chris didn’t focus on it. Instead, he tried to keep his mind blank. He had to keep his cool and say nothing, do nothing if he wanted to keep his career. And so, somehow, he got through the rest of the meeting, let himself into the room he was sharing with Semenov and fell asleep to the sound of a cooking show.

  *****

  Melanie was alone in her apartment, staring at the television, her book done for now. Emily, her beta reader, had taken a red-eye to Toronto. Spin control the Empires called it. Her publicist had called her, wondering if there was anything she wanted, but she declined, deciding that all she really needed that night was the ability to bathe in chocolate.

  Because ever since she’d gotten back from the cottage, she’d been bombarded with images and accounts of the mistake she’d made, and how she’d drawn Chris into it as well. The press had gone psychotic, the romance blogs were having a field day, the sports blogs were going on the romance blogs… It was just a mess and she wanted to hide.

  But the television was off. She couldn’t watch him play tonight. It hurt too much.

  And then her phone started to buzz. She grabbed it, noticing the symbol for a new text in the corner. Three simple words. “They benched him.” She started to cry.

  *****

  Chris had to keep his cool. Losing it in public was not going to help anything, least of all his already shit relationship with his coach. But both Miller and Semenov made a point of clapping him on the shoulder as they headed out onto the ice each night, in a visible show of support. Through Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal, and he still didn’t play.

  It got worse when he got back to New York. Worried calls from Kayleigh and his parents mixed with increased silence from Mel. He ignored the papers and the news channels, concentrating instead on the mess Darcy’s previous management had made of that restaurant’s books. He practiced and worked out as if he was going to get ice time. But it didn’t happen. The season was starting to wrap up. And it was going to leave him behind.

  *****

  Emily had the nasty habit of interrupting Melanie at the worst possible moments. She was concentrating on the final edits of the now completed ‘The Dangerous Duke’ before she sent it to her agent. Not that it wasn’t serious, but if she were being honest with herself, she’d admit that she was burying herself in edits instead of having to talk to Chris.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied, sighing. Unfortunately, she did know what needed to be done. She just didn’t know how or when she’d bring herself to do it.

  “Whatever it is,” Emily said, “you should do it soon, because it isn’t fair to leave him hanging.”

  And as he remained a ‘healthy scratch’ in New Jersey and on the Island, she knew she had to do something.

  *****

  Chris didn’t know how to react when Melanie finally contacted him. “God.” He’d said as he organized the papers on the table he’d commandeered at Darcy’s. He wondered what she wanted, though she seemed ominous. Her words, her tone. His stomach fell. Fuck. And of course she looked gorgeous, but he could see the circles under her eyes when she came in and let him guide her to a table in the back.

  “Your own maître d’?” she asked, a grin on her face, though it was a small one.

  “There’s a lot here to go through,” he replied, running a hand through his hair. “I haven’t even breached the surface. It’s been a mess for a while.” And then a shrug. “It comes with privileges.”

  “Damn well it should.” Then she laughed, and then sighed, staring at him.

  He wished she wouldn’t be so serious, so focused on him. “Did you finish?” he asked. “I know you’ve been working…”

  She nodded. “Yeah. Thanks. I…well it’s been hard.” And then as if she’d changed her mind, she shook her head, all traces of her exhaustion gone. “But I’m sorry.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “For? Excuse me? Mel, I…” He broke off because once he put his hand on the table, she immediately removed hers. As if she couldn’t bear to touch him.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  She ran off, leaving him sitting at the table, alone, wondering what he should do, full of words, full of sarcasm with no clue how to deal with any of it. Dammit. He was…trying to make something serious and there he was, looking like a complete moron. He held his breath and did the only thing he could. He waited.

  *****

  Melanie threw cold water on her face, as she stood in the bathroom, slowly losing her mind. She wasn’t ready. She couldn’t do this. But she had to. He deserved to be taken care of at least once in his life, and if she was going to break her own heart in the process, let it be for that kind of good cause.

  Resolve. And so she took another deep breath, walked out of the bathroom and headed towards their table.

  “Hey…” he said, concern in his eyes once she sat back down. “You know you matter…I mean really matter to me.”

  “I wish it didn’t matter this much,” she said, staring at the woodwork beyond. Anywhere but at him, anywhere but into his eyes. “I…can’t do this, Chris. No. Not anymore. Not to you, not to me…”

  “But Mel, you…you get me and…”

  She shook her head, and this time, she let him see the tears that had refused to fall since they’d been on an airplane on the way to Ontario. “No. I want to, I really want to. And in a different world, we’d be perfect. So perfect, that this would be it for me, that you would be it.” She stood up once again, swallowed and brushed his cheek with trembling fingers. “But life isn’t perfect, not when you need to be low profile and I won’t be able to hide once the new book comes out. And I won’t cause your life to go upside down because I’m selfish. So this is goodbye.” So before she lost her nerve, she left the table, the restaurant and walked onto the street outside. Against the bitter cold, she stood and waved her arm in the air, hoping a taxi would take her away from the misery threatening to overwhelm her.

  Chapter Fifteen

  One Week Later

  His skates cut through the ice on the Tarrytown reservoir as easily as they did on the ice in Brooklyn. It was chilly, cold down to his bones. Reminded him of home in a way most things in New York had no chance of doing. Usually he didn’t need that, but dealing with something like this, he did. He needed to be able to think in a way that running the city streets, or even in Central Park, never inspired him to.

  The wind blew through his hair, his heart pounded against his chest. She’d left him. Left him. For his own good, she’d said. Fuck ‘his own good’. At least what she thought was his own good. He could go back to school if they sent him down, or released him, either of which would be easier than the continued benching. Go back to Montreal and finish the year he had left at McGill, then maybe get a PhD in economics, or an MBA and make the financial planning/accounting/advising stuff he’d been doing his real job. He wasn’t without options.

  Michaels was the only game in town, but he didn’t have
to play. Maybe he’d go somewhere else. He’d see. But he needed Mel to understand that she was more important to him than hockey. More importantly, he needed to remind her that he wasn’t a one trick pony. He had more to recommend himself than a career in professional sports.

  *****

  Melanie was looking over the email from her agent. He’d pulled together all the travel commitments the publisher wanted, all the media tours they’d booked in conjunction with the new book—the one she’d written last year. When she was not dealing with a broken heart.

  She recognized the usual mix of blogs, cities across the country, a few TV and radio shows along with some new things. And an event scheduled next week with an organization she didn’t recognize.

  She blinked and called her agent’s office; he answered her questions better over the phone than in any other method. “What’s this ‘Empire Bridge Foundation’? What do they do?”

  “That’s the one you asked about last month—the one that got the proceeds from that casino night you went to. Your publisher’s PR people loved the idea and organized some kind of ‘Skating with the Authors’ for the kids and more importantly, their mothers. You were on deadline, but I set it up so that you can decide within the next few days if you want to do it. You’re not on the list officially but if you want, you’ll be a surprise guest.”

  “Thanks,” she replied. After a few more bits of conversation, she hung up the phone. What was she going to do?

  *****

  It was a summons from Arnie Dawes that brought him into Fort Greene after the morning practice session. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he had to go. A summons from your team owner conquered all.

  “Mr. Dawes, sir?” he called, as he entered into the team owner’s office. “Is everything—”

  “She’s upset. What happened?”

  He laughed ruefully, as he sat in a chair across the oak desk.

  But the team owner tapped his fingers against the desk, focusing on him behind a pair of wire rimmed spectacles. “So? What happened?”

  “She ended it,” he began, deciding there was no other way than to be honest about the situation. “She said it was for my own good.”

  “And because the ownership group has decided to let Michaels hang himself, I’m assuming you haven’t been included on the ‘Skate with the Authors’ event that Empire Bridge is doing Friday?”

  He shook his head, knowing that he was in a very weird position. He didn’t want to whine to the owner but this was a very particular situation. And he had no choice. Especially since the man had just thrown him a rather large bone. “Nope.”

  Dawes nodded, once again tapping his fingers against the desk. “Hmm. Very interesting situation this is,” he said, as he took a sip from the Empires mug that sat on his desk. “Just be prepared to go to that event on Friday, Christopher. We need you.”

  He nodded, clear that the meeting was over, and left the room. He still didn’t know what to do, nor did he know what Dawes expected of him.

  *****

  “I will kill you,” Emily said, as she came into Melanie’s room the next morning. “If you don’t do this thing on Friday.”

  It took Mel a minute to realize what Emily was talking about, partially because she was still catching up on the sleep she’d missed over the past few days. “Why? Why is it so important that I be there?”

  “Because.” Emily sighed as she plopped down on top of the bed where Mel had happily been lying. “Because you’re not a coward. Because these women need to see you. Because they deserve to smile. Because you need to think of someone other than yourself.”

  Melanie rolled her eyes. “It’s too early to be on the sanctimonious trip. You need to give me more concrete answers.”

  “It’s never too early to try and appeal to your good nature, your charitable personality. Besides.” Emily stretched out on the bed, forcing Mel to curl up. “You’re the one who started this. From what I hear, your agent talked to the PR people at your publisher and this is what they cooked up. So you need to do it.”

  “And what do I say if I see him?”

  Emily sighed once more, making Mel feel like she was about three years old. “Say what you need to if you see Chris, the big huge if playing a central role here. We’re dealing with someone who’s in chateau bow-wow for reasons that Michaels won’t really elaborate to the press. I don’t think the man is going to send him to something like this.”

  “But then there’s Uncle Arnie,” Mel interjected. “Arnie will.”

  “Who knows what Uncle Arnie’s going to do. It all depends on what’s going on in general, what he’s in the mood for. All I think,” Emily replied, “is that you need to go and be the ‘Girl in the Lace Corset’. Whatever happens, happens. And, if you decide to fix what you broke—and don’t think I don’t know what happened—then that will fall into place too.”

  Mel nodded, well aware that she had no choice but to attend the event. She didn’t know what would happen, but she’d deal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The first part of Friday’s event was fun. Chatting, signing over hot cocoa and tea, skating with the kids and their mothers on the ice before the kids went off with a group of the Empire players that didn’t include Chris Emerson. Then the real conversation started.

  That was fun too. She let herself go a little, spoke about why she loved writing about Duchesses, about women raised to be powerful and how well they were able to use the power they had to make Regency society better. At least, she told the group who asked her, that’s what she thought. Other writers could have their Dukes, but she liked her Countesses and Duchesses, and the men they loved.

  “Why the regency?” someone asked. “Aren’t there any other periods that intrigue you? Regency is boring.”

  “Regency is home,” she replied. “It’s what I grew up reading, what I studied in College and in Grad school as a result. I love the period, love using what I learned in the books that I write. Not that I give all the details because they’d be boring in the end, but the details that I learned through my course of study have been turned into some of the best books I’ve written.”

  The comfortable chatter that followed made Melanie very happy. Unfortunately, it was the calm before the storm.

  “So,” interjected the young woman who was in charge of the event, “we’re going to have a fun competition we like to call ‘Skating With the Authors.’ Each author will be paired with a hockey player, and it’s up to each one of you to skate with your hockey player to a win.”

  A pause and one of the boards opened up, revealing someone standing in skates. And familiar blue streaks in his hair…

  Mel’s stomach twisted. Not in a good way.

  “And because we’ve got more authors than hockey players, we’d like to add one more to our list. Please give a great Empire Bridge welcome to a man we’d like to see more of on the ice, our very own Number twenty-seven, Chris Emerson.”

  Oh great, Melanie thought to herself. This, would be fun.

  Not.

  *****

  Some of the guys and some of the authors weren’t having any fun. They were talking, not skating at all, treating this like they’d been chosen for torture. And that didn’t make Chris very happy. The author/hockey player combinations were being watched by women who spent most of their time with a terminally ill child. These women deserved to have a good time. And they deserved to grin along with people who were clearly enjoying themselves.

  And so he came out onto the ice, searching for Mel, who was leaning against the boards, giving tips to some of the other authors. Girl could skate.

  “Come on, miss,” he said grinning, bowing over her hand. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”

  She looked at him, as if she was having trouble figuring out what he was looking for, what he wanted. And then she nodded. “All right.”

  A slow, languid song with the potential to kick butt started to play over the arena’s speakers and, as the famous country s
inger began his refrain against the guitars, he took Mel’s hands, watching as she skated and swayed to the music. But she wasn’t moving the way he wanted her to.

  “Hips,” he said, grinning at her, his hands moving to those parts of her body, leaving hers to grasp his shoulders. “Come on,” he encouraged as he moved her hips, first one then the other. “Leave it to me.”

  She blushed; he could feel the embarrassment rolling off of her like waves. Felt it dissipate into the air as the guys cheered her on.

  “You can do it!”

  “They’re watching.”

  He nodded, not really sure what he was agreeing to, even as the authors joined the guys with whistles, and for the first time, not really caring.

  “They can see.”

  It wasn’t exactly a whine, but it was close. And so he took her hands back, satisfied she was loose on the ice despite her nerves, and skated her around a little bit more. “So,” he murmured. “Let’s give them a show. Because I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. This is real, Mel, and I’m not letting go.”

  “I…”

  “Shhh,” he replied, moving, leaning in and kissing her cheek as her hips swayed to the beat of the song. “You leaving,” he whispered into her ear as he pulled her close, “totally not for my own good. Because, here’s the thing.” He took her hand, and skated backwards, then pulled her in close again, just like some of those pairs skaters did.

  “There’s more to me than hockey. Not that you don’t know that, but what I’m telling you is that I’m in purgatory right now. I’m not playing and don’t have you. You need to be out, loud and proud in the public with your books, and that’s awesome. I can sit back and do financial planning. I’m cool with that. Because if I don’t have you, nothing else really matters.”