Icebreaker

by Deirdre Martin

  “What can I get you?” Rawson asked.

  “Corona.”

  Rawson nodded and went to get their drinks. Adam took in his surroundings; the walls of the bar were decorated with huge, color photos of some of the best athletes who’d ever played hockey and basketball at Met Gar, Ty Gallagher among them. Adam’s eyes lit on a team picture of the Blades on the ice, gathered around the last Stanley Cup they’d won. Envy flared up inside him. He was going to have that experience this season if it killed him.

  Rawson returned with their beers, sitting down across from Adam, who was watching him carefully.

  “So what’s the deal?” Adam asked.

  Rawson looked embarrassed. “Look, this hard-on Welsh has got for you? I don’t agree with it. I think it’s bullshit.”

  “Yeah?” Adam was skeptical.

  “Yeah. The only reason I do what Welsh wants me to do is because I need this job. Otherwise, I’d go tell him to fuck himself.”

  “Go on. I’m listening.”

  “I don’t know why he’s got it out for you, but he does. It’s like he’s on a mission from God to bring you down. He’s fucking obsessed with it.”

  “No shit. It’s obvious the officials have been told to crack down and are listening to him loud and clear.”

  Rawson grimaced. “Yeah, I know. It’s embarrassing.”

  “So you wanted to have a drink with me to tell me Welsh is out to get me? I’ve pretty much figured that out.”

  “No, it was important to me that you know that my doing Welsh’s dirty work is nothing personal. I think you’re a great player, Adam. You embody the old-time values; you play the game the way it’s meant to be played. I respect you. But like I said, I need this job. Integrity isn’t going to pay my bills; you hear what I’m saying? Sometimes a guy has to do what he has to do.”

  “I hear ya,” Adam murmured, feeling bad for him.

  Rawson looked relieved. “Good. Because I’d hate you to think I feel the same way Welsh does.”

  “Welsh . . .” Adam shook his head, puzzled. “Why me, man? There are so many goons still in the league; why does he have to go after guys who are physical but can actually play?”

  “I know,” Rawson agreed. “Part of the problem is, the guy’s not a hockey person. He’s a suit. He’s a corporate lawyer. The board of governors brought him in to break the union and help them ratchet up revenues.”

  Adam took a slug of beer. “Yeah, well, he’s a lawyer who’s pissing up the wrong tree, I can tell you that.”

  Rawson sniggered. “He’ll find that out soon enough, won’t he?”

  “Yep.” Adam took another slug of beer. “You miss playing, Teddy?”

  “Every goddamn day.”

  “You skated the Cup once, right?”

  “Yeah. Toronto, 1967.” He looked nostalgic. “Greatest night of my life. Even greater than when my daughter was born, but don’t tell my wife that.”

  Adam laughed. “Game six of the finals that year was amazing. When you were elbowed in the face in the middle of the third period and you pulled your own teeth out on the bench and didn’t miss a shift? I remember watching that game clip and thinking, ‘That’s how tough I want to be.’ ”

  “And you are.” Rawson took a drink. “The league has changed so much since then. It’s a damn shame.”

  “I agree.”

  “Not much we can do. I wish there was some way I could help you out, Adam.”

  “Hey, no worries, Teddy, okay?”

  “Okay.” He lifted his beer bottle. “To old-time hockey,” he toasted.

  Adam clinked his bottle against Rawson’s. “Old-time hockey.”

  25

  “This place is amazing.”

  Adam stood on the deck of Sinead’s weekend house, marveling at the panoramic view. The house, all wood and glass, was perched high atop a hill looking out over rolling green meadows and mountains. Adam couldn’t believe she didn’t come up here every free moment she had. It was beautiful and peaceful, no sound at all but the wind winding through the trees and the occasional cow mooing in the distance. No honking horns, no trucks backfiring, no fire engines . . . he loved it. Manhattan was great, but given the choice, this was where he’d choose to be.

  Sinead joined him on the deck, her hair pulled back in a taut ponytail, sunglasses perched on her head. Even when she “dressed down” in jeans and a simple T-shirt, she was gorgeous. It bugged him a bit that she insisted on being the one to drive up here, but since it was her car, he really didn’t have a leg to stand on. She told him he was sexist. He preferred to think of it as traditional. It felt weird being in the passenger seat. At least he’d won the battle for what music they played on the drive up. Sinead tried to foist jazz on him, but he couldn’t take it. He tried, but he couldn’t. He liked straight-on classic rock; luckily, she didn’t complain.

  Sinead took a deep breath. “Gorgeous, isn’t it?”

  “It’s amazing. It must be beautiful in the winter, too.”

  “It is, though the driveway can be a bitch when it snows. I can’t tell you how many times we—I—got stuck going up and down.”

  Adam touched her arm. “It’s okay to say ‘we.’ It doesn’t bother me.” He paused. “You still haven’t told me what it was, exactly, that finally made you two pull the plug.”

  “We just wanted different things,” Sinead said stiffly. “That’s all.”

  Adam decided not to push. It was obviously a sore subject, one she wasn’t prepared to open up about yet. He kissed her shoulder and then put his arm around her. “Relax.”

  She gave him an odd look. “I am relaxed.”

  He kneaded her shoulder. “Relax more.”

  Sinead laughed, feathering her index finger along his jawline. “This was a good idea.”

  “I agree.”

  “Does being in the country make you homesick?”

  The question took Adam by surprise. “A little, I guess. I miss people more than the place, you know?”

  “How’s Ray?”

  Adam chuckled, shaking his head. “He’s Ray. Always busting my balls. He wants to come down if the Blades make the playoffs.”

  “That would be great. And your brother?”

  “I’ll invite him down, but he probably won’t come.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sinead murmured sympathetically.

  Adam shrugged. “It is what it is.”

  “Mr. Stoic.”

  “That’s me.”

  “Hungry?”

  “Starved.”

  “Good. I asked the caretaker to load up the fridge with food. We’ll see what he got, and then maybe tomorrow we’ll decide on something we want for dinner and go into town to shop.” Sinead paused. “Unless you want to eat in town tomorrow night. There are some really nice little cafés.”

  “Are you kidding me? The only human being I want to see this weekend is you.”

  Sinead blushed. “I’m flattered.”

  Adam sweetly kissed the side of her face. “I mean it.”

  She slipped out from under his arm, extending a hand to his. “Let’s have lunch.”

  “Venison, I hope. Shot here in these very same woods.”

  “You’re pushing it, mister. C’mon.”

  Sinead lay propped up on one elbow, head resting in her palm, watching Adam sleep. He’d just finished “massaging” her following a long hike, and after a more than respectable period of afterglow, he’d drifted off. Sinead envied him: she’d never been able to nap. The minute her head hit the pillow, her mind began its rapid-fire assault, bombarding her with worries and to-do lists and replays of her day. No wonder she had insomnia: she was incapable of relaxing. Until now.

  I could lie here all day like this, she thought. There was something wantonly delicious about rolling around in bed naked in the middle of the day. She smiled to herself. They’d have to come up here more often.

  Reaching out, she carefully pushed a lock of damp hair off Adam’s forehead, noticing for the f
irst time a small, thin scar along his hairline. An old hockey injury, no doubt. She lightly traced her index finger along the needle-thin white line. Close as she now felt to him, there was still so much to learn about him. She felt greedy; she wanted to know it all right now. But being with Adam was a little like watching a striptease: what lay beneath his surface was revealed very slowly and carefully. It tantalized, teased at the imagination. But there was no doubt in her mind that the payoff would be worth it.

  She contemplated tiptoeing out of the room to call Maggie, then thought better of it. She’d wait until the weekend was over and save up all the news to tell her sister at once.

  As if he knew he was being watched, Adam opened his eyes with a groggy smile. “What are you doing? You should be resting your muscles.”

  “I can rest them and look at you at the same time.”

  “Your multitasking skills impressed me from the get-go.”

  Sinead fit herself into the crook of his arm, resting her head on his chest. They lay there quietly. Finally, Sinead asked, “What are you thinking?” Her head popped up. “No, wait: men hate that question, don’t they?”

  “Pretty much, but I’ll answer it, anyway.” He paused. “I was thinking about retirement.”

  Sinead was perplexed. “Why?”

  “Because when I retire, this is exactly the kind of place I want to live in.”

  “The house?”

  “The house, the setting, all of it. I want to wake up and hear nothing but the birds and the breeze. I want to be able to walk out my front door and take a hike, or hop in my jeep and in five minutes, be able to hunt or fish.”

  Sinead let out a careful breath. “Kind of early to be thinking about retirement, isn’t it?”

  “Not for a professional athlete,” Adam said, his expression slightly bitter. “I’m thirty-five; that’s about eighty in hockey years. I don’t want to be one of those guys who just won’t let it go and winds up playing only on power plays for some European team. I want to go out on a high note—unless I end up in jail.”

  “You’re not going to jail,” Sinead scoffed. Even so, she was beginning to feel perturbed. “So that’s all you’d do all day? Hike and fish and hunt?”

  “For a while,” Adam mused. “Until I figured out what’s next.” He studied her with interest. “You?”

  “Me?”

  “What do you picture your retirement to look like?” Sinead lay flat on her back, looking at the high-beamed cathedral ceiling. “Actually, I don’t see why I should retire. As long as I’m active and alert and enjoy what I do, why retire?”

  “I wish I had that option.” He was studying her intently. “But if you did retire, you’d want to come here, right?”

  “God, no,” Sinead blurted. She backpedaled. “I mean, I love it here, don’t get me wrong. But twelve months a year? I think I’d go crazy. There’s really not much to do up here.”

  “Isn’t that kind of the point?”

  “If that’s your personality,” Sinead reasoned. “But it’s not mine.” She turned to look at him. “I’m a city girl, born and bred. I really can’t imagine ever living anywhere but Manhattan.”

  “Even if you had a kid?”

  The question took Sinead by surprise. “I don’t know. I’m sure the schools here aren’t very good—at least not compared to Manhattan.”

  “But wouldn’t you rather have your kid grow up here than surrounded by steel and glass?”

  “I grew up surrounded by steel and glass, and I seem to have done okay for myself,” Sinead replied testily.

  “True.”

  Sinead grew uneasy. On the one hand, she couldn’t help thinking that since he was feeling her out about something light-years away (at least for her), then he was picturing their relationship long-term. But on the other hand, it was glaringly obvious they weren’t on the same page, and it worried her.

  “Bit early to talk about those things now, don’t you think?” Sinead pointed out, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit.

  “I suppose.”

  “Let’s just go with the flow.”

  Adam looked amused. “Those are words I never, ever expected to hear come from your mouth.”

  “Believe me, I know,” Sinead agreed dryly. “But maybe I’m starting to learn you can’t control everything.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “Look who’s talking,” said Sinead, snuggling up against him. “Maybe together we can take the intensity down a notch.”

  “Deal.” Adam rolled toward her with a wicked grin. “You look like you need another massage . . .”

  Sinead’s state of relaxation lasted until she set foot in the office Monday morning. She had no sooner grabbed a cup of coffee than her assistant, Simone, frantically waved her over to her desk.

  “What’s up?”

  “The partners came down on Oliver. He showed up here drunk out of his mind on Friday. They told him either go into rehab or he’d be fired.”

  “Please tell me he chose rehab. Please.”

  “He did, but only after making a major scene.”

  “I had my own go round with Oliver. Maybe this is the kick in the butt he finally needs.”

  “Maybe. Anyway, I e-mailed you the address and phone number of where he is.”

  “Thanks, Simone,” said Sinead, patting her shoulder. She started for her office. “One more thing,” Simone said.

  Sinead turned. “What’s that?”

  “Mr. Kaplan said he wants to see you as soon as you get in.”

  “Right,” Sinead said grimly as she started down the hall to Jeff’s office. She was glad she didn’t see Oliver’s melt-down. She made a mental note to call the rehab facility as soon as she could.

  She knocked on Jeff’s door and then poked her head in. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Yes.” Jeff’s tone was serious. He didn’t even look up from his desk as Sinead walked in. A bolt of panic hit her. What if he knew about her and Adam?

  Sinead sat on the couch opposite her boss. He looked troubled as he lifted his head to look at her.

  “How was your weekend?” he asked solicitously. Sinead could see how hard he was working not to take his bad mood out on her, and she appreciated it.

  “Nice.”

  “Do anything special?”

  Oh, God, he knows. No, he doesn’t. He asks you this all the time. Relax.

  “I went up to the house in Bearsville,” Sinead said evenly. “You?”

  “Junior high soccer game. Howard did well.”

  “Good.” Sinead sipped her coffee, waiting.

  “I assume you heard about Oliver,” he said carefully.

  “Simone told me. How awful was it?”

  “Pretty awful. He trashed his office.”

  Sinead winced.

  “But he agreed to go to rehab, which is good,” said Jeff, looking relieved. “However, it does leave us with a problem.”

  “Yes?”

  “Oliver’s pending cases. We don’t know yet how long he’ll be in there. In the meantime, we want you to take over two of his cases.”

  Sinead wasn’t stunned, but she was surprised, especially after he’d requested she take on the Joyce Toys lawsuit.

  “And those are—?”

  “High-profile divorce case and a fraud case.”

  “The one where the Realtor failed to tell his client that he owned the property the client was buying?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see.” It was a complicated case that had been going on for months. As for the divorce case, that one was ugly as hell, with outrageous, damning accusations flying back and forth. Oliver had been getting a kick out of that one.

  “You don’t look enthused,” noted Jeffrey.

  “I’m just surprised, that’s all.” Sinead took another sip of coffee. “Actually, I’m flattered.”

  “You’re incredibly capable. And now that you’re wrapping up those smaller-billing cases, that should free you up to work o
n these, yes?”

  “Definitely,” Sinead fibbed. Those cases were still open; Sinead wanted to give her less affluent clients some time to pay her back. But she knew that eventually, she was going to have to collect.

  Jeffrey looked pleased. “We knew you’d be up to the challenge. Plus it’ll up your billing that much faster.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence.”

  Jeffrey splayed his hands on the desk, his expression much lighter than when Sinead had walked in.

  “Anything else?” Sinead asked.

  “Nope, that’s it for now. We put Oliver’s files in your office. Didn’t want you to have to deal with the carnage in his office.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He went back to the paperwork on his desk. Sinead left the office, quietly closing the door behind her. Be careful what you wish for, she thought. Oliver’s cases on top of the Joyce Toys lawsuit . . . shit. You can do it. You’ve had this much on your plate before; you can do it again. Just take it as it comes.

  “I’m doing all I can, Adam. You know that.”

  Sinead was working at home when Adam unexpectedly showed up. Her brain was about to burst: first Jeff pressuring her to wrap up the smaller-billing cases, then being handed Oliver’s cases on top of her own, and now Adam telling her she needed to push the DA on his case, as if she didn’t know that already.

  It didn’t help that Oliver had given her a laundry list five miles long of stuff he needed her to bring to the rehab facility, another chore on her plate. Not that she’d be able to see him until he detoxed, but she was allowed to drop stuff off for him, all of which would be searched. It was like he was moving in; she half expected him to ask her to bring his humidor.

  At least she’d figured out how to wrap up the small cases around her neighborhood quickly: she used her own money to pay what they owed her. She had the cash, many of them didn’t, and she refused to bug them for money they didn’t have, especially since she’d known most of them since childhood. She should have done them pro bono, anyway.