AGAINST THE ICE

Chapter10

My nerves were stretched so tight, I felt like a rubber band, pulled taut and trembling, on the verge of breaking. Dad stood by the glass window of my office, pretending to be a casual onlooker, but I knew he was absorbing every word, every subtle shift in this meeting.

Did Max realize how critical it was to keep our prior connection under wraps?

Worse yet, I was about to lay into him, mercilessly rattling off a list of points my father had dictated.

Sure, I was upset that Max had left me in that hotel room without a goodbye, but it didn’t justify the verbal lashing I was about to unleash. Max had been kind to me, and now I was about to tear him apart with words.

I’d argued with Dad over every point, but he’d been unwavering about how I should confront Max.

A slow knock came at the door. Our eyes locked. Max looked cautious. I rose from behind my desk. “Please, have a seat.”

I gestured to the chair in front of my desk, signaling the formal tone of this meeting, silently urging him not to act like we were familiar.

He crossed the room with an athlete’s effortless grace, and I wondered how I’d failed to notice he was a professional athlete.

I’d grown up around hockey players; I knew their movements, their builds, and Max was unmistakably a hockey player.

It was almost comical that I’d once thought he was a firefighter.

I watched as he settled into the chair. He glanced briefly at my father, who stood with his back to us.

Dad had instructed me to go for the throat, to catch Max off guard and make it clear I was in control.

Those piercing blue eyes met mine again.

I cleared my throat. “Number 33, care to explain why you’re such a fool?”

His eyes widened, stunned. “Pardon?”

“You’re a phenomenal hockey player. Possibly the best in the league, yet we paid more for some of our third-stringers than we did for you. Any idea why?”

He sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing, but he stayed silent.

“Either you haven’t figured it out, which makes you a fool, or you know exactly why but can’t rein yourself in, which makes you an even bigger fool. So, which is it clueless fool or reckless fool?” That last line was Dad’s, one he’d insisted I deliver.

Max’s jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring, but he only responded with a cold, steady stare. Sweat prickled my skin as I glanced at my notes.

“Maybe money doesn’t matter to you. Lesser players are cashing in while you nearly lost your contract when Minnesota put you up for trade. Do you even care about the money?”

His blue eyes narrowed to slits, his body still but radiating emotion. “Yes.”

“How much?”

“Excuse me?”

“The question, Number 33, is whether you care enough to play for this team. That’s what I need to know. You could earn a fortune here if you follow our rules. So, do you care enough to comply?”

He stared, silent, his emotions crackling in the air frustration and anger aimed squarely at me.

I opened his file and grabbed a stack of 9x11 glossies showing him in compromising situations. I flung them across the desk, and he lunged forward to catch them.

His expression darkened as he looked at the photos.

I cleared my throat again, but I couldn’t hide the hurt and disappointment in my voice. “I can’t decide which I like better your mug shot or the photo of you naked on a hotel balcony with not one, not two, but three naked women.”

His eyes flicked up to mine. I couldn’t meet his gaze, needing to conceal how those images hit me. I busied myself with papers on my desk. “You’ll work with our media team for training. Until we say you’re ready, you won’t speak to reporters, no offhand remarks, no casual quips, not even a glance at a camera. You’ll stay off social media, yours and everyone else’s.”

I handed him his schedule. “This lists the community charities we support. You’ll volunteer ten hours a month, minimum. There are mandatory events, like the kids’ skate-a-thon and the Autumn Gala. If you make the team.”

Max studied the paper, tension knotting his neck muscles. “Anything to say?”

“No.”

I glanced at Dad, wondering if he’d chime in, but he stood motionless, his back still turned. The room grew silent, as cold as a January night in New York.

“You’re dismissed.”

Max stood slowly, towering over me as he offered the photos back. I looked up, startled by the raw emotion on his face his jaw tight, muscles rigid, eyes a stormy sea of feeling.

I dropped my gaze, unable to face him. This man had been nothing but good to me, and I’d just drawn a line in the ice, making it clear I held all the power. This meeting wasn’t fair, and we both knew it.

“Keep the photos. Your slate’s clean for now, but we won’t be so forgiving if you mess up again. We won’t be as lenient as Minnesota.”

He flinched at the mention of his old team. He tossed the photos onto my desk and, with deliberate steps, turned and headed for the door.

Dad glanced at me, raising an eyebrow. He wanted me to deliver the final blow, a line he’d crafted and made me memorize a cheap shot meant to provoke an emotional reaction and test Max’s control.

Max was almost at the door. I cleared my throat. “One last thing, thirty-three.”

His entire body tensed, but he didn’t turn or speak.

“If you ever disrespect me again, like you did today, you’re done. You’ll be stuck in some sad, lonely beer league, and that’ll be the end of your hockey career. This is your last shot. Don’t forget it.”

He stood frozen, and for one agonizing moment, I thought he’d turn and let me have it.

Go. Just leave.

Without a word, he walked out of my office and vanished from sight.