Cold Hard Truth

  “Not likely. Not with you.”

  A whole bunch of sarcastic comments came to Emmie’s mind, but they were overridden by a head full of romantic mush. Max might have been surprised to learn she was even capable of it.

  Across the room, Chris yelled, “Duck! That guy’s got a grenade launcher pointed right at you.” And Marissa yelled back, “I can’t figure out the right button.” Max and Emmie glanced over at Chris and Marissa, then raised their eyebrows at each other. Something was going on between those two.

  “You should play sometime,” Max said, his fingers tracing the lines of her collarbone. “After your badassery the other day, you could totally manage a little COD.”

  “Yeah,” Emmie said, and then she went quiet.

  “Now what are you thinking?” Max asked. By this time, his hands had moved to her back, and he ran his fingertips up and down her spine. Her arms turned to gooseflesh.

  “Dan,” Emmie said with a shake of her head. Her father had talked to one of the arresting officers. Seemed Dan had been too ambitious with the amount of work he’d been taking on—supervising several juvenile day crews, plus an overnight work crew with adults. He’d been taking on more and more responsibility because he was up against someone else for department head when the current guy retired. Basically, Dan was looking for ways to stay alert.

  Emmie’s heart hurt. She’d seen drugs screw up too many lives, and she hoped that Dan would somehow find his way.

  Max cursed under his breath. “If I wasn’t so comfortable right now—not to mention a recovering maniac, who’d like to graduate from his program—I might track Dan down and beat him senseless.”

  “Probably not a good idea,” Emmie said with a little smile.

  “I wonder if Cardigan John knows yet.”

  They both fell silent after that, listening to their friends bicker and the sounds of grenades. The wind and sleet beat against the glass patio door. The light from the TV flickered across the darkened room, and Emmie let herself sink into the couch cushions, weighed down by the warm heat of Max’s arms.

  “I love you,” he said, and his dark lashes lifted to reveal the honesty behind those words.

  Emmie’s breath caught in her chest. She wanted to say it back, but instead it came out as “I don’t mind that.”

  “Me neither,” he said, and it didn’t seem to bother him that she hadn’t said it back.

  Max touched Emmie’s chin with his fingers and tipped her head up toward his. Their eyes met for one long moment, and then he tipped his head, his mouth slanting against hers, taking the kiss to a whole new level. The taste of him drove Emmie a little insane, and so did the low growl he made at the back of his throat when she nipped at his lower lip.

  Max reached to the back of the couch and pulled an afghan down over their bodies. They could have gone on forever. Emmie almost wished that they would. But then Jordy yelled, “Hey, get a room, you two. You’re making it hard to concentrate on the game.”

  “Yeah?” Max said, turning his head toward his friends. “Well, it’s only going to get harder from here.”

  There was a beat of silence, and then Chris, Jody, and Lindsey yelled out together, “That’s what she said!”

  Max pressed his forehead to Emmie’s, and his whole body shook with silent laughter that went right through her, warming her from the inside out.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  FOR THE LOVE OF THE GAME

  THE NEXT AFTERNOON

  “Hello?”

  Emmie’s head jerked up when she heard her mother’s voice over the speakerphone. She’d wondered why her father insisted she sit with him in the kitchen while he made a phone call. Just to hear her mother’s voice was a violation of the no-contact order, so she was surprised her lawyer father was allowing it. She mouthed the words thank you.

  Her father blinked and cleared his throat. “Renee, it’s Tom. Listen, I’m calling because I owe you an apology.”

  “I doubt that,” her mother said, and Emmie was relieved to hear how good her voice sounded. Stronger. Healthier than she’d sounded in quite some time.

  “Tom,” her mother said, sounding startled, “do you have me on…?” She stopped talking then.

  Emmie covered her mouth with her hand to tell her father she knew to stay quiet, even if her mom now guessed they were breaking the rules. Her father sat down in a chair next to Emmie.

  Her mother carried on. “Tom, it’s me who should be apologizing.”

  Emmie’s father bowed his head. “I thought you had given our address out to some bad people. I was wrong about that. I shouldn’t have blamed you.”

  Her mother didn’t respond.

  Emmie leaned forward and whispered in her father’s ear. “Tell her I miss her. Tell her to get better.”

  Emmie thought she heard a whimper come through the phone. Despite Emmie’s silent protest, her father filled her mother in on all that had gone down.

  Emmie’d heard her mother cry before—usually when she was strung out or begging Nick for a fix—but never for anyone else. The sound made Emmie grip the table just to keep her body still and her voice quiet.

  When it was over, Emmie sucked in a breath when she heard the words she so desperately needed: “I’m sorry. Will you tell her that for me, Tom? Please? Tell her…I love you, baby.”

  Emmie and her father locked eyes. “I can tell her that,” he said, his voice softer than Emmie’d ever heard it before.

  “I know I’ve still got a lot of work to do. On me. On us. I’ve done too much damage to just be…forgiven.” The last word came out in broken syllables, as if she was ashamed of even suggesting the possibility. “But, Emmie?”

  Emmie’s head jerked up at the sound of her name.

  “My baby?” The word sounded like a plea. “She needs to know I’m working on it.”

  “Yeah.” Emmie’s father’s eyes were brimming. “I’ll tell her, Renee. Take care of yourself. Goodbye.”

  Emmie sat back against her chair. It would be months before they’d be allowed to meet in person, and then only under supervision, but her mother’s words left Emmie hopeful they’d put their relationship back together.

  That hopefulness led to a happy afternoon, and that happy afternoon lent itself to an exciting two weeks as the White Prairie Jack Rabbits worked their way through the state hockey tournament, ultimately finding themselves in the championship game once again.

  Emmie waited at the corner of the rink as the players did their warm-up laps around the oval. By now, she didn’t even have to look for Max’s jersey number. She could pick him out just by his posture, his gait, and the way he held his stick. Of course…there was also the way he slowed each time he passed her corner, turning his head in her direction.

  Marissa found Emmie right before the teams took to their respective benches and the announcer called out the captains. “Should we get a seat? It’s getting pretty crowded.”

  Emmie followed Marissa up into the stands and settled herself in between Marissa and Sarah. Olivia was there, too, plus another thousand more.

  Olivia had a sign that said Kiss Me, I’m a Rabbit, which—Emmie guessed—had something to do with tonight being Valentine’s Day. Sarah had a sign too. Hers said WE’RE QUICK AS A BUNNY, and she held it up over her head when John Tackenberg lifted his stick in the air to salute the crowd.

  Marissa linked her arm through Emmie’s, causing a sudden rush of warmth to flood Emmie’s previously cynical heart. She belonged here. These were her people. And tonight she would be with Max. He’d asked her to go with him after the game to do something. Something important. Whatever it was, she was honored that he would choose to bring her along.

  When the puck finally dropped, the crowd shot to its collective feet. Emmie had to stand on tiptoes to see over the heads in front of her. She searched the ice until she found Max, his head down, his body focused. Good. He looked good. He looked controlled.

  The crowd roared in Emmie’s ears. Sticks slapped at the
ice. Bodies crashed against the boards. Men’s voices shouted. Words meant for the players, the refs, and the coaches bounced off the plexiglass and back at the crowd.

  The first period ended 0-0. So did the second. The teams were evenly matched, and Emmie wondered who’d be the first to break.

  As the clock ticked down on the third period, Chris and Max were on the bench. “This shit is not coming down to a shootout,” Chris said. Max nodded. The lines changed.

  Chris sent Max a pass, and he curled the puck into himself, faking out a defenseman. He was heading down center ice, his blades cutting in with powerful strokes. He crossed the blue line and the rest of the team followed, finding their zones.

  Chris found Max, who banged his stick against the ice with two sharp taps. Tack crossed in front of the goal, and Max blinked the sweat out of his eyes. A North High School defenseman followed Max along the edge of the boards, and then Max cut toward center.

  His stomach clenched in anticipation because he saw his shot. If he didn’t hesitate, it was his. His legs tightened, and his shoulders swung. Without really looking, he knew that Chris was reading him right. He blocked out his guy and positioned himself for the rebound, but Max knew he wouldn’t need it.

  With one powerful swing, his stick made contact with the puck and sent it flying. The goalie snagged it out of the air and tossed it aside for his Number Twelve, who took the puck back down toward White Prairie ice.

  Max cursed under his breath, then gathered himself. There was still time.

  Brody came in, battling Number Twelve along the boards. Chris poked the puck away from Number Twelve, but North’s Number Three picked up the loose puck again and slid it along to his forward.

  They were all down in the White Prairie zone now, but North’s forward dropped the puck and Max picked it up. He brought it behind White Prairie’s net and tried to deflect it out of the zone, but he was checked—hard—from behind by Twelve. Max’s neck snapped back, and he hit the ice like he’d been dropped from a two-story building, so hard that it knocked his helmet off.

  Number Twelve should have had a penalty, but there was no whistle. The crowd held its collective breath as Max was slow to his feet. Get up, he thought. Get up.

  It took a second for Max to get his bearings. His head was spinning, and dark spots blossomed in front of his eyes. He got to his knees. When his vision cleared, he saw the puck, still in White Prairie’s zone, held up in the corner by Twelve, with Brody on him like a tick.

  Max had an existential moment, as if he was connected to everyone in the arena and could read their minds. They expected him to enter the fray. They expected him to explode on Twelve. But he held his position.

  Number Twelve passed it off to Three in the center, but Jordy, who’d just got off the bench with fresh legs, stole the puck and passed it to Max who was coming up the center strong. Max snagged the puck and was moving fast on the breakaway back toward North’s net, elbows out, legs pumping, the puck moving left, right, left, right, totally in control, in the sweet spot right in front of him. Max crossed North’s blue line as the clock hit :05.

  :04

  Without his helmet, he felt weightless and fast.

  :03

  North’s goalie found his stance, wide and imposing. He seemed to consume the entire net.

  Max pulled back his stick and passed the puck to Jordy.

  :02.

  Jordy’s blade made contact with the puck, sending it sailing and catching the only piece of net left uncovered. The goalie’s head turned. His glove came up a second too late. The puck found the net, and the clock hit :00 just as the red flashing light started to swirl over the net.

  Keller with the goaaallllll! The crowd went ballistic. Feet stomping on the metal bleachers, the band blasting out the school song, until the decibel level was so high in the arena that many had to cover their ears.

  Jordy raced toward Max, and they fell together onto the ice, their teammates piling on top. Their weight above and the solid ice below made it hard for Max to force the air in and out of his lungs. But he decided it was the good kind of breathlessness, the kind that could make him feel crushed and yet weightless and so glad to be alive.

  When the team finally let him up, the crowd was still going crazy. Max raised his fist in the air and found Emmie in the crowd. Her bright-pink cap was a beacon for him. And he couldn’t help but notice that this time…this time she was on her feet, and for all the right reasons.

  Max pointed to the corner of the rink where there was the break in the plexiglass. He hoped she’d understand.

  It didn’t take more than a second. Emmie nodded and shimmied past her friends, heading for the stairs. Max skated slowly away from his still-celebrating teammates, throwing off his gloves. He got to the corner first and watched with anticipation as the color pink bobbed through the crowd gathered along the edge of the rink.

  When she made it to him, her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were bright. “Congratulations, champ,” she said breathily. Her bare fingers clutched at the black netting that spanned the break in the glass.

  “Damn straight,” he said, then leaned against the boards, his face coming up against the net. Emmie did too. When their mouths met in one of the spaces, the net trapped between their foreheads and chins, Max kissed Emmie with everything he had, and she gave the same right back to him. It was both soft and frantic, and said everything they wanted to say but still never had. It could have gone on all night, but they broke apart when the band started to play.

  Max glanced over his shoulder at North High School accepting their second-place medals. When he turned back toward Emmie, he had to laugh.

  “Are you laughing at me?” she asked.

  He nodded. “You’ve got crisscross marks all over your face. You look like a tic-tac-toe board.”

  “And now…” the announcer said.

  “So do you,” Emmie said. “Best put your helmet back on. I think you’re going to be on camera.”

  “Nah,” he said. “Let them see me.”

  “Give it up,” the announcer said, “for the returning champions, your White Prairie Jackrabbits!”

  Before Max skated back to center rink, he gripped Emmie’s fingers through the net. “And then after this,” he said, “you’re still going with me?”

  “Yes,” Emmie said. “Anywhere.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  GOODBYES

  Large, wet snowflakes began to fall as Max and Emmie left the hockey rink, waving goodbye to Chris and Marissa, who were heading toward Chris’s Subaru. Marissa still hadn’t said anything to Emmie about what was going on with the two of them. Emmie glanced at Max, but he only shrugged.

  By now, it was late in the evening, and the heater in Max’s jeep was only doing a half-assed job. Emmie shivered, and Max reached out and wrapped his fingers around hers as he drove on in silence.

  Emmie glanced over at him, and her heart did a neat little trick in her chest. He looked ruggedly handsome, particularly with his cheekbone bruised from when his helmet had been knocked off. But more than how beautiful he looked, what really took her breath away was the certainty that he loved her. He was in love with her. And she was nearly sure she could say it back if he ever said it again.

  Worry crinkled at the corners of his eyes, leaving several thin lines that fanned away toward his temples. Emmie squeezed his hand and smiled reassuringly when he glanced over.

  Fifteen minutes earlier, Max had emerged from the locker room, hair freshly shampooed under his knit cap, and told her he wanted to visit Jade’s grave. She was surprised. But at the same time, she was happy he was ready to make this big step. And happy he wanted her to come with him. It was just one of the ways he told her he loved her.

  “How you doing?” she asked.

  He took his hands off the wheel, cupped them, and blew warm air into the hollow. “Okay. I think. I feel shitty that I haven’t done this before, and it’s making me nervous. I feel like she’s going to chew me o
ut when I get there. Is that weird?”

  “No,” she said. “I’d chew you out if you ignored me for a year.”

  “Not helpful,” Max said with an eye roll.

  “Just keeping it real,” Emmie said, but she laughed too. “I am proud of you though.”

  A small smile touched the corners of his lips before disappearing. Emmie squeezed his hand again in reassurance.

  By the time they arrived at the cemetery, the snow was beginning to accumulate. Max pulled a piece of paper out of his coat pocket and flattened it against the steering wheel. It appeared to be a hand-drawn map with some notations. Following the directions, he drove toward the back of the cemetery and took a left at a gnarled cedar tree, then around a curve to where the pavement ended.

  Jade’s grave was under a grove of three small pines that gave it enough protection from the falling snow so that her stone was still clear and her name was legible. Max parked on the shoulder, but he left the engine running. He didn’t unbuckle his seat belt. Maybe it was enough to come this far. Maybe this was all he could do. The wind picked up and scattered a spray of tiny ice pellets against the windshield. A knot formed in Emmie’s chest.

  “You don’t have to get out,” she said. “Whatever you came to say, you can say it from here, and you don’t even have to say it out loud.”

  “No,” Max said. “I need to do this right.”

  She understood. This whole year, Max had convinced himself that it was his fault, that it was because of his selfishness that a life was snuffed out. All this time, he’d been trying to right injustice, as he perceived it, wherever he found it, but it hadn’t made any difference. It couldn’t bring Jade back, and he’d had to learn to accept that. Life wasn’t about what was fair. Sometimes, it just…was.

  Emmie’d always understood that not everything in life could be controlled. Max said that was why he was attracted to her. It was why he wanted to be near her.