Page 70 of Tough Call

“No. No, not really. Just…” He wiped a hand over his face and sat back in his chair. As he turned his glass between his fingers, his expression contemplative, he said, “He’s been working on my extension with Genève. And there are a couple of other Swiss teams interested in me.”

I studied him. “That’s… a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.” He sighed as if it absolutely wasn’t. “It’s just depressing because I had that hope for a little while about playing in North America again.”

“Ooh. Yeah.” I grimaced. “That really sucks.”

Madars nodded. Bringing his glass up to his lips, he murmured, “Just my stupid luck getting hurt at the Games right in front of the scout, I guess.”

“Damn. They’re really going to pass you up because of that? It wasn’t exactly a career ender.”

“No, but they’ll want to see me actually return to game play before they take a chance on me. And if they don’t sign me now, then I’ll re-sign with Switzerland, probably for two or three years, so…” Madars sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d spelled that part out before, and why it wasn’t ideal if he wanted to get back into the NAL.

I nodded. “I’m sorry. That sucks. It’s still possible, though. Down the line.”

“I know,” he whispered. “Anything could happen. It’s just… hard not to think the ship is sailing.”

“I get that.” I touched his forearm but didn’t let the contact linger. Not out in public. “I’d be bummed out over it, too.”

He gazed at me across the table, and a small, tentative smile played at his lips. “Maybe everything works out the way it’s supposed to. I wish it had worked out differently, but if I were heading to North America next season, we couldn’t…” He gestured at me, then himself.

My heart fluttered even as a pang of guilt prodded my insides. “That’s true. And I’m glad we’re doing this. I just wish it wasn’t because… you know…”

He waved that away. “I still have hockey. It won’t be in the NAL, but I’m still playing.” He half-shrugged. “I can’t complain too much.”

“True. How is your knee today?”

“Eh, it’s a little achy from the cobblestones yesterday, but…” He half-shrugged. “It’s fine.” With a dry laugh, he added, “I’m still salty that Genève didn’t hold on just a little longer, I could have joined them in the postseason.”

I chuckled. “Those bastards.”

“Right? Fuck them.”

We both laughed.

“Anyway.” He smiled with a little more feeling. “I’ll be okay. Even if the NAL never looks my direction again, I still get to play hockey professionally.” He ran his toe along the inside of my ankle. “And I have you. I can’t really complain too much.”

“Well, let’s see what you say after you’ve lived with me for a while.”

“To be fair,” he said, eyes dancing with mischief, “I have lived with you. And that was when you were an obnoxious teenager.”

“Hey, fuck you!” I laughed. “Act like you weren’t an obnoxious teenager. I mean, you were a hockey player, for fuck’s sake.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

We exchanged playful glares, then both chuckled and went for our coffees. I felt bad that his career had hit this bump—that the opportunity to play in the NAL had been so close, only to slip through his fingers—but I was glad to see him smiling and coming back to life. The conversation with his agent had probably just bummed him out.

As we drank our coffee, shot the shit, and—a few minutes later—ate our breakfast, he was definitely returning to his usual self. Hopefully the clouds would completely scatter, and his mood would continue to get lighter. He was on vacation, after all. And he was Madars. Vacation or no, he deserved to be happy all the time.

For the next few weeks, as much as I was able, I was bound and determined to make sure he was happy all the time.

CHAPTER 23

MADARS

We pulled up to the ice rink at a little before seven in the morning, gathered our gear from the trunk, and headed inside. As we were pulling on our skates, the locker room door opened again.

Mülly, who played defense on my team in Genève, strode in along with his wife, Emilia. She was one of the top female forwards in not only Switzerland, but Europe. She’d practiced with us and our teammates before, and she was the reason no man on that team would ever again think, “Eh, she’s tiny, this will be easy.” She was faster and more agile than any of us, and despite her size, she could check us almost as hard as we checked each other.