Page 67 of He Has Charm (Boston Brawlers Hockey)
Twenty-One
Harper
Istep in front of the camera in the press room before the game for an interview and tell the reporter from BSN how Maddox rescued me from an obnoxious man who turned out to be Boston’s own pro baseball player Eddie Easton.
“I didn’t know who he was at the time, but it wouldn’t have mattered.”
“Do you think it mattered to Maddox Knight when he punched Easton in the nose?”
“You’ll have to ask him that.”
“What is your relationship with Knight?”
“I’m his agent. I work with the Jett agency and we had several clients at the event that night. But I was there chiefly to support a good cause.”
“And since then? Is there anything more personal between you and Knight?” He smiles, but I know he’ll pounce with judgment if I say the wrong thing. So I tell him the fresh and new, sad and disappointing, absolute truth.
“There’s nothing between Knight and me besides a civil working relationship.” And that’s how it has to stay. No going back and no going forward.
As I’m leaving the room, I hear one of the guys comment that he doesn’t believe me.
“There’s more to that relationship than she’s admitting. You’d have to be blind not to see it in the clip of Knight popping Easton.” I glance back and see his friend nodding in agreement and then I see Jett. He’s frowning at the two men and he waves me outside.
I meet him in the hall outside the press room and prepare myself for the worst. Although I’m not sure what that could be. Except maybe him telling me that he’s decided to give the promotion to Godfrey Collins. That would be the ultimate poison cherry on the cake.
“Did you hear those assholes talking like one of my agents would ever have an affair with a client?” Jett asks as he takes my arm and pulls me away to a private corner. I gulp. “I don’t like the insinuation that one of my agents, namely you, is fooling with a player. It’s not a good professional look and goes against everything our agency is about.”
“They were speculating,” I say because it’s the only truth I can think to tell him.
“Harper,” he says, “tell me point blank that there’s nothing but business between you and Knight.” I take in a long breath and look him in the eye, wishing to god that I could give him a different answer. But I tell him what he wants to hear.
“Strictly business.” I don’t tell him that if I had my way I’d go off the business rails in a heartbeat. But we all have too much to lose and I suddenly feel guilty for putting Jett’s business in jeopardy.
“Good. Let’s go watch a hockey game.”
Halfway through the second period I wish I’d skipped the game. There’s not a lot to jump up and down or cheer for, and especially not for the way Maddox is playing. He comes off the ice after taking a wrist shot and missing the net wide by so big a margin that it looked more like he was passing the puck to the opponent. Of course the Devils took advantage, skated down the ice and scored. Maddox didn’t come close to stopping them, skating like he’s wearing lead weights instead of his usual lightning rush.
“What the fuck?” Jett says. “He should be out of this scoring slump by now, but he looks worse today. Is there something wrong with him that I don’t know about?” Keeping my eyes on the back of Knight’s head as he sits on the bench, I can’t look at Jett as I answer.
“No.” Thereissomething seriously wrong with him, but that can’t be what’s causing his slump. His heart may be a problem waiting to happen, but it hasn’t happened yet. And it won’t. I’ll make sure of it. I already placed a call to his cardiologist and they’re getting back to me to confirm the appointment for next week. Not soon enough for me.
* * *
It has to be well past midnight but I force myself to ignore my phone. I can’t allow myself to check it for a text for a sixth time in the last half hour. And I sure as hell can’t send Maddox a text or, worse, call him and ask where the hell he is.
So I return to pacing a small circle on the priceless-looking oriental carpet in the front parlor while I glance at the postgame wrap-up. I turned the volume down so I wouldn’t have to hear the verdict about Maddox yet again. I saw the debacle for myself.
It’s been bad enough that he’s been in a scoring slump, but getting in a fight was a shock because it’s so not him—the Easton punch aside. He’s much more of a make love, not war, or a make jokes, not threats kind of guy on and off the ice.
I expect him to come in the front door because Finn was giving him a ride, taking my place as chaperone for the night. As if my stare causes him to materialize, the door opens and Maddox shoves inside. Relief washes through me, quickly followed by anxiety and anger. I hope to hell he hasn’t been drinking.
“You’re still up.” He sounds surprised and, thank god, sober. Shame at suspecting him of drinking fills me, but I ward it off with self-righteous indignation.
“Of course.”
He nods and heads down the hall. It looks like he’s going to his room, and I need to talk to him no matter how futile it is to try.
“Where’ve you been?” My attempt to keep my voice neutral fails. The vibration of accusation is laughably real and out of place. He stops and turns to me.
