Page 30 of Ice Cold Hearts

McKennas are old money and should never debase themselves by “performing sports tricks for a mass of blue-collar barbarians.” At least that's what my father said when I told him I was getting offers from pro teams as a junior. He'd been so sure that I'd tire of my “little hobby” and settle into the cushy COO job at his company like a good boy. It didn't matter that I hated his predatory business practices or had done nothing to earn the job. A McKenna father-son duo has always held court at the McKenna & McKenna Investment Incorporation, and it damn sure wasn't going to change now.

Sharon, the eldest, became the son he always wanted once it became clear I was sticking with my “little hobby”. She might be the spitting image of Mom, but the hole where her heart should be is all Dad. Even after she got married, there were still two McKennas at the boardroom table because I shit you not, she made Jason take her last name.

Mom wasn't any better with her, “Why can't you be a professor at Harvard like Jeanette or follow in Abigail's footsteps and get something like her Clark Kerr Award?” And her, “At least Claudia is in the headlines for the right reasons,” as if being caught fucking some celebrity's husband on a hotel balcony was better than winning the Stanley Cup. I wouldn't be surprised if that article is still framed and on the wall at their house. Claudia's article, I mean, not mine.

Before Alexei's parents died, none of that mattered. His dad even called me his fils bonus, bonus son, and in private, it was mon petit canard, my little duck. I asked him about it once, and I'll never forget what he said. “Because, Oliver, your feet go shoosh-shoosh like crazy.” And yes, there were hand motions with the shoosh-shooshing. “But your top half is still as stone like the duck.”

Right after their funeral, Alexei and I were a wreck. I don't know how it happened, but we were in the cemetery parking lot and then when I blinked, we were at a tattoo parlor. Alexei got a tiny cabbage wearing an ushanka, and I got a duck wearing the same, to honor his French father and Russian mother. There was no discussion beforehand, but we both chose to place them over our hearts. There's not a day I don't miss the sound of Mr. Pierre singing while he cooked or the way Ms. Liliya muttered curses in Russian at the squirrels in her bird feeder.

Our little family is a lot smaller now. I thought it'd be just me and Alexei forever until Ian. Even before his shoulder injury, we were all getting close. Helping him through the darkest days of his recovery just sped up the process. Adding Ian into the mix made things a little better, but something was still missing. Dating Rachel was all right until it crashed and burned. With Colleen, it was almost perfect, but something was still missing that I could never put my finger on.

With Emily, things already feel different. She’s not afraid to go toe to toe with Alexei, and unlike Rachel, she sees his gruff comments as the dry wit they are rather than a personal character attack. We’ve barely been around her a week and she’s gotten this man to smile in public. In the privacy of the one physical therapy session I went to, she actually got him to laugh, which is something I hadn’t heard since his parents died. And Ian? Emily leans into his sensitive side instead of pulling away and telling him he’s too much. As for me, it feels like she’s being goofy with me instead of my having to put on a performance for her.

It’s nothing short of pathetic that I’m already addicted to it, to her.

I can’t let this be over before it starts. I won’t.

It’s in this joyous mood that I close out our tab. I can tell by the server’s expression that the nicest word she could describe me with right now is jackass. Normally, I’d be better at hiding it, but anxiety over Emily getting away has eroded the charming mask I put on in public. To make up for my attitude and hopefully prevent the server from hating me, my tip is sixty percent of the tab.

Why do I even care what women I barely know think of me?

There’s not enough time or therapists in the world for me to even begin to answer that question. So, I stuff it down with all the other things I can’t face knowing full well that it’ll come to haunt me in the middle of the night like the ghosts did to Scrooge.

The server accepts my signed receipt with a fake smile that quickly turns into the real deal when she glances at the tip line. She looks like she’s not sure whether to hug me or cry. I manage to slip away before she does either.

I rush toward the exit. There’s nothing standing between me and salvaging this date now.

A well-manicured hand grips my arm tightly, and I stop with a jerk like a dog who’s reached the end of its tether. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. There’s only one person with the balls to manhandle me like that.

Liza holds my career in her hands. I can’t afford to piss her off, but my gut is telling me losing Emily would be just as bad, if not worse.

“Liza.” I nod politely. “Nice to see you.”

She takes this as an invitation to snuggle into my arm.

“Ollie, what happened to your friend?” she asks, wide-eyed.

Calling me Ollie is enough of an indicator that she’s drunk, but her pupils being the size of moons confirm it for me. I sigh. Drunk Liza might be clingier than sober Liza, but at least she’s easier to get rid of.

“My friend is going home to change her clothes,” I say, fighting to keep a neutral tone.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” Liza says, reaching up to stroke my hair, “What happened?”

“You know exactly what happened,” I answer tersely.

“It was an accident,” she says in the baby voice that always annoys me.

“Spilling drinks on one woman is an accident. Two is bad luck. Five is a pattern, Liza,” I say, gently prying her off me.

“I’m just trying to look out for you.” She pouts. “You won’t want to be with a woman who throws a fit if her clothes get a little mussed. I’m just trying to protect you and weed out some of the crazy high-strung ones.”

I take a long breath. Causing a scene will only make things worse.

“Liza, you’re a great agent. I need you to manage my hockey career, but that’s all you need to manage. I’m glad you want to protect me, but my friendships or any other relationships are mine to manage,” I say, placating her.

“Other relationships? Do I need to put out a press release about this girl?” Liza asks, slurring her words.

“If you must know, that was a top health professional I was trying to convince to take me on as a client,” I say, stretching the truth a bit.

---