Page 14 of Penalties and Proposals

“Amazing!” Noah punches the air, then pats the empty spot on the table in front of him. “Put ’er there, sir.”

The server places his food down and disappears, leaving us alone. Around us, more tables are filling up. Taking a bite of the food, I realize why it’s such a popular place for dinner. The lasagna is ridiculous.

“Oh, my God,” Noah moans, as he chews his first bite. “This is the best lasagna I’ve ever had. It’s melting in my mouth.”

I can’t help but smile, because for the first time in the conversation, I can’t debate the fact. “Well, we agree on that. My tastebuds are actually dancing.”

Noah laughs, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Dancing? Like what kind of dance? Salsa?”

“Well, it’s not ballroom,” I say, emitting a tiny snort as I do. “Okay, that was so not attractive.”

Noah tosses his head back and lets out the most endearing laugh. It starts out as a few tiny guffaws, but builds to a crescendo. I’m taken on a ride with him and I start laughing, too. I’m honestly not sure if we’re laughing because I snorted, or because of the oddity of our meal and the fact we’re sitting here together, or what. However, I do know there’s some tension being broken, and oddly enough, it feels good. Especially the laughing.

As we both settle down again, I stab at my food and take another bite. Glancing up, I find Noah’s eyes boring into me.

I make a face, my lips quirking. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He nervously flips his fork around like a tiny baton in his fingers.

I tilt my head to the side. “Are you?”

Nodding, he picks at his food, pulling his eyes away from mine. “I’ve owed you that apology since the day you kicked me off your shoot. But, I’m also sorry that the team I had working with me at that time did what they did to you.”

Looking down at my plate, I focus on chewing slowly. There’s something about the intimate act of sharing a meal, and space, with a person you’ve been mad at for ages that makes you slow down and hear them.

“Are you saying you had no idea that your people were torpedoing my career?”

Noah nods again. “When that shoot was done, I went off to my next game in Canada. That’s when the big fight happened in the lobby with the other team. After that, I was in rehab and unaware of anything happening. It wasn’t until I got out of rehab that I cleaned my house, as they say.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was making money for a lot of people back then. Being in the NHL meant sponsorships, a bigger paycheck. The agent I had at the time had looped in the publicity team to work for me. Everyone clipped the ticket, getting their share whether I thought they should or not when it came to me getting paid or signing a new contract.”

Watching Noah, I can see he’s thoughtful. He’s also having trouble looking at me as he talks. He stops, taking a bite of his food, and I let him gather himself before dipping back in.

“Can you explain a little more, please?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t the most business-minded man at that time. I was pretty naive.” Noah’s cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I realized while I was cleaning up that the people I had around me were enablers. From my agent to the PR people, even my business manager. They were all leeching off the drunk superstar. I was a hot mess and they were taking advantage, making hay while the sun shines, I guess you could say?”

And there it is, the moment when the tide turns. Every inch of me wanted to argue and fight with this man, to place blame and scream at him for ruining my life, but things are not always what they seem, are they?

As we’re sitting here, Noah’s demeanor has changed slightly. His shoulders are low, not quite slumped, but he’s not holding them up as proudly as he usually does. And the green that was flashing in his eyes has dulled a touch. I can tell that his little trot down memory lane has left him reliving moments in time that, like myself, he’d like to forget.

I don’t know what to do, so I sit quietly for a second before I pick up my glass and hold it in the air.

“Well, if it helps, the only reason I said yes to working with you this time is to get a promotion.” I place the glass to my lips and take a sip, and as I do, you bet I notice he’s watching me. Putting the glass back down, I place my finger on the rim, tracing its path. “You’re being touted as the Comeback King by the press this year. The man who is literally like a phoenix rising from the ashes of the AHL, rebuilding a once-stellar career into something with longevity. Staying power.”

“I wouldn’t call the AHL the ashes,” Noah corrects me.

“You’re right, sorry, bad comparison, but you know what I mean. You were knocked down from the NHL to the River City Renegades, and everyone thought you were done. That you'd go there and peter out eventually, yet you keep showing up.”

“The Renegades are good to me, and I’m loyal to them. They were the only team who would even dare take a chance on me after all of the mess-ups I had.” Noah shrugs. “I love the game. In a lot of ways, it’s all I know.”

“That’s like my work. I love the creative part, taking the photos and seeing what comes out of the images. I know what I want my pictures to say, but getting that feeling out and into a photograph showing a quick blink of a moment in time is the challenge.”

“I love a challenge, too,” Noah murmurs, his eyes slowly making their way to meet mine. The green flecks are back, shining brightly as he holds my gaze. Surprisingly, I don’t want to pull away. Not this time. Not yet.

The noise grows around us, a large party of at least ten being seated close by. The cacophony of sound pulls me out of the moment, as it does Noah as well. When I look back at him, he’s checking his watch.

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