Page 12 of Yo Ho Ho
Logan could only nod as Bob gave his arm a friendly squeeze and walked away.
He rubbed his hand over his face and started his trek to the room that Alex was already in, a room where Logan could predict his roommate was napping in the bed closest to the bathroom. Logan had liked those little bits of predictability on the road when there were so many different things to factor in each time they landed in a new city.
But Max was also predictable. Charming but no nonsense. A lover of hockey. A woman with an amazing smile. A reporter dedicated to her job.
It was a job Max would only have for three more weeks, which meant Logan only had three more weeks with her. Suddenly, that small squeeze on his heart was much worse. Only three more weeks until she was likely gone from his life.
But he wasn't going to let that happen, not if he could help it. Sure, she was losing her job and that was bad and all, but it also meant the one thing keeping him from being close to her body again was going to disappear. Her one excuse would be gone. And once it was gone, there was no way Logan was going to let her go again.
Chapter 7
The red-eye flight back from San Francisco wasn't so bad, but Max was awake for most of it. The team would all pass out on flights like that, which was understandable considering they had played a 60-minute hockey game. Last name's match-up in particular was rough — a hard-fought loss to a playoff contender. But while they snored away, Max was up. The news about the paper didn't help either so her early morning nap at her apartment before rolling into the office was well earned.
It also let her put off the inevitable for a little longer.Being on the road with the team when she got the bad news had sheltered Max a bit from the reality of what was really happening. Being back in the newsroom brought it all into focus.
In three weeks, this place would be empty. The energetic hum of the newsroom, the quiet clacking away at keyboards as journalists tried — and usually failed — to file their stories on deadline. It would all be over. A 100-year-old paper with a long legacy would just be gone.
As she got to her desk, Max noticed there were already some folded up cardboard boxes leaning against it for people to use as they started to pack up their careers. A Barry Sanders coffee mug was sitting next to her computer monitor. She recognized it as the one that sat on the desk of the newspaper's famed columnist, Mike Rose. Mike was an institution and someone Max had looked up to even before she started working at the paper. He was also an amazing mentor who would help her with her weekly columns and wouldn't be afraid to ask her for advice or information even though he had been covering Detroit sports much longer than she had.
She could feel the lump in her throat start to rise. That Barry Sanders mug was one of Mike's most prized sports possessions. It was a gift from the team when Barry came to town as a rookie and the newspaper told Mike he couldn't take gifts from anyone. That was the rule. So he marched up to the editor's office, slapped a 20-dollar bill on the desk, and told him to take the cash and shove it up his ass. He was keeping the damn mug.
He outlasted that editor, who got fired six months later.
"He's giving away all his stuff."
Max was pulled out of her thoughts and stared at the woman across from her. "What?"
Amanda Allen turned away from her computer. "Mike is giving away his stuff."
Max flopped down in her chair and stared at the cup in front of her. "I got his Barry Sanders mug."
"I know," she murmured.
She stared at the mug and could feel the tingling in her throat and her eyes start to water. No. No way. She was not going to cry in the newsroom. Not now. This is not how she was going to react. Max was a hockey reporter. Stiff upper lip and all that and definitely not going to cry.
Amanda's hand reached across their desks to grab hers. "This sucks, but we have to be strong, Maxine."
She silently nodded her head, her eyes still fixed on the mug in front of her.
"Besides, we can't cry, Quinn. I need 500 words from you by three o'clock."
She looked up at the assistant sports editor, the only other woman on the sports desk, and saw a sad smile on her friend's face. "What am I supposed to write about?"
Amanda perked up and sat a little taller in her chair. "That's my girl! How about something from the west coast trip with the team? Maybe how they'll move on from the tough loss last night or how the team's power play kill worked well—"
"Because those idiots kept getting stupid penalties."
"Exactly!" Amanda was smiling now. "It's going to be a great 500 words about something. We're going to keep writing stuff about stuff, and then we're going to drink a shit ton of booze and it'll all be fine."
Max laughed, thankful that Amanda was lightening the mood. "Do we have to ration the shit ton of booze over three weeks or can we just drink it all now?"
"I'm rationing it. I have to get through Christmas dinner with my parents asking me when I'm going to get a job and why my profession is dying."
"Sounds like that may be my Christmas too," Max lamented. "But you can come to my place afterward. My grandfather will deal you in for a few rounds of poker and on purpose to make you feel better."
"I would have no qualms stealing an old man's money in that case," Amanda said. "Now less yapping, more typing, Quinn."
The computer in front of her started to boot up, and Max got excited as her fingers started to dance over the keys. She only had three more weeks to do her dream job, and while it was sad to say goodbye, she was going to make sure she enjoyed every last minute of it.
