Page 45 of Yo Ho Ho
The bartender stepped up to their table with two new drinks and cleared off their empty glasses. They both quietly took drinks, mourning the losses of their beloved spots that once meant so much to them.
"So is that why you stopped skating?" Logan asked her.
"No." Max shook her head and took a long drink. "I played until I was 14, and got knocked out by another player. Totally not his fault, it was just that the guys got bigger than me. I just couldn't compete against them anymore so I had to stop."
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"Me too." She took a deep breath and gave him an awkward smile. "But it led me to become a writer, and I couldn't imagine doing anything else."
Logan nodded. It made sense to him now. The thing about not wanting to be with him because her job was so important to her. The heartbreak she must be dealing with now that it was going to be taken away from her. The pain he had caused her by calling her out in that stupid parking lot last week. It made sense now.
He couldn't imagine his life without hockey or what he would do if he was told he couldn't play hockey again. Sure, he had occasionally thought about what would happen when he retired or if he got badly hurt. Every hockey player thought about that. But he figured he would still play in alumni games or get his skates out for charity events or something.
"So did you just go cold turkey?" he asked her. "No more playing hockey after that?"
"Cold turkey," she said.
"But I've seen you on skates before."
"Remember that outdoor game two seasons ago?" she asked. "When they let the media skate on the ice the day before you guys played?"
Logan nodded.
"I had to buy a pair of skates for that. First time I had them on in years."
He couldn't help but reach his hand across the table and grab hers. Max stilled for a bit, then her fingers curled around his, her hand warm against his. It was just a little gesture but still seemed so big. Sure, they had been more intimate than that — much more intimate than that. But there was something different and more open about this touch between them.
The cover story he made up about them talking about work-related stuff? That was a complete waste.
"We don't look like we're talking about your job," he said quietly.
"No, we don't."
She squeezed his hand and then slowly slipped it out of his. Her face had become more stoic again, her expression unreadable. But he knew exactly how he looked. Disappointed. He thought he had finally broken through to her. He had found that part of Max that could belong to him, just to him. That part that he wouldn't have to share with her job or his hockey playing. That part that wasn't confined to arenas and airplanes and hotel rooms.
He wanted that little part in her that belonged just to him, and he still didn't have it.
Max took a long sip from her drink and put her almost empty glass down on the table. Then she looked up at him, her eyes dark under the dim bar lights.
"Maybe it's not a bad thing that we don't look like we're talking about my job."
He took a deep breath. "Maybe."
"So should we get out of here?"
She gave him a hopeful look, an open look. He was trying to keep himself guarded and not dare to think her words were anything more than a hint that it was time for them to leave.
"Yeah, I should probably get you home, eh?"
Her face faltered a bit. "Well, I mean, you could stay if you want."
"Stay?"
She nervously bit down on her lower lip. "Yeah, you could stay at my place. A bit. If you wanted."
Logan couldn't stop the goofy smile that spread across his face. He tried to cover it up by adding some swagger to it. He was probably failing miserable, but with Max, he didn't care.
"Yeah, I would like that."
