“That’s where you’re supposed to say ‘no offense’,” Maddox interjects with a grin, showing he’s not offended in the slightest at her parents’ supposed horror over our semi-throuple situation.
Kayla gives him a small laugh before continuing, “They’d be horrified and call me, demanding to know what’s going on and what the hell I’m thinking… yada, yada, yada.” She rolls her eyes like she can hear them now. “But my absence sets the tone that Kyle fucked up. That they all fucked up by coming over here last night and trying to put some sort of cage around me when it’s way too late for that. Mom and Dad will be upset about that too, so ratting me out also rats them out. Instead, I expect they’re having an awkwardly quiet dinner without me while Mom tries to contain her excitement because she will absolutely think an urgently called dinner must be for an announcement of some sort.” A tiny but evil grin lifts her lips.
Damn. Her mind is a terrifyingly beautiful place. She’s not a two-steps-ahead type of person. She’s not even a chess vs checkers sort. No, she’s plotting war while others plan clown-themed birthday parties.
But there was something unexpected in what she said and I look over at Maddox for a split second, a habit from on the ice where a glance says volumes. This time, I’m confirming he heard her little slip too. “Yourbrothers came to see you? What’d they say?” I try to take a note from Maddox and make the questions sound casual, but I’m already in defensive mode, ready to fight her family for her if necessary, so it comes out harsh and snappy.
“They all came and said exactly what I thought they’d say,” she answers easily, but then her eyes cloud for a moment before she adds, “And some things I didn’t expect. Chance seems to think I’m having some sort of quarter-life crisis and rebelling against all respectability.”
“Sounds like a fun guy,” I say through gritted teeth, already hating the motherfucker.
“Sounds like someone who values appearances over the authenticity of actually being respectable,” Maddox says wisely, letting the gravity of that hit solidly before grinning and adding, “Or someone who wishes he’d done some fun, and possibly stupid, things in his youth.”
“He’s only thirty-two,” Kayla says.
“But a life-well-lived or a life-wasted thirty-two?” The twist of his lips says Maddox clearly knows the answer already.
Kayla smiles, matching Maddox’s light-hearted energy. “Depends on who you ask. He’d say he’s lived the best life.”
“And you?” I ask.
“I’d say he’s done a lot of good for a lot of people, and that makes him happy.”
“I don’t give a shit about him,” I reply gruffly. “I’m asking howyoufeel aboutyourlife.”
Her eyes narrow as she thinks. “I have the life I always dreamed of—success at work, my family thriving,traveling when I want to, and helping businesses I believe in.”
Everything she says checks a box on a list, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned about Kayla, it’s that she likes a list. She even asked us for our favorite foods and possible allergies when inviting us to dinner. But none of what she just said actually translates to ‘I’m happy’, so I keep digging. “But?”
“Do you know why I talked to you at the bar that night?” she asks carefully. The question feels like it’s out of nowhere, but her mind doesn’t work in tangents and side quests. She thinks linearly, so this must be related to how she feels about her life. And honestly, I am curious as hell about what made a woman like her—intelligent, beautiful, a dozen levels out of my league—not only give me a second glance, but actively seek me out in that busy club.
When I shake my head, she drops her eyes to the table, like she’s looking through it into her lap. Without being able to see, I know she’s twisting the ring on her middle finger. It’s one of her tells when she gets nervous. Hell, it might be her only tell.
“His irresistible charm,” Maddox suggests. “Or his hair? It’s always his hair. Do the flip thing you do for the Jumbotron. This motherfucker seriously had a seven-figure shampoo endorsement deal last year for it.”
He’s working his magic again. This time on Kayla, not me. Letting pressure build, then releasing a bit, before letting it build again.
I run my hand through my hair, then shake it out. I have no idea why fans like it when I do that. It started as a necessary movement to get my in-need-of-a-cut hair out of my eyes before putting my helmet on. Somecameraman filmed me and it became a whole thing. Now, when I take my helmet off—between plays, for a brawl, to cool off, literally every single time—the camera jerks to me so they can film me putting it back on. I don’t get it, but the team’s marketing group eats that shit up.
And he’s right, I did get a million-dollar shampoo endorsement deal from it.
“Not bad,” Kayla says, fighting a smile, “but that wasn’t it.” She inhales, then blurts out, “I was lonely.” Her eyes jump from me to Maddox like she’s waiting for us to laugh at her, but there is no laugh forthcoming. Not about that.
“Unfamiliar city, shitty day, another forgettable hotel? I can see that. Sometimes, I get that way when we have a run of away games. Like the anonymity of it all overwhelms you, making you feel like an inconsequential ant on a big rock in a whole field of dirt,” Maddox says with a nod.
My brow furrows. I wouldn’t have thought Maddox even knew the definition of the word lonely. He’s always surrounded by people, the life of every party, and if there’s not a party, he creates one with his natural charisma. But he sounds like he means it, so I suppose it’s possible even he feels alone sometimes.
“And there we were, looking good and offering hot and sexy excitement,” he says, his pressure on-pressure off approach continuing.
Kayla shakes her head. “Not only that night, though it came to a head then. I’ve been feeling that way a lot lately. Or I was.” She goes quiet, and this time, Maddox doesn’t save her. After a long stretch of silence, she says, “My whole family has grown by leaps and bounds over the last few years, with all of my brothers going fromsingle to coupled up, and I love that for them. Truly. And I have more friends in my sisters-in-law than I’ve ever had, which I’m so grateful for. But sometimes, when we’re all together, I feel so… invisible. They have all these stories and experiences, and I’m sitting there like ‘had another meeting’ or ‘working on this contract’.”
Her eyes implore us to understand what she’s saying, but I think she’s still figuring it out for herself. Because I get it. I’m a workaholic in my own way, with all of my conversations centering on hockey, at least most of the time. In my case, though, the people I spend time with usually only care about hockey too. Like Maddox.
“If I add anything to the conversation, I feel like my dad. For most of my life, all he’s ever brought to the table was work, work, work, and I know how that made the rest of us feel. I don’t want to do that, only offer that. So I try to ask questions, be involved in whatever they have going on, but in the end, I’m tagging along on their adventures, not living a life of my own.” She freezes, her gaze dropping to her plate of barely touched chicken as if she can’t believe she just said that aloud.
“Do we make it feel like you’re living your life?” Maddox asks. He’s being totally serious, putting the pressure back on now that her walls are coming down, brick by fragile brick.
She takes a long, slow breath, and I feel as though her answer has the potential to destroy me more than anything Eliza ever did, and that’s saying a lot. Maddox cautioned me that if no-strings fucking is all Kayla wants, we’ll respect that, and I agreed. Early on. But I’m in too deep now. I’m reading into every look, every invitation, every touch, and I want more than casual withher, which scares the absolute shit out of me. The only thing scarier would be her saying that casual is all she can do. That would gut me at this point.
