Icebreaker (2 page)
Authors: Deirdre Martin
Tags: #Women lawyers, #Contemporary, #Legal, #General, #Romance, #Hockey players, #Fiction
ICEBREAKER
A Berkley Sensation Book / published by arrangement with the author
PRINTING HISTORY
Berkley Sensation mass-market edition / February 2011
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.
eISBN : 978-1-101-47707-6
BERKLEY
®
SENSATION
®
SENSATION
Berkley Sensation Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. BERKLEY
®
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
®
SENSATION and the “B” design are trademarks of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.
In memory of Nan Beytin
Acknowledgments
My incredibly patient husband, Mark.
My
extremely
patient editor, Kate Seaver.
extremely
patient editor, Kate Seaver.
My wonderful agent, Miriam Kriss.
Binnie Braunstein, Eileen Buchholtz, and Dee Tenorio.
The Left Wings Improv Group and AWI.
Rocky, Mom, Dad, Bill, Eli, Allison, Beth, Jane, Dave, and Tom.
1
“There’s a twenty
dollar tip in it for you, Ashok, if you get me there in ten minutes. Step on it.”
dollar tip in it for you, Ashok, if you get me there in ten minutes. Step on it.”
Sinead O’Brien was rarely late, no matter where she was going. The only female partner at the law firm of Callahan, Epps, and Kaplan, she was known not only for her punctuality but also for her sharp intellect and history of getting successful outcomes for her clients. Sinead believed whatever success she had came from working her tail off, which is what she’d been doing today, despite it being Sunday. Her parents called it “workaholism.” Sinead called it dedication.
Despite her usual attention to detail, time had gotten away from her. One minute, she was in her office reviewing depositions for a new case; the next she was fifteen minutes late for her family’s traditional Sunday afternoon dinner. Annoyed with herself, she’d packed her briefcase and hurried out onto the street, impatient for the car service, which seemed to take forever to come. Sliding into the backseat of the black Cadillac, she’d directed the familiar driver to speed to Eleventh Avenue and Forty-third Street, where the Wild Hart, her parents’ pub, was located. She could hear her mother’s voice in her head.
Why are you working on a Sunday? Why haven’t you started dating again?
Why are you working on a Sunday? Why haven’t you started dating again?
Her parents’ lack of appreciation for her dedication baffled her. Irish immigrants, they’d broken their backs for years—seven days a week, year in, year out—to make the Wild Hart a success. She realized part of their concern stemmed from worries about her health (she suffered from debilitating migraines and had high blood pressure despite being only thirty-two), but she was a big girl and could take care of herself.
Sinead checked her watch. The ride to her parents’ apartment seemed to be taking forever. She told Ashok to take Thirty-fifth Street across town to Tenth Avenue, thinking it would be quicker than heading uptown on Park Avenue. She settled back in the seat, wondering what wonderful dish her mother would be making. Sinead savored these Sunday dinners because she usually lived on takeout. It wasn’t that she didn’t know how to cook (God knows you couldn’t be Kathleen O’Brien’s daughter and not know how to cook); it was that she was too exhausted to make dinner for herself at ten or eleven o’clock at night when she got home. She tried to eat healthy, but every now and then a big, fat, juicy burger or a couple of donuts were the only thing that satisfied.
Ashok pulled his Cadillac up in front of the Wild Hart, and Sinead hurriedly paid him, unlocking the pub door and heading toward the kitchen, where steps led to her parents’ apartment. She’d grown up here in the cozy flat above the bar: she and her sister, Maggie, crammed into one small bedroom; her brothers, Quinn and Liam, in another; her parents in the third. The apartment never felt small—until adolescence hit and she and her siblings began getting on each other’s nerves, tripping over one another and finding little space for much-craved privacy. Yet somehow they’d survived.
Sunday dinner together stretched as far back in her memory as she could remember. The whole family would go to Mass and then come home for a large, early afternoon meal. Now that she and her siblings were grown and living their own lives, it was a way for them to come together once a week and catch up with one another.
She walked into her parents’ kitchen, girding herself for a steely glance from her mother. Everyone but Liam, her younger brother who lived in Ireland with his wife, Aislinn, was there: her older brother, Quinn, a successful journalist, and his French wife, Natalie; her sister, Maggie, and her husband, Brendan. Their baby, Charlie, sat in a high chair between them. Sinead ducked her head sheepishly as she slid into the sole empty seat at the table.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, reaching for the steaming bowl of mashed potatoes. She was famished.
“I thought maybe you weren’t coming,” said her mother coolly.
Admittedly, she had missed a few Sunday dinners over the past couple of months. But she’d always called ahead to let her mother know not to expect her.
“I would have called.”
“I hope you weren’t down with a headache,” her father said, concerned.
“No, I had a little bit of work to catch up on, and time got away from me.”
Quinn feigned shock. “Time got away from
you
?
You?
”
you
?
You?
”
“Shut up, Jimmy Olsen.”
“I don’t like when you work on Sundays,” said her mother.
“It’s the Lord’s day of rest,” Sinead, Quinn, and Maggie chimed in unison.
“Will you listen to that?” her mother said to her father with mock indignation. “Making fun of their own mother.”
“If you can’t mock your mother, who can you mock?” asked Quinn.
For a split second, Sinead’s eye caught Maggie’s, and Maggie smiled tentatively. So did Sinead. Their relationship had cooled a bit since Charlie was born. Sinead desperately wanted children; her ex-husband, Chip, was initially on the fence about the issue. When they were finally in accord and ready to start a family, Chip, who came from a wealthy family, had very traditional ideas about child rearing, namely that Sinead should give up her career. Sinead disagreed and proposed a number of compromises, all of which Chip rejected. They started to fight vehemently—about everything. Eventually, they both admitted that their differences were irreconcilable, and they divorced. But that didn’t mean Sinead’s hunger for a child went away, and seeing how happy her sister was with Charlie made her envious. It was painful.
Sinead turned to Quinn. “So, what are you working on?”
“A story about a woman with a rare form of cancer. There’s an experimental drug that’s had some success, but of course, her insurance company won’t cover it.”
“That’s terrible,” said Sinead.
“It is,” said her father. He studied her face. “You look tired.”
“Dad, you say that every time you see me,” Sinead said, amused. “I’ve looked tired for years. There are circles under my eyes in my first Holy Communion picture.”
“You need a holiday,” her mother declared. “When’s the last time you had a holiday?”
“It’s been a while, but I’m fine,” Sinead replied defensively.
“And when’s the last time you were up at your weekend place?” her mother pressed.
Sinead was silent as she speared two pieces of ham and put them on the plate.
“Thought so,” said her mother.
When she and Chip had first separated, Sinead had made an effort to go up to their country house in Bearsville as many weekends as she could. Taking hikes made her feel calmer and more balanced. She liked hibernating and licking her wounds in private.
“Maybe you should go visit Liam and Aislinn,” her mother continued.
“I’ll think about it,” Sinead promised.
“That means ‘Get off my arse, Ma,’ ” her mother said with a sigh.
“Yup, it does.”
Maggie cleared her throat nervously. “I was wondering,” she began, looking at Sinead, “if Brendan, Charlie, and I might use the house one weekend? Just to get away for a bit.”
“Of course,” said Sinead. “Just let me know when, and I’ll call the caretaker to come air it out and clean things up a bit.”
“Thanks.”
Sinead had always let her siblings and friends use the house. In fact, Quinn and Natalie had their wedding there. It made her feel better about spending all that money on a place she didn’t use as much as she should.
Dinner conversation turned to the usual subjects: gossip about relatives and pub patrons, chat about favorite TV shows and various familial health ailments, the occasional heated political discussion. And of course now that baby Charlie had joined the family, everyone, especially Sinead’s parents, focused a lot of attention on him. It made sense: he was their first grandchild after all. Sinead thought Charlie was cute, but she didn’t know how to
connect
with him, exactly. She was awkward with him. It made Sinead wonder if she was cut out for motherhood at all. Shouldn’t this stuff come naturally?
connect
with him, exactly. She was awkward with him. It made Sinead wonder if she was cut out for motherhood at all. Shouldn’t this stuff come naturally?
When dinner finished, Maggie went off to nurse Charlie, and the men went into the living room to watch the Jets game. Typical. Sinead and her sister-in-law Natalie helped her mother clean up.
“How’s it going at the restaurant?” Sinead asked.
Natalie’s face lit up. “I love it.”
“Good. I keep meaning to stop by and have a meal. I promise I will when I get the chance.”
“That would be the twelfth of never,” her mother muttered under her breath.
Eventually it was just Sinead and her mother alone in the kitchen as Natalie went off to annoy Quinn with questions about football.
“You know, I noticed something at dinner,” her mother continued.
“What’s that?”
“You didn’t hold Charlie. Not once.”
“I’m not good with babies, Ma, okay?”
“I think you’re afraid to hold him.”
Sinead swallowed painfully. “Could we not talk about this?”
“Maggie misses you.”
“Stop meddling, Mom. Please.”
“I just worry about my girl. You seem so unhappy.”
“I’m fine, Ma. Honestly.”
“But you must be getting a bit lonely, no?”
“Don’t start,” Sinead begged. “Please.”
“Don’t you think it’s time to find a good man?”
“I’m not sure there are any,” Sinead lamented. “And I’m certainly not going out looking for one.”
“Stubborn thing. You’ve always been a headstrong, stubborn thing. You and your sister.”
“Gee, I wonder where we get that from.”
“Is it because you’re afraid of getting hurt again?” her mother pressed on. “So you made a mistake. Big deal. Live and learn, I say. Onward and upward and all that. Every pot has its lid, my mam used to say. I want you to find yours.”
“If it’s meant to happen, it will, Mom,” said Sinead, hugging her mother tight. “Now stop fretting and hand me that dish.”
“Guys, I’d like
you to welcome our new captain, Adam Perry.”
you to welcome our new captain, Adam Perry.”
Adam stepped forward from where he stood between the New York Blades’ GM, Ty Gallagher, and head coach, Michael Dante. Nodding curtly, he glanced around the locker room.
To say Gallagher and Dante were disappointed with the team’s play in the prior season was an understatement. In Ty’s estimation, they’d gotten soft. Michael believed their previous successes had led to the loss of the burning hunger needed to propel a hockey team forward. Ty and Michael both felt the Blades needed a strong physical presence on the ice; someone whose will to win would carry the team through the moments when skill wasn’t enough. Someone who would inspire effort in his teammates and fear in his opponents.
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