Icebreaker (24 page)

Read Icebreaker Online

Authors: Deirdre Martin

Tags: #Women lawyers, #Contemporary, #Legal, #General, #Romance, #Hockey players, #Fiction

“What did he want this time?”
“Same crap. ‘Adam should tone it down, blah blah blah.’ I swear to Christ, you’d think they’d get it through their skulls by now it isn’t gonna happen. I guess they think they can grind us down.” Michael shook his head. “Morons.” He regarded Adam pensively. “Any idea how your case is going?”
“It’s going,” Adam muttered.
“Anthony said you’re getting a little tired of it dragging on.”
“Yeah, I am, but what can you do?” Sometimes Adam forgot that Anthony was his coach’s brother. It was weird for Adam to hear Michael recount stuff he’d told Ant when they were just hanging out.
“Stooges aren’t helping your mood?” Michael ribbed.
Despite his mounting anger, Adam actually managed a grin. “A bit.”
Michael touched his head. “I got a new haircut. My brother’s an idiot, right? I don’t look like Moe.”
“Not at all.”
“He’s such a
gavone.
”
Murmuring among the players came to an abrupt halt as Esa Saari came strolling out of the locker room. He acknowledged Michael and Adam with a pleasant nod. “ Mornin’, Coach. Captain.”
“Get your fucking Finnish ass to the bench,” Michael growled, striding purposefully toward Esa. Michael’s eyes were blazing, the look on his face the same he used to make when he was a winger heading into the corners on a forecheck.
Adam thought Michael was seconds away from lunging at Saari, so he decided to intervene. “Coach, do you mind if we have a brief players-only meeting? I think the players might like to talk this out among themselves before you get involved.”
Michael Dante started to calm down. He didn’t say anything. He simply walked over to the bench, picked up a stick, looked to see whose it was, then put it back. Finding the one with Saari’s number on it, Michael pulled it out, held it in his hands for a moment, and then in a flash broke it in half over the boards, tossing the splintered parts onto the ice.
“Five minutes,” Michael told Adam, storming into the locker room.
Adam walked slowly
toward the bench, his eyes drilling a smoking hole into Saari’s broad chest. Though he didn’t let it show on his face, he was pleased to see the team was eyeing their teammate with unabashed resentment. “Sorry I’m late, dudes,” Saari told them. “Forgot to set my alarm.”
“Yeah right,” said Eric Mitchell, just audibly.
Saari turned to Adam. “Sorry I’m late, Cap,” he said, looking sheepish but not sheepish enough to be believed. “I forgot to set my alarm. I know it’s a bullshit excuse, but it’s true. You can fine me as much as you want.”
Adam just stared at him. He could feel the tension emanating from the bench tauten. They were waiting for him to tear Saari a new one. But Adam decided to approach it differently this time.
“I’m not going to fine you,” Adam said, which seemed to throw Saari momentarily. “What I’m going to do is have you meet me at the Wild Hart tomorrow night at seven sharp.”
“I have a date—”
“Break it,” Adam said simply.
“I could do that,” Saari replied as if he were doing Adam a big, fat favor.
“Not you could. You will.” He motioned for the team to get on the ice. “Seven,” he reminded Saari. “Don’t forget.”
The confused look
on Saari’s face as he entered the pub was priceless. Adam had deliberately sat in a back booth facing the door, not only so Saari would see him but also so he wouldn’t know who Adam was with. As Saari approached the table, he watched the younger man’s face go from guarded to absolute shock when he saw it was Temu Tikkanen, a great Finnish player for the NHL.
Saari was momentarily speechless as he nervously extended his hand to Tikkanen’s to shake. “I—it’s a pleasure meeting you. You were my biggest hero when I was growing up.”
Tikkanen was unsmiling. “Sadly, it is not a pleasure to meet you.”
Saari looked utterly destroyed, color draining from his face as he turned into a stammering child in the presence of his idol. “I-I don’t—”
“Sit down, Esa,” said Adam firmly.
Saari sat next to Adam, looking dazed. Tikkanen was eyeing him with contempt. At first glance Tikkanen looked like just another handsome and distinguished European businessman. But the longer you looked at him, the more the scars became noticeable, and the longer you looked into his eyes, the more you could see a hardness that only came with years of physical struggle. That was the face that was staring at Saari with such displeasure that Adam almost felt sorry for the little bastard.
“You want anything to drink?” Adam offered.
Saari’s eyes quickly swept the table to see what the two other men were drinking. “A beer would be fine.”
Adam nodded, motioning the waiter over to order a pint for Saari. There was no small talk as the men waited for his drink to arrive. The silence had to be excruciating for Saari, especially since Tikkanen just kept staring at him. By the time Saari’s beer arrived, he was staring down at the table, unable to bear the scrutiny.
Saari barely sipped his beer.
“Since you seem to have a hard time giving a shit about what I said,” Adam began, “I thought Temu might help you put things in perspective.”
Tikkanen finally broke his silence, but instead of speaking to Saari, he turned to Adam. “Adam, would you mind if I spoke with Saari in Finnish?”
“Not at all,” Adam replied, putting his pint to his lips.
Tikkanen and Saari began speaking in their shared native tongue. “How many Stanley Cups have I won, Saari?”
“Two,” Saari replied, still unable to look at his hero directly.
“Tell me why I won them.”
“Because you’re a great player,” said Saari, his voice quivering with admiration. “You were the first Finnish player to make it into the Hockey Hall of Fame.”
Tikkanen’s expression didn’t change. “When you were a little boy back in Finland staring at my poster on your bedroom wall, dreaming of coming to the USA to play one day for the NHL, did you have any idea how much shit I had to put up with?”
Esa looked shamefaced. “No, sir.”
“Then I’ll tell you. I was the first player to represent my country here in the birthplace of hockey. They said I was soft, that all Europeans were pussies. They claimed we had no guts, that we were all flash and no substance and that if you hit us enough, we’d collapse like a house of cards. I showed them otherwise. They speared me, and I came back for more. They slashed me, and I took it, and then next time I met up with them in the corners, I made them pay. Now the league is filled with Europeans. I was one of the ones who did that. Me, Borg from Sweden, and Vlad from Russia. We worked our asses off to gain their respect, and in the end we got it.
“Adam here tells me that you’re a party boy who thinks it’s fine to come strolling into practice late; that you even think it’s okay to slack off in practice if you produce on the ice. Which makes me want to ask you just one question: who the fuck do you think you are?”
Saari’s face turned red as he shrank in his seat.
“What you fail to realize, Esa, is that you’re not just playing for your team, you’re playing for all of Finland. You fuck up on the ice, we all look bad. You don’t respect the game, we all look bad. Are you hearing me?”
Saari swallowed nervously. “Yes.”
“You make me ashamed to be a Finn. I don’t like that, not after all the work I put in to proving myself. You want to be a hero to all those little boys at home who now have your poster on their bedroom walls? Set an example. Give them a reason to be proud of their country and its hockey players, so that if one of them gets a shot at playing here, they’re taken seriously. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If I ever hear anything about you thinking you’re some hot shit young turk who doesn’t have to obey the rules because he’s talented, I will personally come to your flat and fuck you up so badly your career will end right there and then. We clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Saari managed to squeak out.
Tikkanen sat back, satisfied, and switched back to English. “Good. You think they have any Finlandia here? Let’s order some shots so I can clear the taste of bile from my mouth. Then we’ll call it a night so you two can get a good night’s sleep for tomorrow’s practice.”
22
“Hello? Is anybody
in there?”
Sinead blinked as Maggie waved a hand in front of her face. They were in one of the booths in the Hart’s dining room, having dinner. They’d been trying to get together at least one night a week. Their shared memories made for some wonderful laughs.
“I’m here,” Sinead assured Maggie, even though she hadn’t been for a few minutes. She was thinking about the Joyce Toys case and all the other damn cases she had to wrap up. She was also thinking about Adam, even though she hadn’t seen him in six weeks.
Maggie looked dubious. “You’re here now, but you weren’t a few seconds ago.”
“Just thinking about work,” said Sinead, taking a small sip of her martini.
“And Adam.”
“A bit.”
“His case should be wrapped up soon, right?”
“God, I hope so.”
“Then you could go out with Oliver,” Maggie teased. “That’s Mom’s dream.”
Sinead scowled. “He’s not my type. Plus he’s having serious issues with alcohol, which worries me a lot.”
“That’s too bad.”
“It is. He’s brilliant, and if he throws it all away because he can’t get his act together, it will be awful.”
“Agreed.” Maggie began buttering a roll. “Look, I wanted to ask you something, and it’s no biggie if you say no, okay?”
“Great opening,” Sinead said dryly. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering if you could watch Charlie for an hour next Wednesday night. Brendan is going to be working late, and I have an old client who was just in a car accident, and she’s really in desperate need of a massage.”
Sinead jumped at the chance. “Absolutely,” she said, even though the prospect made her nervous.
“Thanks so much, Neenee.”
Sinead took another sip of her drink. “Have you talked to Brendan about my ‘loan’ offer?”
Maggie looked sheepish. “I keep meaning to get around to it, but . . .”
“Don’t put it off. It’s important.”
“I know, I know. I’ll talk to him soon. I promise.”
Sinead was just about to remind Maggie their parents helped Quinn with his rent when he was just starting out as a journalist when the pub door swung open, and in walked Adam.
“Shit,” Sinead whispered vehemently.
Maggie turned. “What?” She spotted Adam. “Oh.” She turned back to Sinead. “He better not have the balls to come over here if he knows what’s good for him.”
“Maggie, don’t cause trouble. Please. Just block me.”
“What?”
“I said block me. So he doesn’t see me.”
Maggie discreetly looked over her shoulder. “Too late. Christie’s just handed him his beer and he’s walking over here.”

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