Janel had brought in a group of new interns, and Serge’s retirement was their first major press conference. The room buzzed with their young energy. Now, they were throwing out ideas to make Molotov more palatable.
“Maybe if Molotov were a kinky billionaire, people would like him more. People love those,” a pale, blonde intern was saying.
“Only in books, dumbass. It’s not going to win over legislators,” countered her buddy.
“Well, it should.”
Serge and Janel were huddled together in a corner, their heads practically touching, as they went over what Serge was going to say. Janel had seized on it as an opportunity to talk about the vote without actually talking about the vote. Bobby had flown in from LA overnight and was under strict orders to be quiet. He was pacifying himself with multiple cups of coffee.
Adam leaned against a wall, surveying the room. He supposed he could join the interns. He was one of them—albeit better compensated. But he was learning the ropes, just the same.
Still, he needed a moment.
After leaving Serge at the hospital, he hadn’t been able to sleep.
He’d gone through all of his options again, going through all the permutations and possibilities. But mostly, he’d paced in the dark, his steps slow and uneven as he favored his sore knee. He stared out the big window of his apartment, staring at the lights of the other buildings, down, down at the elusive glimmer of the Willamette. And he thought of Helen and how scared she had been for him and how much she did love him to be so hurt when he was hurt. She’d been scared for him, and he hadn’t given her any reason to not be scared.
They drove to a hotel where Janel had arranged for the reporters to meet them. The place was bristling with microphones. They shuttled quickly to an office and shut the door. Janel had instructed Adam to wear a suit. He also had a brace on over his trousers today, partly out of solidarity to Serge. Why bother hiding it, anyway. Janel had tried to fluff his hair, but Adam batted her hands away. Serge got to wear whatever he wanted. His dark blue jacket matched his own proudly displayed brace, and he’d wrapped his crutches in navy hockey tape. He let Janel smooth his shoulders, and he sent Adam a wink when Janel started to fiddle with his coif.
Adam rolled his eyes, dug his phone out of his pocket, and scrolled through a long list of messages. Of course, Helen hadn’t called. Why would she after what he’d said, after what he’d demanded? It seemed so reasonable at the time to expect her to want security, but he had been the one asking her to wait for him—to worry too much for him. Clearly, he could do enough worrying for both of them. She had been looking out for him, in her own way. But had he been looking out for her?
His stomach roiled as he followed the others into the press room. His best friend wouldn’t be on the road with him. He was playing a game he didn’t like and working for a man he loathed. And he didn’t have Helen. Sure, he’d have some semblance of security, but what exactly was he trying to preserve?
Janel had been going over the basics, and now it was Serge’s turn in the spotlight. He started off by thanking the team, the coaches, his family. He even managed to acknowledge Molotov International, although his huge smirk at the end was probably going to elicit a few questions.
“I want to take a moment to thank my teammate and my friend, the best guy I know, Adam Magnus. Sometimes in this game, it seems like we’re just a bunch of guys trying to bash each other’s brains out—”
Janel flinched.
“But the most important thing I’ve learned from Adam here,” Serge continued serenely, “is that who you are on the ice—who people think you are—doesn’t have to be all that you are in life. The ice is just the surface we play on. So despite the fact that my career ended before I thought it would, I’m looking forward to my retirement. I’m looking forward to the rest of my life. Thank you.”
A small silence followed Serge’s words. God, was he getting choked up? Serge stumped over and gave him a half hug. Then he gestured down at their matching knee braces, and the reporters laughed and took pictures, and the room buzzed as journalists started asking questions.
Adam wasn’t sure when exactly it was that he sensed Helen. But he found himself turning her way before he could question why, and there she was, almost hidden behind a pillar at the back of the room. And her eyes were on him.
Janel was answering a question at length and hadn’t noticed, but Serge had seen her and he grinned at Adam then gave him a nod. No one would miss him.
Adam excused himself from his seat and walked carefully around the periphery of the room, partly because he was afraid that if he moved faster, the dream would dissipate. When he reached her, he could see she was pale and worried. Her eyes darted searchingly across his face, as if she couldn’t believe he was there. She had dark circles under her eyes, and her fingers clasped and unclasped as she gazed up at him. She’d never looked better. He put his hands on hers—her hands so alive with muscle and nervous energy—and held them gently. And behind the pillar, to the whir and flash of cameras, her face began to lighten with relief as he reached down and kissed her.