“Including his chance to win the Cup.”
“Exactly. Though whether Adam was really good enough is debatable. Definitely not, if he continued to play the way he did last season.”
Something in her voice caught Maggie’s attention. “Did something happen?”
Her friend sighed. “Not really. But those last few months of his life, Adam was wildly inconsistent. No one knew from one minute to the next if he’d be laughing and joking or snapping and shouting.”
“Was he under too much pressure to perform?” The more Lee had been stressed about his play, the more unpredictable he’d been.
“Possibly. Anyway, the point’s moot. Jake wants to honor Adam the best way he can. Who am I to judge?”
“But you’re concerned about Jake?” This conversation was giving Maggie some useful insights, but also raising more questions.
“A tribute’s fine, but changing your whole life is something else. An untimely death can raise a normal guy to near sainthood.” Jenny’s lips twisted. “Adam wasn’t a saint. For sure, he wasn’t any better than Bad Boy. He was also envious of Jake—the parties, the women—and always striving to live up to him.”
“Jake’s penance for surviving was to cut them out of his life.”
“I think so. That’s why I was pleased when he became interested in you. It was a sign he’d come through the worst and was beginning to look forward instead of back.”
“Me?” Maggie’s heart skipped with pleasure. “But I’m nothing like the women he used to date.”
“Which makes you perfect for him.”
Her stomach roiled. “I won’t have another relationship where I’m worried about being perfect for a man. Been there, done that and got the bloody T-shirt. I’m just beginning to be who I want to be. It’s taken too much heartache to get me this far. I can’t go there again.”
“Of course not. No one’s perfect. You have to be yourself. Don’t let anyone interfere with that.” Jenny’s vehemence suggested she was referring to her own past.
Maggie didn’t push—everyone had their secrets. “The thing is, we’re hardly dating, let alone anything more serious. I don’t even know if he’s still interested in me.”
“Oh, he is. Are you still interested in him?”
Jake had sneaked past her defenses. Most of the time, she liked him. Liked being with him. There was no denying her attraction to him—the man could spike her temperature with a single look. He was certainly different from Lee, but being with Jake was never going to be plain sailing. Still... “Yes.”
“Then hang in there. It’ll take time for Jake to work things out. The most important being how to fit you into his life.”
“What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“Figure out how you want Jake to fit into your life.”
Jenny was right.
If Maggie wanted to be in charge of her life, she had some decisions to make. Jake wasn’t the only one who got to decide how their relationship would work. Or even if there would be a relationship.
Who was she kidding? She was long past the stage of having flings. Aside from what it would do to Emily, Maggie wasn’t interested in getting back on that merry-go-round or in being another piece of Jake’s arm candy.
This time, Maggie wanted to be absolutely sure, from the beginning, of what she was getting into. She wanted both sides to be serious about what was involved in a steady relationship. Even if it didn’t pan out long-term, she wanted the reassurance of exclusivity and that they’d both work at the relationship. She wanted mutual respect. Compromise, not dictates. Give-and-take, where she wasn’t the only one giving.
Maybe it was a lot to ask, but this time, Maggie wouldn’t settle for anything less.
* * *
OPENING NIGHT HAD finally arrived.
In twenty minutes, Jake would hit the ice for real. Warm-up was over. The Zambonis were preparing the ice. The arena was already buzzing with excited fans. Around him, the chilled air rang with the whine of skates being sharpened and the rip of tape. The sharp tang of glue mingled with the scent of popcorn.
Familiar. Reassuring. Home.
This was what he was. What he lived for.
He walked into the locker room, where his teammates gathered for last-minute instructions. Hip-hop blared from the boom box as he sat in his stall. He’d have preferred the pounding beat of heavy rock to get him pumped up. Hell, he’d take country over this crap.
A sharp click and the room fell silent.
Heads turned to the front, where the coach stood to deliver his pregame talk. The mood was somber, intense. The clock ticked down toward zero and game time.