When I Fall in Love(94)
She found them in Jace’s bathroom, him rooting through his medicine cabinet. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m allergic to certain kinds of fish.”
“What? How come I don’t know this?” Eden said.
“I don’t know. We never eat seafood—” He coughed. Tears ran from his eyes.
“But didn’t you look at the menu?” Eden said.
“That’s your . . . job . . .” Jace slapped his cheek.
“What’s going on?” This from Max. Pretty soon they’d have the entire magazine crew in the bathroom with them.
“Jace is allergic to fish!” Grace said.
Max closed the door, trapping them inside. “Well, don’t let them know.”
Grace turned to Jace, who had sat on the edge of his giant Jacuzzi tub. “The man is going into anaphylactic shock. We’re going to have to hospitalize him. How are they not going to know this?”
“I’m not . . . Oh no. Make way—” Jace dove for the toilet.
Max and Grace turned away.
“Whoa. Okay. I’m getting rid of them,” Max said.
Grace stood there, stricken, watching Eden press a cold cloth to Jace’s forehead.
She’d taken out the former enforcer for the St. Paul Blue Ox with a butterfish. Her hand found the counter, and she leaned against it. “What did you think we were going to serve on your Hawaiian menu, Jace?”
He leaned against the wall, sweat beaded across his forehead. “A roast pig? Maybe some pineapple?”
Oh, boy. She might be ill right alongside Jace. “I’ll go help Max get rid of them.”
Eden caught her hand. “I’m so sorry, Grace. For the record, I thought it was delicious.”
“It was good . . . just deadly,” Jace said.
Yeah, she could pretty much use that description for the last two-plus days. She found Max in the kitchen, cleaning off the plates. “I sent them home with the Bundt cakes,” he said.
Grace shook her head. “He wants a pig.”
“Huh?”
“You know, dig a hole, light a fire, add a pig, shove an apple in its mouth. Jace thought we were having a luau.”
Max appeared appropriately horrified. He put down the dish, met her eyes. “Don’t worry, 9B. It’ll all work out.”
But she couldn’t help it. She sank her face into her hands, the frustration and stress leaking out in hiccuped breaths.
Max’s arms went around her, his hand running down her hair. He smelled like the kitchen—tangy, sweet—his embrace even stronger than it had been in Hawaii, if that was possible. Her head fell against the hard planes of his chest, and she let herself sink into him.
Jace was right. Good but deadly, because she hadn’t a prayer of not falling for Max Sharpe all over again.
WHEN JACE HAD CALLED HIM for a pickup game of hockey, Max assumed the big guy just wanted to work out his prewedding restlessness. After all, he had roughly twenty-nine hours before he walked down that aisle and . . .
And that might put any guy in the mood to gather his buddies, slap around a puck, play hard into the boards, even without protective gear.
Marriage. A life with someone you loved. Forever.
Max tamped the sudden, unwelcome spurt of jealousy and slapped the puck to Kalen Boomer, who juked out Sam Newton, one of Jace’s old buddies and former Minnesota Wild player, sliding it between his skates and heading for the open net.
The practice arena soared above them, the sound of their sticks on the ice like gunfire. Max loved the way the breath of the ice seeped into his skin, despite the fire of a good sweat.
Kalen took the shot and it bounced off the post. Sam scooped up the rebound and shot it out to Jace. The two had a groove, and with Sam playing the role of Jace’s best man, it felt like they had history off the ice, too. Max raced down to fight for the puck, but Jace slapped it into the goal, circling behind the net, his arms raised.
“Had enough there, kiddo?” Sam said, laughing.
“I don’t know, old guy.” Max fished the puck out. Played with it, kicking it between his feet as Jace came around to steal it.
“Who you calling old?” Jace said, jabbing for the puck. “I feel like I’m seventeen again.”
“You play like you’re seventeen.” Max outsticked him, headed for the net, and scored, Jace not even giving pursuit. But his laughter filled the arena.
The ebullient joy in the air had the power to lift Max out of the dark place that threatened to pull him in, that sad place of reality reminding him of what he and Grace could never have. The camaraderie of the past two weeks, e-mailing, phone calls . . . the memories—the argument it churned inside him could sink him.
They skated into the box, and Max reached for his water.