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“Hell yes, there’s a big something else!” Mac snapped. “And if you repeat it I’ll blow a gasket.”
Rory just stared at him. The Kydd girls didn’t blab. If they did they could’ve made themselves a nice chunk of change selling their Mac stories to the tabloids.
Mac rubbed the back of his neck with his good hand and proceeded to explain how his being hurt could materially affect the Mavericks. Rory listened, shocked, as Mac dissected the implications of his injury. “If Chenko buys the team, Kade will be replaced as CEO, Quinn’s coaching contract won’t be renewed and if I’m injured, I’m too old for them to give me another chance. The Mavericks will be turned into another corporate team—and I will not let that happen.”
Rory took a moment to allow his words to make sense. When they did, her jaw tightened. The Mavericks were a Vancouver institution that had been owned by the Hasselbacks for generations and she knew—thanks to listening to Troy’s rants on the subject over the years—that when corporate businesses took over sports teams, the magic dissipated. Traditions were lost; fans were disappointed; the players lost their individuality. It became soulless and clinical. She kept her eyes on Mac, pale-faced and stressed. “And if you do play?”
“Then we have a chance of saving the team.”
“How?” Rory demanded.
“It’s complicated, and confidential, but we need a particular type of partner, one who has the connections and skills in PR, merchandising, sponsorships. Even though we are retaining control, we are asking for a lot of money for a minor share and we have to accept that I am the face of the team and an essential part of the deal. I have to play.” Mac rubbed his forehead with the tips of his fingers, his gesture indicating pain or frustration or exhaustion. Probably all three. “This isn’t about me, not this time. Or, at least, it isn’t all about me. If I could take the time off I would, I’m not that arrogant. But I need to get back on the ice and, apparently, you’re my best bet.”
Rory bit her bottom lip, knowing what he was asking was practically impossible. “The chance of you being able to play in two months’ time is less than ten percent, Mac. Practically nonexistent.”
“I can do it, Rory. You just need to show me how.”
She nearly believed him. If anybody could do it then it would be him.
“Mac, you could do yourself some permanent damage.”
Mac pressed his lips together. “Again, my choice, my consequences.”
God, why did that have to resonate so deeply with her? Okay, so this wasn’t all about him and his career. A part of it was, of course it was, but she knew how much the Mavericks meant to him. There had been many reports about the bond he shared with his mentor, the now dead owner of the team. The cheating dead owner of the Mavericks—dying in his mistress’s bed.
Don’t think about that, she told herself. With her history of a having a serial cheater for a father, it was a sure way to get her blood pressure spiking.
She had to disregard the emotion around this decision, try to forget he was attempting to save his team, his friends’ jobs and the traditions of the Mavericks, which were an essential part of the city’s identity. She had to look at his injury, his need and his right to treatment. If this were any other sportsman and not Mac, would she be trying to help him? Yeah, she would.
And really, if she didn’t help Mac, Troy might never speak to her again.
She nodded reluctantly. “Okay. I’ll help you, as much as I can.”
Mac, to her surprise, didn’t look jubilant or excited. He just looked relieved and wiped out. “Thank you,” he quietly said.
Rory turned to Kade. “You need to contact my office, sign a formal contract with my employers.”
Kade grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the other thing...we’d like to cut out the middleman.”
Rory lifted up her hands in frustration. Was nothing going to be simple today? “What does that mean?”
Kade jerked his head in Mac’s direction and Rory saw that his head was back against his pillow and his eyes were closed. “Let’s carry on this discussion outside and I’ll fill you in.”
“Why do I know that you’re about to complicate my life even further?” Rory demanded when they were standing in the passage outside Mac’s room.
“Because you are, obviously, a very smart woman,” Kade said, placing a large hand on her shoulder. “Let’s go get some coffee and we’ll sort this mess out.”
That sounded like an excellent idea since she desperately needed a cup of liquid sanity.
Three (#uca1e6103-1046-569c-9dc3-be7732d0a588)
Rory walked into the diner situated around the corner from St. Catherine’s Hospital and scanned the tables, looking for her best friend. It had only been an hour since Kade had laid out his terms, and she needed Troy to talk her off the ledge...
Dressed in skinny jeans and a strappy white crop top, she ignored the compliments coming from a table of construction workers on her left. She waved at Troy and smiled at grumbles behind her when they saw her breakfast companion—huge, sexy and, not that they’d ever realize it, gay. With his blond hair, chiseled jaw and hot bod, he had guys—and girls—falling over him and had the social life of a boy band member.
Unlike her who, according to Mr. Popular, partied like a nun.
Troy stood up as she approached and she reached up to place a kiss on his cheek. He’d changed out of his uniform into jeans and a T-shirt but he still looked stressed.
“Rough night? Is Mac being a pain in your backside?” she asked him.
“He’s not a problem at all. I was at the home until late. My mom had a bad episode.”
Rory sent him a sympathetic look. Troy’s mom suffered from dementia and most of his cash went to funding the nursing home he’d put her into. Unfortunately the home wasn’t great, but it was the best he could afford.
Rory had decided a long time ago that when she opened her clinic Troy would be her first hire, at a salary that would enable him to move his mom out of that place into a nicer home. Hopefully, if they did well, he could also move out of his horrible apartment and buy a decent car. “Sorry, honey.”
Troy shrugged as they sat down on opposite sides of the table. “You look as frazzled as I do. What’s up?”
“So much,” Rory replied. “Let’s order and I’ll tell you a story.” She pushed the folder she’d been carrying toward Troy. “Look at this.”
After they ordered, Rory tapped the file with her index finger. “Read.”
“Mark McCaskill?” Troy looked at the label. “Why do you have Open Mac’s file?”
Rory pulled a face as the waitress poured them coffee. She’d always loathed that nickname since it was a play on the microphone incident from so long ago, something she didn’t need to be constantly reminded of. Then again, his other nickname, PD—short for Panty Dropper—was even worse. “If you’re not going to read it then fill me in on all the gossip about him.”
Troy frowned. “Why?”
“I’ll explain.” She waved her hand. “Go. Center and captain of the Vancouver Mavericks hockey team. Incredible player, one of the very best. Dates a variety of women. What else?”
Troy rested his forearms on the table, his face pensive. “Well, he’s spokesperson for various campaigns, epilepsy being one of them. He sits on the boards of a few charities, mostly relating to children. He’s also, thanks to investing in bars, restaurants and food trucks, one of the wealthiest bachelors in town. He’s also supremely haawwwt,” Troy added. “And surprisingly nice, even though I know how stressed he must be wondering if this injury will keep him out for the season.”
Mac—nice? Yeah, sure.
Troy flicked the file open and flipped through the pile of papers. “You’re treating him?”
Rory nodded and Troy looked confused. “But this isn’t a Craydon file,” he added, referring to the distinctive yellow-and-blue patient files used at the physiotherapy practice she worked for. “What gives, Rorks?”
Rory folded her arms across her chest and tapped her foot, her big, silver-gray eyes tight with worry. How much to tell him? As much as she could, she decided, he was her best friend. She trusted him implicitly and valued his judgment. Still, sharing didn’t come easily to her so she took a moment to work out what to say. “Mac and I have a...history.”
Troy’s snort was disbelieving. “Honey, you’re not his type. He dates tall, stacked, exotic gazelles.”
Rory scowled. She knew what type of woman Mac dated. She saw them every time she opened a newspaper or magazine. “I know that I am short, and flat-chested,” Rory snapped. “You don’t need to rub it in.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” Troy quietly stated. “Yeah, you’re short but you have a great figure, you know that you do. And there’s nothing wrong with your chest.”
“Like you’d know,” Rory muttered.
“I know that you desperately need some masculine hands on your boobs and on other more exciting parts of your body. It’s been a year, eighteen months, since you’ve had some action?”
Actually it was closer to two years, but she’d rather die than admit that to Mr. Cool. “Can we concentrate on my McCaskill problem please?”
“He’s a problem?”
“You’ve forgotten that Shay was dating him during the open-mic disaster.”
Troy’s mouth dropped open. “I did forget that. He said he was bored with her, that monogamy was for the birds.”
“Yep. Obviously that’s a position he still holds.”
Troy leaned back so the waitress could put their food down. He frowned at Rory’s sarcastic comment. “Honey, that was a long time ago and he was young. Shay’s moved on...what’s the problem?”
“He’s a man-slut. It annoys me.”
“It shouldn’t. He didn’t cheat on you,” Troy pointed out, and Rory stared down at her plate.
No, he’d almost cheated on her sister with her. The intention had been there. He would’ve cheated if Rory hadn’t stopped him. He was just like her father and exactly the last person in the world she should be attracted to.
It made absolutely no sense at all.
She’d never told Troy—or anyone—what had happened between her and Mac and she still couldn’t. Hurting her sister hadn’t been her finest moment.
“Okay, admittedly, Mac is not the poster boy for love and commitment so I kind of get your antipathy to him since you have such a huge issue with infidelity,” Troy said after taking a sip of his coffee.
“Doesn’t everyone?” Rory demanded. “Have issues with it?”
“No. And if they do, they don’t take it to the nth degree like you do. Hell, Rorks, I recall you not accepting a date from a perfectly nice guy because you said he had a ‘cheating face.’”
Rory ignored his air quotes and lifted her nose in the air. “Okay, maybe that was wrong of me.”
“Wrong of you? It was properly ridiculous.”
Troy tapped the folder before he attacked his eggs. “Tell me how this came about.”
Rory filled him in and Troy listened, fascinated.
“So, they want you, widely regarded as the best sports rehab physio in the area, to work on Mac. Why didn’t they just approach the clinic directly and hire you that way?”
She’d asked Kade the same question. “They are going to keep the extent of Mac’s injury a secret from the public and the fans. They’ll admit that he’s pulled a muscle or something minor but they don’t want it getting out that his injury is as bad as it is.”
“Why the secrecy?”
“Sorry, I can’t tell you that.” Troy, to his credit, didn’t push. “Kade asked me to take a leave of absence from the clinic to treat Mac.”
Troy’s eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“And you said yes, no, hell, no?”
“Thanks to the fact that I am a workaholic, I have nearly two and a half months of vacation due to me that I have to either use or lose.”
Troy just looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
“Kade offered me twenty grand for six weeks and another thirty if I get Mac back into condition by the time the season starts in two months.”
“Fifty K?” Troy’s mouth fell open. After a moment of amazed silence he spoke again. “With that sort of money you could open your own practice like you’ve been dreaming of doing.”
And, more important, she could employ him. Rory nodded. “Yeah. I want to set up a clinic that isn’t a conveyor belt of only treating the patient’s pain—”
“No need to go on, I’ve been listening to you ramble on about your clinic for years.” Troy’s smile was full of love. “And Kade’s offer will allow you to establish this clinic without having to take a loan or use the money you were saving for a house.”
“Essentially.”
“It sounds like a no-brainer, Rorks,” Troy said quietly.
Rory sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. It did, didn’t it? “Except for two rather major points.”
“Which are?”
“First, I am stupidly, crazily attracted to Mac. Nobody makes my blood move like he does.” She glared at Troy. “Don’t you dare laugh! How am I supposed to treat him when all I want to do is crawl all over him?”
Troy hooted, vastly amused.
“Second, and more important, I don’t think I can fix him, Troy, and especially not in two months.” Troy stopped laughing and stared at her.
“I don’t think he’s got a hope in hell.”
“Except that you are forgetting one thing...” Troy cocked his head at her and slowly smiled. “When Mac McCaskill decides he wants something, he’ll move hell and high water to get it. Everyone knows that if Mac says he is going to do something, he’ll get it done. He doesn’t know what failure means.”
Yet he’d failed Shay and, in a roundabout way, failed her. He wasn’t anywhere as perfect as Troy thought him to be.
* * *
The next morning Rory knocked on Mac’s door and stuck her head inside after he told her to come in.
“I’m in the bathroom, I’ll be with you in a sec,” Mac called, so Rory sat down in the visitors’ chair, her bag at her feet. Inside the folder that she placed on her knees was a signed contract to be Mac’s physiotherapist for the next two months.
A little over two months...nine or so weeks. Rory felt panic bubble in her throat and she rubbed her hands over her face. She wasn’t sure if she was scared, excited or horrified. A clinic, the last piece of a down payment for a house, a job for Troy, she reminded herself.
If she continued to save as she’d been doing, it would take another two years to gather what they were prepared to pay her in two months. This was a once-in-a-lifetime deal and she would be a moron to turn to it down. As she’d explained to Troy, there was just one little problem—she had to work with Mac, around Mac, on Mac. The chemistry between them hadn’t changed. She was as attracted to him as she had been at nineteen, possibly even more. Young Mac had been charismatic and sexy and charming but Mac-ten-years-on was a potent mix of power, strength and determination that turned her to jelly. Kade might be the Mavericks’ CEO, and Quinn was no pushover, but yesterday in this same room, Mac, despite his pain, was their undisputed leader. He had, thanks to his mental strength, pushed through pain and taken charge of the meeting.
Mac was determined and had a will to win that was second to none. He was also a rule breaker and a risk taker and utterly bullheaded.
Exactly the type of man she always avoided. They were fun and interesting and compelling, but they broke hearts left, right and center. Sometimes, as was the case with her father, they broke the same hearts over and over again.
She was too smart to let that happen to her.
