Prologue
MAX
Thirty. That was the age people started buying houses, getting married, and having babies. I'd rented out the penthouse ballroom of one of the nicest hotels in Dallas and put an unlimited tab behind the bar. To each their own.
Music pulsed through the room as nearly a hundred people laughed, danced, and drank beneath crystal chandeliers overlooking the city skyline.
My teammates filled one corner. Guys I'd played junior with occupied another.
A handful of NHL players from around the league had flown in because our schedules finally lined up for once.
The Dallas Blaze had just come off a four-game road trip. Three wins. One loss. Coach Davis had given us two days before we were back to chasing the playoffs. Which meant tonight. belonged to us.
"Birthday boy!" A body slammed into my shoulder hard enough to nearly spill my whiskey.
Dax. Naturally.
"You trying to kill me?" I asked.
“My guy, I’m the one who planned this shindig,” Dax reminded. “I love you.”
"I appreciate the concern."
"I don't actually care about you." He reached over and stole my drink before taking a sip. "I'm just not wasting good liquor."
I snatched it back. "Get your own." I laughed, shaking my head.
"You realize you're the reason people think hockey players share one brain cell," he had the gull to say.
Pfft. What a jerk. I laughed anyway.
Someone yelled my name from across the ballroom. A rookie I'd barely known for four months waved me over to meet his girlfriend. I excused myself from Dax without another thought.
That was always my favorite part. Not the expensive parties. Not the alcohol. The people.
"Happy birthday," the rookie's girlfriend said as soon as I reached them. "He hasn't stopped talking about how nice you've been to him."
I wrapped an arm around the rookie's shoulders.
"Don't let him fool you. I only invited him because he carries my equipment."
"I knew it," the rookie groaned.
His girlfriend laughed.
"So humble."
"I try."
I signed a jersey for one of the hotel bartenders. Took a selfie with one of the servers.
Bought another round for the room because somebody yelled that turning thirty deserved tequila.
Hunter found me twenty minutes later.
"Water." He held out a bottle.
"I didn't ask for water," I brought to his attention.
"Exactly," Hunter replied. He was too damn responsible and funny enough it was one of the reasons I respected him so much.
"I was pacing myself," I argued.
"You've had four whiskeys."
"Five," I corrected.
Hunter just sighed. “Drink the water Max.”
"Stop being Captain for one night," I countered.
“I’m not going to be captain forever. You need to clean up so you can take that role over,” he noted.
“Nah, I like getting fined too much,” I chuckled. I wasn’t a fighter. That was for sure but I sure as hell had my share of fines for being late to practice.
His mouth twitched into what looked like something that might materialize into a smile. Well almost a smile. Hunter was one of my best friends even if we were complete opposites. He was guy who somehow made every person around him feel like family. Responsibility fit him.
Me on the other hand?
I preferred being the fun uncle who showed up with sugar, noise, and questionable decision-making before disappearing again.
People always asked when I planned on settling down.
The answer was easy. Never. Relationships were simple until someone started expecting forever.
Forever wasn't a guarantee. It never had been.
Mom and Ryse had somehow beaten the odds.
They were the exception. Ryse had chosen me when he didn't have to.
Spent years dragging me to freezing rinks before school because I'd decided at nine years old that I wanted to play hockey.
Nine. Half the league had been skating before they could read.
Ryse never cared. He just showed up whenever I needed him and tried not to miss my games because of his own crazy schedule.
People loved talking about my work ethic.
The miracle kid who started late. The first-line winger who somehow won two Frozen Four championships at Westfall before making the NHL.
They liked that story. It sounded inspirational.
They didn't know the parts I skipped. Didn't know that sometimes I caught myself wondering whether hard work could really outrun blood forever.
Whether eventually... Whatever made one man walk away from his family might show up in me too. The thought settled somewhere behind my ribs. I drowned it with another sip of whiskey. Tonight was for pretending life was exactly as good as it looked.
The ballroom doors opened. The cheering started immediately.
I frowned. "What the hell?"
Six women walked inside wearing glittering sequined costumes and heels that looked like workplace safety violations.
I slowly turned toward Dax. "...Explain."
He shrugged like this wasn’t a plan he concocted. If it wasn’t him then who was the culprit?
"The birthday committee?" Dax asked.
"There was a committee?" My eyes bugged out.
"There was a spreadsheet." He nodded. "We figured thirty deserved entertainment."
"I would've settled for cake," I countered.
"No, you wouldn't."
"...Fair."
Hunter appeared beside me just as the DJ switched songs. He took one look at the dancers. Then at me.
"No," he said like that one word would make the ladies melt into thin air and disappear.
"I didn't hire them," I said.
"I actually believe you, but this is about to become a problem," he said with his jaw pulsing.
"It's one dance," I argued. Hunter was going to blow a gasket for no reason. These girls were dancers not strippers.
The music was loud. My friends were here.
The team was winning. For one night... I didn't want to think about tomorrow.
Someone shoved another whiskey into my hand.
Another friend dropped a ridiculous plastic birthday crown onto my head.
The room started chanting my name. Hunter pinched the bridge of his nose.
"This is exactly how TMZ documentaries start."
"I'll make sure they use my good side."
"You don't have one."
"Ouch."
I went to dance. The music pulsed. Phones flashed. Everyone had phones which meant I had no privacy. This was the part of growing up in the spotlight that I hated. I couldn’t have fun without paying for it the next day.
One flash came from farther back. It felt sharper. I looked toward the rear of the ballroom. A man lowered a camera with a long lens. He wasn’t a guest. He was a damn photographer. Our eyes locked. He smiled then lifted the camera one last time.
Click.
Hunter followed my gaze.
Every trace of amusement disappeared from his face. "Security!"
The photographer turned and sprinted for the exit.
By the time security reacted, the guy was already gone.
The music kept playing. Most of the room hadn't even noticed.
I looked down at the whiskey in my hand.
The birthday crown. The dancers laughing behind me.
Then back toward the doors. A familiar knot settled in my chest. Because I already knew what tomorrow's headlines would say.
Not that Max McGuire threw a birthday party.
That Max McGuire had done it again. And for a few million people who had never met me... That would be all the proof they needed to argue that I was the wild child of hockey.