Crazy Thing Called Love (9 page)

“Oh, honey, let’s take you home.”

“Hey, no … actually, Vincent asked me to go out with him and some of the guys.”

“Oh.” She blinked and then mustered a smile, his beautiful girl. “You should totally go. Celebrate.”

“Come with.”

“Billy, I’m twenty—”

“No one will care if you come in with a bunch of Pit Bulls. And it’s Montreal, I don’t think they care about that here. Come on, it will be fun. Vincent said something about steaks.”

Her eyes lit up at the mention of steak. His little carnivore would do just about anything for a good steak.

“Let’s go!” she cried, her happiness making her buoyant. She curled her hand around his arm and they headed out the door, into what felt like a brand new life.

The taxi dropped them off in front of a building sandwiched on either side by what could only be strip clubs. The letters
XXX
meant the same thing in French. He checked the address on the card. They were in the right place.

“Billy,” she said, staring up at the building. “This is the red light district.”

“Yeah, I bet the guys come here because there’s no press and they don’t get hassled.” Or something.

“I don’t know.”

“Let’s just check it out.” He knew she didn’t want to be here, just like he knew she’d roll with it if he pretended not to understand that. She was good like that.

“You really want to go in there?”

“I got invited, Maddy. I said I’d come. I’ll bet there are other wives here. You’ll be able to make some friends.”

It took her a second but she finally agreed.

They walked up the stairs to an old brick and stone building that didn’t have a name on it. If it weren’t for the red light above the door, you wouldn’t even think it was a club. You wouldn’t even think anyone was there.

His skin prickled at the thought. It was so exclusive it practically didn’t exist. How cool was that?

A giant man with no neck opened the door for them, the sound of music pouring out all around them. But not that cheesy dance stuff—which gave him hope that there wouldn’t be naked women dancing inside.

“Who are you?” the giant asked, his voice so low the ground practically shook. It took Billy a second to wade through the man’s French-Canadian accent to understand what he meant.

“I’m … ah … I’m Billy Wilkins.”

The guy stared at him, tilting his head to look at the scar, and then his dark face split into a grin. “Nice game tonight. Hell of a fight.” He clapped Billy on the shoulder, ushering him inside. But then he held up a hand, stopping Maddy.

“She’s with me,” Billy said.

“I’m his wife,” she clarified and the bouncer glanced between them and then shook his head, chuckling like he knew a punch line they didn’t.

“Go right ahead,” he said and Billy stepped into a dark alcove shuttered by thick curtains. Music thumped and boomed in the small space. When Maddy reached his side, he pulled back the dark fabric.

Instantly, his heart plummeted.

There wasn’t any stripping, per se. But the girls were wearing practically nothing and were curled up on the laps of his teammates, looking like they would take off what little they had on without much asking.

All the guys sat in low, leather chairs, a big table between them, covered in food.

“There’s your steak,” he said, brightly, hoping she might be blinded by the steak and not see the girls.

“Billy?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

A beautiful woman wearing a blue dress that hugged every curve and hollow of her body came up to them. He didn’t look, he honestly didn’t. He kept his eyes on the woman’s. Beside him, Maddy stiffened.

“Can I take your coats?” she asked in a French accent.

“No,” Maddy said, quickly. Too quickly. She wasn’t mad, she was just nervous.

The woman in blue left and Maddy pulled on Billy’s hand.

“It’s French, babe,” he said, trying to calm her down, because he wanted to stay even though she was uncomfortable. “It’s just the way things are here.”

Vincent, at the table, stood slightly, waving Billy over.

“Come on,” he whispered, pulling Maddy along with him. They got to the table and he shook hands around the table. It was Vincent and five other guys. Christ, talk about being invited into the inner sanctum.

Belznick; Reed; O’Hare; Bern, who didn’t play tonight because he was injured; and Murphy. All of them with Stanley Cup rings.

So. Fucking. Cool.

“Who is the girl?” Vincent asked in his ear.

“My wife.” He turned to introduce her, but Vincent stopped him.

“Wife?”

“Yeah. Maddy.”

“Dude. Do you see any other wives here?”

“Uh, no.”

“That’s right. We don’t bring wives.”

“But … she’s cool. I mean …” He didn’t know what he meant.

“So’s my wife,” Vincent said. “But she sure as hell isn’t here.”

Vincent leaned past Billy and looked at Maddy, his smile sincere. “Your husband was awesome tonight,” he yelled over the music. Maddy’s face lost some of its stern white lines.

“Yes.” Her eyes rolled over Billy with hot familiarity and pride. “He was.”

“Have a seat,” Vincent said, pulling out a chair for Maddy, acting all chivalrous, and Billy felt like he was getting a lesson in lying. A lesson in living two lives. “You want some steak? There’s not much else on the menu tonight.”

“Steak is perfect.”

Vincent lifted his hand and made a gesture to the woman in the blue dress, who vanished behind another set of dark curtains.

Their steaks arrived. He ordered two beers and gave one to Maddy; no one batted an eye at her being underage. He touched the neck of his bottle to hers, but she didn’t smile. She drank like she was dying.

At the front of the table one of the girls took O’Hare’s hand and led him away to a dark corner. In the shadows he saw the flash of her white skin as she peeled off her dress and danced for him.

He tried not to be turned on, but it was impossible. The game, the invitation, the shadowy corner where the girl was dancing: all of it made Billy’s blood pound.

“Billy,” Maddy whispered. “Let’s go. You want a dance, I’ll dance for you. But this place isn’t us—”

“Billy!” Reed yelled from across the table. “You put
Popov down tonight, man.” The other guys started talking about the fight and Billy felt himself expand under their praise. These men, these veterans of the game, they accepted him. They’d invited him into their world. Their party.

He glanced back at his wife, whom he loved with all his heart.

Next time he wouldn’t bring her.

Ruth didn’t let
any moss grow under her ass—they were scheduled to tape Billy’s introduction episode on Friday.

On Wednesday afternoon Madelyn declared a temporary and necessary detante and knocked on the door of the editing suite.

“Go away!” Ruth yelled, which is what she yelled at everyone, so Madelyn walked in anyway. The room was dark, a series of cubicles off a long center hallway, with editing equipment tucked into each one. She followed the flashing lights and the dim hum of audio to the back cubicle where Ruth was sitting with James, their senior editor.

On the screen was Luc Baker, former NHL player and one of Billy’s friends from way back.

“How’s it coming?” Madelyn asked.

Ruth pulled off her dark-rimmed glasses. “Good. Really good. The guys love Billy but they love making fun of him, too.”

Madelyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Sounds great.” Her sarcasm was unmistakable.

“It’s good-natured. Honestly. We had to find an ex-girlfriend to get anything concrete. I think you’ll have a lot to work with on Friday.” Ruth was clearly trying to extend some kind of olive branch, but Madelyn wasn’t interested.

“I came in to see if you’d found his family.”

Ruth put her glasses back on and turned toward the screen. “Trim that up a little,” she told James. “Let’s cut him off after the laugh. And use the headphones, would you?” Ruth asked James and then came around the partition to stand in the dark, a foot away from Madelyn.

“Phil’s handling the family—he said he couldn’t find any of them.”

Maddy blew out a long sigh. Thank God.

“Why do you ask?” Ruth’s eyes were black and sharp behind those glasses. “Ms. Baumgarten.”

Of course
, Madelyn thought,
I’m just surprised she didn’t find out earlier
. Ruth was a search-under-every-rock kind of woman.

“Spill it Ruth, I can tell you’re dying to.”

“You and Billy were married for two years,” Ruth said.

“A long time ago.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Ruth asked. “When I brought up the idea—”

“Because it’s not something I talk about. Ever. And I don’t want to talk about it now either. Promise me it’s not part of the show. Do me that courtesy.”

“I wouldn’t have pushed if I’d known.”

“Yeah, Ruth, you keep telling yourself that. Just promise me that my marriage won’t be part of the show. And if Phil finds Billy’s family, you let me know. They’re bad news.”

“How bad?”

For a moment she thought of how Denise’s addictions had made her blank. Empty. And Janice had been all too full of jealousy and resentment. Madelyn hadn’t seen them since before the divorce, but she had a hunch they’d probably only gotten worse. People like that usually did.

“Very bad.”

“Okay. I promise.”

Madelyn wasn’t sure she could trust Ruth, but it wasn’t like she had any choice. “Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

“This is going to be great. I know it might be hard to see that right now, but it’s going to be amazing. For all of us.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Billy was mad. He was mad because it was five a.m. on a Friday morning. Which was ungodly, really. Unless he had to be on the ice, there was no reason to be up at five a.m.

And he was in a suit. Which he hated.

Plus, the little impish teenager person in charge of his makeup had been smoking crack. Clearly.

“You’re kidding, right?” Billy asked the girl when she came at him with mascara.

“Nope.” The girl advanced, the little black wand thing outstretched, and Billy shook his head. “Trust me.”

“No.”

“Mr. Wilkins …”

“Back off,” he said and put his hand against the girl’s forehead like kids do.

“Gina!” The girl screeched and Billy dropped his hand just as Maddy and a formidable Italian woman rounded the corner.

“What’s wrong?” Maddy asked, putting her hands on her lean hips. She was wearing green today and her eyes glowed. She looked gorgeous. Though a couple of steak dinners wouldn’t hurt her.

“Tell me,” the makeup imp flung her hands up in his direction, “what am I supposed to do with him?”

“Charming the crew already?” Maddy lifted an eyebrow, watching him in the mirror.

“Powder is fine. I don’t need anything else.” He shrugged, his skin flushed at her nearness. He could touch her if he wanted. Just reach out and stroke her face. Her hair. He wondered what she would do if he tried to hug her.

Because truth be told, he could use a hug right now. There was no way this show was going to be anything but painful. Even if he didn’t end up a laughingstock, he still had to wear makeup, and get his hair fussed with. And that didn’t even include the lights and that set out there. The stools where he guessed he and Maddy were going to sit and talk.

Talk. For like twenty minutes. About something other than hockey.

Could he do that?

Should have thought of that before, huh, Wilkins?

The makeup girl laughed. “You need a whole lot more than powder, buddy.”

He looked at her, slightly incredulous. “I could squash you. You get that, right?”

“Okay, Sue,” Maddy said, stepping in. “Let Gina finish up with Billy.”

“Fine!” Sue stomped off and the Italian woman leaned over his other shoulder. She and Maddy stared at him in the mirror.

“I feel like a bug,” he muttered.

“We can’t hide that scar,” Gina said, ignoring him.

“The point is
not
to hide it,” Maddy said.

“You want me to highlight it?”

“No. Lord, no.”

“That nose is going to cause a problem,” Gina said.

“You know,” he muttered. “I’m sitting right here.”

“Blush and powder,” Gina said, her eyes darting down his body. “What about that suit? I’m pretty sure wardrobe’s got to have something from when Hugh Jackman—”

“What’s wrong with my suit?” He’d spent a couple hundred bucks on it. Granted, he might not have tried all of it on, but still.

The women just laughed over his shoulders.

“Did you iron that shirt?” Maddy asked.

“It’s new.”

“I can tell.” She pointed to the crease where the shirt had been folded. “Do you even own an iron?”

“This is bullshit.” He pulled the paper towel thing from around his neck and shifted to stand.

Maddy put her hand on his shoulder and he stopped. All of him just stopped, completely reined in by her touch. His heart would have stopped if she’d asked it to.

“This is what you signed on for,” she said.

“Out there.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the set, where people were testing lights. “Not here. Not …” He sighed, hands on his hips and then finally blurted, “Not you.”