Yo Ho Ho, page 4
The doors dinged open on their floor, and Logan had never felt more relieved to get off an elevator. He stopped and stared, watching as most of them just drifted down the hall. Max was the worst, dragging herself away with her shoulders hunched over. She was missing that spring in her step that he admired about her. It was a little thing that always reminded him to not mess with her. She wasn't a weak flower. She meant business, she took her job seriously, and she was damn good at it.
But not today.
Logan felt a hand grab his bicep, and he turned to see Bob standing next to him, the two of them now alone in the hallway.
"It's about Max," Bob said quietly.
Logan had that crushing feeling on his heart again. Something was wrong. Max was hurting, and he couldn't stand that. He could feel his mouth go dry as he took a deep breath to compose himself.
"What's wrong with Max?" he asked.
"It's not really just Max," Bob explained. "It's the Detroit Herald. They shutting the paper down."
Logan felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as his mind began to reel. "What do you mean shutting down? You can't shut down a whole paper, can you?"
Bob gave him a sad smile. "Their last edition is going out on New Year's Eve."
"But what will happen to everyone who works there?"
Logan knew the answer to his question. Deep down, he knew it. But he needed to hear it from someone else. Bob seemed to understand and gave him a sympathetic look.
"They won't have jobs anymore," he said.
"Even Max?"
The old man nodded solemnly. "Even Max," he said. "She's got three weeks before her season is over so go easy on her, will ya?"
Logan could only nod as Bob gave his arm a friendly squeeze and walked away.
He rubbed his hand over his face and started his trek to the room that Alex was already in, a room where Logan could predict his roommate was napping in the bed closest to the bathroom. Logan had liked those little bits of predictability on the road when there were so many different things to factor in each time they landed in a new city.
But Max was also predictable. Charming but no nonsense. A lover of hockey. A woman with an amazing smile. A reporter dedicated to her job.
It was a job Max would only have for three more weeks, which meant Logan only had three more weeks with her. Suddenly, that small squeeze on his heart was much worse. Only three more weeks until she was likely gone from his life.
But he wasn't going to let that happen, not if he could help it. Sure, she was losing her job and that was bad and all, but it also meant the one thing keeping him from being close to her body again was going to disappear. Her one excuse would be gone. And once it was gone, there was no way Logan was going to let her go again.
Chapter 7
The red-eye flight back from San Francisco wasn't so bad, but Max was awake for most of it. The team would all pass out on flights like that, which was understandable considering they had played a 60-minute hockey game. Last name's match-up in particular was rough — a hard-fought loss to a playoff contender. But while they snored away, Max was up. The news about the paper didn't help either so her early morning nap at her apartment before rolling into the office was well earned.
It also let her put off the inevitable for a little longer. Being on the road with the team when she got the bad news had sheltered Max a bit from the reality of what was really happening. Being back in the newsroom brought it all into focus.
In three weeks, this place would be empty. The energetic hum of the newsroom, the quiet clacking away at keyboards as journalists tried — and usually failed — to file their stories on deadline. It would all be over. A 100-year-old paper with a long legacy would just be gone.
As she got to her desk, Max noticed there were already some folded up cardboard boxes leaning against it for people to use as they started to pack up their careers. A Barry Sanders coffee mug was sitting next to her computer monitor. She recognized it as the one that sat on the desk of the newspaper's famed columnist, Mike Rose. Mike was an institution and someone Max had looked up to even before she started working at the paper. He was also an amazing mentor who would help her with her weekly columns and wouldn't be afraid to ask her for advice or information even though he had been covering Detroit sports much longer than she had.
She could feel the lump in her throat start to rise. That Barry Sanders mug was one of Mike's most prized sports possessions. It was a gift from the team when Barry came to town as a rookie and the newspaper told Mike he couldn't take gifts from anyone. That was the rule. So he marched up to the editor's office, slapped a 20-dollar bill on the desk, and told him to take the cash and shove it up his ass. He was keeping the damn mug.
He outlasted that editor, who got fired six months later.
"He's giving away all his stuff."
Max was pulled out of her thoughts and stared at the woman across from her. "What?"
Amanda Allen turned away from her computer. "Mike is giving away his stuff."
Max flopped down in her chair and stared at the cup in front of her. "I got his Barry Sanders mug."
"I know," she murmured.
She stared at the mug and could feel the tingling in her throat and her eyes start to water. No. No way. She was not going to cry in the newsroom. Not now. This is not how she was going to react. Max was a hockey reporter. Stiff upper lip and all that and definitely not going to cry.
Amanda's hand reached across their desks to grab hers. "This sucks, but we have to be strong, Maxine."
She silently nodded her head, her eyes still fixed on the mug in front of her.
"Besides, we can't cry, Quinn. I need 500 words from you by three o'clock."
She looked up at the assistant sports editor, the only other woman on the sports desk, and saw a sad smile on her friend's face. "What am I supposed to write about?"
Amanda perked up and sat a little taller in her chair. "That's my girl! How about something from the west coast trip with the team? Maybe how they'll move on from the tough loss last night or how the team's power play kill worked well—"
"Because those idiots kept getting stupid penalties."
"Exactly!" Amanda was smiling now. "It's going to be a great 500 words about something. We're going to keep writing stuff about stuff, and then we're going to drink a shit ton of booze and it'll all be fine."
Max laughed, thankful that Amanda was lightening the mood. "Do we have to ration the shit ton of booze over three weeks or can we just drink it all now?"
"I'm rationing it. I have to get through Christmas dinner with my parents asking me when I'm going to get a job and why my profession is dying."
"Sounds like that may be my Christmas too," Max lamented. "But you can come to my place afterward. My grandfather will deal you in for a few rounds of poker and on purpose to make you feel better."
"I would have no qualms stealing an old man's money in that case," Amanda said. "Now less yapping, more typing, Quinn."
The computer in front of her started to boot up, and Max got excited as her fingers started to dance over the keys. She only had three more weeks to do her dream job, and while it was sad to say goodbye, she was going to make sure she enjoyed every last minute of it.
Max had done what any real journalist does. She started typing and then procrastinated. She went over to see how the business desk was doing and what the metro desk had planned for the next few weeks. The city was talking about possibly building a new baseball stadium downtown and Max thought her experience with the new hockey arena a few years ago would help them out. At least for a little bit. The metro reporters didn't know what they were going to do next either, but they were determined to do the best work they could in the final weeks before the newspaper shut down.
That was the census around the newsroom. It sucked, business is business, but they were going to write and edit and print until the very end.
So Max went back to her desk and started typing more words. It was the only thing she could do.
She had just handed her story over to Amanda — 500 words on needless penalties — when the phone on her desk started to ring. Caller ID said it was the front desk, which was strange because she rarely had anyone visit her here. When you're constantly on the road and have a desk at the arena, no one came to visit you in the office.
"Yeah?"
"Um, Miss Quinn?"
"Yes." Her "yes" had about extra letters, making it a drawn out "yeeesss" as if she was anticipating some sort of drama. The receptionist sounded nervous compared to her usual perky voice. There could easily be some drama.
"Uh, a Mr. Logan Moore is here to see you."
Well, that explained it. Max couldn't remember the last time a player had been to the office to see her. In fact, she couldn't remember a player ever coming to her office.
"Logan Moore?"
Max realized she sounded almost as shocked as the receptionist about this turn of events.
"Yes, Ms. Quinn. He says he plays for the Detroit Pirates."
Max had to stifle a laugh. Two weeks ago while eating turkey and covering a Thanksgiving shift, that same receptionist asked Max whether Logan Moore had just a regular ass or an awesome hockey ass — you know, in Max's professional opinion. The woman knew damn well who Logan Moore was and who he played for.
"Tell him I'll be down in five minutes."
"Five?" She could hear the receptionist's voice crack. Five minutes trying to entertain Logan Moore while Max kept him waiting. That woman probably thought Christmas had come early. You know, except for the part where she was still going to lose her job.
"Did you say Logan Moore?" Amanda asked, her eyes still glued to the screen as she edited.
"Yeah, apparently Logan is downstairs and wanted to see me."
The editor turned and gave her a knowing look. "He wants to see you?"
Max just waved her hand in the air. "He's probably just checking to see if I'm OK after the whole 'You'll never work in this town again' thing."
"Uh huh," she replied skeptically.
"Because, you know, I'm not going to be working in this town for much longer."
Amanda just shook her head and turned back to the computer. "The paper has a policy that writers can't have relationships with the subjects they cover."
Max's jaw flexed with nervousness. "I know," she said, trying to sound casual while her heart sped up just a little bit.
"Then you're aware that you don't have to listen to any of those stupid rules in three weeks."
"You don't have to remind me."
"And really, even if you do, what are they going to do? Fire you?"
Max shrugged. "Take away my severance and unemployment benefits."
Amanda just pushed on. "Plus, Logan Moore has an amazing hockey ass."
"I'm well aware," Max muttered.
"Well aware of what?"
Both women almost got whiplash as their heads snapped up to see Logan Moore walking up to Max's desk.
She tried not to stare as he stood there, his eyes gazing down at her. He had changed from earlier in the morning, ditching the suit he wore on the plane for a pair of dark skinny blue jeans and a tight v-neck sweater that clung to the muscles in his chest. Over that was his usual black wool coat. His hair was still wet from what she assumed had been an afternoon shower with a few pieces of it breaking free across his forehead. It looked like he had decided not to shave, his scruff slightly dark across his red cheeks from the cold outside.
"Uhhh."
Max was a little distracted by Logan in her newsroom — and in her newsroom looking like that. Thinking fast was not one of her strong suits on a normal day talking to normal people. Logan definitely didn't look normal in there though. He stood out exactly how you would expect a gorgeous hockey player to stand out in a drab and depressing newsroom.
"We were just saying Max is well aware that she only has a few more weeks to write about the Pirates, so she has to make them good."
Logan looked over at the editor and smiled at Amanda. "And by good you mean?"
"Good as in they're well written, not good as in they make you look charming," Amanda said.
His smile grew bigger as he leaned on Amanda's desk. "But I am charming, right?"
"You are, and I'm married," she said sweetly. "Also, hi, it's good to see you again."
He smiled and put his hand on her shoulder to give it slight squeeze. "It's good to see you too, Allen."
Amanda gave him a warm look. "Stop trying to look over my shoulder and read the story I'm editing," she chastised.
"To be fair, that's the first time you've caught me doing that."
She gave him a skeptical look. "To be fair, it isn't."
His face went from sweet to shock. "So wait, when you came on the road with us because you were filling in for Max …"
Amanda turned to look at him with a huge smile on her face. "Hockey players aren't always the brightest bulbs, dear. But I give you credit for trying."
"I'm honestly going to miss seeing you," Logan said.
"I'll miss you too."
Max stared at the sight in front of her, a little weirded out by all of it. She was constantly either on the road with the Pirates or in the arena with them, so this gentle but teasing banter between Amanda and Logan was weirding her out.
"What the hell is going on?" she asked, not realizing until it was too late that she had said it out loud.
"We liked when Amanda filled in for you," Logan said. "She brought us cookies."
"You what?" Max asked incredulously.
Amanda just shrugged and turned back to her computer. "I like baking cookies."
"Which is why you share them with us."
"You weren't the only people who appreciated my skills."
"Traitor," Max muttered.
"Anyways, ladies. No need to fight over me," Logan replied.
He was still standing in her newsroom next to her desk, and it didn't seem like he planned to leave anytime soon. A few women from the entertainment section were trying not to stare at him — and doing a terrible job — while the guys from the metro desk pretended to all be using the printer at the same time with nothing actually printing.
Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the defenseman in her newsroom. As if the very odd visit wasn't weird enough, the whole being friendly with Amanda was another tip off that Logan was here for a reason. He wanted something.
"Sooooooo." Max was trying to give her brain a little time to add all these facts up. It was, of course, being useless. "I'm sorry, why are you here?"
"Oh, right!" Logan smiled and moved around to Max's desk, leaning on it in just the right way to have his thighs flex and pull his jeans just a little tighter. "I'm here for you."
Wait, what? "Excuse me, why are you here for me?"
"Well, you know, the whole newspaper thing." He hand waved to emphasize the newsroom that would be closed up for good in three weeks. "I just thought it would be a nice gesture to offer my services."
"Your services?"
She turned to see Amanda staring at her with wide eyes, the editor silently mouthing a very dramatic "Oh my god," before slowly turning back to her work.
Max looked up at the defenseman, trying to keep a straight face and play along. "And what services would those be?"
Logan swallowed hard, and Max could tell that she had got him — at least a little bit. "Well, um." His voice cracked a bit before he finally was able to compose himself again. "I thought maybe an interview would be nice. You know, an exclusive feature on the Pirates' star defenseman."
"Oh, so you're offering to have Alex sit down for an interview?"
Amanda laughed from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Max took pleasure in the dramatic eye roll from Logan in response.
"I wasn't talking about Alex," he said with a teasing smile directed to Amanda before turning back to Max. "I was talking about me."
"Ohhhhh!" Max said dramatically. "So what would be the focus of this proposed feature?"
"I'm dashing and handsome and women love me."
"That's true," Amanda said without looking up from her computer screen.
"Is it though?" Max asked. "Besides, I'm not going to write that."
Logan gave her a teasing smile. "I'm open to suggestions."
Max would have to thank whatever hockey gods existed for remembering a press release that had landed in her email earlier that day. She had just taken a passing glance at it this morning while trying to sort through all the condolences from friends and colleagues and a few readers as well. But the press release stuffed in there suddenly took on a new hue. On Saturday morning, some of the Pirates players were going down to a local rink to play hockey with small kids. It would be perfect for a Sunday feature piece. At the very least, the pictures would be adorable. But Max had found over her years of covering athletes in all kinds of sports that if you can get them out of their comfort zone, they would open up in a way that they normally wouldn't in a locker room.
She pulled up the press release on her computer and started scanning it to see if she could find what she was looking for.
"Uh, what are you doing?" Logan asked from his perch on her desk.
"Reading," she said without looking up. There it was! "You're going to Southfield on Saturday for the Kids Can Skate program."
"How did you know that?"
She pointed at the screen. "It says so in the press release," she said, turning to see him looking at her with surprise. "So why don't I get my exclusive interview there? I can get a photographer to come along to get some pictures for the front of the sports section, and then we can sit and talk."
By now, Amanda had looked up and was leaning on her elbows on her desk. "That's actually a great idea."
"Really?" Logan asked.
"Really," she said. "Readers always love seeing players outside of the game, and it's an extra bonus if there are kids and puppies."
"I don't think we're going to have puppies," he said sarcastically.
A thought suddenly crossed Max's mind. "I could bring a puppy. That would make it even more awesome!"
