Take Me Home Tonight

James was pacing. It was after noon on Sunday and Harper still had not shown up to work. Usually she was at the house when James got home from practice. They didn’t have a set time today, but James assumed it would be the same, because otherwise he started assuming a lot of other things.

Harper and Sid.

James should have seen it coming. Hell, he’d joked about it and practically waved it in everyone’s face, bringing Harper out and then bringing the boys over to his place. Her work spoke for itself, but that dress she’d been wearing said something else. And all the while James was stuck with Rachel while Paul and Crosby vied for Harper’s attention. It was gross really, the way they fawned over her.

He didn’t want to think about whether or not Harper would be interested in Crosby. Would she decorate his house? Yes, she’d take the job. But a date? Come to more games?

Of course she would, James’ mind growled. She was single, and he was Crosby. Hell, James had practically endorsed her. Still Sid was a smart guy. He chose wisely, but didn’t need months to know Harper was worth it. The worst part was that Sid was worth it too - he was a stand up guy, complete with a stick up his ass, and he’d treat Harper like a queen. Not like a crutch. James’ thoughts were raging when her car rolled into the drive.

“Hungry? I can’t eat turkey ever again, but I brought us some sushi.” Harper plopped a bag on the counter. “Who am I kidding? You’re always hungry.”

James wanted to die. Or he wanted to kiss her, just once to grab Harper and kiss her, and then die before she left him to live in this house, alone and ashamed. Her hair was a messy knot, her shirt navy blue with white polka dots. She had an armload of sketchbooks and catalogs to go with the lunch she’d brought. A faint, ruby red gloss made her lips look as if they’d just been kissed.

She’d better not have just been kissed.

“Have fun at the game the other night?”

“I did. I love sitting with Anne, she knows every damned thing about hockey and this team. It’s like having my own encyclopedia.”

“You, uh, know you can ask me for tickets, right? Any time?”

“Oh, well yeah, thanks. I figured yours were going to Rachel and I….”

“I can get more,” he said petulantly.

Harper nodded. “Okay. Well I didn’t plan it, then Sid said he’d talked to Anne, so it just made sense. Not like I had anything to do on a Saturday night!” Harper hoped that sounded breezy, because James seemed to be working up to something. And if it was what she was thinking, neither of them were going to like it. She had almost not come over today for fear of what she might say. Perhaps food would get them past the opening and then she could just work, since that’s all she seemed to be good for around here.

“Talking to him a lot now?”

“Not a lot. We just met on Thursday.”

James busied himself getting plates. He hated the way this was going, and tried not to talk at all. But his pride wouldn’t let the subject drop. “And already you’re invited to a game.”

Harper titled her head. James was focusing on flatware like he could levitate it and she saw right through what he was doing – again. Bratty, spoiled, whatever you called it. This could not go on forever. “I went to Sid’s house too.”

“Mario’s?”

“The new one. It’s gorgeous, going to be a huge decorating job. He even made me a PB&J sandwich.”

A plate nearly silpped. James settled it atop the pile, turned and carefully put everything down on the island. Harper stood across, watching him.

“That was fast.” His voice was flat. He lifted those blue green eyes. The color still went right through Harper like a laser; she willed herself to stare back. James has confirmed nothing but meant plenty, when he had no right to say anything at all.

“Guess Sid saw something he liked.”

The fight caught like a match - from tiny spark to a bright flare.

“You were practically laying on the décor in here, like a model on the hood of a car.”

“Those models don’t build the cars, James,” she spat.

He slammed his hands down so hard the dishes clattered. “Well for a minute there, I wasn’t sure exactly what you were selling.”

James had never seen Harper mad, but he’s been a jerk to enough girls to know it was coming. This wasn’t another argument with Meghan, where James was an asshole and she got sad enough to forgive him. Harper didn’t have fifteen years worth of reasons to let James act this way. She only had the things she’d seen - Rachel, pants on the floor - and things she’d heard, which were probably even worse.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means, Harper, that I don’t appreciate you using me and my Thanksgiving dinner to find new clients,” James hissed. Her mouth dropped open like he’d slapped her. James’ shoulders were ratcheted up with tension and his hands gripped the counter. She slowly got off her stool and backed up two steps.

“First of all, you asked me to Thanksgiving. I did not assume that. I thought we were friends but it was clear that your girlfriend expected me to be the hired help. She knows I’m not a waitress, right? That you actually invited me to dinner?”

“Harper.”

She picked up a plate - James flinched like she might throw it. Instead Harper just waved it between them. “And some help you were, letting her boss me around. That’s my thanks for showing up when she fucking bailed on you?”

“Stop. I....”

“And in case you’ve forgotten, James, this is how you and I met. You saw my work at a teammate’s house. Had no problem hiring me then, did you? But Sid wants to do the same and nope! He’s on your turf. Better back off.”

It was one of those moments James had too frequently, where he knew he was being a dick and couldn’t stop himself. The solution to all this lay underneath the anger – apologize to Harper, explain himself. James knew where to find it. He just had to wade through all this other stuff that bubbled up like lava.

“Well, I didn’t see you first!”

“What?”

“I didn’t see you before I hired you. Or called you, whatever. I didn’t know you were going to be….” Beautiful, brilliant, perfect. James left the last word off.

In a heartbeat, Harper’s anger changed to hurt. That was just about the worst thing James could have said to someone who’d put her heart into his home. “You think he only wants to hire me because I’m pretty?”

“It certainly doesn’t hurt,” James growled.

“So it’s not possible that Sid saw this place, saw the months of work that we have done to transform this house, and was actually impressed? There’s no chance at all he liked any of my work? He must only want to hire me because he wants to fuck me.”

This was sliding, falling, out of control. That was exactly what James meant but when she put it that way….

Harper’s voice dropped to a hard tone, like a heartbeat going flat line. “Is that why you hired me?”

“Harper.” He kept saying her name.

“No, James. Is that why you hired me? Do you even like anything we’ve done in this whole house?”

Of course Sid wanted to sleep with Harper. James did too, which made him a first class asshole, but that wasn’t why he’d hired her. In fact the opposite had been true – he’d hired Harper because he believed in her, despite the fact he knew he’d spend the whole time resisting her charm. Or failing too, as it turned out. But for all the fighting he’d done with himself, the house had gone so smoothly. It was perfect.

“Stop,” he pleaded. But neither of them could.

“It doesn’t matter, we’re almost done,” Harper’s heart was trying to make itself smaller to avoid another arrow. “Two more rooms, and I’ve already got the plan drawn up or your bedroom.”

“I want to change it,” James said out of nowhere. They were almost done, and what the fuck was he going to do then? Turn her over to Crosby and stay here in this amazing place to remember what a shit he’d been? James’ history was repeating. If he changed the plan for his bedroom, maybe he could stretch this out long enough to fix it.

Harper looked at this guy she thought she knew. Maybe everything about this place had been wrong all along. “You mean Rachel wants to change it?”

James actually recoiled. She didn’t care. “That’s fine. She’s the one who sleeps there, not me.” Harper grabbed her keys. “We can start tomorrow.”

She left the sushi and walked out.

Three minutes later, Harper was five blocks away and James was in the same spot in his kitchen when they both said, “Shit.” There was no tomorrow. James was leaving tomorrow for his longest road trip yet.
____

In the morning, James waited as long as possible before dialing Harper’s number. He was in his car, in the lot at the private airport. He’d be on Long Island in under two hours. If Harper picked up it would have to be short: I’m sorry, I’m a jerk. Let’s talk when I get back. If her recording picked up, she’d have plenty of time to decide if she wanted to return the call.

It went to voicemail. “Harper, it’s James. I’m sorry about yesterday. I – I didn’t mean that and I love the house. You know I do. And for Thanksgiving, I’m sorry.”

On the plane, he sat in the farthest seat back against the window and closed his eyes. It was going to be a rough night.
____

“NEALER!” Deryk Engelland bellowed from the locker room doorway. “Got a dime waiting for you in the hall.” Engo looked at Orpik and made a face. “Where does he get all these girls?”

No one liked playing at the Nassau Coliseum. James especially wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s contest. For the first time since summer ended, he would be face to face with the guy who beat him at everything: Tavares. But first, it seemed James would have to face someone else.

“You weren’t going to call me.”

His heart stopped so hard James grabbed the door frame for support. There in the old cinderblock-and-chipped-paint underbelly of the Islanders’ stadium was the only girl James had ever loved. But he’d done it poorly, and too late, and lost.

“Meghan.”

She wore a blue Isles zip-up jacket with orange and white piping, jeans and winter boots. A pair of gloves were stuck into her pocket. The building was drafty and notoriously cold for spectators, and clearly Meghan had been to every game this season. Her dark, wavy hair was tossed casually down her back, she wore very little makeup but needed even less. The greenest eyes James had ever seen watched him carefully from under thick lashes, until finally a smile broke across her face.

“You really weren’t going to call me!” She stepped into a hug, as familiar as anything James had ever known. If his heart had been patched up since September, blood welled at the stitches now. Why was he fighting with Harper? Why was he doing what he always did, when he knew damned well where it would lead?

“Sorry, had a rough night. I missed you,” he said.

Meghan’s brow furrowed. “Uh oh. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine,” he lied and she didn’t buy it. Letting her arms fall from around his waist, Meghan put one hand on James’ chest.

“I know we haven’t talked since your birthday. I wasn’t sure - I didn’t know if you wanted to. With…,” she let the phrase trail off, but it was obvious she meant John, her love and future, and whether or not James was prepared to handle that as part of her life. She had made it clear she would not give John up for James, so the decision was his.

“I know, I’m sorry. How is he?” James shook his head. “More importantly, how are you?”

“I’m good. We’re good.” The smile came quick and wide to her face, like a burst of laughter. Those green eyes sparkled. It should have killed James to see Meghan so giddy about another guy, but instead he felt…

“Good. I’m happy for you, Meg. I really am.” She hugged him again, something he didn’t get enough of these days.

“What about you?”

James wished he had good news to share, but it all seemed clouded. He chose the shiniest object. “I’m finally doing my house. Hired an amazing decorator, already done with most of it. If you ever come down, you’ll love it.”

“January twenty-third,” Meghan said. “Next trip to the ‘Burgh.”

James’ heart grew a size to know she’d checked the calendar. “I, uh, met a girl too. Rachel. Been seeing her for a bit now.”

Something in his tone caught Meghan’s ear. She’d always been able to read him. “Do you like her?”

“She’s cool.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Even the tilt of her head was so familiar.

If James started shutting out the people close to him, he’d soon have no one left. As it was, he’d gone long enough without Meghan in his life. Seeing her now reminded him what he really wanted. And she was the one person he could be honest with. “It’s just not serious, but it keeps me out of trouble,” he tried a guilty little smile, which Meghan laughed at. It was time to make his big plea to get back into her life as best friend and almost-brother. “But it doesn’t make me feel the way John feels about you. And I really don’t want to settle for less than that.”

Her lips press together and her face softened. “You’ll find someone. I know you will.”

James wasn’t ready to admit that he may have already found - and lost - that someone. He just pulled Meghan into a hug. “Oh God, don’t cry! Tavares probably has his goon squad set to knock my teeth out anyway. If he sees you crying, they’ll kill me.”

“Too late,” a very deep voice said behind her. They both looked up to see John Tavares, Isles captain and poster boy, in shorts and a t-shirt. James had spent the whole summer with the guy and was surprisingly glad to see him now. Especially since he knew Meghan was so happy. She stayed in James’ hug an extra second before stepping back beside John.

“What’s up, man?” James put his hand out and John took it. The past was behind them, and James wanted it to stay there. He wasn’t sure he could take losing again, since it hadn’t exactly been graceful the first time.

“Good to see you.” John looped his free arm around Meghan’s waist, a gesture James couldn’t fault him for. She looked so perfect there.

“I was just telling Meghan that I finally hired a decorator to do something with my house in Pittsburgh. Have to have you guys over when you come down.”

John, who had every reason to dislike James but didn’t, nodded. “You’re on.”
____

Harper didn’t returned James’ call that day, or at all. He checked his phone often, but in secret so Crosby wouldn’t see. During the days, he steered clear of the captain. After the games, he went to bed.

James started to think it was too late. He wondered if Harper was talking to Sid instead, sending him little texts or telling him his own stats. Crosby was having a great season - there would be plenty to discuss. James finally broke down on day three and called Rachel. She talked about regular life in a way that only served to make him feel worse about himself. Still, talking to her kept up appearances and that’s what James needed now. If he’d really lost Harper, James didn’t trust himself to be alone.

“Hey, man!” The next afternoon, irrepressible enthusiasm of Steven Stamkos boomed down the phone line.

“Hey, Stammer. How’s it going?”

“Never better. Kaylynn’s here and -,” Steven paused. He’d nearly lost the love of his life to a stupid breakup at the end of the summer. Even James felt sorry for him. But luck and fate had turned circles and now that girl was Steven’s fiancee and he was happy as a clam. A clam who knew when to shut up about it. “Meghan told me she saw you the other night. Said you look like shit.”

James scoffed. “This from the girl who loves John fucking Tavares.”

“Well, I said the ‘shit’ part. I think Meghan’s word was ‘sad.’ She was worried you got upset by seeing her, like she shouldn’t have been there.”

“No, no,” James added ‘Call Meghan’ to his mental list. “It’s not her, it’s something else. Like her.”

“Uh oh,” Steven said.

There’d been a time over the summer - known as the entire summer - when James had not been the friend Steven needed. Yet here Stamkos was, ready to talk it out. No wonder someone loved him.

“I’m seeing a girl - she was cool, but now it’s getting kinda jealous and shitty.”

Ever observant, Steven asked, “Which one of you is getting jealous and shitty?”

“Both,” James admitted.

“So she’s jealous of other girls and you’re jealous of...?”

“Girl,” James clarified. Not that it was much better, but he’d been known to have more than one girl dangling on the line. “There’s just one other girl. Harper.”

“And Harper knows you’re seeing someone?”

That made James roll his eyes. “Yeah, she knows. Not that I would do anything - Harper’s my decorator. It’s her job to be in my house. I can’t....” There were many things James couldn’t do - fire Harper, let her quit, or risk hating the home he’d finally come to love. “I can’t fuck up my life and my house at the same time. You know?”

Steven hmmmed. “I guess. If you fuck up with Harper, the house goes down too.”

“Exactly.”

“But your girlfriend is jealous and shitty, and you’re jealous and shitty - and sad, because I know Meghan is right. So it sounds like you’re fucking up anyway.”

James leaned back heavily on his bed. “I hate you.”

“At least I don’t charge you for therapy. So why this other girl?”

James sighed. “So it’s one girl and not more.”

He could almost hear Steven thinking, a thousand miles away in Florida. In the end, his friend just admitted the truth. “For you, that’s something.”
___

By the end of the trip, it had been five days since James spoke to Harper. Instead of going away, the curiosity had gnawed slowly at his gut. Every time he saw Crosby, he wanted to ask. Finally after morning skate on the last day, James broke down. He had to know what he was walking into back home.

“Have you, uh, talked to Harper?” He tried to sound casual.

Sid pulled a shirt over his head, hair dripping wet from the shower. A slow smile broke across his face. “Why? She say something about me?”

“No,” James snapped. He did not say that she couldn’t have, because she hadn’t called. “I was just wondering.”

“Well I’m wondering when she’ll be done at your place, so she can start spending more time at mine.”

Feelings from Thanksgiving rushed back at James. Jealousy, confusion and an anger so impotent that he felt as if his hands were tied. He wished they were - less chance of punching Crosby across the locker room. James closed his eyes.

Sid had long since learned to read his teammates; it was one of his jobs as captain. Neal was the only fool who thought he was fooling anyone. “You’re an asshole, you know that?”

James’ eyes flew open. Sid was all diplomacy and responsibility - he wasn’t the kind of pick a fight.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can’t have your cake and eat mine too.”
____

“Stop,” Harper said for the tenth time. Paige ignored her the same as always.

“It’s custom lighting, I swear. They figure out how he looks best then make every arena set their lights to Crosby mode. Either that, or there’s a sex filter on the camera.”

Harper had to admit, Sid looked great on TV. Almost as good as he looked in person. It wasn’t something she’d really made note of before Thanksgiving. Of course, she’d been too busy looked at James to care.

Now she saw them both, though the screen time was wildly unequal. Everytime she caught a glimpse of James, the camera went crash-zooming back to Sid. It was like watching her mind broadcast on national TV. Still when she saw James, it stung. He’d been so heated before leaving, all this blame and accusation welling up in a way that scared Harper. He must feel something strongly, something good, for her, to feel all that anger. But what good was something good if it wasn’t the best? Clearly that title went to Rachel, leaving Harper with nothing to show for the bruises his words had left. She was mad at him, and mad at herself in turn. If she didn’t want him, she wouldn’t have cared.

Harper told Paige about meeting Sid and taking the job to decorate his house. It may have been a mistake to mention that he seemed interested in other Harper-related activities as well. Now Paige was Team Crosby all the way, and she made quite the cheerleader.

“Look at him, all focused and intense,” Paige grinned. “That’s hot.”

True, but Sid’s desirability had nothing to do with why Harper hadn’t called James. It was because she didn’t know what to say. And because she’d been working so damned much.

In a fit of frustration, the morning after James left, Harper had gone to Home Depot and bought paint. All by herself she draped, sanded and painted the second guest bedroom, slapping the sage green paint onto the walls as if it had been the one to offend her. Lighter colors took more coats, so she’d done three in three days. Then she’d had the room re-carpeted, taking out the original gray and installing a cross-grain weave of dark green and brown that looked more natural. Yesterday the furniture had arrived and today she put the finishing touches on everything, then locked the house and left it for James to find when he got back to Pittsburgh late tonight. That way if she never went back there, he’d only have one room left to complete.

Of course, she was going back. But he didn’t need to know that right away.

The game against Boston had started badly and continued downhill. It matched Harper’s mood. Tempers seemed to be boiling, with extra stuff after every play and guys getting nasty left and right. It was barely halfway through the first when Harper found her eyes following James’ #18 sweater across the ice. He looped behind the net as an up-ice rush fell apart. In front of the bench, a Bruin fell down. James skated past him.

The whistle blew at the same moment the camera snapped back. The Bruin - Marchand, she could see - was still down, but now all the way. Guys were shouting. The camera panned past center ice where a knot of players had formed. A few shoves were thrown and suddenly another Bruin arrived - Thornton. He grabbed Orpik by the neck, threw him down on his back, jumped on top and started punching him. Brooks’ helmeted head bounced. Paige and Harper both gasped, hands flying to their faces. Everything seemed to stop. Someone pulled Thornton off, another guy waved frantically for a trainer. Brooks was still. Harper had tears in her eyes by the time they stretchered him off the ice.

“Holy shit,” Paige said, scooting closer and squeezing Harper’s hand.

Harper understood that hockey was dangerous. Of course it was. But she’d never seen someone so deliberately seek to injure another player. He looked like a rabid dog. It was terrifying. That guy is a monster, she thought, then: What if it had been James? Her heart thumped. That alone told her all she needed to know about her feelings for him.

But now the game was telling another story. The commentators had other video up - James skating past that downed Buin in front of the bench. Only he hadn’t really skated by. Harper’s throat tightened up. The replay clearly showed James going out of his way to knee the defenseless player in the head.

“Oh God.” Paige took her hand again, and this time she kept holding.

They played it again. And again. Ten times. James went to the penalty box, Marchand to the locker room. Play resumed. At every whistle, they showed one or both of the incidents. Over and over.

“Stop already,” Paige finally said. “We know.”

Know what? Harper wondered as she watched James intentionally attempt to seriously injure. I don’t know that guy.
____

James stared at the locker room floor. The rest of the first period had been precarious, and the first intermission was filled with concern over Orpik. No one knew much. Coach warned everyone about retaliating, saying he’d come down harder than the League on anyone who stepped so much as a toe out of line. James knew he’d done far worse. But Marchand had come back into the game and there was a chance he might get away with it.

Why? Fucking moron, James called himself. Even if the review didn’t go to a disciplinary committee, it probably looked awful on TV. Even if Thornton’s attack on Orpik had been worse, it wasn’t like James had been defending someone. He’d kneed Marchand first, and with less reason. In hindsight it was incredibly stupid. In real time it had happened so fast. Throughout the second intermission, James felt Crosby’s burning glare from across the room.

His only defense was to play down the incident. He went hard for the rest of the game, but the Penguins lost by one anyway. Their PR director was waiting for him when he came off the ice.

“Apologize,” she said. Obviously the media were lined up for their pound of flesh.

“No,” James replied. “I haven’t seen it, I don’t know how it looked. I only know how it felt and I didn’t do it on purpose.”

She ground her teeth as he lied. “I talked to Shero. Apologize.”

James hated when the front office acted like they actually played hockey. The Penguins’ GM may be a board room genius, but he didn’t sit in this locker room. “Let him fucking apologize.”
____

Harper was alone. Paige had gone home, wisely not sticking around for the post-game coverage. She knew about James’ reputation, had all but warned Harper he was capable of something like this. And something like Rachel. And that falling for him was a suicide mission. Nnow Paige took her ignored advice quietly away.

James was on screen. In the worst possible moment, he managed to look completely perfect - hair a mess, ginger scruff growing in along his jawline. It made his lips look softer than ever, the way he frowned, and his voice was quiet to match. It was James at his most gorgeous as he lied through his teeth.

“I may have hit him,” he said. “I guess I have to try to avoid that.”

She watched the whole thing, through his repeated assurances he wasn’t trying to hit the guy and even his sarcastic, “What do you want me to say?” As much as the idea of James under fire broke Harper’s heart, the guy talking on screen had been the guy skating into that player on the ice.

Harper didn’t know that guy.
____

James showered and dressed. His limbs were leaden, he left his tie undone. It was later than usual when the team reached the plane. Brooks had been cleared at the hospital and they waited for him to make it back to the plane. He smiled weakly - it reminded them all how vulnerable they were. The freezing middle of the dark night was where James felt he belonged at the moment.

Paul took the seat next to James on the plane. So far, no one had spoken to him since the hit on Marchand. Paul didn’t now - he slipped his earbuds in and leaned back - but at least he was there. James curled toward the window and tried to sleep.

He couldn’t, of course. It would be Monday at least before he could sleep again, knowing what fate the League held in store. From the PR department’s instructions and the reporters’ post-game questions, it was clear James had something very bad to look forward to.

At the airport in Pittsburgh, lots of the guys had people there to pick them up. Even if they’d left cars, the game had been bad enough to rouse wives and girlfriends to drive over and meet the plane. It had scared everyone. James couldn’t help scanning the faces, but Rachel certainly wouldn’t be there. Or Harper - at least not for him.

When he finally walked into his house, James thought, I’m sorry. It felt wrong to use this house as a place to hide, but right now he needed it. He dragged his stuff upstairs, dropping jacket and tie along the way. Once before he’d come home from the road to find the first guest bedroom completed. With a weak glance, he checked the second spare room.

“Fuck.”

It was done. He flipped on the light: pale green walls, rich soft carpet, a row of black and white landscape photographs in silver frames spaced along a white shelf. The bed had a white duvet with green piping, topped by two white pillows and a green one in the middle.

He sat down on the bed. Harper had done all this both for him and without him - she really must have been mad. James would have called her right then in the middle of the night, woken her up and told her everything. He would have fixed it all. But that was before.

As he’d done the last time, James ditched what clothes he could be bothered to remove, crawled between the brand new sheets and prayed for sleep.
____

Notes