Take Me Home Tonight

This time, there was no Harper sitting on the bed when James woke up. Only the memory of the game in Boston and the dread of how this would play out. Coach had given them an off day, probably because he couldn’t stand to look at James’ face. Still the phone rang at noon - work calling.

“You want to do this over the phone?” Mario Lemieux asked. It meant business when a team’s owner called, but impossibly more so when that owner was the greatest player of all time. As much as James hated the front office acting like players, that’s why Mario made the tough phone calls.

“You’re going to apologize tomorrow after practice,” he said before James could have an opinion. “That was some shit you fed the press last night and I promise you, it looks even worse this morning. You can’t make the hit go away, but you can clean up that mess. Then you will do nothing, at all, until Monday. Your hearing is at ten. Don’t leave the house. Don’t be photographed. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll write you something. You don’t have to read it, just get the idea. And James?”

“Uh huh?”

Mario’s voice was sharp. “You have to mean it.”
____

“Has he called?”

Harper rolled her eyes, though Paige wasn’t in the room, or even the same building. “You asked me that an hour ago.”

“So nothing yet? I wonder what he’s thinking.”

“Uh, I’m a giant, out of control fuck-up who just did what everyone told Harper I would do?” she said waspishly.

Paige hissed. “Ouch. That’s not what I meant. I don’t think....” She stopped.

“Don’t think what?” Harper was in her room, staring at the same view she and James had shared on the day they met. Who brought a guy over on the first day? Who let him lay on her bed?

“I just mean....”

“Paige,” Harper warned.

“I don’t think James is a bad guy,” she said all at once. “I did, you know, before, because he did some stupid stuff. And last night was absolutely fucked up. But he’s, well - you like him, Harper. A lot. And don’t say you don’t because I know you. So there has to be something good about him. Right?”

Hearing Paige make the argument she’d been having with herself all night gave Harper her first smile in ages. That was a true best friend - they were right until you were actually wrong, then they changed their minds just to back you up.

“I hope so,” Harper sighed melodramatically. because she was entitled to it. “And I wish it didn’t matter to me, but all I keep thinking is that he’s probably alone now and upset. And scared. I’m scared. But it doesn’t change that he did it to himself, Paige. He did it on purpose and then he lied.”

“Yeah, I saw the interview. It was pretty thin. But they said on the news because Marchand wasn’t hurt and James said he didn’t mean to do it -”

“Do you think he meant to do it?” Harper cut in.

There was a moment of silence.

“Yeah,” Paige answered. “Not hurt the guy, but he hit him on purpose.”

Harper sighed. “I know.”

She didn’t go to James’ that day. There was no rule that she needed to show up every day and pretty soon, those days would be over anyway. It hadn’t been a smooth transition when she stayed away over Thanksgiving weekend, but that was just James being needy. It was time to wean him off her presence.

Of course, there was the newly finished and gorgeous guest room. If he wanted to talk about it, she would have answered the phone.
____

James waited: Saturday, Sunday. No Harper. Rachel called a few times and James brushed her off as nicely as he could manage. Blame the stress, but he didn’t have the energy to tell her off about Thanksgiving. There were only two calls he cared about, and the first of them came as scheduled on Monday at ten o’clock.

James did his best to be honest, remorseful without groveling and not get sarcastic with Brendan Shanahan during his phone hearing. Maybe it helped, maybe not. At the end, he was suspended for five games. A few minutes after that, Lemieux called back. “No practice for a few days. Talk to the training office, workout at the the rink off-hours. And be glad it wasn’t worse.”

As news of his suspension went out, James answered a few texts and calls. His parents, his brothers. Stamkos texted him to lend support. Even Meghan managed to say: Call if you need me.

In any other year, James would have run right to her. Meghan was the place he went when things were bad. After his first season in Pittsburgh ended, after three months as a Penguin with only two goals and an early playoff exit to show for it, he’d holed up in her Toronto apartment for a week. No one else even knew where he was. After being suspended against Philadelphia, Meghan’s forgiveness was the one James craved most. But not this time.

“I got suspended,” he said when Rachel answered her phone. “Five games.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, babe. That sucks. I was hoping you were going to get off with a fine,” she said, parroting one scenario James had mentioned in their brief conversation. “So what do you do?”

“Nothing. Workout, but not with the guys, and I can’t go to the games. No practice for a few days, we’ll see.”

Rachel’s voice perked back up. “Then do you want to go to dinner tonight? It’s Monday, but that new place on the Strip is open. Kristen got a res-”

“No. Rachel, I can’t.”

“Well if you’re not working, then you don’t have curfew-”

“I can’t go anywhere. God forbid a press person catches me.”

“You’re a grown man, James. I get hockey is a big deal but you can go out to a fucking restaurant.”

“This is not a vacation, Rachel.”

Her tone was so dismissive. “So you’re what, like in jail?”

“You don’t get it,” he finally said. She never had. Hockey was what James had - it was who he was when he didn’t like anything else about himself. How could he be with someone that didn’t understand? Rachel wasn’t keeping him out of trouble. She was making him nothing. The next words rolled off his tongue like they’d been waiting ages to break free. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

“What?” she snapped. He didn’t answer, the silence stretched out. Finally Rachel gave in. “I’m sorry, okay? You’re having a shit day. Getting suspended is a big deal, I get it. I didn’t mean to-”

“No, Rachel. You don’t get it,” James repeated. “Maybe I didn’t get it either until now. This isn’t want I need. Sorry. Goodbye.”

James sat on the couch, looking at his phone for a long time. That had been necessary. It had been unpleasant, but Rachel hadn’t tried to call him back. James wouldn’t call himself right now either. Mostly breaking up with Rachel meant that James was on his own, with no safety net at possibly the most dangerous time in his career. He would have to do this right or he might not get another chance.

Just before noon, he heard tires in the driveway. His stomach leapt, then fell. It could be Crosby coming to play Captain, or Paul checking in. James stayed where he was as a test.

No knock. Just a key in the door.

Harper didn’t know if she was ready for this. It had taken all her strength not to call James over the weekend, so much that walking up to his house exhausted her. What would he say? Would he be sorry? If he looked like he had in that stupid, lying post-game interview, she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

“Hi,” she said when she saw him on the couch. He wore jeans and a baseball-style hoodie with a light blue body and navy blue sleeves; same color as the dark circles underneath his eyes.

James’ heart smiled even though his face couldn’t. “Hi.”

Harper had on skinny jeans and a pale yellow sweater with low brown motorcycle boots. She looked feminine but tough, just the way James knew she really was. A huge hole in his heart wished she’d sit down, let him curl up in her lap and cry. But James loved that she was strong. He didn’t want her to be easy on him now.

“Suspended,” he said.

“I heard. On every single radio station.”

“What else are they saying?”

Still by the door, Harper shook her head. “You don’t want to know.” James started to say more but she cut him off. “Don’t.”

“Are you mad at me?” he defied her wishes to ask. She would not come closer.

Harper nodded. She was mad about Thanksgiving and the fight after, she was mad he’d only tried to call her once from the road. She’d have been mad if he called more, because he had a girlfriend. Then she was mad as hell about the hit, plus the interview and suspension. James couldn’t do anything right, so Harper needed him to do nothing at all until she knew how to react.

“But I’m still here,” she added.

With the saddest look she’d ever seen, James said, “Thanks.”

They went up to the second spare room. James hadn’t made the bed. He watched the corner of her mouth twitch to learn he’d slept in there. They stood quietly for a minute, a few feet apart, looking at it the finished product.

“Did you do all this yourself?” he finally asked. In the light of day, it looked like a huge project.

“Except the carpet.” After a moment, she added, “Being mad makes me productive.”

James tried to be light. “So we should start my room now? You’ll be done by dinner?”

Her jaw was set in a hard line, he couldn’t crack it. “I drew up some new plans, you can change whatever you want.”

As if it were possible to feel worse, James was reminded that before leaving he’d told Harper he wanted to change the master bedroom design. It had been a dumb reason to keep her longer, but had backfired into making her think Rachel was calling the shots or he hated her work.

“I don’t want to change anything.”

Harper kicked the toe of her boot against the carpet. “I do.”

She wanted to change everything. Being with James in his house was assaulting her meager defenses. What had started as work had become something Harper couldn’t escape. She wanted to go back to the first day and turn down the job. She wanted to go back and ask him out. Harper wanted to never suggest Thanksgiving and never let Rachel push her around. She wished she’d shut down Sid’s flirting as much as she wished she’d already done something with Crosby so it would be decided.

She couldn’t breathe. He was so close.

“I trust you, Harper.” James turned to face her side.

Finally Harper looked at him. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “But I don’t trust you.”
She hurried out of the room. James stayed in place, stunned. Yelling, screaming mad he might have been able to handle. But Harper’s soft, tired anger ripped through him like a knife, bleeding shame. Her disappointment crushed him. It felt as if he’d broken her heart. James moved to find her just as the front door shut.

“Harper?” he called. No answer. “Shit.”

James ran outside, but she was already pulling into the street. He had to double-back for keys and by then she was gone. James threw the bolt on his side door, jumped into the Benz sedan and whipped out of the driveway. It was fifteen minutes to Harper’s house - he made it in ten.
___

Harper breathed through her nose as she sped across town. All the things that had first drawn her to James - the sadness she felt, her desire to help fix that - were worse now than ever. And he’d done this to himself! Was that how he got hurt in the first place? For all she knew, he was cutting himself at the same time she was trying to stitch him up. Maybe James couldn’t be healed. His need for attention was a bottomless pit. When he didn’t get it, well - between their fight and his actions on the ice, she’d seen how he handled things. That James had been horrible. Now he wanted to act all bruised and battered again, pull her back in? She parked, stormed into her house and burst into tears.

She was still there five minutes later when a knock on the door made her jump.

“Harper!”

“No!” she shouted, surprising herself with the volume and ferocity. She hoped he flinched.

“Harper, please. I’m sorry. Open the door.”

“Go away, James.”

He wondered if the neighbors could hear him. Someone was probably firing up their Instagram video now and this would look great on Tumblr when the Pens PR team called him in for questioning. Oh well, James figured, no one expects better from me anyway. “Not until you get really mad and yell at me to my face.”

To his surprise, feet sounded on the steps inside. The door flew open and there was Harper.

“Oh God,” James said. She’d been crying, it was smeared across her cheeks where she’d wiped under her eyes. But it had not dampened her fire. She stepped into the doorway, making James back down the steps.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“What?”

“Are you sad James, who needs help making his house a home? Are you nice James who walks me to my car on Halloween? Or dickhead James, who lets his girlfriend treat people like shit? One minute you care, then you don’t. You’re in control and then you’re not. So who, exactly, are you?”

“You know who I am.”

“Do I, James? Because I am the only person surprised you would knee a defenseless player in the head. I’m the only one surprised you’d lie trying to get away with it. I don’t know that James Neal, careless thug and repeat offender. Do you know what they’re saying about you?”

“Yes,” he closed his eyes. This was indefensible.

“That’s what people have been telling me since we met!”

“That’s not me,” he was begging now, which just sounded like every other lie. “Please, you know that.”

“I didn’t believe it until I saw it. Why does it matter what I think anyway? Shouldn’t you be explaining this to your girlfriend,” she spat the word, “or does Rachel even care?”

“I stopped seeing her.”

“What?” Harper hissed as if she’d been slapped. That was her safety net, the ‘he’s with someone else’ way out.

“I ended it with Rachel.” James swallowed hard, searching for the right words. “She didn’t get why I was suspended, or what it means for me and the team. She thought it was alright.”

“It’s not alright!” Harper shouted like everyone was deaf and crazy.

“I know! I know, Harper. I....” James bit his tongue hard enough to make it stop moving. So many apologies, all of them worthless. He’d done it again - dug his own grave and jumped right in.

“I have a problem controlling my temper,” he said carefully. “Sometimes the game gets me so wound up and - and I lose my focus. I do stupid things. That was so, so stupid.” His voice got soft, like he was talking to himself.

When he looked up, Harper saw that all the swagger and bullshit was gone. She’d known James for two months - almost every version of him - and she had gotten closer than he let most people. But there were still walls of his own making, that she was convinced could not be scaled or torn down. Now for the first time ever, Harper saw James fall apart. She gave up her attack posture.

“It scared me, what you did to him,” she admitted quietly.

James could have sworn he was breaking open. “Me too.” He took a chance and inched toward the bottom of the stairs. Harper was three steps up and had the advantage. James moved into her line of sight; she couldn’t look down, she had to look at him.

“I would never hurt you,” he said.

“I know,” she admitted. Maybe she didn’t know that for sure, not after she’d seen a man capable of really losing control. But almost everything about James had always made Harper want to move in, to support him. Even this, as much as she hated it. It had never made her want to run away.

James knew he couldn’t ask for too much. He didn’t deserve to even be on Harper’s doorstep pleading his case. This was no time to tell her the jumble of crazy feelings he’d been fighting since the day they met. His goal was to become a better person. If anything, he was the farthest from it he’d ever been. But he could not and would not let Harper go.

“Please don’t ask me to leave,” he said, knowing that if she did, he would go.

She closed her eyes. Harper couldn’t look at James and think, not with pain and humiliation all over his face. The thirty million dollar superstar with the ego and the attitude problem was nothing more than a lost boy. If all those people talking on the radio could see him now. When she opened her eyes James would still be there, so she had to decide.

Instead of speaking, Harper opened her arms. James climbed two steps at once and buried his face in her neck. Those strong, heavy arms twisted around her till she thought she’d snap. He drew a big, ragged breath and Harper knew he was trying not to cry.

“It’ll be okay.” She finally got to run her fingers through his messy hair. His breathing shook again.

“No, it’s not okay,” he mumbled against her shirt.

“I mean us,” Harper corrected. “We’ll be okay.”
____

Notes