Page 10

A Good Show

Aleks

New York City was my favorite place in the United States.

Sure, I’d made a home in Tampa. I loved the beaches and the heat, the team that had believed in me when the rest of the league turned its back on me, and the condo I’d purchased in one of the high-rises downtown. I loved how much the city had grown, how it was busier now than ever before and there was always something to do.

But there was just nothing like New York.

Every time I traveled there, whether to play in a game or see one of Mia’s shows, I fell more for the bustling metropolis. I loved it in the fall, the winter, the spring, the summer. I loved the way it smelled, the way the air felt, the constant noise of cars and people. I loved how passionate New Yorkers were about their sports, their food, and their city.

It was a one-of-a-kind place.

Though I felt an affinity for the city, it wasn’t home. Then again, I wasn’t sure what was .

Berne should have been, I supposed. I lived there with Annaliese for most of my childhood.

Or perhaps it should have been Chicago, where I lived my formative teenage years with Mia and her parents.

Seattle could have been a home. It was the first place I lived on my own, where I grew from a young adult into a man. It was the start of my career. It should have been the city I felt loyalty to.

Instead, I felt nothing more than resentment. That city, that team, that organization as a whole… they’d treated me well only long enough to get what they needed out of me before I was being tossed aside.

I wasn’t arguing that I’d made it easy on them. I knew I got into too much trouble sometimes, that my attitude cost me. But seeing how fast they turned their backs on me, regardless of what I did to make that team a winning one, really pissed me off.

If you didn’t fit the mold they created for their players, then there wasn’t a place for you.

Now, there was Tampa.

I liked Tampa. And Tampa liked me.

The fans loved my crazy antics. They cheered me on in fights and slammed their hands against the glass when I was locked up in the penalty box. And though I might have pissed off Coach more times than not, he still seemed to care about me being there, about us doing well as a team. Richard Bancroft certainly wanted me to do well — if only for his own benefit.

Maybe Tampa would feel like home one day.

Or maybe the whole concept of home was a bullshit lie.

I wondered who in this world felt like New York was home as the black car zoomed us across the city toward Rockefeller Plaza. Isabella and Rina chatted away the entire ride while Glo and James, one of Mia’s security guards, stayed quiet. Mia was mostly silent next to me, too, answering only when Isabella or Rina had a direct question for her.

To anyone else, she probably seemed nervous. But I knew better. I knew doing this interview tonight, performing her music live, being in front of an audience… that was her catnip. I’d known that since the first time I’d seen her perform live when we were kids. She’d had a small set list at a festival down by the lake late that summer I’d moved in, and I’d watched her bloom from this shy, adorable, goofy girl into a mesmerizing, confident, powerful entertainer.

I felt like I understood her then, that I fully comprehended what music and dancing and performing was for her.

It was like hockey for me.

Nothing made her happier. Nothing brought out that sparkle in her quite like this did.

“How many are you up to?”

Mia blinked at my question, drawing her gaze from the window to me. “Huh?”

“You used to count trees on the way to a performance,” I reminded her. It was something I’d picked up on when we’d been on our way to a Christmas gig she had at the park when she was seventeen, and she’d confessed it helped soothe her and take her mind off her nerves. “I know there aren’t many trees in the city, but… how many are you up to?’

The corner of her mouth tilted up just a notch. “Twenty-nine. But I haven’t been counting very diligently, if I’m being honest.” She assessed me for a long pause. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Come on now, Strings,” I said, tugging on the strings of her hoodie with the nickname. “I remember everything.”

I thought I saw her cheeks flush, but she quickly narrowed her eyes and swatted my hand away. “That so? Because your test scores back then beg to differ.”

“I remember what’s important.”

“So math, science, English… none of that is important, huh?”

“It’s not un important — but then again, I did have you to cheat off of, so there was less pressure.”

She rolled her eyes, but I could see it in the little curl of her lips, in the way her shoulders weren’t quite as stiff as before — I’d distracted her.

Mission accomplished.

There was already a crowd of paparazzi and fans surrounding the building entrance when we pulled up, and Isabella shared a look with Rina before they were sliding their sunglasses on and preparing to run inside as quickly as possible. Two security guards flanked the back door, waiting for James to knock on the window and give them the go ahead.

I was used to media attention and fans, but this was different. Before a game, I might have some kids, a group of drunk dudes, or a gaggle of women hanging over the gate at the arena begging me for an autograph. After a game, I might have to do a couple interviews or keep my head down as I made my way through the underbelly of the arena and the parking lot until I could get to the safety of my car.

But this was complete and total madness.

There were fans who were innocent enough in that crowd, sure — young girls with their parents, teenagers recording on their phone and praying for a selfie, women Mia’s age who had followed her since before she was really discovered.

But there were also crazy fans who would shriek and cry and throw themselves at the line of security guarding the entrance to the building. There were those who would scream nasty things at Mia, and those who would throw gifts they’d made in an attempt to get just one second of her attention. Add in that those fans were behind a wall of people with giant cameras and a paycheck to claim, and it was anything but safe.

I ground my teeth together as we got ready to face them, hand finding Mia’s and wrapping it up tight on the seat between us.

She blinked, staring down at that place of contact before her eyes slid up to mine.

Fuck , she was breathtaking.

It didn’t matter that her long, dark hair was a ratted mess, or that she had bags under her cerulean-blue eyes. It didn’t matter that she was in an oversized jogger set, complete with a hoodie that swallowed her slight frame. It didn’t matter that she didn’t have on a fleck of makeup, that she wore high-top sneakers instead of heels, or that her lips were a little chapped and raw, like she’d been chewing on them.

She was stunning — like always.

It was moments like this that made me think of her when we were younger, of how she made it impossible not to want her even when she wasn’t trying. Something about her had always called to me, like a hot, homemade soup, or a warm nook in a snowstorm.

She was comfortable, and cozy, and safe.

She was also incredibly sexy without an ounce of effort.

And, of course, she was completely unattainable.

“Ready?” Rina asked Mia.

Mia nodded, sliding on her own sunglasses, and Isabella looked at me, arching an eyebrow.

“I got her,” I promised.

With a nod from Glo, James knocked on the window, and when the door flew open, Rina climbed out first before she, Glo, and Isabella flanked each side of the car door — three tiny things trying to serve as extra protection.

The New York City summer heat was stifling.

The screams were deafening.

The lights were blinding.

And I tugged Mia under my arm as soon as we were out of the car, doing my best to guard her from all of it.

“Mia! Over here!”

“Oh my God, that’s him! That’s Aleks!”

More unhinged screams.

A flurry of camera flashes.

I held Mia against my chest, but instead of hiding against me, she stood tall, smiling at everyone as we passed. I wanted to shield her, to cradle her in my arms and make sure no one got a single fucking look.

But she didn’t want to hide.

“Love the jumpsuit, Mia!”

“Yeah, Mia, who are you wearing?”

“Aleks! Aleks, can we get a kiss?!”

“Mia, what do you have to say about Garrett Orange’s review of your album?”

“Has Austin heard the album yet?”

“Does Austin know about you and Aleks?”

“When did it all start, Aleks?”

“How does it feel to be dating the biggest pop star in the world, Aleks?”

“Mia, what made you go for a bad boy this time?”

I couldn’t help but smirk at that one, eyeing the reporter who’d said it, and that made them smile and snap a picture before I could school my features.

Mia slowed our gait even as security struggled to keep the fans and paparazzi at bay, but her hand fisting my shirt at my hip told me she was more on edge than she let on. Her smile was wide and confident as she waved at the fans behind the line of cameras, and she even stopped to sign a few autographs and lean in for a selfie. She ignored every question being screamed at her, but she made sure to take her time with the fans.

“Mia, is it true you and Aleks have been dating for months?”

“Mia! I love you!”

“Whore!”

“Aleks! Can I join you two for a threesome?!”

“Mia, what do you have to say about the article from Garrett Orange?”

“Fuck you! Your music is trash!”

“Oh, my God, look at him! He’s so hot!”

“Mia, I hope you’re getting railed every night by this man!”

A round of laughs.

More lights flashing.

We were almost to the door, and I didn’t realize how tightly I was holding her and how protective I was being until Mia struggled against my grip a little to lean down and take a picture with two young girls wearing bright pink sequin skirts and shirts from her last tour.

As soon as she stood again, I pulled her into me. I wanted to throw her over my shoulder and barrel inside the building. I wanted to show anyone who tested me just what it felt like to get checked by a professional hockey player. But I knew Mia was okay, I knew she was used to this. Hell, she’d faced worse when I was nowhere near to help protect her. So, I stood by her side and kept my grip tight while also allowing her the space to move freely.

Finally, we made it to the doors, and with one last wave at the crowd, she let me surround her with my arms for the last ten steps into the building.

“I could fuck you better, Aleks!”

“Mia, your music changed my life!”

“I love you! Please take a picture with me!”

“Your music sucks and so do you, slut!”

I ground my teeth at that last one when I felt Mia stiffen in my arms a bit, and I was ready to turn and knock out whoever the fuck had said it. But Mia gripped me tighter to her as if she knew my intent, as if she wanted to remind me that she was fine, that this was normal, that she just wanted me to be with her.

I would never admit to myself how much I liked that thought — that she wanted me there not as a publicity stunt, but for real.

When we were finally inside, the doors shut behind us with the effort of four grown-ass men at least twice my size. The crowd continued screaming, the cameras continued flashing, but all of us let out a breath of relief.

“Alright,” Rina said, clapping her hands and snapping right into action. “Let’s get you to your dressing room, shall we?”

“Hello, Miss Love,” a young woman said, extending her hand for Mia’s. I still had a protective hold on her, but Mia smiled up at me and slid out of my embrace to greet the woman. “It’s so lovely to have you back at Rockefeller. If you’ll come this way, we have a room all ready for you.”

I didn’t realize my hand was still clamped hard around hers until Mia tried to walk and was halted by my grip.

She startled, turning back to me with a sleepy smile. Her hair was a fucking mess, her face showing clear signs of exhaustion. And yet, she smiled with ease, with confidence, with a silent promise to me that she was ready, that she was excited for this.

“You look a bit pale there, Suter,” she teased. “See one of your many exes in that crowd?”

“More like a line of men begging to be my new punching bags.”

“Don’t mind them. I never do.”

My brows dipped farther.

How long had she put up with that shit?

How did any man think it was okay to behave that way toward a woman?

“Is it always like that?” I asked.

She shrugged. “Not always. There’s usually a better barrier, and a lot of times people gather around to take pictures or ask their questions, but they keep a safe distance. But…” She tilted her head side to side. “All it takes is one person pushing in, getting closer, to give everyone else permission to do the same.”

My jaw tensed.

The brazen fucking audacity of people to think they had the right to do that to her, to anyone .

I was two seconds away from telling her I was resigning from hockey and joining her security team when she chuckled a bit. “I’m good,” she promised, squeezing my hand — which made me realize I still held hers in a vise grip. “See you after the show?”

Reluctantly, I nodded, my throat tight as I released her.

She held my gaze for a long moment over her shoulder as Rina, Glo, and the young show runner walked her toward an elevator. Her security team still surrounded her, which made me feel marginally better. Only once I saw Mia laugh at something Glo said did I feel the lock on my chest release.

“Now that was a good show,” Isabella whispered as she passed by me, squeezing my arm. Her eyes were on her phone as she tapped away on the screen. “The Internet is already losing their minds.”

She winked as she walked backward toward the elevator where they were holding it for her.

“Hang down here with Marci and she’ll get you settled. See you later, you heartthrob, you.” I didn’t know who Marci was, but I assumed she was someone’s assistant with how she smiled gently and waved at me, an iPad clutched in her arms.

With one last flourish of her hand, Isabella and that half of the team were gone, but her words still played in my head.

A good show .

Yeah.

Because that was all it was.

· · ·

I watched Mia’s interview and performance from the back row of a packed audience.

The show was one that was pre-recorded, but that didn’t take anything away from the palpable energy from a crowd that was beyond excited to be the first to hear her new single performed live. They had to do a few takes just to ensure they could actually hear Mia over the screams and the fans singing along to the song — a song that had just released less than a week ago, in between the time the news of our “relationship” had broke and this performance.

The fans knew all the lyrics, already.

I took it all in with my sunglasses on, arms folded, and back leaning against the wall. I was thankful that most of the attention was on her and no one seemed to really notice me. Although, I didn’t miss the fans who thought they were slick recording me on their phone from the back couple of rows.

I liked the new song. It was poppy enough to sound like her old albums, but with a deeper edge somehow, a maturity that felt new and fresh for her. It reminded me of the songs she’d write in her bedroom when we were younger, the ones she’d sing only when she thought no one else was home. Except this was more of a bop, of course — and I knew that was on purpose.

The label would want to be sure that first single was a hit.

When the show was over, I waited with some of Mia’s team for her to join us on the bottom floor again, and then it was time to face the crowd. This time, though, it wasn’t as intense. There must have been something else going on that called to the paparazzi because there was only a handful of cameras now and a small gathering of fans.

When the elevator doors opened, Mia, Rina, Glo, and Isabella filed out mid-laugh before saying goodbye to the show runner. Mia’s eyes found mine, and she smiled.

She was all dolled up now — lashes dark and long, lips stained red, hair styled in silky waves. She still wore the black, bedazzled dress from her performance. The neckline plunged so low it nearly hit her belly button, the slight swells of her cleavage just a tease where that fabric split. And as distracting as that was, it was nothing compared to her long, lean legs — legs carved by years of dancing.

I smirked as she made her way toward me, sliding my hands in my pockets.

“Hello again,” she said. “Enjoy the show?”

“Of course. You know what a big fan I am.”

She cocked a brow.

“Palma McLaughlin?” I shot a thumb over my shoulder as if I was pointing to the stage. Palma had been another guest star on the show tonight. “I’ve had a crush on her for years. When she starred as that bad ass undercover cop in Shoot Out …”

I let out a low whistle that was cut short by Mia playfully punching me in the gut. She did so with a roll of her eyes, but when she tried to pull away, I grabbed her wrist and tugged her into me, instead.

“You were phenomenal,” I said, making sure her blue eyes were locked on mine before the words left my mouth. “I had no doubts you would be.”

She smiled, but pressed her hand into my chest at the same time. “Whatever.”

“I’m serious. I like the new song. Can I hear the rest of the album?”

“On August third with the rest of the world,” Isabella answered for her, and then she was shoving us toward the door. “Come on. Let’s get you two to the hotel.”

Putting one arm around Mia’s shoulder, I leaned in to whisper where only she could hear. “You’ll give me a sneak peek, right?”

“We’ll see.”

“Oh, is it dependent on good behavior?”

“If it was, you’d definitely stand no chance.”

“I can be a good boy.”

“Sure, and I can be a gourmet chef.”

“So funny,” I teased, digging my fingers into her ribs just as security opened the doors.

Mia laughed just as the flurry of camera flashes assaulted us, and I told myself I was acting when I pulled her into my side and pressed a kiss against her hair.

“You sounded like the real you.”

Mia stalled a bit, looking up at me as the fans screamed around us and cameras flashed like mad. Her red lips parted, like she wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what.

I was just about to usher her toward the car when a man broke through the line of security, jumping over them and nearly crashing into Mia.

But he didn’t get the chance because my hand caught him hard in the chest.

“Keep your filthy music away from the ears of our children, you whore!”

He barely got the words out before I was slamming him back, holding Mia behind me and serving as a human barrier.

“Aleks,” she warned. “Don’t.”

I didn’t realize I had the guy’s shirt fisted in my hand and was snarling at him like a rabid dog until I felt Mia’s hand calmly wrap around my shoulder.

Security was already tugging at the man to take him away, but I made sure to hold my grip and pin him with my glare long enough that all the snark he’d had melted away.

“Try that shit again, and you’ll be six feet under,” I seethed.

Cameras flashed so quickly it was like one long blinding light as I made that promise, and when I finally released the fucker, security carried him away, and I tucked Mia under my arm and wrapped my other arm full around her face to block her from view. I all but carried her into the car Isabella had already climbed into, not allowing her the option to stop for autographs this time, and only once we were safely inside did I release her.

Even then, I stayed close, my thigh lined up with hers as I turned to face her. James climbed in when the mob was pushed back, and then the noise was snuffed out by the shutting of the door.

I ran my hands over Mia’s face, her neck, searching her for marks. “You alright?”

She swatted me away instantly. “That was stupid, Aleks!”

“What? What did I do?” I held up my hands.

“Trying to play knight in shining armor. You have to be careful with guys like that,” she said, swatting my chest. “They’re nuts.”

“And have a death wish, apparently.”

“I’m serious! You don’t know what those people are like!”

“And they clearly don’t know that I’ll snap a wrist without second thought should any of them dare to touch you without your permission.”

“I have a security team,” she pointed out, gesturing to a quiet, stern James. I had yet to see the big motherfucker smile. “I don’t need you to play bodyguard.”

“Maybe I like playing bodyguard. Maybe I’d like that to be my new official title.” I said it as a tease, waggling my eyebrows at her to try to loosen the tension of the moment, but Mia only let out a frustrated growl.

She crossed her arms as she fumed, looking out the window with her face turning redder by the minute.

And that’s when I saw it.

She wasn’t embarrassed by my actions. She wasn’t snipping at me because I’d annoyed her — which had been my specialty since we were kids.

She was… scared.

“Aw, Strings,” I said, running my knuckle over her jaw. “You were worried about me.”

She batted my hand away, trying to keep her stern expression, but I saw how her brows bent together, how anxiety lined her features. After a moment, she turned to me with those big, soft blue eyes.

“What if he would have had a gun?”

“Then I would have jumped in front of the bullet to save you.”

She sucked her teeth. “Be serious.”

“I am.”

“You would not jump in front of a bullet for me.”

“Try me, Strings.”

She shook her head, her cheeks reddening more. “Aleks, guys like that, they’re just looking for their chance. He could sue you.”

“Oh, I hope he does. I’ll bury his ass in court, and then in the ground behind the courthouse.”

For a second, Mia stared at me like I was crazy. But then she let out a puff of a laugh that rode on a long exhale, the worry melted from her face. A reluctant smile spread on her lips next. She tried to glare at me, but it fell flat as I waggled my brows and got that smile to crack again.

She shook her head before she let it fall back against the seat.

“You’re a barbarian,” she said on a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

I thought I’d said the words low enough that only she could hear, judging by the slight flush of her cheeks. But when Isabella chuckled from her side of the car, my head snapped in her direction.

“Well, if she doesn’t, the world certainly does.” I’d almost forgotten she was in the car with us. I wondered where Glo had gone. She must have had her own car with the other members of the team who had met us at Rockefeller.

Isabella wore the shit-eating grin of a woman who knew she had the winning hand at a poker table.

When she turned her phone toward us, I understood why.

There was already a video posted of my exchange with the punk who’d screamed at Mia.

And by the time we made it to the hotel, it had gone viral.