Max’s brother Tate walked up next to me and put his arm around my shoulder.
“Stop worrying. He’s happy,” he said. “Those first few months when things were iffy about whether he’d be able to come back, I wasn’t sure how he would survive without being able to play. But now he’s made peace with it—and so much of that is because of you, Georgia. You made him realize what’s important, and he’s really looking forward to getting Austin’s life-size Lincoln Logs business off the ground. He told me you’re going to help. Hell, if you’re half as successful with that as you are with your roses, you’re going to make Austin proud.”
I wiped my tears. “My makeup is already going to be a mess. Don’t make it worse, Tate.”
He smiled and squeezed my shoulder. A minute later, Maggie stood on my other side. She was now dating one of Max’s teammates. They’d met at a barbeque at our house last summer and had been inseparable since. It had worked out great for me because it meant she spent a lot of time out in California, and we traveled to games together sometimes, too.
“How you holding up?” she asked.
I sighed. “Exactly how you’d expect.”
My best friend smiled. “You want to walk down to the ice with me? Celia said Miles is going to say a few words. You should be there when Max comes off.”
I nodded. “Yeah, let’s do that.”
Maggie and I flashed our all-access passes and made our way down to the ice to stand near the rink exit. The players were still celebrating when team owner Miles Gibson walked out onto the ice. He had a microphone in his hand, and he motioned for everyone to quiet down while waving Max over to the center of the arena.
“Good evening, everyone. I don’t think I have to tell you that tonight was this guy’s last game as a player. Max Yearwood is leaving the ice after a ten-year career with six-hundred-and-seventy-two goals. That puts him in the top fifteen all-time scorers, rivaling players who’ve had careers twice as long.”
A woman in the stands screamed, “I love you, Pretty Boy!”
That started a gaggle of laughter and a myriad of others professing their love. Max shook his head, looking down and rubbing the back of his neck as if he was embarrassed. But I knew his ego had enjoyed every moment of tonight.
Eventually, Miles got control of the crowd again. “Jeez, and they say men are bad.” He chuckled. “But on that note, I just wanted to thank Max for his dedication to the team. Though he’s only been with us a couple of years, he’s become a big part of the Blades family. And we’re delighted to announce that while you might not be seeing this man on the ice next year, you will be seeing him on the sidelines. Max Yearwood leaves us as a player today, but he joins us as a coach next season.”
The crowd went crazy again. Miles let it go on for a minute and then quieted everyone once more. “Since it seems like people are not as interested in me as they are the man standing next to me, I’m going to turn the mic over to the man of the hour. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Max Yearwood.”
Oh wow. I had no idea Max was going to make a speech, and I didn’t think he did either. If he’d been aware, he hadn’t mentioned it. Lord knows, I would’ve been freaking out being put on the spot like that. Public speaking was the one thing I still hadn’t tackled from my summer to-do list I’d given Max.
Though this situation didn’t seem to bother Max. He took the mic and waved to the crowd like the natural showman he was. “Thank you so much,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez, I thought this would be easier. But it’s hard to say goodbye to something that has been your entire life since you were four.” He looked around the arena. “I still remember the first hockey game I ever went to. I’m one of six boys, and my dad usually took the older kids to games, but it was my birthday—the big four. So instead, he brought me and my next-oldest brother, Austin.” Max paused and took a deep breath. He looked down at the ice for a few seconds, probably thinking about how they weren’t both here anymore. When he looked up, he swallowed and pointed up to the top row of the arena. “We sat in the next-to-last row. I remember sitting on the edge of my seat the entire game and being mesmerized by how fast the players could skate. I told my dad that very day that I wanted to be a hockey player.” Max patted his chest. “My dad tapped me here and said, ‘Okay. But this is what makes a hockey player, son. Anyone can skate.’ Twenty-seven years have gone by since that day, and those are still probably the truest words I’ve ever heard about this sport. Hockey is all about heart.”