Page 79 of Off-Limits as Puck

“Chelsea? It’s me.”

Maddy. Of course. PR professionals never know when to quit.

I shuffle to the door, catching my reflection in the hallway mirror. Mascara streaked down my cheeks. Hair in a rats’ nest. Looking exactly like the kind of woman who’d throw away her career for a hockey player.

“Oh, Chelsea,” Maddy observes when I open the door, holding up a bottle of wine like a peace offering. “Good thing I brought reinforcements.”

“I’m not really in the mood for company.”

“Which is exactly when you need it most.” She pushes past me,heading straight for my kitchen. “Trust me, I’ve shepherded enough people through public disgrace to know the warning signs. Isolation leads to bad decisions.”

“Worse than the ones I’ve already made?”

“You’d be surprised.” She’s already uncorking the wine, movements efficient and professional. “I’ve had clients try to flee the country. Others wanted to fake their own deaths. One guy seriously considered witness protection.”

“How’d that work out for him?”

“He’s selling insurance in Toledo now. Makes decent money, but his sex life never recovered.”

Despite everything, I almost smile. “Is that supposed to be comforting?”

“It’s supposed to be perspective.” She hands me a glass of wine. “This feels like the end of the world, but it’s not. It’s just the end of this world.”

We settle on my couch, and for a few minutes, we drink in silence. The wine is good—smooth and expensive and nothing like the cheap bottles I usually buy. Crisis wine, apparently, comes with a higher price tag.

“So,” Maddy says finally, “how long?”

“How long what?”

“Don’t play dumb. How long have you been in love with him?”

The question hits me right in the chest. Not whether I slept with him or violated ethics or destroyed my career. Whether I love him.

“I’m not—”

“Chelsea.” Her voice goes gentle. “I saw your face during that board meeting. That wasn’t embarrassment or regret. That was heartbreak.”

“It doesn’t matter what I feel.”

“It’s the only thing that matters. Because if this was just sex, just some fling that got out of hand, then yeah—throw him under the bus and try to salvage something. But if you love him...”

“Then what? We ride off into the sunset? Start over somewhere new?” I laugh, but it sounds like breaking. “This isn’t a romance novel, Maddy. Real life doesn’t work that way.”

“Sometimes it does.”

“When? Name one time when choosing love over logic actually worked out.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, swirling wine in her glass. “My parents.”

“What?”

“My mom was a journalist. My dad was the mayor she was investigating for corruption. They met during an interview, fell hard, and she had to choose between the story that would make her career and the man who was making her happy.”

“What did she choose?”

“Both. She broke the story, he went to prison for two years, and when he got out, they got married.” Maddy’s smile is soft, real. “Sometimes love is worth the chaos it creates.”

“Your dad went to prison.”

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