Niklas looked down at the floor and shook his head. “I don’t know.”
Would I rather split up here and avoid any of Niklas’s public side? I tried to imagine arriving back in Detroit alone, staying away from him in public, sneaking into his house just for a night together. I shivered. No. Cutting him off would feel worse.
Niklas continued to watch me.
I attempted a smile. “If we have any hope of working this out, I need to give this part a try, too.”
Niklas nodded, but his face remained closed. “I’ve seen other players and their girlfriends or wives get burned. It won’t be easy.”
I gave him a little nod. I had no experience with how it felt to be on the other end of the camera lens, but I did understand the value of a good photo, both for money and for a career. The first shot of breaking news was worth everything.
The newest twists in Niklas’s career—and his private life—had the potential to become front-page news in the hockey world, whether we wanted it or not.
“I’m ready,” I whispered. “Trial by fire, right?”
Finally, the hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his lips as we stepped through the doors.
“Yep. Trial by fire it is.”
Walking into the baggage claim area felt a bit anticlimactic. I wasn’t sure what I expected – blinding flashes of camera bulbs as we stepped out of the gate? Crowds swarming the two of us? Niklas’s hulking form earned them a few stares, despite the baseball cap and sunglasses, but no one said anything as we walked over to find our bags. I spotted a guy in a Red Wings t-shirt stepping up to the luggage carousel and quickly turned away. The sooner we got out of there, the better.
I looked down at my travel-ragged clothes, washed too many times in sinks around the world. My hair was a mess of dark waves, and I had run out of make-up weeks ago. None of these things had mattered to me until we stepped into Niklas’s world, with the threat of public exposure lurking around each new corner.
Niklas held my hand tightly in his as we greeted the grey Michigan skies.
“Should we get a cab?” I asked.
Niklas shook his head and scanned the long strip of roads outside the arrivals area. Before he had a chance to speak, a large black car with darkened windows pulled up.
“This is ours,” he said, squeezing my hand.
“You have a driver?”
Niklas smirked. “Not a personal driver, if that’s what you mean. But I always use the same guy. It’s… easier that way.”
I raised my eyebrows at him. I was definitely entering a new world, despite the fact that this was my hometown. “To think I managed to get through my entire life in Michigan without needing an on-call driver.”
He took off his sunglasses and stepped closer, towering over me. “You’re going to tease me about this? How about ‘thanks for arranging a ride for us’?”
“Thank you, Niklas.” I rested my head against his chest and sighed.
I felt his lips on the top of my head, but the unabashed stares around us took any pleasure of the moment away.
“Hey, Niklas Almquist, right? Can I get a picture of you?”
The voice came from behind us, and I knew who it was without turning around. Of course the guy with the Red Wings t-shirt would recognize Niklas.
Niklas’s arms tensed around me, but none of the tension showed in his voice when he spoke.
“How about one of you and me, buddy?” asked Niklas, maneuvering me away from him. “My friend can take it for you.”
“Thanks, man,” said the guy, smiling.
I tried to steady my hands as I took the phone from the guy and aimed its camera at the two men. Despite the fact that I had seen this guy earlier, his approach had still thrown me off. Niklas clearly had enough experience in this area to handle it, but I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or out of my league.
I took the photo and gave the phone back, but Niklas kept the guy’s attention the whole time, shaking his hand and discussing last year’s season. The driver loaded our luggage into the trunk as the scene unfolded and was now holding open the door for me to climb in. This guy also knew what he was doing.
Niklas said goodbye to the fan, shook hands with the driver, and climbed into the car. He wordlessly tugged me into the middle seat, and after I fastened my seat belt, he pulled me closer. He set my hand on his thigh and covered it with his. I decided not to comment on the encounter—one glance at him told me he was having enough trouble dealing with the present as it was.
