She nods as well. The strain on her face is obvious, but there’s something else there. She looks defeated, and that isnotlike her. I wrap her in a hug, and she holds on to me tightly for a few minutes.
“It’s so hard, Mom. I’m sorry,” I whisper, and with one final squeeze, she lets me go, swiping away the tears on her cheeks as she steps back.
“It’s okay, hon. It’s just hard to watch. You know.”
I nod again, blowing out a breath. “Yeah, I do know.”
“We got some good news yesterday though,” she says. “He was accepted into that drug study we’ve been hoping for. He’s going to be starting the new medication right away.”
My eyes widen. “Wow, Mom! Really? That’s fantastic news!” I exclaim. One of the leading researchers in the field, who also happens to be an associate of Dr. Madsen’s, is running a clinical drug trial on patients with suspected CTE. The rumors are it can work like a miracle, cutting way back on violent outbursts, helping enormously with memory problems and even some of the physical symptoms like balance issues. I didn’t think my dad was going to be accepted into the trial since at this stage, they’re only taking a tiny number of patients, but I have a sneaking suspicion that my old friend Dr. Madsen may have something to do with him getting chosen. “The early trials were super promising. This is really good news,” I tell her.
She smiles, a tiny ray of hope flickering in her eyes. “I hope it slows things down, even a little bit,” she says wistfully.
“I hope so too.” I give her a hopeful smile. There’s really not much anyone can say.
She clears her throat and turns to open her car door before standing on her tiptoes to place a kiss on my cheek. “I’m going to head home. But will you call me tomorrow to let me know how your speech goes tonight?”
When I nod, she gives me another encouraging smile, the same one I remember so well from when I was a kid. Whenever I struggled with anything, my mom’s faith in me never ever wavered. “You’re going to do an amazing job tonight, Ben, I know it. You feel so passionately about the topic, and you’re so knowledgeable. People respond to that kind of sincerity.”
“Thanks, Mom. I hope so. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
We say our goodbyes, and I get into my SUV, heading toward home. My mind is a jumble of nerves about tonight’s speech, worry about my parents, and thoughts of Aleks Warren. I can’t stop replaying scenes from last night. No matter how much I try to distract myself, I can’t help remembering how he looked, the sounds he made, how we felt together… All of it was so fucking hot. Not that it matters. I’ll probably never see him again.
It’s probably for the best. I could never bring someone from the Warren family into my parents’ lives. Not after what Kent Warren did. I think the thing that hurt both my parents the most was that even though the hit was technically legal, the amount of damage it caused was no secret. And Kent never bothered to call Bob to apologize. Not immediately after it happened, and not even when the news broke that my dad would never be able to play again. He and Kent had known each other for years; they’d even been teammates at one point. It was painful for my parents to realize that someone they had respected, even liked, didn’t even bother with the courtesy of a phone call to see how he was doing. When the media would ask Kent about it, he would brush off the question or find a way to deflect it. From what I know, he and my dad never spoke again after that hit.
It's that attitude that makes me suspicious of anyone associated with the man or his family; they just don’t seem to share the same values as mine. So, no matter how amazing that night was with Aleks, it needs to stay firmly in the past.
It’s only been a few hours; that’s probably why I can’t get him out of my head. Eventually, the memory will fade, and I’ll move forward. I have no choice.
Chapter 8
ALEKS
Steppingoutoftheshower, I wipe the fog off the mirror and take a long, hard look at myself. There is absolutely no reason I should have spent most of the day moping and feeling sorry for myself simply because a random hookup took off in the middle of the night. Shit, usually, it’s a relief when that happens. I’ve done it myself—sometimes it’s just easier to avoid the awkward morning-after chat while trying to figure out the nicest possible way to get the hell out of there. So why theactual fuckcan I not get Ben out of my mind? What the hell makes him so different? I mean, sure, he’s unbelievably good-looking. If I could select a man to represent my “type,” he’d look exactly like Ben. And yeah, the way our bodies fit together like puzzle pieces was unlike anything I’ve felt in my life. But obviously, he didn’t feel the same way, and the connection I thought I felt was all in my head. Now I need to shake it off and get back to business. I did exactly what I’d planned—I blew off some steam and had a little fun. Now I need to get my head screwed on properly because tonight is important for the future of my career.
I slip into my tuxedo quickly. Growing up as part of a big pack of highly decorated athletes, I’ve been to any number of awards dinners over the years, so I’m used to wearing the penguin suit, but the goddamn bow tie drives me insane. I can never get the damn thing to look right. After a few tries, I finally get it so it’s not completely cockeyed, figuring I’ll have to ask one of the guys to help me fix it once I get there.
An hour later, I’m walking into the swanky hotel ballroom where the benefit is being held. Round dining tables are draped in white linen, each one adorned with flickering candles of various sizes. Each table’s centerpiece is a tall treelike floral sculpture covered in tiny white fairy lights, and subtle blue lighting bathes the room in a soft glow. Overhead, crystal chandeliers glimmer like diamonds in the candlelight. On one side of the room sits an enormous Christmas tree, trimmed in blue and silver and sparkling with the same fairy lights from the centerpieces. I feel like I’ve stepped into some kind of dream world, and from the murmurs of other guests around me, I’m not the only one who’s impressed.
Making my way to one of the bars distributed around the room’s edges, I order myself a glass of champagne, simply because the décor seems to invite a fancy drink, and then turn around to survey the room, hoping to find someone I know.
I spot a group of guys standing not far from me, and I immediately recognize them as being from the Sasquatch. Because of the close relationship between the Sasquatch and their farm team, there have been several group functions, so I’ve been able to get to know several of the players, and one of my favorites is their captain, Rylan Collings. He’s played in the league for a while, so I'd met him a few times in the past through my brothers, and he’s always struck me as a stand-up guy. He’s quiet, but solid, and both Brad and Mike have only nice things to say about him, which is saying something, since my brothers aren’t easy to impress. He’s standing in a group with a few other players, and Carson Wells is with them. Taking a deep breath, I swallow my nerves and walk over to join them. Making a good impression on our parent-team GM is important since the better he knows me, the more likely that my name will pop into his head if there are any management opportunities that open up.
“Hey, everyone,” I say, approaching their circle.
“Hey, Aleks, how are you?” Adam Cote, another player who’s been around the league a while, says with a smile, extending his hand.
I shake his hand, greeting everyone with the most confident smile I can muster. We make small talk for a bit until the three Sasquatch players end up in a friendly debate with a group from another team over some play from an East Coast game last night.
Carson Wells takes a sip from his drink and turns to me.
“So how are you, Aleks?” he asks.
My heart speeds up as my nerves kick in. It’s not like me to be anxious around people, but something about Wells intimidates me. He’s quiet and stoic, and he doesn’t seem to be part of the old boys’ club that runs the NHL. He was tapped by Sasquatch ownership to head up the team almost as soon as they were awarded the franchise a few years ago, so he’s been part of building the team from the ground up. Even though he’s very young for the job and didn’t have a ton of NHL experience, he’s been incredibly successful. It’s unheard of for any team to perform so well together in their inaugural season. Carson’s been credited with a lot of their success, and it’s at least in part due to the huge effort he’s put into creating a unique team culture. Everyone attached to the Sasquatch in any way, no matter how minor, is respected and supported, and that attitude starts with Carson himself. Before the start of the season, it wasn’t unusual for us to see him around at the Eagles offices to meet with our management or coaches. Some people grumbled about being micromanaged at first, but he proved that he’s genuinely interested in finding out what every part of the organization needs in order to be successful. I’d love to be able to learn the business from someone like him.
“I’m great, thanks, Carson,” I say with a smile.
“I’m glad you’re here. I was hoping to get a chance to speak to you tonight.”
