It wasn’t a huge room. Painting the walls and assembling flatpack furniture weren’t exactly monstrous tasks.
But damn if it didn’t all feel like I was being asked to clean an entire sheet of ice with a toothbrush.
I closed my eyes and pushed out a long breath through my nose. Time to pull it together. Rachel was dealing with far more than I was. She needed help, and she wasn’t asking me to move mountains. She was just asking me to help her set up a bedroom for her baby.
Rolling my shoulders, I opened my eyes. I could do this. Nothing in the world was too much if it helped my best friend’s grieving family. And like hell was I going to add to their burden by letting my own cracks show.
I wasn’t okay, but for today, I would be.
As I picked up a roll of painter’s tape and got to work, I reminded myself there was a brand-new bottle of vodka in my freezer at home.
All I had to do was get through today. Work on this room. Help Rachel and the kids. Pretend I wasn’t this close to falling apart.
And when I got home tonight, I would drink until I couldn’t remember how to cry.
CHAPTER 10
PEYTON
October and November wore on, the days getting shorter and darker as time started to blur. I’d always lost track of the calendar by this point in the season; next thing I knew, they’d be announcing it was the All-Star break, and then the trade deadline, and suddenly the playoffs would be over and I’d be wondering where the hell the season had gone. Happened every damn year.
And just like I was every year, I was startled when the announcements came out for the team’s Thanksgiving get-together. It was Thanksgiving already? How didthathappen?
This year, Baddy and his wife, Christina, were hosting. A few people had flown home last night to be with their families in other parts of the country, but most of us stayed in town.
It was always a little bittersweet, celebrating holidays with my teammates. I’d call my parents this evening, but we’d long since given up on me trying to get home for Thanksgiving. It was always such a blisteringly brief trip bookended by the most chaotic travel days of the year.Nobody enjoyed that, least of all me. We’d have an informal Thanksgiving dinner in July when I was home, and I enjoyed that, but I still missed my family on the real holiday. Same with Christmas; I tried to get home whenever I could, but some years, the schedule was just too damn tight.
The team celebrations were always a lot of fun, though, and they were a chance for everyone to kick back and socialize without any pressure. No practices or games looming. No cameras around. We could just chill. It was good for bonding.
It was especially good for those of us who were still finding our place on a new roster. Hockey teams were always welcoming to new players, but it still took time to get in the groove with a new group. Today, Trews stuck close to me and Laramie. I got it—we were all new to the Whiskey Rebels, and the dynamic of this team was complicated. I felt bad for the kid. I was having a harder than usual time finding my place among these men; it had to be even more difficult for a young rookie who was still finding his footing as a professional hockey player. I remembered those days, and I didn’t envy him being a rookie onthisteam right now.
That wasn’t to say the guys were making any of us feel unwelcome. It was just a tough season for them. They were going through something I hoped I never experienced. I couldn’t blame them for everything being “off.”
And to their credit, they really were doing everything they could to bring us all firmly into the fold.
“You should be thanking me, kid.” Eminem slung his arm around Trews’s shoulders as we watched some of the guys shooting pool downstairs. “When Pittsburgh traded for me, theyalsogot a second-round draft pick.” He smacked the kid’s chest. “Guess what they used to draft you?”
Trews laughed, and his blush was kind of cute. “Where did they get you and the pick from?”
“Edmonton.” Eminem grimaced theatrically. “You wouldn’t want to go there, my friend.”
“Oh, shut up.” Willie threw a Dorito at Eminem. “You loved it there.”
“I did, but I’m not there now.” Eminem shrugged and tossed the Dorito in his mouth. “Without me, who’d want to play there?”
We all groaned and laughed, rolling our eyes.
The attention turned back to the pool game, which was currently a game of eightball rife with relentless shit-talking. Mix had Ziggy on his heels, and even though a number of their chirps were in Russian, the rest of us were still thoroughly entertained by the resulting expressions and middle fingers.
Shortly after Ziggy beat Mix, I headed upstairs with Laramie and Trews to refresh our drinks. The hallway between the kitchen and living room was mostly empty, and the three of us paused there just to have a break from the noise.
I took advantage of the quiet moment and said to Trews, “So, aside from Eminem’s bullshit about his trade landing you here—how are you liking it?”
“I do like it.” Trews sipped his drink. “Pittsburgh is nice. The guys are great.” He glanced toward the living room where several of the guys were watching football, then turned to me again. “Is the weird vibe just me, though? Like is this…” He chewed his lip.
I shook my head slowly. “It’s not just you.” It was my turn for a glance down the hall. “But with everything they’ve had thrown at them…”
Trews exhaled. “Yeah. Seriously.” He grimaced. “I can’teven imagine. My teammates in college—they were like my brothers, you know?”
