CHAPTER 1
FROM NOTHING
ELLIOTT “ELI” LEWIS
“I can’t believeyou got me here to watch a ballet.” I tug at the bow tie around my neck. “In a tuxedo even. And Shakespeare?”
“Shut the fuck up, Eli,” Cam whispers in the seat to my left, his knee jiggling. We’re at the Gamblers’ ice arena in Vegas, and his girlfriend Becca’s show is about to start. “Besides, this is a ballet on ice, and I didn’t twist your arm to get dressed up in a suit like me.” His voice is harsh, but I’ve known him far too long and chalk it up to nerves.
When he said he planned to wear a tux for the opening night of Becca’s debut in Romeo and Juliet, I figured I would dust off my custom made one from the back of my closet. The last time I wore it was on my wedding day, which ended in a very expensive divorce. Thank you very much.
Oh shit. Hopefully it’s not a bad sign to wear this tux now considering what Cam has planned for Becca tonight.
I should have burned this tux, but it cost me so much, I hated for it to be a waste of money in the end. Although I could afford to buy myself a dozen more at any time.
“How long is this performance?” I check my watch—a Rolex I bought myself several years back, the day after I received my first lottery payout. I don’t wear it very often either.
The tux feels more like a costume. I’d rather be in sweats and a hoodie, legs kicked up, pretending I don’t have more money than I know what to do with.
I may be worth millions, as the single highest lottery winner ever in history, as far as I know, and right in the middle of a lucrative multi-year multi-million dollar hockey contract with the Denver Aspens, but I rarely look the part. More comfortable in jeans or shorts or sweats and hoodies, I’m a casual guy.
Some might call me a slacker if they don’t know me. Not on the ice, though. On skates with a stick in my hand, chasing a biscuit around the arena, I’m on fire.
I play hockey because I love it.
Off the ice, I waste time doing nothing much, just waiting for the next chance to practice or play, itching to tie up my skate strings.
My fancy cars sit untouched in a garage the size of a small airport, and my custom-built house only feels livable when it’s loud with teammates who don’t care how much I’m worth.
I have an accountant and personal assistant who keep track of my life—and my banking because I can’t stand to look at the amount of money I have.
I grew up with nothing, the product of parents with nothing. Sure, at first, I went a little crazy after winning the lottery, buying all these things, taking care of my parents, too, although I do not regret any of it, especially my purchase of a hot rod motorcycle. But after my divorce, I realized there are things that mean more to me than money.
Sometimes the money weighs heavy, more of a burden than anything.
“Sit back and relax. You could use a bit of culture, don’t you think?” Cam chides me with a sideways glance.
“What I could use is a night of debauchery in Las Vegas with my old college teammate,” I retort. “But nope. I come to visit you here, and all you offer me is a night of ballet on ice. Of course, you’re so whipped by Becca now, it isn’t even funny.”
“Shut it. Here we go,” Cam warns as the music swells and the curtains rise. He pats his pocket for the hundredth time.
There’s his woman, Becca, dancing in the role of Juliet for the new Vegas Ballet on Ice Company. She and Cam started it up themselves. I’m also a silent partner in the venture, and with a sell-out crowd like this, it’ll be a tremendous success with four major shows planned per year.
We’re sitting right on the edge of the ice. Cam’s eyes are constantly on the lookout for Becca. I have to admit, it’s a beautiful performance. But what do I know about ballet on ice?
At one point, she skates up to us, pausing there. Her arms stretch out in a graceful line, her fingertips almost touching Cam’s cheek. Their eyes meet and hold. Sitting this close to them, the love and desire and heat drip off of them. I’m nothing more than an intruder on their intimate moment in all of space and time.
Fuck me. Cam’s a lucky bastard.
No woman has ever looked at me like that—not without seeing dollar signs somewhere in the reflection. Maybe they look at my bank account that way and fall in love with it, for sure. Like my ex did. My divorce from Bunny—yeah, I should have known with a name like that—turned me into a skeptic about love.
The thing is, Iwantlove though. I imagine a house that’s filled with kids, not teammates. My wife waits there for me afterevery game, in a home where our lives are full of everything I didn’t have growing up.
I want that dream. Just not at the price of being used.
The constant loving eyes between Cam and Becca that pass during the performance only brings me down. Before the first intermission, I slip away, hands shoved in my pockets. The noise of the crowd drowns out thoughts I don’t want to hear.
I wander around the mezzanine level until I spot a table of T-shirts and souvenirs on sale, so I have a look. The logo on everything is of a star with hockey skates in front of it. Then something catches my eye. A sign reads, “All proceeds go to the Wish Foundation’s Skate with a Hockey Player Program.”
