“How the hell do you know him?”
Her eyes draw into concern. “What do you mean? I grew up with him. He was good friends with Pacey. They played together for a long time.”
For some reason, that rings a bell. Pacey’s never said too much about Gasper because he knows how much everyone on the team absolutely hates him, and for good reason. If only he knew Gasper was behind why I wasn’t there to help Holden. Something makes me think Pacey wouldn’t want to be friends with him much longer.
“Is there something going on between the two of you?” I ask.
“Are you serious? Eli, I just told you this morning I don’t have time or energy for that. Can you not understand that? And what does it matter? It’s not like you and I are together. You don’t have claim over me.”
“I don’t want that fucker around my baby.”
“Yourbaby?” she asks, folding her arms, preparing for battle.
“I mean our baby,” I attempt to correct myself. “He’s a shit person.”
“No, he’s not,” she defends, which of course raises my anger to the next level. “Do you even know him?”
“Yeah, I fucking do. He’s the reason at least three guys on our team have been blasted in the backs of the knees by his stick. He plays dirty and will do anything to win, even if that means doing something that’s possibly career-ending. And you’re friends with him?”
“He is aggressive but not purposeful with what he does.”
“Are you really defending him right now?” I hold my arms out, one hand still gripping the stupid five-pound bag of gummy bears.
“Are you really in my office yelling at me?” she asks.
Bringing my arms back, I take a deep breath. “You shouldn’t be hanging out with him, and you definitely will not be going out to dinner with him.”
“Excuse me? Are you now telling me what I can and cannot be doing?”
“I’m trying to educate you.”
From the way her eyes light on fire, I can immediately tell that was the wrong thing to say.
“I don’t need you toeducateme,” she says through clenched teeth. “I know Remi. You only see him during the games. I know him outside of hockey. And he’s a good man. He’s been very helpful toward our family over the years and cares about the same things we care about. He’s helped Pacey with his charities and has given a lot back to our hometown. Sure, he can get excited during a game, but that doesn’t define him.”
“The way you act on the ice is a direct depiction of who you are as a man,” I say. “And there’s no honor in his body.” Not wanting to discuss this anymore, I turn toward the door, ready to walk out when I remember what I came up here for. Gripping the doorframe, I ask, “How are you feeling?”
“Go to hell, Eli,” she says, and I take that as just fine.
* * *
“Dude,your vibe is not really settling me right now,” Posey says next to me as we warm up. “You’re all charged up.”
I am.
I’m fucking ready to go.
My eyes haven’t left Gasper since I got on the ice. I’ve watched him skate around, stretch, and even joke around with a few of the guys on both teams. Three years ago, we were playing game seven in the playoffs that would grant us a spot for a try at the cup. Game was tied. It was the third period. He took a cheap shot at Holmes and knocked him to the ground. The ref ignored the attempt to take out our center, blatantly favoring Gasper. Holmes was out with an injury, and they ended up taking the win. That was the moment I started hating this guy.
What solidified my hatred for him . . . well, we all know that by now.
“Just ready for the game,” I say, gripping my stick tightly.
“Okay, because it doesn’t quite look like you’re ready for the game. It looks like you’re ready to murder.”
Yeah, that too.
“Did you have some gummy bears?” he continues. “Because I can have Hank run back to the locker room and grab you some.”
