I felt dizzy. “Los-fucking-Angeles? Fuck. They’re the worst team in the league. Hockey in Los Angeles is like American Football in Japan. Nobody gives a shit about it. This is?—”
“A message from upper management that they’re in charge. Coach Slanch and I have been trying to tell you, Old Man Bells is on the warpath lately. I think he feels himself starting to go, and not only has the media been painting you as hockey’s biggest puckboy or whatever lately, but there was a viral article by some famous sports Vlogger yesterday explaining how you were responsible for the current greatness of the Tigers—in spite of Bells. So Bells is on a tirade for his legacy. And part of that involves showing you the door, evidently.”
“It’s not final, though?”
“It’s not. But it’s going to be snap-snap done by Sunday morning so they can hit the presses with the story on Monday. Unless you, I don’t know, find the cure for cancer at that conference or something. I recently had a meeting with Bells, and do you know what he spent the entire night doing? He showed me your tweets from the dates you’ve been on. And the pictures. And he said, ‘This would have never been acceptable in the nineteen fifties, running around like this.’ The guy is an anachronistic nut job, yes, but he’s the one with the power and there’s nothing we can do.”
“You talked to Coach Slanch?”
“I did. We tried to tag team call Bells. He’s ignoring us. That’s when I got the call from my contact. Sorry, Dustin. It’s been a good run in Chicago.”
“It ain’t over until it’s over.”
“No,” he said. “But it’s close.”
“Thanks for the call, Harrison,” I said and hung up. I hadn’t felt this awful in years.
There was cruel irony in the fact that I was the most loyal player on this team. I gritted out some pretty grim years in Chicago. There was a literal LeBlanc Taco promotion where if I scored a goal, all of the fans who purchased tickets would get a free taco. We were desperate to fill the stands back then, andI played my heart out, every game, while we sometimes barely won fifteen games per season because we didn’t have the depth.
And now that we had filled in the rest of the roster with some talent, ownership thought I was chopped liver because I liked to enjoy myself off the ice?
It wasn’t right.
Letting out a heavy sigh, my eyes fell to a table in front of me at one of the late-night bars in the casino. My pulse sped when I saw The Doctor in the red dress.
I was shocked to see what she was doing. She was patting the back of an old man who was sitting on the ground, who perhaps had fainted or was under the weather. The man looked faint, and she stayed with him until medical personnel from the casino arrived.
Something flipped in my heart when I saw her coming to the aid of a random person like that. She really was a doctor down to her core. I watched as she headed to a table in the dining area, where she ordered a drink and sat staring into her drink like it had all the answers to life.
She seemed even more depressed than me, which I thought was impossible. I headed her way, then paused when I arrived at her table.
“Hello, Doctor,” I said.
She looked up at me and smiled faintly. “So you believe I’m a doctor now?”
“Sorry, I’m an asshole. I forgot I was here for the CSC. Of course there would be doctors here. I’m a dumbass sometimes.”
She shrugged, and a little smile tugged at her lips. “Takes one to know one.”
I smiled faintly. “Good one. I don’t know if it works if I call myself a dumbass, though. I might still be a little drunk, but I think you just called yourself a dumbass.”
She laughed, a soft, genuine giggle, and flashed her big brown eyes my way. “I know. I just wanted to get you back with that.”
In that instant, I knew I wanted her. And not like a normalwant. My heart started to thump, and I swallowed. A flash of déjá vu hit me again, and my mind fogged up for a moment.
I cleared my throat and refocused. Clearly, her red dress was doing things to me. “Mind if I join you?”
She hesitated, then touched the locket that fell just below her clavicle. “Sure,” she finally said. “If you promise to be good.”
“We’ll see about that.” I sat down next to her and called for the server.
“I’ll have an Old Fashioned, and another one of whatever she’s having.”
When the server was gone, I turned back to Doctor Vidal. “I agree with your position earlier,” I said. “I think you’re not supposed to like me.”
She tilted her head a little, and I was getting surprisingly flirty vibes all of the sudden, considering how big of an asshole I was earlier. “Why’s that?” she asked.
I shook my head. “Who am I, anyway? I don’t deserve to be at the Cancer Sucks Conference. I mean I do agree that cancer sucks and all, but I wouldn’t be here if my coach said it wasn’t good PR. I’m just another asshole athlete.”
