I gave him the WTF look he deserved. “It was this morning.”
“Fuck. Feels like forever ago,” he muttered, sipping his wine. “What else did I tell you?”
“Not much. Oh…you said you played for the Devils and I meant to google you, but”—I gestured to the falling snow visible through the giant window—“I got distracted.”
“Glad you didn’t. I don’t google well.”
“What do you mean?”
Silas shrugged, swirling the burgundy contents thoughtfully. “My life reads like a tabloid entry. Age, university, teams I’ve played for, previous girlfriends and relationship BS, wedding-palooza, divorce-palooza, and oh, no…he’s old! Career kaput and his life is shit. Too bad.”
He glugged the rest of his wine and set the glass on the table.
I moved the bottle out of reach with a tsk. “No getting drunk. You might feel better now, but give yourself a chance to recoup. And if you’re old, I’m Methuselah.”
“Methuza-who?”
“Very funny.”
I polished off the last of my sandwich and sat against the cushions, cradling my glass. Shadows had lengthened, darkening the room and making the firelight spark. The power had gone out, and the generator was doing its thing. I liked the dim setting. The faded light accentuated Silas’s toned biceps and abs, so…no complaints here. If anything, my first foray into a forced proximity situation with a perfect stranger wasn’t so horrible.
“Just kidding.” He slouched over the plate and gobbled his sandwich, legs splayed, elbows on his knees.
“We have time. You might as well give me the real story,” I suggested.
“Of my life?” Silas snorted, his mouth full…of course.
“Yeah.”
He wiped the corner of his lips, and slid back on the cushion, shifting slightly to face me. “Sounds like a trap.”
I laughed aloud. “How so?”
“I don’t know. I suppose if you’re going to sell me out, I’m screwed anyway.”
“You’re a cynical man, Mr. Anderson. There’s no trap. I wouldn’t expose you, and I don’t expect anything from you either. That works both ways. This is a small town, and I like to keep a low profile in my personal life.”
He studied me over the rim of his wineglass.
“Hmm. Fine.” Silas raked his hand through his tousled hair. “I played my final game last weekend. End of an era for me. Fifteen years in the league, but now I’m done. No one plays forever. I get that, but this past year has just…sucked. Personally and professionally. I could feel everything ending around me for months. Like I was witnessing a slow death and I was the only one in mourning.”
“That’s rough.”
“Yeah, but feel free to tell me to shut up ’cause I know how I must sound. What could be more tone-deaf or pathetic than an athlete who made a fuckton of money to be crying in his”—he raised his glass—“wine? I was with the Devils for ten years. Five years with Seattle, ten in LA. Dream come true. Well, not quite. I was hoping to get traded to the Niners, but Los Angeles is a great city for athletes. They treat you like kings…especially if you win, and we were fucking amazing. Till we weren’t.”
“What happened?”
“The usual. A couple of weak trades, injuries, age. You think you’re invincible and finding out you’re not kinda sucks. I had two concussions within a month and spent half a season on the injured-reserve list. I hated not training with the guys, not contributing. I was depressed. I wouldn’t have called it that at the time, but I felt bad. Distant from my life. Nothing seemed to help. And I think it killed my marriage. Must have. I’m divorced, and my ex has moved on in a big way.” His glib reply didn’t quite mask the flicker of pain in his expression.
“I’m sorry.”
“Meh. Don’t be. At least we didn’t have kids. I was bummed that Alli wanted to wait, but now…I’m grateful. My parents divorced when I was ten, and it was the worst. I can’t imagine dealing with confused, hurt little people on top of my own messy head. I mean…fuck. That would be the—” He paused abruptly and widened his eyes. “Shit. You’re…”
“Divorced with kids,” I finished.
“Fuck. That was rude and…I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I squinted, staring into the fire. “Truth is…I’d rather be divorced than unhappily married. Not good for anyone—especially kids.”
