There was a long pause. And when Bernie spoke again, Ward heard the no-nonsense tone in his rep’s voice.
‘Hey, you’ve got to meet me halfway here. Just meet with the PR people, do a couple of minutes of pretending to be fascinated with the animals, and then you’re out of there. They run a couple of cute pictures that go viral, and hey presto, the bad boy stories eventually get resigned to history. What have you got to lose?’
‘Gee, I don’t know – other than my dignity, whatdoI have to lose?’
‘Just knock it off, man. You can play Mr Macho with everyone else, but you and I both know the truth.’
Hanging up the phone, Ward dropped his head back on the pillow and winced at the familiar ache that, no matter what he did, didn’t seem to be abating.
By rights, he should have been completely healed and back on the ice by now.
He’d been doing everything he’d been told to do by the team physio – but thanks to that recent tumble, it seemed as if he was worse off now than when he’d first busted it during the game. He pushed himself out of bed, wincing at what felt like lava shooting down his leg. Then stood there for a moment taking several deep breaths, before he slowly navigated to the bathroom.
Opening up the medicine cabinet, he shook a couple of pills into his hand and tossed them into his mouth. He ran some water into the plastic cup he kept by his toothbrush and swallowed the pills. Then glanced at his reflection in the mirror and what he saw repulsed him. There was a haunted look in his eyes – a quiet agony he couldn’t ignore. He’d seen that look before but never in his own reflection.
A cold feeling formed in his gut and he took a deep breath, realizing there was yet another bitter truth he had to face.
*
When Ward showed up at Carver’s Steakhouse in the East Village a little later, most of the pain had subsided – but he was still feeling a little shaky as he walked. He glanced around until he spotted a dark-haired muscular figure who looked like he could once have been an athlete, but was now past his prime. Which was exactly what he was.
When Ward reached the table, Johnny – his friend and ex-Panthers teammate – stood and went to give him a strong embrace.
They both sat down and the waitress came over to get their drink order. Johnny went with a scotch on the rocks and Ward chose club soda.
His buddy raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes curious. ‘What’s the occasion?’
‘Just trying something new. Thanks for coming, man.’
‘Hey, always there for you – just like you’ve always been there for me.’
Johnny’s mom had passed away from cancer eighteen months ago when he was still with the team. It had hit him hard and he’d spiralled very quickly. The Panthers’ owner had wanted to get rid of him, but Ward had stepped in and told the coach that he’d handle things and get his teammate back to where he needed to be. With the knowledge that if he didn’t make that happen, they would probably both be gone from the team.
For five solid weeks, Ward had been Johnny’s babysitter/best friend/confidante and all-around go-to person.
That infamous Times Square Forrest Gump thing with the wheelchair Bernie mentioned was one example of a related blowout, and some innocent badly needed fun for his buddy. But of course the media had to turn it into something sinister.
In the end, Johnny had duly pulled himself back to where he needed to be for one last season before retiring.
‘So, how’s the knee coming along?’ Johnny asked now. ‘Physio and pills doing the job?’
The question was asked matter-of-factly but the concern in his friend’s eyes suggested he knew something was off.
‘Well, I’ve been on the meds for a while and I think I’ve reached the point where I probably don’t need them for the pain anymore,’ Ward admitted, then sat forward a little, ‘but I think that I might still need them. If you know what I mean.’
A brief nod. ‘Yeah. I know. So, what’s the game plan? Tell me what you need and I’m right there, dude. You thinking of going the rehab route?’
‘Hell, no. If that got out, I’d probably get cut from the team for good. I was thinking of something a little more … discreet.’
‘Gotcha. You want to handle it on your own but with some backup, am I right?’
They fell silent as the waitress brought their drinks; once they’d ordered food, Ward spoke again, ‘Any ideas?’
Johnny sipped his drink, his brow furrowed and, after a moment, he slowly nodded.
‘I know someone. Ex-nurse now working as a personal trainer and she’s damned good. She can’t get you pills or anything but can keep an eye on you physically, and if she feels you might be heading into trouble, make sure you handle it.’
‘She can be trusted?’
