Chapter 30
Sebastian
I throw my car keys in the general direction of the basket on the console table in my living room as I walk into the house and head straight to the kitchen for a beer. I’m not going to be able to drink once playoffs start and so I thank the hockey gods that this stupid charity golf thing happened this weekend and not next. Because I’ve never needed a drink more.
Stephanie wanders in after me and goes directly to the fridge, but instead of grabbing a beer, she takes one of those Starbucks drinks I keep here for her. She’s moved her addictions to caffeine and chocolate over booze and drugs, and I’m completely okay with that. She jumps up on the island and twists the cap. It makes a loud pop.
“Cauchemar,” I finally say.
“Oui,” Stephanie agrees and reiterates when I say, “Totalnightmare.”
I had bowed out of playing in the tournament because I didn’t want to aggravate my wrist, which pissed off an already pissed-off Dawn. She said it would make her look bad to her boss. Her boss, a tall, lanky older man with thick gray hair named Robert Voakes, didn’t seem to mind in the least. He followed hockey and knew I’d sat a few games with an injury so he was sympathetic and just happy I showed up anyway. And even happier when I made a sizable donation. I spent the day in his cart going from hole to hole watching him and the others play and getting pouty death glares from Dawn. The day ended with a cocktail party at the clubhouse in which Dawn cornered me and asked me questions about Shay.
“So what? You’re sleeping around now?” she had pouted. “God, Sebastian, we barely ended things.”
“We very much terminated things,” I replied calmly.
“So she’s…what? Your new girlfriend?” Dawn’s eyes had filled with tears and I wanted nothing more than to run out the door.
“It’s heading that way, yes,” I’d replied quietly. “Look, whether I met someone else or not, we were not going to work out. I’m sorry. You’re a great girl, but it just wasn’t working.”
Thankfully, before Dawn could fully melt down, my sister interrupted. “Dawn, Mr. Voakes is asking for you. He wants to congratulate you on all your hard work putting this together. You should collect yourself and go see him.”
Dawn blinked as if coming out of a trance and stepped away from me. She took a deep cleansing breath, wiped at her eyes and said, “I’ll be back.” Then she walked away.
“I’m getting the hell out of here,” I had told Stephanie. She nodded and followed as we almost ran for the parking lot.
And now here we were after our successful escape. Stephanie’s eyes, a darker blue than my own, narrowed in judgment. “Can you never do something like that again, okay?”
“What?” I question after a long swig from my beer bottle. “Date one of your coworkers? Forget to cancel obligations with an ex? Drag you into the middle of my drama?”
“All of the above.”
I give her a sad, soft smile, like a lost puppy dog. She’s never been able to stay angry when I give her that look. She rolls her eyes but smiles back. “I don’t intend to have another ex-girlfriend, so don’t worry.”
She stares at me over the top of the bottle of her coffee drink. “You’re that serious about the yoga instructor?”
“I am,” I reply firmly, and my mind fills with images of Shay’s face.
“She’s that great?”
“She’s stubborn, opinionated, sarcastic and competitive,” I tell her with a smile.
Stephanie laughs. “Only you would find those qualities a turn-on.”
I grin and sip my beer again. “I’m taking her on a real date tonight. To make up for that little disaster scene this morning.”
My cell phone chimes from my pocket and I see Avery’s number. I’d love to ignore it, but there are three calls you never ignore in hockey: the captain, the coach and the management. I answer it with a jovial hello.
“Hey,” Avery says back, his voice all business as always. “So can you bring that cornbread you brought two years ago? Not the cornbread muffins you brought last year. The loaf from two years ago.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“To Jordan’s. For the annual chili night.” He replies like he’s talking about something as ingrained into society as Christmas or Memorial Day. It takes me a minute of staring blankly at my refrigerator but then I remember. For the last couple of years a bunch of us have been going to Jordan’s for our last meal before playoffs start. It started as a lark. We wanted one last night of beers and junk food before the crunch began. Jordan was single at the time and had just bought his big house so he hosted.
We won the Stanley Cup that year. Then we did it again last year but lost in the conference finals. A lot of athletes are superstitious, but Avery takes it to a ridiculous level. He follows the same strict routine every game day. He eats the same thing every game day. He listens to the same music. He won’t even replace his jock, which is a totally disgusting thing he’s had since he was nineteen. It’s barely in one piece. And because we won the Stanley Cup the year we did the first chili night, he’s insisted it’s an annual event. And clearly he blames my missing cornbread for the loss last year.
I try not to smile at his craziness. “I’m not going tonight.”
