by Mary Smith
Last night, I tossed and turned unable to sleep as my words played over and over in my head. I know I shouldn’t have said those things to Bas. I know he needs to come to his own realization. However, he’s my friend, even though he drives me batty. I’ll never admit to anyone, but I want more from him. It’s a secret I’ll take to my grave. He’ll forever and always be my friend.
As I’m checking my emails, I hear a soft knock on my door. I never expect anyone to come over, so I know it’s Bas. And I’m right.
“Morning.” His English accent still gives me chills. “I was wondering if you fancy a run with me.”
“A run?” The only time I think I would need to run is if zombies are chasing me. “Seriously?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I would like the company and you’re the one person who can stand to be around me.”
I tilt my head and give him a look of derision. Apparently, he already forgot about what happened last night.
“Well, I hope you still want to be around me.”
I cross my arms, still not saying anything. I know he has no one. He hates his brothers and the Bears are out on the road until tomorrow. I definitely don’t want him to remain closed up in his apartment drinking, so if I need to go for a run to keep him from doing just that, then I will.
“Give me a moment,” I say going toward my bedroom to find some workout gear. Luckily, I have some since I work at home and don’t really dress up. “I’m not fast.” I tell him, lacing up my gym shoes.
“It’s okay. I’m faster on skates than sneakers.”
I nod and follow him out of the apartment to the street. “Which way?”
He nods to the left. “This way.”
I know he’s heading to Livingston Park, which is nice. I have walked it a few times in my life but never ran it. This should be interesting.
We don’t talk as we run. Bas doesn’t push me to go faster and doesn’t bitch at my snail’s pace. I’m sure he can run five times faster than we’re going right now. As we make our way through one trail, my side hurts bad enough to make me stop. There’s no air left in my body, and I’m curious if my death certificate will say Death by exercise because I feel like I’m knocking on death’s door. I may need to check over my shoulder and see if the Grim Reaper is ready to collect me.
“Are you all right?” Bas, who hasn’t broken a sweat yet, asks.
“I’m…fine…just…trying…to…breathe.” I gasp between each word.
“Here. Come sit.” He takes my arm and leads me to a downed tree trunk. “Take slow breaths.” He advises me.
I try to calm my racing heart and erratic breathing and soon I feel normal again. “Thanks,” I mutter.
“No problem.” He smiles.
“Want to tell me the truth now?” I call him out.
“What do you mean?”
“You know I don’t run. You know I suck at exercise. So, why ask me out today?”
“Because I need to clear my head and you’re the one person who can stand to be around me.” He said the same thing earlier, but I’m still not buying it.
“Cut the shit, Bas.”
“I’m serious.” He tells me firmly. “I’m trying to make things right between us.”
“Why?” I stare at him, but he’s not looking at me. “Why?” I ask louder.
“You’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and I’ve been a real wanker to you.”
“I can’t argue with you because you’re right.” I look up at the sky. “But Bas you need help.”
“I don’t—”
“Shut up.” Even though my legs are on fire, I jump up. “Yes, you do. I don’t know how to make you see it, but you need help. Professional help.”
“I’m seeing Caryn.” He counters.
“Have you told her everything? Have you told her how much you really drink? Have you told her why you drink?”
He says nothing.
“Then you’re a liar. You’re lying to her and yourself. You need help.”
He hangs his head. “I can hand—”
I cut him off. “Fuck this.” I throw my hands up in the air and race down the trail, to the street, and back to my apartment.
I practically rip my clothes off and jump into a freezing cold shower. I welcome the stinging pain because it helps me forget…I’m crying. I need to cut all ties with him. I need to protect my heart and myself from him. I know my feelings for him are strong, but I won’t have him drag me down with him. I will not.
When I finish my Antarctica-like shower, I wrap my hair in a towel and slip on a pair of shorts and a hoodie. I go to the one place that makes me happy. My computers. I sit down and turn on the screens, letting myself get washed in the artificial lights and sounds. I block Bas out of my mind and go back to my emails. I’m lost in my world when another knock comes on my door. I know it’s Bas, and I sure as hell am not answering the door. I don’t care if he’s out there all night. I’m not doing it.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
“I’m not home,” I yell as loud as I can.
“It’s Victoria.” The voice travels through the door. Oh shit.
“Sorry,” I say while opening the door. “I thought you were someone else.” I step to the side to let her in.
“No problem.” She comes into my apartment. “Who’d you think I was?”
“It’s not important. What can I do for you?”
“What are you doing right now?”
I glance around as if something magically will pop up and tell me my agenda for the day. When nothing happens, I say, “Nothing, I guess.”
“Great, then get some jeans on, fix your hair, and come with me.” She smiles.
“Where are we going?”
“A surprise. Come on. Chop. Chop.” She claps twice.
Arguing with her is my first idea, but I know there’s no point. She’s going to get her way. Not to forget, she just sold our app for a butt-ton of money, and I’m a richer because of it. I guess I owe her one.
“Give me a moment.” I slug off to my bedroom to change.
Chapter Seven
Bas
I’m worse than shit on the bottom of someone’s shoe. I can’t seem to straighten anything out in my life, even when I try. I had this all planned out in my head, but it came out all wrong. I wanted Erin to understand I have a handle on everything, and she need not worry about me.
When I come back from my run, I finish the last of the vodka. If you can really call it a run. Erin isn’t athletic. I knew this when I asked her to go, but I didn’t know she couldn’t run at all. I pretended the best I could to be winded, but truthfully, I normally walk faster than her run.
As I’m about to crack open the next bottle, my mobile buzzes.
Cabel: Want to work out?
The Bears are back in town after a week-long road trip. I watched the games on the PHL station and they played well. This just solidified the fact, they don’t need me to win. Another reason I probably won’t be going back to the team. No matter what they say.
Me: No, I’m good.
Cabel means well. The guy is a saint. If he tells me the sky is falling, I will take cover. No questions asked.
Cabel: Come on. I’m on my way to get you. The guys want to see you.
I groan. I do miss my teammates. Former teammates. However, I’m in no mood for the pity looks from them.
Me: Next time.
I’m a liar. There’s not going to be a next time because I’m not going to respond to these messages anymore. I might as well block them all right now so I’m not be bothered by them.
Cabel: I’ll be there in 2 mins. Be downstairs.
Even reading the words, I can hear the sternness in his tone. It’s something that doesn’t happen often, but when it does you listen.
I’m still in my running clothes, so there’s no need to change as I grab my keys and go downstairs. I may as well wait for him. As I step outside, I see Erin getting i
nto a car with another woman and drive off.
Her words are hitting me hard. I truly was trying to apologize. I guess I need to give up on trying to be nice to people, especially her and my brothers. Then again, I’m not really nice to them and haven’t been for years. Of course, they’re not all that great to me.
Cabel’s Hummer pulls into my parking lot and I remember I have to put on a fake smile. Caryn has beat it out of me not to use the word fine, so I’ll need to figure out another generic word.
“Hey, English.” Cabel greets me as I get into the vehicle.
“Hi, Pops.”
“Here.” He opens the center console and hands me several peppermint candies. “You smell like vodka.”
Fuck. I forgot to brush my teeth. “Thanks,” I mutter taking them from him.
“I see the therapy is working.” His sarcastic tone isn’t hard to miss.
“It’s just one drink. Wait, how did you know I’m seeing a therapist.” Only my brothers, Oliver, and Erin know. Or at least I thought. He gave her name, but I never told him I went.
“Um…” He begins to stare out into traffic, and I know he’s stalling. “I ran into Bax at the mall when I took the girls. He told me then.”
I don’t comment. What’s the point? Bax already told him everything, and he doesn’t need me to add in my commentary.
“How’s it going?” He inquires.
Automatically I say, “Fine.” Again, I hear Caryn’s voice in her huffing tone telling me to use another word.
“Good.” I know he wants more details, but I’m not going to tell him shit.
“How’s the team?” I ask changing the subject.
Cabel tells me all about the goings on with the guys. Vance and Dacey’s twin girls are crawling and babbling. Alden and Baylor are due any day now. He goes on and on about everyone’s happy and perfect lives, but I tune him out.
Thankfully, he arrives at the arena. It feels foreign to me being here. It’s been over a month since Oliver cut me from the Bears. I’m actually nervous stepping out of the Hummer, looking up at the building where I scored my first PHL goal, had the highest scoring season of my career, and I miss it more than anything.
Walking through the players entrance the smell of paint makes me notice the walls have been painted a bright white. My sneakers slightly squeak against the concrete as the doors of the workout room come into view. Cabel pushes the doors open, and the smell of sweat hits my nostrils as the sounds of grunts, feet hitting the treadmill, and loud bass music rocks my ears.
“English!” Alden slams his palm against the treadmill and races over to me. Wrapping his large arms around me, then spins me around as if I were some long-lost love he just found.
“Put me down, Player.” Alden’s nickname seems pointless now. He’s no longer a ladies’ man since Baylor stole his heart.
“How the fuck are you? You’re a fucking prick for not answering my texts.” He places me on my feet and punches me in the arm.
“I’ve been busy.” Avoiding anything and everything related to hockey. Sure, I watch it on the telly but nothing else. I haven’t touched my skates since I tossed them into the closet with the rest of my gear.
“Bas.” Hamilton Baer, the captain of the Bears, shakes my hand. “You look good.”
Translation: you look like shit and you’re pathetic.
I nod to him not saying anything.
Several other teammates stop their training to come over and speak to me. I shake hands, say I’m fine, get a few slaps on the back before Cabel pulls me over to the weight bench. Everyone goes back to doing their own thing. Thankfully, they leave me alone for a while.
Working out with Cabel brings back memories of my first time here in the workout room. Cabel had taken me, as he will say, under his wing. He helped me settle into Manchester and the Bears. On my first day in New Hampshire, he and Oliver met me at the airport. I never heard of the actual owner meeting players at the airport…but there he stood. Tall, overweight, and bald. Cabel greeted me with a firm handshake and a smile.
For the next hour, I work on my arms, shoulders, and pecs. Sweat burns my eyes with Cabel pushing me harder. I can’t explain how he does it, but he has the ability to keep you motivated, even on the ice. He’s the nicest guy anyone can know. It pisses me off at times. I just want him angry—one time.
Not going to happen.
I help him cradle the bench weight and I wipe the sweat away with the bottom of my tank. “Feeling okay?”
“I’m getting old.” He groans, sitting up, trying to catch his breath.
“You’re only in your thirties.” I comment.
“I’m thirty-eight. That makes me a hundred in hockey years.” He moves slowly, standing up.
I do try to think of something kind to say, but nothing comes to mind. In hockey years, he isn’t a hundred but closer to sixty. There are a few who play past forty, but by then your knees can’t take much more. I know Cabel is close to retiring, but he’s not given his notice yet. He’ll probably be the one guy who never retires and just plays until it’s time to be worm food. As he calls it.
“Want me to grab your wheelchair, Pops?” Alden calls out from across the room.
Cabel answers him by raising his middle finger over his head. “Let’s get something to drink,” he says nothing else to Alden.
I follow him to the water cooler and chug the cold water from a paper cup. He suggests the mountain climber—a machine I hate—but before I can answer my name is bellowed from the front of the gym.
“Zorn!”
I turn to see Oliver’s glare and Coach Long standing next to him.
“Come here, Son.” Oliver isn’t asking by his tone. He’s ordering my ass over to him and doesn’t want me to waste any time either.
Quickly, I walk over.
His glare continues to pierce me. The last time we spoke to each other or were in the same room was when he put me on medical leave—another term for being cut—and ordered me to see Caryn.
“Walk with me.” He turns his back to me and heads out of the gym.
I glance at Coach Long who tilts his head toward the door, silently telling me to follow Oliver.
I do.
“How are you doing?” he asks, not looking at me.
“Fine.”
He chuckles. “Obviously, you haven’t been spending enough time with Caryn.”
“Why do you say that?”
He glances at me. “She hates that word.”
I stop. “How do you know?”
Smirking over his shoulder, he continues down the hall. “I’ll ask again, how are you?”
“Dealing.” I tell him truthfully.
“Good.” He doesn’t say anything else as we reach the end of the hall and he pushes the up button on the elevator.
Like a lost puppy, I continue to stay by his side until we reach his office. He goes in and sits behind his desk.
“Sit.” He points at the chair across from him.
“I’ve been working—”
“Sit.” He orders and I do as I’m told, even in my sweaty gear. “Now, tell me what’s really going on.”
I hang my head. Regardless of the fact that Oliver cut me from the team, I still respect him. I always have, even if I don’t show it. The man made more money than the entire Royal Family, but you’d never know it. He treats everyone the same, whether it’s a top sponsor or the janitor. He knows everyone’s name and everyone calls him Oliver. You have to respect a person like him.
“You’re not talking to anyone. Not even Coach. So, I’ll ask again, how are you dealing?”
My throat begins to close from the intimidation. “I’ve been busy.”
“Lie.” He calls me out. “Are you still drinking?”
I open my mouth to lie but he throws his hand up.
“Don’t answer because it’s not just sweat coming from you.” His stern expression turns to disappointment. “What do you need, Bas? What can I do to help you get better?”<
br />
I grip the arms of the chair. My anger boils from out of nowhere. He wants to help me? Doubt it. He calls me a liar, but he sits there like someone who cares.
“You can calm your ass down. I see your face getting red.”
“You cut me,” I say out of nowhere.
“What?” He furrows his brow. “I gave you a medical leave to get your drinking under control. No one has cut you.”
Turning my head to the left I stare at his small wet bar. I wonder if there’s a way I can grab a quick drink. Impossible, I know, but wishful thinking.
“Bas.”
I look at him.
“You’re not cut. You need to take care of you. I can’t have you hungover on the ice. I can’t have you reeking of alcohol when you’re doing a school visit or greeting a Make-A-Wish kid. Do you understand me, Son?”
I remain silent.
“I sent you to Caryn because she’s the best. Trust me. I know first-hand she can get you through this and onto the other side.”
“The other side of what?” I question.
“Right now, you’re in a tunnel. One end has an ocean of alcohol. It’s a place where you will drown and lose everything. Family, friends, and especially hockey. On the other side, there’s light. There you will be alcohol free, back on the ice, and living the life of happiness. Do you understand?”
I don’t move a muscle. If I nod I’m admitting I can’t handle my drinking, but I can. I’m not those guys at the AA meeting. I’m stronger, better, and will get to the other side on my own.
I don’t wait for Cabel to take me home, I just grab an Uber. When I get back to my apartment, I eat a couple protein bars and open another bottle of vodka. Turning on the telly, I find a comedy on Netflix. I need something to keep me distracted from all the happenings of today.
Oliver says I’m not cut, but I have one chance to make this work. To get to the other side, as he says. How do I get there? There has to be a simple way to get me back on the team. As I take another drink, I come to two realizations. One, I have to tell Caryn the truth and two, Erin’s right.
Chapter Eight
Erin