On the ride to the Laurel Springs Ice Center, Jake discovered his two dozen texts and missed calls were divided evenly between Robbie and Glaz. None of them gave any clue why the man wanted to see them.
“You talked to him?” Jake asked.
“Aye. Long enough for him to task me with finding you and—I quote—‘Get your asses to my office immediately. Try to bring your brains as well.’”
“I’ll text him and say we’re on our way.”
Robbie relaxed a bit. “Maybe he’s calling us in to say we’ll be skating first line and make us co-captains.”
Jake laughed. He really had missed his friend. “Sure. Because first-year assistant coaches always get to decide that.”
Robbie echoed Jake’s laughter then let it die.
“How was France? Saw you on The Face Off running through the airport with your auntie. Stupid eejits captioned it ‘Wild-Twin Snares a Cougar?’”
Jake shook his head; that gossip rag wasn’t worth worrying about. “Lots of beach time and cheese eating.” And shopping. Adam and Nicole had returned home to Cottonwood with enough clothes, shoes, and electronics to open a shop on Main Street. Olivia had urged him to stop buying for them, but eventually gave up.
“Not the off season you had in mind,” Robbie said. “I know you wanted to go home.”
“Sometimes going home is just doing what you ought to do,” Jake said, “no matter where you are.” What was important was that when he’d returned Olivia and the kids home, they looked healthier and seemed calmer. Maybe he was, too.
Robbie nodded. “You can go for Christmas.” He sounded wistful.
“I will. And you’ll come with me.” The team wouldn’t have enough time off for Robbie to go to Scotland. Maybe Evie would travel with them, though he’d have to rent a vehicle. There was barely room in his Lamborghini for him and a weekend’s worth of clothes. Maybe he’d buy another car—some kind of SUV.
Robbie brightened. “That would be grand.” He parked and nodded toward the ice center. “If we live that long.”
“Relax,” Jake said. “He probably only wants to say hello. Besides, we haven’t done anything. Lately.”
After a few wrong turns and a few inquiries, they found themselves outside a door with Glaz’s name and title. The big, dark-haired Russian jerked the door open after Jake’s first light tap.
“Ah. The Wild-Ass Twins. You two are late.” He held a framed photograph of his wife and child.
How can we be late when we didn’t have an appointment? Jake wondered but did not ask.
“Sorry,” Robbie said.
“Come in.” Glaz stepped aside and placed the photograph in an open banker’s box on his desk. The office was in a state with boxes against the wall and framed hockey memorabilia and files scattered about. It was hard to tell if he was coming or going. Maybe he was going. Maybe he’d been fired. “Sit.” He gestured to two chairs in front of the desk as he went to sit behind it. Glaz waited until they were seated to let himself down in the fancy leather desk chair. Jake had the impression he’d wanted to tower over them for a bit before getting down to business—whatever that business was.
“Something has happened,” Glaz said. “Something bad. We must speak of it before the media releases it. Drew Kelty was fired.”
“Freaking fuck me!” Robbie burst out.
Glaz gave him a sour look. “Kelty is accused of sexual harassment by former Vultures ice girl. She has video to prove it.”
“Well, shit,” Jake said after a few seconds, because he couldn’t think of anything else.
“It was deserved,” Glaz said. “I call you here to tell you I am new head coach and to develop an understanding between us.”
Head coach? At this level? With no coaching experience? How was that possible? The question must have shown on Jake’s face and Glaz, for whatever reason, decided it was worth addressing. “Interim head coach,” he admitted. “This happened today. They are desperate. I convince the owners I am up for the job—which I am. I will succeed. This team will succeed.”
So Glaz was going—but to a bigger office. Robbie and Jake nodded. “Congratulations,” Robbie said.
Glaz gave a half nod. “I was your teammate. I am now your coach. You must act appropriately.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Jake said. And it wouldn’t. Glaz had always been so far above them in the pecking order, they hadn’t been inclined to pal around. Besides, he had earned their respect. “Coach,” Jake added for emphasis.
“No problem at all,” Robbie agreed. “Coach.”
“Good. We understand each other.” Glaz rose from his chair and came to sit on the edge of the desk in front of them. Was it possible for a man to look more menacing?
“We are about to have scandal. Is no way to begin a season—a team, but we have that. I will have no more.” He leaned forward. “There will be no more Wild-Ass Twins.”
No problem, Glaz. I came here to get away from that. Can’t speak for my friend Robbie.
“You are good players. I am happy to have you here. I intend to keep this job. Interim. Bah! I sometimes wondered what I would do when I was finished playing. But this chance came and I knew was right. We will go to playoffs. You will be instrumental in that, but you will behave.”
Robbie and Jake looked at each other and nodded.
“There will be no public drunken behavior, no standing on tables and spraying people with beer at parties, no urinating in public—”
Robbie burst out, “We never! My mum—”
Glaz put up a hand. “Silence! If I see your pictures on that silly online gossip rag, you had better be visiting sick children in hospital or raising funds for art museum.” Glaz’s nostrils flared and he loomed over them a little closer. All he needed was a ring in his nose to look like a bull about to rampage. “And I swear on the head of Sebastian, Patron Saint of Hockey—”
Glaz paused for effect, or maybe to search for a word in English like he sometimes had to do. Robbie gasped and clasped his hand to his chest over the St. Sebastian medal that Jake knew he wore under his shirt. For a Catholic, swearing on the head of a saint was serious business. For a United Methodist, not so much. Still, Jake believed him.
“I swear,” Glaz repeated, “if you so much as look at an ice girl with a gleam in your eye, you will not set blade on ice. If we do not make the playoffs, if we win not one game, if I am fired and have to open bingo parlor, I will do it before you see one second of game time. Am I clear?”
Very clear. Despite the reference to urinating in public—which they had not done—Glaz knew their past sins well.
“Yes, Coach,” they said simultaneously.
To Jake’s surprise, Glaz smiled easily. “Good!” He stood up and clapped his hands together. “I see you here tomorrow. Now, go. I have things to do and we have a storm to weather.” He laid a hand on each of their shoulders as he ushered them out.
Once a safe distance down the hall, Robbie said, “He meant that.”
“You think?” Jake said.
Robbie grinned. “I guess we’re going to have to be a little more clandestine in our activities with our charming companions.”
And here they were. “About that, Robbie...”
“Yeah?”
“We need to talk. Let’s go back to Hammer Time, get some food, and catch up.”
It was time for the Wild-Ass Twin powers to deactivate.
Chapter Three
Fifteen minutes later, the hostess at Hammer Time ushered Jake and Robbie to a table in the bar and asked for their drink orders.
“Sam Adams, please,” Jake said.
“Harviestoun OlaDubh.” Like he always did, Robbie asked for his favorite Scottish dark ale. He wasn’t going to get it. He almost never got it.
But the hostess—Gretchen, her name tag said—only nodded. “Coming
up. And Mr. Champagne, I’ll bring your pie out when you’re ready to go.”
She knew who he was?
“Wait, lass! Hold up!” Robbie said as she started to walk away. “You really have Harviestoun OlaDubh? And you know who Sparks is?”
She nodded. “And you’re Robbie McTavish. Forward. Number five. Our owner gave us a roster of the team with pictures and tested us on it. She has made it her business to stock the favorite drinks of the players and coaches.” She turned to Jake. “We’re carrying Sparkle water, too.”
“How does she even know that?” Jake asked. The commercial he’d shot for the sparkling water he endorsed hadn’t even been released yet.
“That’s a good question,” Gretchen said. “Claire knows a lot of things. I’ll get your drink order turned in.”
“I like it here,” Robbie pronounced.
“Of course you do. They know your name and have your beer.”
“Ale,” Robbie corrected.
“Whatever.” Jake looked around at the time-worn marble floor and the wood-paneled, brass-trimmed walls. “This place is old. I heard it used to be a department store.”
“Not so old.” Robbie looked around. “Couldn’t be more than a hundred years. Come to Scotland. I’ll show you old.”
“You’re such a snob.” Jake opened the menu. “I’m going to have the double bacon cheeseburger with a baked potato.” Despite the pie and milk he’d had earlier, the smell of grilled meat had made him ravenous.
“Sounds good. I’ll have the same.” Jake had expected that from Robbie. Except for sweets, which he loved, Robbie didn’t much care what he ate as long as there was plenty of it. “Maybe some wings, too, though did I hear we have a pie to eat? Where did it come from?”
“I have a pie to eat. I might give you some when we get home.” He and Robbie both had condos in The Mill, a renovated defunct textile mill, but, except for a piano, Robbie didn’t have any furniture yet so he would be sleeping on Jake’s couch tonight. Aside from a bed, television, and his gaming systems, a couch was all he had. He planned to do something about that, though. It was time he stopped living like he was camping out. “I have a friend from home who has a pie shop here. Crust. I stopped by to see her and she gave me a pie.”
Robbie frowned. “You didn’t say you had a friend in town. Her name is Crust?”
“I haven’t said much of anything to you. We haven’t had time. And, no. Her name is not Crust, dimwit. That’s the name of her shop. Her name is Evie—Evans.”
Robbie brightened. “Is she pretty?”
Yes. Though lovely is a more accurate description. I don’t know why, exactly, but that’s what she is—lovely. And sweet.
“Doesn’t matter if she is or not.” Not to me or you, but especially not to you. Jake studied the flavors of wings on the menu. “She’s off-limits.”
“Ah.” Robbie nodded. “Then she’s like a sister.”
Jake’s head jerked up in surprise. “No. I wouldn’t say that.” He took a deep breath. “She’s Channing’s cousin.”
Robbie let out a low whistle. “Freaking fuck me.”
“Watch your language,” Jake said. “Here come our drinks.” Jake—like most hockey players—had a pretty colorful vocabulary himself, but he didn’t hold with saying certain words in front of women. His dad and Blake had taught him that.
“If Glaz has his way, bad language is all we’ve got left.”
The waitress set down their drinks and Gretchen appeared behind her. “This is Casey. She’ll take your order.”
Jake looked at the menu again. “We’ll start with two dozen hot wings, half honey barbecue and half maple chipotle. Two double bacon cheeseburgers, medium, with loaded baked potatoes.”
“Very good,” Casey said. “Anything else?”
“No.” Then Jake eyed his beer. “Wait. We need waters. Could you maybe bring us a whole pitcher?”
“What the hell, Sparks?” Robbie asked after the waitress had gone. “I only drink water for hydration purposes. Not recreational.” He gestured to the table. “This is recreation. Fish fu—” He looked around. “Have sex in it.”
“Then order a Coke,” Jake said. “You heard Glaz.”
“One beer with lunch does not make for public intoxication,” Robbie said.
“And you’re having one beer. Ale. Whatever.”
Okay. Time to have that talk with Robbie. And he opened his mouth to begin when two tall, leggy blondes entered the bar. Their shorts were short, their hair was long, and—unless Jake missed his guess, and he seldom did—there was glitter powder in their cleavages. They cast their eyes around, barely hesitating upon catching sight of Robbie and Jake. They slid onto bar stools in full view, turned toward each other, and crossed their legs.
Jake had seen this dance a thousand times and today it made him tired.
“Well, well, well,” Robbie said. “Our lucky day. A couple of charming companions. And they aren’t joining anybody. Do you want to do it or should I?”
Jake and Robbie had a dance of their own. Just as the bartender approached to take the women’s order, one of them—usually Robbie—would move toward the bar, lean in, and say, “Run a tab and give it to me.” The girls would protest but they would all end up at the same table and, more often than not, leave together.
“Which one do you want?” Robbie asked.
Jake looked them over. “Neither one—but if I did, it wouldn’t matter. They look alike.”
Robbie let his eyes settle on the women. “They look nothing alike.”
“Not interested.” Jake sipped his beer.
“Come on, Sparks. I was only kidding about bad language being all we had left. Glaz said no scandal. He didn’t say we had to be saints. I know he wasn’t much of a player even before he married Noel, but he wouldn’t think buying two pretty young ladies a drink was out of line.”
“No.” Jake sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Was this going to be the end of his friendship with Robbie? Was their relationship based solely on raising hell in and out of the bedroom? “It wouldn’t end there. It never does. You do what you want, but I’m done with that. And it has nothing to do with the lecture we just got.”
Robbie’s expression turned serious. “What’s up, Jake?” Robbie almost never called him Jake.
“We talked about why I asked to be traded...” Jake let his voice trail off.
Robbie took a drink of his beer and nodded. “Channing is pregnant and you’re tired of seeing her picture plastered all over the society page.”
That had been the easiest long-distance explanation at the time, though he didn’t much care anymore that his ex-wife had moved on at the speed of light. Casey appeared with their food, and Jake pondered his response as she placed the dishes and Robbie made small talk with her.
“That’s what I told you,” he said after she’d gone. “And there’s some truth to it, but it’s more than that. I need to slow down, take stock. I was never that guy—drinking, carousing, with a different girl every night. That last morning in Boston I woke up with a woman whose last name and marital status I didn’t know. Hell, I had to think hard before I remembered her first name. Then I got the call about my uncle.”
“That was a bad time,” Robbie said quietly.
“I’m better now, but I need to slow down.”
“I don’t.”
“You, in fact, do—that is, if you want to play for this team. But I’ve made my choices. You make yours.”
“Let me get this straight. You don’t plan to drink or have sex anymore?”
“Why do you take everything to the extreme? No. I did not say that. I’m drinking now.” He held up his beer. “I don’t intend to drink a six-pack every night and sleep with someone I’ve never had a conversation with beyond, ‘Nice ass. Want to put it in my lap?’”
Robbie’s f
ace relaxed. “That’s good to hear. The boozing, you could take or leave alone, but the women—that’s a different story. You couldn’t make it three months.” Robbie brushed his hand against his shirt, leaving a wing sauce stain.
Couldn’t do it? That didn’t set well. “I could. I did it all summer.”
“Ah, but trotting around Europe with your auntie and cousins did not lend itself to romance. You’re back on the ice again, now. No chaperones.” He nodded toward the bar where the shiny blondes sat. “Temptation all around.”
Robbie had a point. Plus the exhilaration of playing hockey tended to heighten his senses—all his senses. Truth was, he had never intended to swear off sex—only to be more discriminating.
“I could do it, if that’s what I decided.”
Robbie narrowed his eyes. “Really? Then why don’t you? Swear off sex for three months?”
“Maybe I will,” Jake said. “You’ll be sorry when you don’t have a wingman.”
Robbie took a drink of his beer. “I don’t need you, Sparks Champagne, to help me get a woman. But the fact remains—three months, no sex? There’s no way. You will fail, my friend.”
Would he? There was a time when he hadn’t known the meaning of the word failure. He’d had it all—looks, beauty queen wife, great family, amazing hockey career. Then his marriage had failed, and his self-control tanked along with it.
He needed to do this. Maybe just to prove to himself he could.
He turned his phone on and looked at the screen. “It’s September thirteenth. I, Jacob Hunt Champagne, hereby declare myself celibate until this time in December.”
“Really?” Robbie stopped with a wing in midair and shook his head in disbelief.
Jake did not like being doubted. “Want to make it interesting?”
Robbie laughed. “Sure you don’t want to give up gambling too?”
“It’s not even a gamble.” Jake spread ketchup on his burger. “It’s a sure thing. Just me taking your money. What do you say to a thousand?”
Robbie shook his head. “No. If we’re going to do this thing, we’ll do it right. Money wouldn’t make it interesting. You have money; I have money. It needs to be something else—something more important than money.” Robbie closed his eyes and wrinkled his brow.
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