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Instead of following me inside, he lingers at the entryway. “One more thing. I leased your vacant apartment to Alex Parker.” My jaw just about hits the floor as he continues, “Alex is too damn irresponsible to make any adult decisions, and I need you to keep an eye on him. I’m going to work out of the New York office for about a month or two. I’m in the middle of closing a few deals there, and I want to stay local. Do you think you can hold down the fort and deal with Alex for me?”
The last person I want living in my apartment is a man-whore like Alex. A flash of anger rushes through me, a brush of fire burning my skin, at the thought of him bringing skanks into my building. Of all the things for Mickey to request, it has to be this, the one thing I would never agree to if it were anyone else.
But I would never say no to him, not when he’s having one of the worst days of his life and can use a little help. He feels responsible for Alex now that his father is gone. Turning down Mickey is impossible.
I feign a smile and then turn to gather documents and memos from the metal organizer on my desk. “Of course. Just have Veronica give him a call to set up a time for them to meet for the keys.”
Disappointment registers on his face. I swear, he’s aged another ten years in the past week, making him look far older than fifty-five. “I was hoping you would personally handle this for me. I’m not sure what kind of shape he’s in, and I’d rather keep this matter within the family.”
A slight pang of guilt hits me in the stomach, like a sucker punch to the face. He stressed the word family, as if we were all related. But I know that Alex and I are all he has left, and in some ways, I guess that makes us some weird-ass sports family.
I walk toward the door, papers in hand. “When I get to Chicago, I’ll give him a call to arrange everything.”
He pats me on the back. “Excellent. Now, go get us our client back.”
Alex
I’m packing my entire life into a Bauer hockey equipment bag, which is somewhat pathetic. Everything I own literally fits inside. But I don’t have to think too long about it because my soon-to-be former roommate and teammate walks into my bedroom with two Heinekens.
Perfect timing.
Tony sits down next to me on the bed, an iPad tucked under his arm, and hands me a bottle that I gladly accept.
What’s one more beer?
One usually turns into ten more—though my preferred method of inebriation is hard liquor or anything strong enough to make Bacardi 151 look like children’s cough syrup. My teammates have hidden my vices for me well over the past few months, but now, I’ll have to start over with a new team and a new set of personalities. Not everyone will be so tolerant. It takes time to build that kind of camaraderie. Based on my previous encounters with the Flyers, they don’t have the same cohesion on their team that I had with the Caps. I’m not looking forward to the change.
“What’s up? Are we having movie time?” I laugh and motion toward the iPad.
“I guess you could say that.” He slides his finger across the screen, and the YouTube app is already open.
I take a swig as I wait for him to show me what I can only imagine is another embarrassing video. This shit never ends. Anymore, it’s like I’m a walking punch line.
As if my nightmare of moving to Philadelphia on one-day notice isn’t bad enough, Tony flips through viral videos of me with loads of girls—what the news channels call the Puck of Shame. There’s even a banner with the same name across the top of some of the videos.
I thought Rebecca was exaggerating to get more money from me. Students have posted full-length videos of me on the Internet, exposing how much of a mess I truly am. What a fucking disaster. I’m even naked in some of them.
Apparently, it did not take long for the news outlets to scoop them up, blur out my junk, and plaster my face on everyone’s screens. Like the elevator-sex tape with my former team owner’s granddaughter wasn’t bad enough for my already shattered image.
Tony sucks in a deep breath and lets it out. If this were anyone else, he probably would be laughing about it. Instead, he’s sad—most likely not just for me, but also for our team and the progress we’ve made over the past few years.
I zip the bag closed and throw it on the floor to make more room on the bed. No matter how many times I run the scenarios through my head, I still can’t find anyone to blame but myself.
Staring down at the black duffel, Tony shakes his head once and then looks up at me, disappointed. “I can’t believe you’re leaving, man. It still doesn’t feel real.” He takes a sip of his beer and then pinches his index finger and thumb together, holding them up. “We were this close to the Cup last year. It’s not going to be the same without you.”
I hate good-byes. This is the worst part of signing with another team. In my professional career, I’ve played for two teams. The Flyers will make number three. Anytime things are going smoothly, I somehow manage to do something to screw it up. That’s always been my MO.
I pat him on the shoulder. “We’ll still see each other.”
He scratches his dark beard that’s grown much fuller in the last few months and laughs. “Yeah, we’ll see you all right—when we’re kicking your ass up and down the ice.”
I smirk at the cocky bastard. He’s been like this since we first met.
“Right, well, you don’t have to be a dick about it.”
After he chugs down the rest of his beer, he hops off the bed, surveying the room. “You don’t have much to move, but do you need help with anything?”
“Nah. Thanks for the offer. I could use another beer though. Since this is my last night in DC, we need to make the most of it.”
