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“What?”
Then a knock sounds on my front door. Heavy and hard. It must be Conrad. Shit, he wasn’t joking when he said he was on the way. I walk over to the door and swing it open. Before I can even speak, he’s pushing past me, briefcase in hand, rambling away on the earpiece in his ear.
“Alright, got it. Yes. Yes. Okay…yes. Will do. Got it. Thanks.”
Conrad’s five foot three, balding, and wears Armani three-piece suits every damn day of his life. He’s been with me since I was drafted, and I trust him with my life. He’s handled every mishap, every fuck-up, every single thing I’ve gotten myself into, and he’s somehow dug me out of all of it. He’s a ruthless, cunning mother fucker, but I know that he’ll handle things no matter what.
So when he looks up at me and says, “Briggs, my man, I’ve got some bad news, and you might want to sit down for this,” my stomach plummets.
Bad news? I’ve had enough bad news in the past three years to last a lifetime. Like when my contract was on hold, and they refused to renew it until I got my act together. The endorsements that I lost. Hell, I’ve spent more time in the penalty box than on the ice until recently.
Fuck, are they gonna drop me from the Avalanches?
“What?” I ask when he doesn’t immediately speak up.
“Your brother is having a baby.”
The floor sways beneath my feet, and I grip onto the kitchen counter to stay upright.
“I’m sorry, Briggs. I know it can’t be easy to hear. I’m sorry, son.” Conrad looks at me with pity in his eyes, and it’s what I hate most of all.
Fucking pity. The fact that everyone in the entire world knows what happened to me. They know how broken I am, how hollow, how much I hate myself more than anything. They’ve watched me spiral and fuck up my life. The entire world has sat back and watched it from their smartphones or on the televisions in their living rooms. A mother-fucking front row seat.
And now… life has a cruel way of pouring salt on a busted open wound.
I should’ve known that nothing stays okay for long.
