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“And I’m going to assume that the big guy down there snoring like a freight train loves her too?”
I looked down at the mess of a man, who was once my mostly emotionally stable best friend. “Yeah, I think that's safe to say.”
Ludo rolled his hands, like he was trying to get me to the point he was making, but I actually had no idea. He huffed. “If you blew out your knee tomorrow, and your career was over, would you be happy with the decision to give her up? In ten years, when you’re fucking washed up and feel like you’ve been hit by a truck every morning when you roll out of bed, will you be happy with your decision then?”
I was shaking my head before he’d even finished. “It wasn’t my decision, man—it was hers. I can’t make her want to stay.”
Ludo threw his hands in the air. “And they sayyou’rethe emotionally un-stunted one.”
“Who says that?”
“Doesn’t matter. What I’m trying to say is she gave you up soyoudidn’t have to give up your dream. Your shiny, fancy job. She didn’t make the decision because she hates your guts and the sight of your shriveled dick makes her want to gag. From everything you said, she left so you didn’t have to stop playing hockey. So you didn’t spiral down a one-way trip to fucking indefinite suspension.” He frowned at me like a disappointed parent, and that would have been hilarious from my younger teammate if his words weren’t like a punch in the chest. “That tells me she is a good woman. It tells me she loves you. So how about you pull your fists from your asses, and go and tell her that she’s worth growing the balls you need to ignore the bullshit sledging from other teams. She’s worth playing so good that the team would be crazy to give you up over some fucking bad press.” Ludo snarled. “Bad press is one thing, but winning games is more important. You have a losing team, you aren’t going to be making any fucking money either.”
I stared. “Who the fuck are you and what have you done with Andrei Ludokov?”
Ludo winced. “Don’t use my full name, man. Gives me flashbacks to my mom beating me with her shoe every time she caught me climbing back in my bedroom window in the mornings.” He grinned. “I dunno, man. I love women. And I love a good love story almost as much as I love fucking. Almost.” His grin was one I was more than familiar with. Ludo headed for the door, still shaking his head. “Tell the big guy he owes me one. These Chi-Town girls are fucking wild, and I was well on my way to a threesome when we had to pull his ass out of the bar.”
He swaggered out, and just before he disappeared, I called out for him. “Ludo?”
He leaned back in the room. “What?”
“You’re a fucking good friend. I love you, man, even if you are a manwhore.”
My teammate laughed and flipped me the finger. “You’re saying ‘I love you’ to the wrong person, fuckhead. Get some damn sleep.”
With that, he was gone.
I pulled off River’s shoes and sank down onto my bed. Ludo was right—not something I ever thought I’d say. Nova was what I wanted. Now. In ten years. In fifty years. She was it for me.
I climbed into bed and started to come up with a plan to win her back.
We won our final away game, but the mood in the car as we drove back to the house was still somber. River was hungover as hell, so I was driving again.
“Ludo’s worried about you,” I told him over the sound of the country song on the radio. That’s how you knew shit had gotten bad; River had resorted to listening to music about how sad a man’s life could be without a good dog and a good woman. In that order.
River just grunted, staring out the window. “Ludo can mind his own business.”
I huffed. “Fine, I’m worried about you too. You’re hitting the bottle too hard, and it’s affecting your game.”
“Fuck off, Rigby.”
Fuck off? Was this asshole serious? I pulled over onto the shoulder of the freeway, ignoring the blast of a car horn behind me. “Listen to me, River fucking Cooper. I love you. I love you more than the idea of winning the Stanley Cup. I love you more than hockey, full stop. You’re my brother. My best friend. And when I see you spiraling into an addiction like you’re trying to recreate history, you better fuckingbelieveI’m going to call you out on it.”
“You don’t know—”
I cut him off. “I don’t need to have fucking experienced it to know that you wouldn’t want to do that to your own kids. To Huey. To us. Six months ago, you’d have been holed up at the therapists every day, rather than succumbing to the call of the fucking bottle. Come back to us, man, before it’s too fucking late.” I checked the mirrors and pulled back into traffic, and then flicked him one last irritated look. “I’m going to get them back, River, so get your shit together or I’ll make them happy without you. You have one shot at this kind of happiness. Don’t blow it by letting your demons win.”
He was silent the whole way back to the house, and as soon as I slowed to a stop, he was out of the car and slamming into the house. I’d pissed him off, but I’d do it a hundred more times if it shook him out of his spiral.
I grabbed our bags out of the back, walking slowly into the house. My body ached after a hard hit in Chicago, and I was just fucking exhausted. Dropping our shit in the foyer, I dragged my feet into the kitchen. I needed a beer, despite my spiel in the car. I shuffled my ass out to the hot tub and stripped down to my underwear. Climbing in, I settled in front of a jet so it could pound the aching muscles in my spine.
Tomorrow, Operation Get Nova Back would begin. I just needed to know if the guys were with me or if I was going solo. The idea of giving up my best friends for the girl I loved definitely hurt, but the idea of her never being mine again hurt more.
The patio door opened, and Devan strolled out. He looked tired, his shirt unbuttoned, and he’d lost his suit jacket already. His hair was rumpled, as if he’d been running his fingers through it constantly.
“You look like shit,” I told him, noting the beer in his hand too. Maybe it wasn’t just River using alcohol as a crutch. Maybe we were all doing it, to a lesser extent.
He tipped his bottle at me. “Cheers, brother. Appreciate the compliment.”
