Page 102 of His Big Bad Stick

“She threw the glass itself at your face,” Ben says.

“I was there,” I say. “I know. And, yeah, Abrielle is a little intense right now. She has every right to be. She got pregnant by me. You think I’m going to whisk her away and marry her and promise forever? That’s not who I am.”

I can feel the tension in the locker room.

I’m unapologetic for who I am.

The ultrasound picture gets passed around.

Faust gets it and hands it right back to me.

He doesn’t even look.

Our eyes meet.

He’s an angry prick, but he has the right idea.

Let’s just practice some hockey and forget about everything else in life for a little while.

I’m ambushed after practice by a few reporters asking about the rumors of my fine and suspension. I’m not one to hide behind a story or act a part, so I just shrug my shoulders and walk away. I really have nothing to say because I know nothing.

It does piss me off though that rumors can swirl around without me being involved.

One thing I get to do is pass the buck. Or the emotion. Or whatever you want to call it.

That means Arty gets a call and an earful.

He’s a smart guy and just stays quiet until I’m done calling him every name I can think of.

“How’d the doctor go today?” Arty asks in a calm voice.

“Fine,” I say. “She’s pregnant. Saw the baby and everything.”

“That’s great, Colver.”

“Arty.”

“There’s a meeting tomorrow, okay? Nothing is set in stone.”

“I don’t believe that for a second. You always have an idea on this kind of thing.”

“Truth is, right now, we’re all working to make sure there are no legal issues. You attacked the player, Colver. The fight ended and you kept going. There’s been inquiries. Police… okay?”

“Fuck,” I whisper.

“Yeah. Doubt you want to get arrested right now, huh? So go home and relax. I’ll talk to you in the morning. We’ll see where this thing shakes out. I know there are rumors flying. Just ignore them. I’m sorry you were asked about it. I’m making some calls right now myself about that. Nobody was supposed to bring up the situation.”

“Let it go, Arty,” I say. “I’ll face whatever is coming my way. You know that’s how I do things.”

“Sure thing, Colver.”

I end the call as I turn into the parking garage.

In my apartment I find Abrielle asleep on the couch with an open pizza box in front of her.

She skipped the mushrooms this time, which means the three slices leftover are plain and ready for me to eat.

Unless, of course, I’m supposed to leave them be for her if she wakes up with a midnight craving for more pizza.

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