Page 120 of His Big Bad Stick

“Fuck off, Arty,” I say.

“It’ll do well for everyone involved,” he says. “It’ll ease tensions, Colver. It’ll break things up. Could make all of our lives easier.”

My jaw tightens.

Let me read you what’s happening here. Between the lines, so to say.

Someone big called Arty. Ownership? League executives? Commissioner himself? Someone big called Arty and wants an apology from me. They want the footage of it to show that I’m wrong, their process is right… blah. It’s all pandering bullshit. Corporate political bullshit.

And if I do what Arty wants then I’ll be able to play sooner.

Or I’ll be able to attend practices and go near the team and facilities.

They don’t mind the fighting and the image of me being mean and violent… except that I took it too far.

Which I admit - I did.

“Colver,” Arty says.

“I didn’t hang up. Yet.”

“Listen, I’m not one to do this bow down shit myself. You know that about me. But I want you to play hockey. You just hanging around with nothing to do is not good for anyone.”

“I have someone to take care of.”

“Right. You’re suddenly a committed man?”

“Arty, fuck you again,” I say. “And next time I see you I’m going to rearrange your jaw for that comment.”

“I was out of line there, Colver,” he says. “I’m sorry. I’m just trying to say-”

“I’m not apologizing to anyone and especially during some fucking interview that’s going to be used to get views and clicks.”

That’s when I hang up on Arty.

I’m not going to be put in a fucking corner and be told what to do.

I feel like the walls of my apartment are inching closer to me.

That’s my cue to get out of here.

Funny enough, I really don’t have anywhere to go. Anything hockey related is off limits. This suspension is a very strict and serious one. I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to talk to the guys on the team. (I’m sure that’s an exaggeration but still… I’m in hot water at the moment.)

There’s no way I’m going to pace around the apartment all day with my thoughts running wild.

That’s when it hits me…

There is one place I can go.

I open the door to the soon-to-be art gallery and for a split second I can’t find Abrielle. Not that I expect her to be standing there, smiling, waiting for me… lifting her shirt and bra up, showing me her perfect, handful-sized tits that taste so sweet…

When I see Abrielle up on a fucking ladder, reaching above her head, inching up on her toes, I’m ready to scream.

In fact, I do scream.

I scream her name without thinking.

“Abrielle! What the fuck are you doing?”

---