Page 41 of Pet Project

“What about Le Magician?” Toby asks with an inquisitive tilt of his head.

“Le Magnifique is one of the nicknames given to Mario Lemieux of the Pittsburgh Penguins,” I tell him and I see the recognition in his eyes. “He was also nicknamed Super Mario but that’s besides the point. Most of Pittsburgh will tell you that had Lemieux been healthy his whole career, he would have easily surpassed Gretzky, despite having less support from management and a less skilled team surrounding him.”

“I thought it was cuz he had cancer or something?” Shiloh asks before Toby could jump in again and mangle more of hockey history. He really needs to learn this stuff if he plans on sticking around Pittsburgh after graduation. If there’s one thing Pittsburgh knows, it’s their sports history. Well, that and putting fries on everything.

“Hodgkins Lymphoma, yeah,” I tell Shiloh. “He also had horrible back issues so he retired early to fight the cancer and heal up. Then he came back and damn near broke the league with how on fire he was. He didn’t retire for good until he was in his forties, even after buying the team to keep hockey in Pittsburgh. But that time off really messes with people’s heads in this city. Around here, sixty-six will always be better than ninety-nine.”

“Wha…”

“Their jersey numbers,” Shiloh slams his palm over Toby’s mouth and interrupts his next question. “Back to your story, please.”

“So to answer your earlier question, Toby, no – I was not nor ever could possibly be Gretzky good. Professional hockey was never my goal. It was only ever a way to pay for school for me.”

Before Toby could interrupt again, I delve into the details.

At the end of the regular season every year, the team would throw a huge bash at the house of one of our former players. Streaker wasn’t good enough to go pro, but he managed to make a decent living as an investment banker or something like that. He was one of those guys that peaked in college and wanted to re-live his glory days through us, so he bought a house specifically to use for parties.

The house was located in an area where the local cops didn’t have jurisdiction, so it had to be the county who would respond if anyone ever called it in. It was perfect because they kept an old police scanner in thekitchen tuned into the county sheriff’s frequency so we would be able to ditch or hide the booze if it was called in.

“After winning our last home game, we were riding high off our record breaking season. We were setting up the house for the party when this random chick came up and started talking to Rafe, our captain. I heard the details of the discussion since I was close by, but most of the rest of the guys were off in other parts of the house. She offered him five grand to drug some rich boy and toss him in a bedroom for the night.”

“Vad wad bishy Babrina?”

Shiloh laughs and wipes his hand against Toby’s shirt when he pulls it away from his best friend’s mouth. “I guess that won’t work going forward.”

Rolling my eyes, I level the pup with a smirk.

“Yes, it was Sabrina Carlisle,” I tell him. “Rafe took the money and announced to the boys that we had money for more booze and sent me and a couple of the younger guys out to get more for the party. By the time we got back, almost everything was set up and I didn’t think anything of it until shit went wrong.”

Taking a breath to center myself, I lean back and stare at the ceiling. If I’m going to get through this, I can’t be looking at them. This is where they find out how horribly I failed their friend.

This is where I lose them.

49

TOBY

Donnie looks like he’s expecting a two ton anvil to fall through the ceiling and crush him – and he’d welcome it. I look over at Shiloh and the sad smile on his face tells me he already knows where this story is going. I mean, with Lucky’s bitch of an ex-wife involved, I already know it’s not going anywhere good, even if I hadn’t heard what Donnie said back at the club.

“I saw when Rafe put the drugs into Eric’s root beer.”

ERIC? The guy they decided to drug was Eric? OUR Eric?

“I stood by and did nothing as he and another senior practically dragged him upstairs. Easy money, right? I waited for them to come down. After five minutes, I went up to see what the fuck was taking so long to put him in a room and leave. I opened the door and saw…”

I don’t want to hear this. Eric is one of my best friends. He’s family. Hell, he brought me back a slice of my own family with Uncle Robert. I know the gist ofwhat happened to him. I don’t want the details, not unless he tells me himself. In my head, I am trying to think of anything I can to distract myself from hearing this.

Did I run out of toaster pastries at the house? Did Jay steal my Lunchables?

“… the next thing I knew I was in the hallway outside of the door. I could still hear the sounds…”

The disgust on Donnie’s face is plain to see. I missed a lot of the story, but I know enough about what happened to Eric to know that this man in front of me would have never condoned it.

“I remember Rafe spitting on me before he walked down the stairs, leaving me alone on the third floor. Everything is blank from there until I woke up in the hospital the next day. My leg was fractured in two places, my left ankle shattered. My collarbone snapped. My right ulna had broken through my arm, tearing the muscles and ligaments. And I had four broken ribs that the doctors say I was lucky didn’t puncture anything.”

Now, I know I’m not the smartest pup out there, but what in the actual fuck? How much did I miss? Maybe he’ll recap it for me. I just don’t understand why his teammates would have hurt him that much. Didn’t they need him to win more games? Doesn’t that usually keep guys on sports teams safe?

“… tried to get me to rescind my statement to the police. Even some fancy lawyers that I now know were sent by Eric’s father tried to get me to say I didn’t see who or what I thought I did, that my teammates didn’t almost kill me because I told them it was wrong to rape someone.”

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