Page 7 of Win Big

“True enough.” I’m reluctant to end the conversation, but I have to get Owen home too, or Heather will start freaking out. “Nice to see you too.”

Lame.

She waves and set off again. I watch her from behind this time, enjoying the view of a firm, rounded ass.

Owen tugs on my hand. “Wyatt. Let’s go.”

“Yep, yep.” With a shake of my head, I grab him, pick him up, and start running, which makes him giggle.

When we get home, he dashes inside to give his mom her present.

“It’s beautiful!” Her eyes meet mine and she gives the briefest of winks. “Thank you!”

It’s tacky but I can tell she’s touched. “It was Owen’s idea.”

She hugs him.

“Mommy, did you know starfish aren’t really fish?”

“Um. I guess I didn’t.”

“Why do they call them fish, then?” Owen’s little forehead creases.

“Maybe because they live in water.”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for taking him.” Heather looks up at me again. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay for dinner?”

I almost agree, because I have no plans for tonight and I pretty much hate hanging out at home alone. But I say, “Yeah, I have stuff to do at home. Game tomorrow.”

She nods, understanding, and I give Owen a goodbye hug and head out.

Sure, I have stuff to do. Watch TV. Play video games. Can’t really use cleaning or laundry as an excuse, since I have someone come in once a week to do that. Linda is a goddess.

The sun is low over the ocean as I drive back to my condo in Marina del Rey. January first. Lots of people make resolutions to start the new year—things they want to change. Things they want to do better at. I don’t do that. Anything I want to change is in the past and that’s impossible. And like I said, I try not to think of the future. Right now is what matters. And since going home doesn’t appeal to me and everyone else is probably nursing hangovers and writing down their resolutions, I drive to a bar near my place.

Sure enough, Abby is working behind the bar tonight and she greets me with a big smile. “Hey! Happy New Year!”

I slide onto a stool. “Happy New Year to you too. How’d you get stuck working today?”

“I had last night off.” She wrinkles her nose. “For once I got to go out and celebrate.”

“Good for you.”

She pulls a draft beer for me and slides the glass across the smooth wooden bar without even asking what I want.

“Thanks.” I lift the glass in a toast. “Cheers.”

Happy New Year. What a joke. I’m not happy. But that’s okay, because I don’t deserve to be happy. I just fake it, because nobody wants a sad sack wet blanket hanging around. So I’mthe life of the party, always laughing, cracking jokes, flirting with women.

And that’s what I do now.

We’ve just finishedour game day skate and a couple of short special teams meetings. I’m looking forward to lunch, laid out for us in the players’ lounge by the team. They change things up but there are always healthy options. Today I go for a piece of grilled salmon, along with some brown rice and asparagus. All the veggies on a game day are green; you won’t find carrots or corn on the buffet table. I sit with my buddies Jimmy Bertelski, the captain of the team; Arvid Bergström (we call him Bergie); and Derek Jablonski (Jabber).

We talk about New Year’s parties. Jimmy, Jabber, and Bergie all went to some swanky party at a fancy L.A. hotel with lots of hot women hitting on them all night. My party at Théo’s seems tame in comparison, but they give me shit about it.

“Not all of us get invited to party with the GM,” Jimmy says.

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