Page 100 of Playing to Win

“He just lost a Stanley Cup Final. I expect most of the team is hurting now after self-medicating last night.”

“Should we check on him? We gave him space last night since he asked for it, but we’re worried.”

I pictured what his place would look like. Empty cans or bottles, maybe glasses, maybe not, stale smells, and a hungover, possibly vomiting hockey player. “I’m not sure he’d want you to see him this morning. He was hurting when I first met him, after he learned about Frank. If he’s like that, it’s not pretty.”

“He’s my son. I changed his diapers.” Bree had her chin lifted.

“I think he’d be disappointed if you saw him like that. Maybe I could go over there first? I’ll let you know if he needs you, but it might be good for him to talk to someone who’s been through this.”

His mom looked at me, and then reached a hand over to mine. “Thank you, Jayna. I’ve seen him at his worst, but I have to remember he’s an adult now. Tell him he has nothing to be sorry about, or to fix. We love him and we just want him to be okay.”

I finished my coffee, glad they hadn’t asked what my message was. “You two are great parents. Let’s plan to meet up for dinner. He should be feeling a little better then.”

* * *

I messaged Braydonthat I was on my way but he didn’t respond. Not a surprise. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get into his place. His roommate Luke had left to see his family in Newfoundland after the Inferno were out of the playoffs, and Braydon might not hear the door any better than his phone. But the door wasn’t locked.

I stepped in carefully. Braydon’s suit jacket was lying on the floor in the entryway, along with his shoes. There was a trail of clothing leading into the living room, and I flashed back to my first visit. If he’d brought some woman home?—

But Braydon was passed out alone, on the couch, in a T-shirt and sweats.

He’d gone for bourbon. There was a mostly empty bottle on the coffee table, with an overturned glass. No signs of water or painkillers, so he’d be hurting. I picked up the bottle and glass and took them to the kitchen. There were already dishes in the sink, so I added them to the stack.

I might be a girlfriend, but I wasn’t a housekeeper. I had my own place to take care of. Then I thought about his parents coming over for dinner, because it didn’t look like Braydon was going out, and washed them up. I took his suit and shirt and tie to his room. I hung up the suit, threw the shirt in the laundry, and ignored the unmade bed and pile of clothes near his hamper. His mom could come in here at her own risk.

I went downstairs and brewed some coffee. Might need that when Braydon woke up. Since I hadn’t eaten at the restaurant, I was hungry, so I made scrambled eggs and toast. Maybe it was the smell—Braydon started to stir. I sat on a stool at the kitchen island and watched him. He frowned, tried to open his eyes and quickly closed them again. He groaned and rolled over, trying to push himself up.

“There’s water and painkillers on the coffee table.” I kept my voice low, but he still flinched.

He peeled his eyes open and reached for the pills. He washed them down with the water and leaned back on the couch. Then launched himself for the bathroom.

Been there, done that, never want to repeat it.

After last night’s game, most of the Blaze were probably in the same condition. Team management had been smart enough to keep the day clear of commitments for the players. The press would want sound bites, but the players had done enough of that after the game.

An hour later, Braydon had showered, emptied his stomach out completely, changed into sweats and made his way carefully down to the kitchen.

“Why are you here, Jayna? I mean, I’m glad, but why? I think I broke up with you last night.”

I nodded. “I wondered if that was what you were saying, but you make a lot of typos when you’re drunk. Something about veal op that was maybe close to break up?”

He closed his eyes and winced. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you but it was a bad night.”

“Which is why I’m here now. Maybe we shouldn’t have left you on your own. It’s tough, and everyone has their own way to handle it.”

He snorted, then flinched.

I passed him some coffee. “So first, is there anything going on here beyond a hangover after a horrible loss?”

He frowned, stirring sugar carefully into his beverage. “What do you mean?”

“You’re not sick with something else? Didn’t get news like Luke had been in an accident, anything like that?”

“No.”

“And your brain cells are mostly online?”

A twitch of his lips. “Mostly.”

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