Page 5 of Heat It Up (Off the Ice)
“I have to be somewhere.” I snatch my underwear from the floor. “I can get a cab.”
“No, I’ll drive you. Give me a second to get ready.” She returns dressed in jeans and a tank top, her face washed and with the same amount of makeup as before.
She drives me back to the side street, lined with low-rise apartment buildings, where I left my rental car last night.
“Did my friend drive home last night?” If I was drunk, Nik would have been, too. Whenever we drink together, we pretty much drink the same amount as each other, although his tolerance is slightly greater than mine, given that he’s about thirty pounds heavier.
“No, my friend drove him and his car back to her place. Your friend wasn’t in any condition to drive. He wasn’t too happy about that, though. Kept claiming he was sober enough.”
That doesn’t surprise me. It’s only when a drunk driver hits your vehicle, kills your wife, and fucks up your future does it alter your perception of things, and you’re less likely to lie to yourself about your state of inebriation. Nik wasn’t even the one who stood by my side while I recovered from the accident. And Nik wasn’t the one who encouraged me though every setback. That was entirely my family.
But Nik’s the one who is there when I need to forget. He’s the one I can turn to when I need to escape from it all. Hell, he’s the one who gave me this opportunity in Finland to pull my life together.
“Tell her thanks for not letting him be an ass and drive,” I say. “And thanks for not letting me drive and…and for last night.”
“You’re welcome.” She hands me a pink scrap of paper with her name and phone number scrawled on it. “Call me.” She then leans over and kisses me on the cheek.
“Okay,” I say, even though I have no intention of doing that. She’s nice and all, but I’m not interested in things going beyond a one-night stand.
I climb out her of car and squeeze into mine, which wasn’t designed with my tall body in mind. None of the Finnish cars are—a fact my legs have grumbled about numerous times.
I turn the engine as my cell phone rings. Cody. I cringe and answer it. “Hey, dude.” I attempt to mask the rough night that lingers in my voice—and fail.
“What’s up?” my sixteen-year-old brother asks as I decrease the volume on the car stereo. I can barely hear the steady beat of the bass, for which my head is eternally grateful.
“Not much.”I’m just heading home to sleep off this hangover. “What’s going on with you? You ready for hockey camp next week?”
“Where were you last night?” His voice is rough, but not for the same reason as mine. He’s pissed. Beyond pissed.
“I was out with friends,” I say casually, the opposite of how I feel.
“You promised me. You said things would be different in Finland. But it’s still the same shit. Nothing’s changed.” Mom must not be home. Cody wouldn’t dare cuss in front of her.
I drop my head back against the headrest and close my eyes. He’s right. That’s what I thought would happen when I got here. Nik had planned to come to Finland for the summer, to help with his uncle’s elite ice hockey training camp for boys. One of the coaches had backed out for personal issues and Nik convinced me to join him. His uncle was delighted to have another NHL player coach the teens, even if I was no longer able to play with the league because of my fucked-up leg. It was an offer I couldn’t say no to, even if my family had reservations about it. It’s great experience for my resume, something I need more of if I want to pursue a coaching career. It’s a break from the painful memories. It’s a timeout from my family’s ever-watchful eye.
Who wouldn’t have jumped at the position?
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I explain. “You just called me at a bad time last night.”
“You went home with her, didn’t you?”
“Who?” I say even though I have a good idea who he’s referring to.
“The girl who answered your phone.”
I’m not sure how to answer. Cody’s sixteen. He’s not an idiot. But I’m hardly going to admit I had sex with her.
“I thought you loved Gabby,” he powers on.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the pain that has nothing to do with the hangover. “I did love her. But she’s dead, Cody. Me not sleeping around won’t change that. She’s not coming back.”
It’s not like I’m even fucking all those girls to dull the pain of losing my wife. Gabby and I got married when we were only twenty. An idiot move, really. I didn’t realize it at the time. I loved her, but I’m finally getting to do what I missed out on by settling down so young. And to hell if Cody thinks he can guilt me into becoming a saint or some born-again virgin.
A raindrop splatters against the windshield. A sullen cloud I hadn’t noticed before darkens the sky.
“I know it won’t bring her back,” Cody grumbles. The same hurt and distrust I’ve heard in his voice so many times, since my accidental overdose, darkens his tone.
“Look, bro, I know I fucked up last year. But I promise it won’t happen again. I’m not on those drugs anymore.” I’m not on any drugs, other than the liquid kind. And even that I save for when I’m not coaching the next day. I’d rather put up with the pain than risk another accidental overdose, than risk being addicted to the drug, than risk showing up at work with an epic hangover. An asshole move like that could screw up my future career.
