Page 65 of Offside

30

Ballas

“Come on, Keeners. Drink up, man. We’ve got to celebrate tonight,” Dane Axelrod coaxes from the bar seat next to me, sliding another beer my way.

I think it’s my third. No wait, fourth? Okay, maybe it’s the fifth drink we’ve downed tonight and I’m just feeling like a goddamn lightweight. The effects of the booze are making me woozy and have already given me the spins. “Here’s to your return to the game, another win, and an official adios to that fuckhead, McGowan!”

I clink my glass to his without looking up. Instead, I stare down at the cocktail napkin in front of me—like the one I used to create an origami gift to Karis—and I grumble like the broody bastard I am. Except I can’t seem to focus my vision and the bartop won’t stop squirming.

Am I drunk?

Ax gives up on me when a woman taps him on the shoulder and he spins around to give her his trademark smile at the prospect. I keep my head hung low and listen as he chats up the puck bunny.

He’s right about one thing. Instead of being a sullen, drunken bastard, I should be celebrating my fucking stellar return. My restrictions were lifted this week after what ended up being a full fourteen days off the ice, getting me back on the roster just in time to help the team win at home tonight.

Even my two assists and our two points don’t seem enough to lift my surly mood. Nothing does since the day I stormed out of Karis’s office like the fucking idiot I am.

It came as one hell of a surprise when Coach Thomas gave me the green light and put me back in the starting lineup tonight. Part of me figured Karis had the right to seek some bossy revenge and keep me out for how disrespectfully I treated her during our conversation.

But deep inside, I know Karis and that isn’t how she plays. She plays fair and doesn’t hold grudges. I’ve seen her in action. I know how hard she works despite never wanting ownership of the Vikings in the first place. She makes solid business decisions in Marvin’s absence and clearly puts the team’s success first.

There is no one else out there who I’ve seen make more personal and professional sacrifices for this organization. I think her uncle would be damned proud of her for the way she’s handled this transition.

You should tell her that, asshole.

Goddamn, I’m ashamed of how poorly I responded when she suggested that I should hang up my skates before my contract ends, but it felt like a giant blow to my ego. She might as well had said I’m past my prime and not worth the risk.

After stewing over it for the past week, I realize I was just too scared to admit I may be overdue for retirement. My body is sure as shit shouting that message loud and clear right now after the beating I took out there tonight. I’m a coward for not seeing my reality clearly enough.

Karis, on the other hand, is the bravest woman I know. There is no one else who at twenty-nine could’ve stepped in and assume a role as big as the Vikings, along with her NBA team, and take it on with such grace and poise.

Thinking back now, I’m pretty sure I fell for Karis last Christmas Eve, the night I rushed to her side when Marv was admitted to the hospital.

The strength she possesses in one finger would put even the biggest and baddest D-man to shame. It definitely does me.

A nudge at my side knocks me off-balance and I rock on my barstool. My vision swims with a blurry haze when I spin around to face Ax.

“Hey, Keeney. This here is Maya. She wants to know if we want to come back to her table where you can meet her friend, Winnie.” Ax winks, downing his glass and hoisting it in the air as a request to the bartender for another one.

I may be drunk but I can already tell these women are far too young for me. Besides, they aren’t Karis.

“Nah, I’m good. You three have fun. I’m calling it a night.”

As soon as I stand, the floor drops out from under my feet and the world seems to tip on its side. I reach for something to grab on to, anything in the vicinity to keep me upright, but I miss the edge of the counter and my fingers fumble with the barstool. The stool, however, isn’t strong enough to hold my 205-pound frame.

I slip and go toppling sideways.

Fortunately, Ax’s quick reflexes save me when he hooks a hand in the crook of my elbow and pulls me upright.

“Whoa, man. Slow your roll. You good?” He pats me on the shoulder when I nod.

“Yeah, all good. Thanks, Ax.”

Ax gives me an odd look as if I’ve just spoken a foreign language. I’m about to ask what’s up when the light from the bar suddenly dims and the black-and-white checkered floor is the last thing I see as it comes flying to meet my face.

* * *

Just exactly howdrunk am I?

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