The Last Shot Page 2

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, you’re a moron then.”

  “Hey!” I slap his shoulder.

  There is no way he’s still wounded from our breakup. Not after all this time. I just don’t believe it—no, I can’t. Because that might mean he still cares about me and I can’t let that seed take root in my mind, not when I still have feelings for him. Ethan and I were like a moth and a flame. If I was in his orbit, I would spin, unable to pull myself away. He consumed me, made me crazy and tense any time he wasn’t in my sights. Thankfully, I have something completely different with Charlie. Something safe. It’s great, but it’s not all consuming. It’s just...nice. And nice is easy.

  Nice keeps me grounded. I can survive nice. I don’t know if I could have survived Ethan. We were too intense.

  “When did you talk to him last?” I ask Manny.

  “Not for weeks. We don’t talk so much nowadays. He’s pretty busy.” He points to the television. It’s on mute, so I didn’t notice it when I first walked into the room. Ethan’s team is playing Detroit tonight and they’re winning. I watch for a moment and see Ethan’s jersey, number nine, slam someone into the boards. The guy crumples to the ground and the game stops as the coach and some medics run out on the ice to assess him.

  I can only shake my head. He always hits hard. On the ice. In life. He gives everything his all. I admire that about him, even if it ends up hurting the people around him.

  “Well, at least they’re winning,” I say with false sincerity, surprised at how much my annoyance with Ethan grows from just seeing him get aggressive on television.

  Manny reaches out to take my hand again. “I don’t want to talk about Ethan. Tell me about you. You still single? You know I’ve always had a crush on you.”

  I chuckle. Typical Manny. Always the flirt, and just like his brother, he’ll do anything to avoid a serious conversation.

  “Dating. I’ve been with someone for a few months now.”

  “So it’s serious, then?”

  “Maybe,” I lie. In all honesty, I’m not sure I see myself getting serious with anyone ever again. It hurts too much to lose people you care about. And you always lose them, whether it’s through a freak accident, or an affair or indifference...giving your heart away never amounts to anything but pain in the long run.

  “I’d ask you if you’re dating, but you just admitted to trying to pick up someone else’s girlfriend at a bar.”

  “What can I say? She was worth it.”

  “Worth a kidney? Is her vagina made of gold?”

  “Better.”

  I make a face. I’m not even sure I want to ask what he means by that. I let go of his hand and stand while shaking off the thought.

  “How are you doing right now? Do you need something for the pain?”

  “Not right now. Think I might just fall asleep. Unless a sponge bath is on the table?”

  “A sponge bath will never be on the table.”

  “Have a heart. I just lost an organ.”

  His playfulness makes my chest tighten because it makes me think of Ethan again and I just don’t want to go there. So I do the only thing I can. I ignore it and entertain my need to flee before he reads my emotions as clearly on my face as they are in my mind.

  “You’ve probably still got some of the anesthetic in your system. It’s going to hurt a lot when you wake up, so call as soon as you need something, okay?”

  “For sure.”

  I put my hand up to the door to push it open when Manny calls out. “Annie. He still talks about you, you know. Last time we spoke, he asked if I’d seen you around.”

  I don’t turn around because I know if I see his face, I might just break down. He’s gone and said the only thing he could to tear off the scab on my scarred heart. I take a breath and step through the door, letting it click shut behind me. Ethan is a road I can't ever go back down.

  2

  ETHAN

  “One drink. To celebrate,” I say to the two guys left in the locker room.

  “I’ll be a dead man if I don’t get back to the hotel room in the next thirty minutes,” says Clay. Clay has been married a year and he and his wife have a newborn. They travel with him everywhere we go. Training camp. Games. Promotional shit. She’s always in the background. I envy him that. She’s not there to keep an eye on him like some of the other wives; she’s in the background, beaming with pride as she cheers on her husband.

  I had a girl like that once. Before she fucking destroyed me.

  “Dean?” I ask.

  Dean shakes his head. “Shit, man. You know I can’t drink anymore since that DUI last year. I fuck up again and Carol says she’s suing for full custody. Then, not only do I not get to see my kid, but I get to pay her more money to get her hair done and buy more shoes and shit.”

  I nod, understanding, but not liking it much. Most of the guys on the team are in relationships or they’re a little older and perhaps a bit more responsible. A few of them are my age and single, but I don’t know. They’re not the kind of guys I’d want to hang with. I like ’em just fine on the ice, but in the bars, they’re cocky as fuck and I can’t deal with their attitudes. We’re hockey players, not rock stars.

  Dean lays a hand on my shoulder and pats it before slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Good game tonight, man.”

  “Yeah, you too.”

  Dean and Clay leave together and I lean back against my locker, looking down at the tiled locker room floor. Our team crest takes up the center: A roaring lion with his tail wrapped around our team name, the Philadelphia Predators. Everyone has someone to go home to tonight. And me? What do I have to look forward to? A quiet hotel room and a glass of whiskey.

  I sling my kit bag over my shoulder and pull my ball cap down low over my eyes as I get ready to leave the locker room at the Detroit Convention Center.

  My agent, Richard, barges in through the swinging door, making as much noise as he possibly can. I don’t even think it’s on purpose. He’s just a small man with little man syndrome and he needs to make sure that people notice him. But he’s not a bad guy. Some days I even consider him a friend.

  “That’s right,” he says, beaming as he talks on his cell phone. “My boy’s a busy man. We’ll see if we can set something up, but he’s in demand.”

  I roll my eyes as I hear the buzz of another voice on the other end of the phone. Tonight was a good night and I played my ass off. Usually, I’m the thug on my team, but tonight I held my own, even scored a goal and made two assists. I’m doing this more and more lately and a lot of people are noticing.

  “I’ll get back to you.” Richard taps his phone and shoves it into his suit pocket. “You were poetry on the ice tonight, my man.”

  I nod, push through the doors and enter the cool hallway leading to the back exit. I prepare myself for the air outside. Earlier on the radio, I heard it was supposed to snow tonight.

  “Everyone wants you,” Richard says, almost jogging to match my stride. “You keep this up and the sky is the limit. I’ve got offers for commercials, guest spots for daytime television—you name it, you got it. Tomorrow, we’ve got Talk Television. And get this,” he says, tapping my shoulder “Lucinda Crow—the actress from that Southern Vampire series—wants your number. I told her agent you’d be thrilled to give her a call. The press will be all over it. We can have you two go out, maybe get some lunch, some dancing...toss a tip to the tabloids to get some press coverage...”

  I keep walking, rolling my eyes. Man, sometimes he’s just too much for me. Don’t get me wrong, he’s been my agent since I signed my first contract almost four years ago, but sometimes he’s just too ‘on.’ Like a fucking energizer bunny that never stops. And man, does he kiss my ass—like a lot of other people in this business. When most of the time all I need is for someone to kick it, to ground me and bring me back down to Earth and away from all the bullshit. My brother’s good for that, when I actually get the time to talk to him, which
is less and less lately. Speaking of my brother, when was the last time I called him?

  I hold out my hand to stop Richard. “Not right now, all right? I just need some quiet.”

  “Sure, whatever you say, but...”

  A camera crew and a man in a suit approach me and I give Richard a look that he can’t mistake for anything other than annoyance. I want to hit him right now.

  He steeples his fingers like he’s praying. “Just one interview. We need to keep you in the public’s eye. They love you right now, ride the wave and enjoy it, my friend.”

  “I fucking hate you,” I mutter.

  “You love me. You know you do,” he whispers while beaming at the approaching man. “I make you money.”

  I glare at him. Pretty sure I’m the one skating my ass off and earning my paycheck.

  “Ethan Michaels, Steven Fry. I think you’ve met before.”

  I hold back a sigh. Yeah, we’ve met a few times, and I almost punched him in the throat the last time he interviewed me. Steven Fry is not much better than the tabloids. He runs a late-night show where he dishes dirt and talks sports. In my opinion, he’s a bottom feeder and I have less patience for him than I do for my agent right now.

  Steven shakes my hand before I shove it deep into my dress pant pockets.

  “Great game tonight, Ethan,” he says. “Just outstanding.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

  “Where is all this coming from? We’ve seen you in the shadows for years and then, out comes this bullet of a player, scoring goals and making major assists.”

  I clear my throat, not completely impressed that he’s goading me, as he always does. In the shadows? Fuck you, asshole. And Richard knows I can’t stand this guy. I’d turn to him and fire his ass right now if I hadn’t been with him so long. But loyalty is important and despite his flaws, he’s loyal and so am I.

  “Wasn’t my time, I guess,” I say, trying to be humble. I grit my teeth and tighten my fists.

  “I guess so. Can we expect a repeat performance of tonight during tomorrow night’s game in Denver?”

  “I certainly hope so,” I say, forcing a smile.

  “That really is amazing,” he says, forcing a smile right back. “Especially given your personal situation, which, by the way, we at WVBT hope your brother makes a very speedy recovery.”

  What the hell? My brother. I glance at Richard and the color drains from his face. “My what?”

  “Your brother. Although we’ve heard he’s going to make a full recovery. You must be relieved.” He holds the microphone in my face, waiting for me to react.

  “What the hell is he talking about, Richard?”

  “Ethan,” he says, his eyes dancing back and forth between me and the reporter. “We can talk about this privately.”

  “You’re fucking right we can. We can talk about it now.” I push the microphone out of my face and push by Fry, almost knocking him over.

  “Did you get that?” I hear him say behind my back. “Oh, dear,” Steven yells from behind me. “I guess that court appointed course in anger management didn’t take?”

  “Fuck you,” I yell over my shoulder. Then I follow up with my middle finger raised up high.

  I can hear him heckling like a witch and it’s like fingernails on a chalkboard. But I can’t focus on that twat right now; I need to find out what the hell is going on with my family. “Outside, Richard,” I snap. My voice is like thunder, echoing in the large hallway.

  “We’re with you during this tragedy,” Stephen calls out. I can hear the smugness in his voice. If he says one more word, I will take him out. I don’t think God himself could stop me.

  I punch the double exit doors and they swing open, slamming into the wall outside. Richard is huffing quick breaths as he runs to keep up. The man is probably five feet two, and one hundred and ten pounds soaking wet. My legs alone are probably a good half-foot taller than his.

  The night air is cool, but it doesn’t touch me. My skin is on fire and the light snow melts the second it touches my neck and face. “Start talking, Richard,” I say before clenching my fists and jaw.

  “I was going to tell you,” he says.

  I turn and stalk toward him and he backs up, his hands in the air, until his back presses against the cement wall of the center. “What the fuck was he talking about?”

  “It’s nothing. I called Emmanuel to make sure he was okay, and we both agreed not to worry you, that you’re playing so well you should stay here. We’ll make playoffs this year and we might just win the cup.”

  I slam my fist into the wall, narrowly missing Richard’s head. He flinches and ducks away, dancing to the left and all but running to his car. He hops inside and locks the doors. His phone is out and he’s punching in a number. I figure he’s calling security until my phone in my pant pocket begins to vibrate.

  Fucking pussy.

  “I will end you,” I shout, pointing at him with my index finger before answering my phone.

  “He’s in the hospital in Rawdon,” Richard says, breathing heavily into the phone. The windows in his car start to fog and he turns the key in the ignition, the headlights flickering on in my face. I raise a hand to block them out.

  “He had surgery, but he’s fine, and there weren’t any complications.”

  “If he’s not okay, you and I are going to have some pretty severe words, my friend.”

  “Yes. That’s fair. Completely fair.”

  “Book a flight for me. Tonight. I want to be in Nova Scotia by tomorrow. You get me?”

  “Ethan! He wants you to play. You can’t just take off when you have a game tomorrow!”

  I pick up a rock and biff it at his beamer. Spiraled rings of cracked glass radiate from the impact site.

  “Ethan! What the hell are you doing?”

  “He’s my fucking brother! Book the flight. And you can tell the coach and the owner why I’m not there tomorrow.”

  “What about Talk Television?”

  “Fuck Talk Television.”

  “You’re making a mistake. Your career—”

  “Family comes first. Make it happen.” I end the call and resist the urge to chuck my phone at Richard’s beamer. How the hell do I trust this clown after this? My brother is in hospital and he kept it from me? How messed up is that? He wasn’t trying to respect what Manny wanted; he probably convinced Manny that my staying here was for the best.

  “Fucking dickhead,” I mumble and kick at the frost-covered ground before climbing into my Jeep. I peel away, headed for my hotel room, waiting for Richard to call and tell me what time I will go home to see my brother and face all the other people I’ve left behind.

  Dad.

  Annie.

  I don’t even like to think her name, let alone imagine her sweet face in my mind. The things I would say to hurt her, the hate I would spout. It’s been three years since she ripped my heart out, but it feels like yesterday. Changing her fucking number to avoid me? I’ve avoided Rawdon all this time so I don’t run into her, but now it seems like I might have to face her again. And I still have a lot to say to her, whether she wants to hear it or not.

  3

  ANNIE

  “You’re the worst patient in the whole world,” I snap at Manny as he tries to get out of bed. I push him back down and he moans at me. He’s been a pain in my ass all day, trying to get out of bed to go outside for a smoke, toting his IV pole behind him while he walks to the elevator in his steel toe boots, his ass hanging out of his hospital gown. It doesn't matter that the ground is frozen and there are icicles dangling from the trees.

  Of course, as frustrating as he is to me, the other nurses don't seem to mind getting a bird's eye view of his toned ass.

  “I’m fine,” he says, pulling his cigarette out from behind his ear and putting it between his lips.

  I snatch it and break it before storming to the bathroom to flush it down the toilet.

  “I need to get out of here,” he whines
.

  “Not until the doctor says you can leave. Look at your dressing!” I say, pointing to his bloodstained gown. “You've soaked through your dressing and onto your gown. You’re not going anywhere. You’ll be here another couple of days and I swear to God if you fight me on this, I will kick your ass.”

  “I’m pretty sure you can’t talk to me that way,” he says, his tone playful.

  I sigh and make a fist, pretending as if I’m going to hit him. But I’m maybe one hundred and fifteen pounds and no bigger than a Smurf. He just looks down at my threatening image, and laughs at me.

  “My phone’s dead; I don’t have my charger. And this dress you put me in has no back to it and when I go for a walk the nurses look at me like I'm a piece of meat.”

  “Please. You probably bend over in front of them on purpose. It’s a gown, you idiot. And you shouldn’t be getting up just yet. Let alone walking around without your gown tied and no underwear on.”

  He gives his ass a good slap. “You mean you don’t want to see this?”

  I sigh and chuck his pillow at him.

  I finally get him back in bed and pull the covers up to his waist. I’ll have to change his dressing now, since he’s being such a pain in the ass, and I really don’t have time to do it unless I miss my lunch again. For Manny, though¸ I would give up every break.

  “If you want your charger, then give me your house keys and I’ll go and get it.”

  He thinks for a moment. “Nah, don’t worry about it. I’m staying at Dad's.” He stares at me from under his hooded eyebrows. Again, I see Ethan in his face and my body tenses as my heart sinks into the growing hole in my chest.

  “I can’t believe you're staying with him.”

  “It's temporary.”

  Manny’s dad wasn’t all that attentive before their mother died and after she passed their father wasn’t just neglectful, he was mean. Like Ethan, he can’t handle his drink well, and whiskey made him violent, especially after Claire died. I can’t remember how many times Ethan showed up at my Nan’s house, Manny in tow, their faces bruised. Nan always let them stay with us. She even called the cops a few times. But they’d never admit to the police what their father did to them, much to Nan’s anger. They assumed they’d be split up if they were put in foster care. Ethan was only sixteen and he couldn’t look after Manny. And Nan was sick even then. Just walking to the garden would leave her winded.