by Mary Smith
I stare at his pathetic attempt to pull me toward him, and I give in. “I’ll stay for a few.” I lay down next to him and he spoons me, holding me tightly.
I close my eyes and for a moment, I picture this being us all the time. A pretty perfect relationship where we fall asleep in bed together. It’s fun to pretend.
Chapter Five
Bas
The pounding is causing my head to split into two parts. The annoyingly bright sun makes me cover my eyes with my hand. I try to move, but something heavy is on my chest. I move my hand and open one eye slowly to see where the hell I am.
Erin?
Erin is curled up next to me, with her head on my chest.
When did she get here?
I’m certain we didn’t have sex—we’re both fully clothed.
I ease myself carefully out of bed, trying hard not to disturb her. In reality, I want to stay right next to her. She’s beautiful in her restful sleep state. Then again, she’s always stunning.
I jump in the shower, hoping the cold water wakes me up and sends my headache away. I have a handle on this issue. I figured since I don’t go out and just stay in, watching movies, I’m not hurting anyone. Therefore, there’s no problem. Everyone else has the problem.
As I slip into my jeans and shirt, I hear Erin moving around the apartment. When I open the bathroom door, I catch a glimpse of her heading down the hallway.
“Trying to slither out?”
She stops and faces me. “Snakes slither.” She corrects me. “I’m walking upright as you can tell.”
I wish my heart didn’t skip a beat at her stunning eyes. “I don’t mean you’re a snake.”
Her face drops. “I know you don’t mean it.” She takes a few steps toward me. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not. Because someone who was fine wouldn’t have begged me to stay the night.”
Deep down, I know I did. I remember some parts of the evening. Drinking, watching PHL news, and thinking of her. We’ve not talked for over a week and…I’ve missed her. But I can’t tell her.
“How’s work?” I ask.
“Everything is well,” she says almost curt-like. “Actually, I need to get back at it. See you around.” She practically sprints away.
I push her and all my other problems out of my mind as my mobile alerts me Cabel is here to pick me up for practice. I grab my bag and jog down the stairs.
“You showered,” Cabel says with a smirk. “At least you won’t smell like the dead.”
I don’t say anything, just stare out the window.
“Have you eaten?”
“I’m fine,” I mutter. I don’t know if I can handle food right now.
Cabel wants to say more but remains silent. He’s always been a good person, and I know he is looking out for me, but I don’t need it.
When we pull up to the arena, Alden, Nathan, and Vance are all waiting outside. I groan, knowing they’re waiting on me. As they have been every morning for the past week, each asking if I’m okay, and what can they do for me. I keep giving them the same automatic responses.
I put on my fake smile and jump out of the truck. “Hey, guys.”
“How are you?” Alden asks.
“Excellent. Let’s head in.” I step around them and head toward the player’s entrance. I have to pretend all this bullshit just for them to leave me alone. I want to play hockey and then go home.
“Bas!”
I turn and see Oliver coming toward me.
Crap! Now what? “Yes?”
“Follow me.” He commands and walks past me and moves toward Coach’s office.
I do as I’m told and follow him. Once I cross the threshold, I notice it’s just Coach Long and Oliver.
“Sit.” Coach nods to the chair in front of his desk.
“Bas, when you and I talked last time you said there was nothing to worry about, right?” Oliver crosses his arms and glares at me.
“Yes.” My heart is beating against my rib cage.
“But you lied.” He continues. I go to protest, but he puts his hand up, stopping me before I can start. “You lied. You are not performing as you have in the past, your attitude stinks, and that also includes you smelling like a stale bar every morning.”
I glance at Coach, but there’s no way he’s going to jump in and save my ass. I’m on my own. “Look, I may have drunk a bit more than I should have, but I’ve stopped. I’m fine.”
“Your brothers say otherwise.” Coach speaks.
“My…my brothers?” Rage pulses through me. How dare they contact my job? “What do you mean by my brothers?”
“Beck and Bax contacted me and explained the situation. Bas, it’s time for you to get help.” Oliver reaches into his pocket and pulls out a card. “Call this therapist and get help.”
“I don’t need help.” I jump to my feet yelling, “I’m fine.”
“Sit down.” Oliver orders in his deep tone. “There’s no reason to become defensive. We’re here to help.”
I plant myself back in the chair, but I’m furious. “My brothers had no right to contact you. I don’t have a problem.” I begin to bounce my leg to release some of the built-up anger.
Oliver comes closer and lowers his head. “Bas, you do. Get yourself straightened up and come back clean and sober.”
It takes a second for me to realize what he just said. “Am I off the team?”
“You’re taking a medical leave.” Coach Long enlightens me.
My mouth drops. “Wh…what?”
“You need to focus on you, right now. Your position will be still here.” Oliver reassures me, but I’m not buying it.
“This is bullshit.” I leap to my feet. I don’t care what they say, I’m fine. “I do my job and do it well. You can’t cut me out.” This is like a fucking nightmare. Some Black Mirror shit.
“You’re not, and it’s okay. We’re all here for you.” Coach Long stands and makes a move toward me.
“No.” I jump back. “Fuck you all. You don’t give two shits about me or my fucking career. You all are a bunch of fucking wankers. Go to fucking hell.” I slam my fist into the chair, knocking it over, and storm out of the office.
In the hallway, near Coach’s office are my teammates. My former teammates. Cabel and Hamilton step up to say something, but I can’t bear to hear a single word from any of them.
“Leave me the fuck alone.” I push past them all and out the door I go.
I continue to walk out of the parking lot and down the street. I can’t believe what just happened to me. Kicked off the Bears all because of my fucking brothers.
My brothers!
Those fucking, meddling assholes.
They have no right to interfere with my life. No right at all. I shove my hand into my pocket yanking out my mobile and summoning an Uber. I stand on the corner, pacing back and forth waiting for my ride. I know exactly where to go first. I don’t care what happens when I get there or what comes of it. I’m going to give them both a piece of my mind.
The Uber takes me to Bax’s house first. I pound and pound on the door until he opens it. I knew where he lived because Google is very informative.
“Bas.” He seems stunned to see me, but he shouldn’t be.
“You need to stay the fuck out of my life, out of my job, and don’t even think of breathing my name. I fucking hate you and I hope you die.” I turn to go back to the waiting Uber.
“Bas, wait.” Bax grabs my arm, but I jerk it away from him.
“Don’t fucking touch me. Stay the fuck away from me. Do you not understand I don’t want to be in your lives? Do you?” I’m nose-to-nose with him.
“It’s for your own good.”
“The only thing that’s good for me, brother, is cutting you and Beck out of my life. I left England to get away from all of you and what happened? Fucking Karma played a joke on my dick and brought you two wankers into my bloody town.”
“We love—”
“Shut the fuck up.” I cut him off. “You don’t love me. I sure as fuck don’t love you. You two mean nothing to me.” I’m seething, and I know if I don’t walk away this instant, I’ll break his nose. I walk back to the Uber and order him to take me home.
My blood is on fire as it pumps through my veins. Being fueled by my anger. Those two have meddled in my life for the last time. I have tried and tried to cut them out, but they always seem to pop up when I least expect it, and now they’ve ruined my career.
When I reach my apartment the only thing on my mind is alcohol. I must have a drink and figure out what the hell I’m going to do next in my life. My hockey career is over because I know damn well Oliver isn’t going to hold my position.
He lied.
I slam my door shut with all my might, toss my bag across the room, not caring where it lands, and grab the bottle of vodka from the fridge. I chug it down, letting the burn douse the fire burning inside me.
I pace my apartment as if I’m a caged animal. How can they do this to me? How can they treat me this way? I’m a good person, an excellent hockey player, and I don’t bother anyone. I can’t believe this is happening. My visa will be cut off the second immigration hears I’m cut from the team. Then I’ll have to go back to England and do what?
What else can I do?
Maybe coach hockey? Damn, who would hire me? A washed-up PHL player.
What am I going to do?
There’s a loud knock on my door, and I don’t even look to see who it is before I open it. Standing there is Beck and his long hair. I hate his long hair.
“What the fuck do you want? Wanted to come rub it in how you and Bax ruined my life?”
“I see you couldn’t wait to get some alcohol in you.” He nods toward the bottle in my hand.
“Fuck off.” I try to shut the door on him, but he blocks me.
“You had no right yelling at Bax. Going to the Bears was my idea.”
“Oh.” I scoff. “Well thank you so much, brother. Thank you for ruining my life. It’s so kind of you.”
“Bas, you need help and I knew you wouldn’t let us help you. I’ve heard Oliver is a great owner and cares about you guys—”
“He cares so much about me, he cut me from the team, Beck. He cut me from the team.” I feel if I say it twice then he will understand how much he helped me.
“I doubt he cut you. You’re just being a whiny bitch. I bet anything he wants to help you. He seemed very concerned when we talked.”
I roll my eyes. “Get out, Beck. Get out of my apartment, out of my life, and stay the fuck out.” I push his chest as hard as I can. He stumbles back just enough for me to shut the door on him.
I chug the vodka again and pace my apartment. My life is over and there’s nothing I can do to stop it from spiraling out of control. I stop pacing and take a deep breath. I can handle this. I can figure this out and play hockey again. I drink some more from the bottle and sit on the couch. Scrolling through my mobile, I try my best to keep my focus on the task in front of me.
Caryn Hammons.
I clear my throat before hitting her name. Of course it’s a messaging service since she’s probably busy taking care of some insane person. I leave my name and number for her to call me back. I’m going to set up an appointment and make sure everyone knows there’s nothing I can’t handle.
As long as my fucking brothers leave me the hell alone.
How I managed to get to Caryn’s on time is beyond me. I drank a lot and couldn’t remember when I passed out. Nonetheless, I’m here and ready to get back out on the ice. One way or another.
“Bas Zorn.” A woman who appears to be in her early thirties calls my name.
I stand and go into the office. There’s a desk in the far back of the room, a large couch and a smaller one, and an armchair. There isn’t much on the walls except a couple nature-like pictures.
“I’m Caryn.” She holds out her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” I half-mumble, limply shaking her hand. My head is already pounding, and it doesn’t help with all the bright sunlight. It’s almost October—the sun shouldn’t be glaring as it is.
“Please have a seat.” She gestures toward the couch and she seats herself in the armchair across from it. “Oliver told me you’re an amazing hockey player.”
“Oliver?”
“Yes, he and Cabel told me they gave you my number.”
I’m sure they said more than that. “If I’m so great, then why did he cut me?” I shock myself by my outburst. I have absolutely no clue where it came from. I never, ever do such a thing. “Sorry.” I rush out the apology and wish for a delete button to exist so she’d never have to hear me say such things.
“It’s okay. Oliver didn’t say he cut you, just that you are on a medical leave.”
I shrug. There’s no reason for me to justify explaining anything further. She won’t believe me.
“Can you explain to me what sort of medical leave you’re on?”
“Everyone thinks I have a drinking problem.” What the hell am I doing? Ninety-nine percent of the time, I think before I speak. There must be something in the air here for me to have such an outburst of emotion.
“Why do they think that?” Her tone is soft and almost…welcoming.
Maybe she’s a witch? I shake my head at the thought.
“Anything you say here is between us.” She assures me.
“No, I know, I just…” How do I say it? “There’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.”
“I don’t like the word fine. Tell me another one to explain how you are?”
I furrow my brow. Do I know another word besides fine? It’s my go-to word. The one I can say and everyone leaves me the fuck alone.
“I’m good.”
She hums, shaking her head. “Good is another word for fine. Try again.”
I stare at her for a moment. “Are you serious?” Now, she’s beginning to piss me off.
“Nope. Try again.” She smiles.
“This is a game to you.” A small burst of rage explodes through my veins.
“Nothing about this is a game. However, what I do want is for you to be honest.” She crosses her arms and her soft expression slightly hardens. “How are you?”
I open my mouth to say fine, but I quickly shut it. Is this a safe space? Can she be trusted not to run to Oliver? I can’t be sure since I don’t know her and she’s working for the Bears. Well, indirectly anyway. But I have to play this off and get my ass back on the ice.
“I don’t know.” There! I said it. “Is that what you want to hear?”
“I want to hear the truth from you, Bas, not what you think I want to hear.” Her soft tone changes. It’s clear she’s not as kind, sweet, and innocent as I thought she was when I sat down on this couch.
We stare at each other for a brief second before I drop my head and study my fingers laced around each other.
“Bas, I know it’s hard to open up. I know how difficult it is to not be playing a sport that you love and breathe. All I’m asking you to do is to be honest with me. It’ll stay in this room, between us, and we’ll figure out—together—what to do next.”
She makes it sound like a perfect movie. The ones I watched with the happy endings. The ones where they ride off into the sunset, in love, elated their lives are going to be perfect. That’s something I’ll never have.
No one loves me.
No one cares about me.
I’ve failed everyone.
“Bas?”
Slightly jumping to my name, I look up. “Yes?”
“I asked if you’re okay?”
I nod. “I think so.” Lies. I’m far from okay. In fact, I’m so far from it, I can’t even see it in the rearview mirror.
“I prefer the truth.”
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
“Okay, that’s a start. How about you tell me what you did last night?”
“I stayed at home. Like I d
o every night.”
“What did you have for dinner?”
“Nothing.”
“How come?”
“Wasn’t hungry.” My words are short and quick, hoping it’ll get me out of here faster.
“What time did you go to bed?”
“Don’t remember.”
“Since you didn’t have anything to eat, did you have anything to drink? Hot chocolate? Soda? Water?”
My mouth goes dry. Here come the hard-hitting questions. At least, I think so. It’s my test to tell her the truth or lie. Either way, no matter what she says, I know she’ll tell Oliver.
When I don’t say anything she asks, “Did you have alcohol?”
I have to say something. “Maybe…a little.”
“Nothing wrong with a drink here and there. I, myself, have a glass of wine at night. Especially after a long day.” Her smile returns. “What do you like to drink?”
“Gin or vodka,” I answer her truthfully. “Usually vodka.”
“Do you invite friends over?”
“No, I generally like to be alone.” Minus Erin. I enjoy being around her. Although, it’s been a long time. At least, it feels like a long time.
“Tell me about your family.”
A twist in my heart wishes I had a drink right now. Talking about my family is the last thing I want to do. I’m here because of my fucking brothers. “What do you want to know?” Maybe this will be an easy question to give her an easy answer.
“Do you have siblings?”
“Two brothers.” Easy answer. Easy out.
“What about your parents?”
Well, fuck!
“I’d prefer not to talk about them.”
She nods. “When did you start playing hockey?”
“I was young. Around six or so.”
“Who taught you hockey?”
“Kids in the neighborhood. They were Russian and hockey was big in their culture. For us football, or soccer as you call it, rugby, and cricket were big.”
“How did you feel the first time you played?”
Her happy tone is almost contagious. Or maybe it’s the memory flooding me? “Alive. Fulfilled. Elated.”
“Were you good the second you hit the ice?”
