by R. J. Scott
“Hey,” she said, the exhaustion weighing down her usually peppy disposition. “So, they just brought Henry back from surgery. He’s going to be fine. They think. Eventually.”
“Thank God.” I ran a hand over my face. I needed to shave, shower, and eat, then get back to the hospital to see Henry, if I could. Probably his parents had flown in from the Midwest by now. Where was he from? Illinois? Iowa? Fuck, my brain was slurry. I wondered how Ryker was holding up. He and Henry had grown pretty close, sharing a house and all. Christ, this was such a miserable fucking mess.
“… whole list?”
I found my way back to the conversation. Mark had risen and was now pacing, chattering with animation and anger to our general manager. “Sorry, I was drifting. List of what?”
“Henry’s injuries.”
“God. There’s a list?”
“As long as the injury list after the Cup finals are over.”
Sweet baby Jesus. “Sure, tell me.”
And so she began rattling off poor Henry’s injuries—broken sternum, shattered kneecap, broken femur, bruised lung, concussion, cracked ribs, possible whiplash, and an eye injury that she’d not been able to ferret out the severity of. The broken bones would heal, given time. Henry was young. The concussion would also fade. Eye injuries, well, those could make or break a hockey player’s career. It’s damn hard to control a puck if you can’t see out of one eye.
“… family is here now. Rowen?”
“Yes, yes, sorry. I’m beyond tired.”
“I feel you. Look, I’m going to round up the rest of the rookies here and shuttle them all home, but Ryker and Alex are refusing to leave. I’m about to pull out the big guns, so you need to back me up. We do have a game tonight.”
Yes, we did. Against Dallas and Tate Collins. Heaven help us. “Good girl.” She coughed discreetly. “Oh no, woman. No, coach. Not girl. Apologies. Get them home and into bed. Tell Ryker and Alex that is a direct order from me. I’ll be there in an hour or so.”
“Rowen, the police have Aarni.”
I glanced up at Mark circling my living room like a shark. “Well, of course they do. That’s management’s worry. Ours is the team. Send out a text on the team chat. Morning skate is canceled, but I want them at the barn thirty minutes earlier than normal. We might have updated information on Henry to pass along to them. Don’t tell them that, though. Just tell them—”
“I’m on it. Why don’t you go back to sleep? Henry’s family is here. You’ll probably not get in to see him anyway, at least until they move him from critical care.”
“I want to speak with his family. Just get the kids home and don’t worry about me. I got my deputy. Things will be fine.”
“Your deputy? Rowen, have you been drinking and talking with that stupid cactus of yours?”
“No.” You had a friend/associate coach over, got wasted on the tequila she’d poured down your throat and had an in-depth conversation with a saguaro cactus in a hat one time… “Just get home. Thank you for manning the fort for a few hours.”
“Did you get any rest?”
“Enough. See you later. Drive carefully.”
“You too, Coach.”
I ended my call, stood, and padded into the bathroom to piss and shave. Mark arrived as I was smearing shaving cream on my cheeks. His mouth was set, his eyes red-rimmed, and his hair flat to the side of his head, which had lain on my shoulder.
I lowered my foamy hands from my face and caught his eye in the mirror. “How bad is it?”
“They’re going to charge him with a felony.”
“Christ.”
“Yeah, I don’t think even having the legal team looking out for him will help.” He placed his phone onto the counter, uncaring that I’d splashed water all over the place. “His blood was full of narcotics and alcohol. He’s broken about twenty Arizona traffic laws, caused severe bodily injury to the passenger and to public and personal property, and tried to harm one of the arresting officers as they walked him into the police station. Handcuffed and all, the stupid dick tried to head-butt a cop. I just…” He tossed his hands in the air. “What do you do with a man as stupid as he is?”
“Sell him to some Russian league?” I picked up my razor, gave my face a hard swipe, and hissed at the sting of blade removing skin along with whiskers. “Motherfucking bitch.”
Mark’s eyes went round as the hub caps on a ’53 Packard. “Oh, shit! Don’t panic. Let me get some clothes on, and I’ll get you to the emergency room!”
“Mark, stop, it’s okay.” I grabbed the hand towel and held it to the cut along my jaw. “I won’t bleed to death. Honestly, it’s okay. It’s not a large cut or deep. It’s just superficial. Give it ten minutes or so, and it’ll stop.”
He stepped closer to rub a hand up and down my back. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? That nose spray that you use for your disorder?”
I removed the towel, frowned at the blood welling up—cuts on the face and head always seemed to bleed longer than anywhere else—and reapplied pressure.
“Nope, I’ll just wait, and it will clot. It will.”
He seemed disinclined to believe me, but fifteen minutes later, when the nick was mostly done oozing and a Band-Aid had been applied, the worry lines around his brown eyes lessened.
“I am seriously going to need a drink before this day is over,” he said, stepping into the shower with me to wash my back because he seemed to think a shaving nick meant I was unable to scrub my own ass. Whatever. I was happy to have his hands on me in any capacity. And his concern? That was nice too.
“What’s management doing about Aarni?” I asked as hot water pounded down my back. Mark was in my arms, his back against the tiles, his hands resting on my hips, his lips gently pressed to the tiny bandage on my jaw.
“Providing a lawyer, paying his bail, and meeting in an hour at the arena to discuss his future with this organization. Then the owners will join you at the hospital and speak with Henry’s family to offer them any kind of support, mental or monetary, they may need to help them and their son through what will be a lengthy and difficult recovery.”
I dropped a kiss to his sodden hair. Guess old man Westman-Reid had been right during that sales speech he’d given me. Most things in Tucson were a joy to hold. Well, he’d said behold, but holding felt better. Add in prickly yet beautiful, and I had the man who had stormed his stubborn way into my heart.
Seventeen
Mark
We had our priorities. Rowen wanted to check in on Henry and understood that I would have to leave and deal with Aarni, but when it came down to it, I went with Rowen to the hospital. Jason and Cameron were in with the lawyers, but somehow I felt closer to the team and to Rowen, and I needed to be there.
We paused just before Henry’s room in silent agreement and took a breath, not knowing what we’d see or find behind the closed door.
“Are you here for Henry?”
We turned to face the man behind us, who looked so much like Henry that he had to be related.
“William. I’m Henry’s dad.”
Rowen held out a hand immediately. “Coach Carmichael.”
William nodded. “I know who you are,” he spoke quietly and held a hand out to me.
“Mark Westman-Reid. I’m—”
“Right,” William said and dropped my hand as if it was burning him. He tilted his chin and looked right at me. “You want to explain why you didn’t drop Lankinen the moment you arrived?”
What was appropriate for me to say here? Should I explain that we wanted him to go, that it wasn’t us that had kept him, but that we didn’t have options.
“I’m sorry.” How lame is that?
He shook his head. “You have no idea, do you? Henry has been skating since he was old enough to strap on skates. He’s wanted nothing in his life but hockey, and when he was offered a contract with the Raptors…” A nurse hurried by us, and he dropped his voice. “I was so proud.”
“
As you should be,” Rowen murmured. “He’s a good player. He’ll go far.”
William’s expression was bleak, his eyes glassy with emotion. “He might not walk again. How do you expect him to play?”
The words were brutal, and I wished to hell I could say something that would make this better. “The Raptors will pay for the best care, the best rehab—”
William rounded on me. “He doesn’t need your money. We’re fine.”
A woman joined William, her eyes red with tears, her face puffy. “William, we need to talk to the doctor.” She didn’t even bother with introductions. She was lost in that place of grief where nothing and no one could intrude.
We watched them walk away, and it was only when Rowen pushed Henry’s door open that I followed him in and shut the door behind us. I didn’t want to see. I didn’t want anyone else to see. Not watching the machines or following the tubes running to Henry’s body or hearing the steady beep of the monitor. I wanted to protect Henry, keep him safe. Rowen went to the bedside immediately, and I hovered a little way back. Henry lay in a slightly elevated bed, his eyes open, his skin white, and bandages on his head, his neck, down onto his chest, his leg in a cast, and in his hands the control of a morphine drip.
“Coach,” he whispered, his lips dry and his voice raspy.
Rowen held some ice chips to Henry’s mouth, and Henry blinked up at him as he took a chip with his tongue. “Henry, hey,” he murmured.
“Sorry, Coach,” Henry rasped, and his voice cracked.
“Nothing to be sorry for. No more talking now. I want you to know that the place on the team is open for when you’re fit to come back.”
Henry cried silently, a track of tears that slid down his cheeks and to one side. Rowen wiped them away with a tissue and cradled the part of Henry’s face that wasn’t marked or covered in white. “Everything will be okay,” he murmured and smoothed a thumb over Henry’s cheekbone.
I backed out of the room. I shouldn’t have been there. I should’ve been organizing healthcare or finance or talking to the cops or organizing that buyout shit so we could dump Aarni. Anything but stand there watching the bond between coach and player.
The sitting area outside the private room was heaving with flowers, and I went to the first of the bouquets, reading the words that people sent. Some were from fans, a couple from teams, and others that looked like they were from family. The biggest, most extravagant bouquet was from someone called Adler Lockhart. Whoever this Adler was, it was clear Henry meant something to him.
“What are you doing here?” I turned to see a young guy who could have been Henry’s twin.
Holding out my hand, I stepped forward “Mark—”
“We know who you are. What are you doing about Aarni?”
“He’s in police custody right now—”
“You make him pay. Don’t you take him back, not after what he…” The man collapsed into a chair as if his strings had been cut, the huge bouquet tumbling into him. I stopped it from falling, but the card slipped out, and the Henry-lookalike picked it up.
He snorted a soft laugh and turned it over to read the message, then bowed his head. “Adler says he’s here for us. For all of us.”
“Good,” I said because the quiet needed to be filled.
Henry’s door opened, and Rowen stepped out.
The newcomer stood immediately. “Coach Carmichael,” he said, and they shook hands, then did a complicated bro-hug, which made me think they must have known each other really well.
“Dan, God, I’m sorry we’re meeting again under these circumstances.” He pulled back. “Mark, this is Dan, Henry’s brother. I coached him at the University of Western Ontario.”
Oh, so that explained that.
“Talking of Western Ontario, that idiot Adler sent this,” Dan waved at the huge flower arrangement.
Rowen shook his head ruefully. “He never knew when to stop at college, and he still doesn’t now, even with an NHL contract under his belt.”
“The Railers are lucky to have him.”
For a second the two men seemed lighter, but it didn’t last long.
“You know we’re keeping his place on the team, for however long it takes,” Rowen said much more seriously.
“Yeah, right. What does team management say to carrying Henry like that?” There was so much pain in his voice, and he stared right at me.
“Management will support Henry and his family until the moment he is capable of making a decision about his future, based on discussions with Coach Carmichael and medical experts. We will honor his contract to the letter.”
Dan narrowed his eyes a little, not looking as if he believed me.
“Mark is one of the good ones,” Rowen said, and I felt pathetically grateful for the distraction.
We made it to the arena with two hours to spare before the game, not stopping to talk to journalists at the gate and splitting up when we got in. Now we had separate things to do, and I had to pull up my big boy pants and start dealing with the Aarni mess.
Cam and Jason both glanced up when I went in. Our lawyers were there, huddled over paperwork, and even Leigh and Mom were sitting at the window, staring out at the view, talking quietly to each other.
“And?” Jason asked, which got Mom and Leigh’s attention and unfortunately the lawyers as well. I had a freaking audience, which was hard to handle at the best of times. I was used to people staring at me from back in my modeling days, but right now, I didn’t want anyone looking at me.
Because let’s face it, I felt I was about to lose my shit.
“Henry came through the operation . Time will tell what he can and can’t do. Meanwhile, I haven’t had any news about Aarni, so I can’t help you there.”
Cam and Jason exchanged glances. “He’s been arrested,” Cam said. “Bail is one million. He’s posting it himself, and he’s already given an interview talking about judgment calls.”
“He said he was led astray,” Leigh muttered and stopped next to us. I sat down to be more on her level, and thankfully everyone else did, which I was glad for because my legs felt like jelly.
“Tell me he didn’t say he’d been led astray by Henry? What the hell?”
“We’re selling the house,” Mom said, and I moved my head so fast I swear I gave myself whiplash.
“We’re doing what?” And when I said we, what I meant is you because the house wasn’t ours. It was Mom’s to do with what she wanted. Not that I cared. I hated that damn house.
Cam cleared his throat. “The money will be invested in the Raptors and will assist in carrying the debt for Aarni’s buyout.”
I inhaled sharply and let out a noisy breath. “We’re doing this, then?”
Jason held my gaze and gave me a half smile. “We’re all in if you are, little brother. We can use all the help we can get. The fans hate us, the sportswriters despise us, and the league is one step away from tar and feathering us. You’ve proven you’re a hell of a businessman and can handle our headstrong coach. I might have a friend who can give us a hand with social media and our packaging and marketing. So, what do you say?”
All in? Past the year? Staying here in Tucson?… I looked over at the assembled legal team and then at each member of my family. Mom looked strong, had color in her cheeks, and I needed to connect with her again. I loved Leigh and wanted to get to know her enough to have a brotherly say in who she dated so I could be annoying. Jason was the sensible one, and I respected him, and as for Cam? He’d really been my best friend as well as my brother, and I could do with some of that in my life right now.
And Rowen. I had Rowen. I wanted Rowen. I wanted my family to love Rowen.
Abruptly I had the insane thought of placing my hand out so we could do a family huddle but managed to restrain myself.
“I’m in,” I said. “All in.”
The news hit social media about ten minutes before the Raptors were due on the ice against LA. This was a local derby for all intents and purposes, o
ne of our nearest teams. Well, certainly nearer than New York or Toronto. None of the team would have phones. I knew for sure that the staff wouldn’t, so it was me on my own in the damn box who saw it first. Or at least along with those in the rest of the arena who were checking scores and posting selfies.
Millionaire Hockey Star Pleads Guilty
The picture was the Raptors head shot of Aarni, the news brutal and to the point. There was a short postscript about Henry, who after two weeks was still in the hospital and likely to be there for a couple of more weeks to come. He was healing physically, but I had no idea where his head was at. Rowen visited him, said he’d be moving back home to Illinois with his parents, who were still threatening to sue the Raptors for duty of care, although they hadn’t done so yet. I guessed that would come from Henry when he was capable of making decisions. I didn’t think we’d even defend it; just let the insurance companies duke it out. If it had been up to me, I’d have given Henry everything, but the guilt I felt was nothing compared to what Alex felt. He still blamed himself for not stopping Aarni driving off with Henry, and Rowen told me his game was suffering. He was benched tonight, for stomach flu or some such nonsense, according to Rowen, which of course left us a good man down, and Ryker without his two wingmen in Alex and Henry.
“At least he’s stopped protesting his innocence,” Alex said, startling me out of my thoughts as he sat next to me. “I can’t believe he’s gone this long pretending the evidence is all lies.”
“I guess your stomach’s better?” I deadpanned.
His lips quirked in a wry smile. “Yeah, I fucked up,” was all he said.
The noise in the arena rose—I guessed a lot of fans were reading the same news. There was some booing, shouts, and Alex gave a full-body sigh, then shrugged and slumped in his seat. “Should be on the ice right now.”
I could nod or make a noise of encouragement, but I didn’t think that was what Alex needed right now.
