Page 58 of Pucker Up
Was Gideon Bailey flirting with me? Fuck, fuck, fuck. I needed to shut it down, for more than one reason. He was one of my most important subjects, and I was secretly falling in love with his brother.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s get started, shall we?”
“Of course.” He leaned back in his chair. “Right to business.”
My digital voice recorder sat on the table between us, but I didn’t press record. Gideon Bailey seemed on edge. A little small talk might settle him down. “Tell me about your game last night.”
There was a definite eye roll. “We won.”
“That’s fantastic. Congratulations. What was your favorite part of the game?” It was a great question to ask a hockey player, as it helped to identify their values. Gideon crossed his arms. “The end.”
He was a crusty bastard.
“All right.” I shuffled the papers with my list of questions.
Gideon sighed. “I’m sorry, Professor Goldie. I’m having a hard time here in Toronto.” His shoulders slumped. The powerful man looked defeated.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I fully expected him to say no.
“I don’t really want it on the record.” He pointed to the recorder.
It’s not on. I held it up to show him and handed it to him for good measure. He didn’t take it. “I trust you.”
Guilt gnawed at my gut. Was this unprofessional? I was sleeping with the man’s brother, and was the daughter of his boss.
“Gideon. Whatever you tell me here in this room, will stay in this room. I promise.” I meant it.
“What if I told you that I murdered someone?” His lips turned up into a smile.
What was it with everyone and murder lately?
“I’d get a shovel and tell you to pile the dirt high over the body.”
And that’s how I got Gideon to give me the first genuine smile I’d ever seen on his face. “But really, I’d probably have to report that to the police.”
“I know.” His face softened. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to tell you anything illegal.”
“Good.” I set down my pencil and rested my elbows on the table. “Why are you having a hard time here?”
Along with his body, his voice softened. “I’m having headaches.”
This was not what I expected. I thought he might discuss his struggles with his brother, or the fact he was a top player on a last-place team. “Have you spoken to the team doctor about this?”
“Not yet. I think it’s just stress.”
“Gideon.” I opened his folder. “You’ve had several concussions in your career, the most recent one within the last year. It might be stress, but it might be more.”
He inhaled deeply. “I’m afraid they’ll bench me.”
“They might,” I said. “For good reason. Do you think it’s impacting your game?” The only way to get through to a player like Gideon, and to get him to go seek medical help, was to convince him it would improve his game.
He nodded. “I mean, there’s other stuff too.”
“What kind of other stuff?”
Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms. He exhibited signs of protection and defensiveness. “My brother and I don’t get along, but that’s no secret. It’s been tough playing with him. It was also hard to come from the top team in the league, to this shithole.”
“I can understand how that would be frustrating, but the team looks like it’s improving.”
