Page 43 of For the Boys
Berkley would’ve echoed Amelia’s sentiment had she not been rendered momentarily speechless. Who knew something like this existed in the heart of Greektown, Detroit, of all places?
To say the loft was industrial would have been an understatement. “Loft” was also a woefully inadequate word to describe this space that took up no less than half a city block. The walls were metal sheets screwed directly into the frame of the building. Exposed heating and cooling ducts lined the ceiling. The floor was poured concrete, polished to a high shine. There were large couches and comfortable-looking armchairs arranged sporadically about the space in conversational groupings, and a giant glass and metal bar dominated the center of the wall to Berkley’s left. There were people everywhere, many of whom were Brent’s teammates.
By the time she regained her ability to speak, Brent had led them over to the bar, where they were soon joined by Mitch.
“So, what do you think?” Brent asked.
“It’s incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. Is it yours?”
As a professional hockey player, he certainly had enough money to own and maintain something as impressive as this space, but it didn’t give off Brent Jean vibes. Not that Berkley knew him well enough to comment on such things, but still.
“Nope, it’s mine,” Mitch said, handing her a beer. “Hi, Berkley. Good to see you again.”
“You too, Mitch. Thanks for having us.” Then a thought struck her. “Wait, did you know who I was when Lexie and I met you at Contour?”
Mitch looked sheepish. “Guilty.”
She smacked him on the arm. “You should’ve said something!”
“No need to get violent! It didn’t seem important. We all knew you were spoken for, even if you didn’t,” Mitch said, nodding at Brent.
Heat rose to Berkley’s face at the implication, but a chill ran down her spine as the final events of that night flashed through her mind. “So Parker knew who I was too?”
Mitch, aware of Berkley’s discomfort, played it cool. “Yes. But he was also so shitfaced he probably doesn’t even remember you being there.”
“Oh, good,” she said absently, taking a pull from her beer.
“C’mon,” Mitch said, lightly grasping her elbow. “Let me show you around. You don’t mind, do you, Jean?”
“Go for it.”
Berkley squeezed Brent’s hand and said, “I’ll be back.”
He squeezed back and let go. “I’m counting on it.”
“Thanks for covering for me back there,” she said to Mitch when they were out of earshot of Brent.
“Of course,” he said. “I know better than anyone that he would absolutely lose his mind if he found out. Your secret is safe with me.”
He tucked her into a hug, and she squeezed back, thankful he had been there in the aftermath of Parker’s attempted assault.
Mitch moved about the space with ease, stopping to chat with people and introduce Berkley to his teammates. In the back half of the space, there were three pool tables, four beer-pong tables, a couple of card tables, and, surprisingly, a single bowling lane.
“What possessed you to buy a space like this?” Berkley asked as they made their way back toward the bar.
“I love entertaining, and apartment living isn’t made for hosting large groups of people, especially when those groups include hockey players. So I hired a real estate agent to find me a space. I never considered something like this. I was thinking more along the lines of a legit bar that I could renovate to suit my purposes. Instead, she found this. I bought it sight unseen.”
“Wow,” Berkley said, in awe of Mitch’s thoughtfulness. “Well it’s incredible.”
“I love it. We come here a lot after games to unwind. I’ve also hosted holiday parties and team charity events here.”
They reached the bar and found Brent talking to Parker. Berkley gave Brent a tight smile, ignoring Parker. A look of confusion crossed Brent’s face but was gone quickly.
“Berkley, you remember Parker, right?” Brent asked.
Parker stuck out his hand. “Parker Graff,” he said. “Nice to meet you under more sober circumstances.”
Berkley shook his hand and let go quickly, not wanting to prolong contact.
