Page 45 of From Ice to Grace
“Show me, big guy.”
“Aren’t I doing it already?” he asks, looking down at his feet, which are still perfectly horizontal on the very dirty bar floor.
Yes, we need to get off this floor.
“Mike, I’m going to need some help getting this goon in the car,” I call over the counter.
“Hey, who are you calling a goon?” he asks, grunting as he attempts to get up.
Mike comes around the bar and helps him up. Although I try my best, I’m not very successful in moving him. Declan is solid muscle and dead weight all in one. Strong enough to knock a man flat on the ice, yet broken enough that I can barely get him off the floor.
“My car is just outside,” I say. “Maybe I should take him to the emergency room, just to be safe.”
“No,” Declan says, suddenly fighting against me and Mike. “No hospitals. Then it’s news. And everyone’s already…it’s bad.” He chuckles and then frowns. “No hospitals. No press.”
I should insist. I should take him anyway, to make sure everything is alright. But the rawness in his voice makes me pause. He doesn’t need another headline, another speculation making things worse for him. As much as I don’t want to, I understand.
With Mike’s help we manage to get Declan outside and into the back seat of the car before slamming the door shut behind him. His large frame is sprawled across the back, looking too big and out of place.
“His keys,” Mike says, handing me a bunch of keys on a Boston keychain. “He might want to get his truck in the morning.”
I nod, taking it from him.
“You’re going to be alright with him?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I look through the back window. Declan’s eyes are closed, his chest rising and falling heavily. “I’ll leave him there until he sobers up.”
“Aren’t you worried he’ll puke in your car?” Mike asks as he backs away, back to the bar.
“I wasn’t. But thanks for reminding me.”
Mike chuckles. “You’re a good one, Avah. Too good for the likes of him.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
Mike waves as he heads back into the bar and I get behind the steering wheel. Turning on the AC and opening the windows slightly, I pray that the smell of bourbon and smoke won’t stay in the car for the rest of its days.
“Where are you taking me, Snowflake?” Declan groans from the backseat. “You don’t even know where I live.”
I hadn’t thought that part through. I just know I had to help him. Maybe I could call his teammates. I have Lucas’s number. But looking at Declan in the back of my car…I can’t bring myself to do it. To expose his moment of weakness to his teammates feels like another hit this man doesn’t need right now. Not after the suspension.
“Where do you live, Declan?” I ask over my shoulder.
“With Barney,” he slurs, then chuckles. “And not the purple one. The giant one from Minnesota.”
Great. Another teammate. And a teammate who Declan should be mentoring. Although this might be a lesson in what not to do.
His head rolls to the side before he tucks his hand beneath his face. After a few seconds, soft snores come from the backseat.
I grip the steering wheel tight, the city lights flashing through the windscreen. His presence presses in from the back—his smell, his weight, the fact that it’s him.
With a heavy sigh, I merge into the right lane and head to my apartment.
Why, God? Why are you throwing him into my path?
Declan is still out there in my car.
Two hours have crawled by since I picked him up at the bar. The street outside is quiet now, the streetlights filtering in through the window. By the time we got to my place, he was out cold. I couldn’t wake him, and there’s no way I could carry him into my apartment. So I opted for a cracked window and a silent prayer that he would be alright in there. I might want to kill Declan sometimes, but I would never actually do it.
