Page 86 of Penalty Box
“Thanks. I’ll have a double whiskey and Coke.”
I downed it in one swig, and immediately ordered another. Told him to keep ‘em coming, while the juke cycled through hits from the Golden Opry era. Enough time passed that I was able to predict the next song. Enough drinks that I was fine with singing along to the ones I knew.
I didn’t want to think about the game I wouldn’t be playing, or the arena I wasn’t in. The people I wasn’t with. I sure as hell didn’t want to think about Cass.
But she popped into my head anyway, uninvited, that one part of my brain still loyal to what we had. Her welding mask pushed up on her head, hair tied back. The way she smiled when she was proud of something, but tried not to show it. The way she looked at me like I was more than a game stat or a number on a jersey.
I wasn’t benched because I couldn’t play. Her dad could’ve sworn high and low, but it was obvious he benched me because of her. Which sucked even more that I ended things to keep him happy in the first place. It was like none of that mattered. He was still pissed I crossed the line he’d drawn in the sand.
I raked a hand through my hair and threw back another double. This wasn’t working. Four drinks in and instead of going numb, I was feeling more.
The bartender refused my next order. “I’m gonna tell you what I tell every guy who comes in here trying to drink away woman troubles. Only the woman in question can fix it.”
His advice was strong enough to get me to call an Uber all the way to Cass’ apartment. I knocked, nowhere near sober. No sound came from inside, and I knocked again.
“Cass!” More knocking. She had to be home. If not, I was ready to camp on her thrifted welcome mat until she got here. “Cass, it’s me!”
“Shut up!” It floated through one of her neighbor’s doors.
Made me cackle, and I was still laughing when Cass’ front door cracked open.
“What thehellare you doing here?”
I leaned against the doorframe, almost pushing all the way inside. “Ma’am, I wanted to talk to you about your car’s extended warranty.”
“Oh, God, you’re drunk.” She made a show of waving away the fumes from my breath. It didn’t slow my roll one bit.
“How dare you?You’redrunk,” I said, deeply offended. “Now invite me in.”
“Go home, Mason,” she said, holding onto the door like she was still deciding whether or not to slam it in my face.
I adjusted my shoulder on the doorframe, missed, and staggered forward. Right into her. Cass’ hands shot out to keep us both from hitting the deck, and we stumbled into her living room.
“Ta-da!” I wanted to make a sweeping gesture with my arms, but it threw me off balance and I ended up flailing instead.
“Jesus, just sit down before you knock yourself out,” Cass said, leading me to her couch.
I flopped down and my head fell back, suddenly too heavy. “Got benched. But don’t worry, your dad said it’s nothing personal. Me? I’m very relieved about that. So relieved it’s not personal. Personally, that’s how I feel. About it being personal or not.”
“Okay, you’re going to stop talking while I brew a pot of strong coffee,” she said, already making her way to the kitchen. “You’ll be fine by the time the game starts.”
The game. As if I wanted to watch.
After my second cup, my head started to clear. But only a little. It was enough to register the icy glare she locked on me from the other end of the couch. That’s when guilt and embarrassment took over.
“I shouldn’t have come here. Sorry.” I focused on the tendrils of steam rising from the cup in my hands.
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she said. “You don’t get to make me your first port of call after bumping me to second place in your life. What was it…? Oh, hockey’s the only thing you want. Right?”
My throat burned with something that wasn’t coffee.
“Today was rough. I wanted to see you.”
Her laugh was sharp and ice cold. “No, you wanted to feel sorry for yourself somewhere you don’t have to look in the mirror.”
“That’s not fair.” I set down my cup and made to close the distance between us. She flinched back, and I stopped.
“Nothing about this is fair,” she said, her voice brittle. “You show up wasted, benched, and I’m supposed to what—console you? When I’m the ‘wrong move’ you couldn’t afford to make?”
