Page 45 of The Last Guy On Earth
Now he’s avoiding the bar, which isn’t a good move for a guy who still isn’t gelling with his teammates. So that’s probably my fault, too.
“Still not here,” says Murph, who’s suddenly at my elbow.
I turn to him so fast that pain stabs my neck. “Who are you looking for?”
“Hale.” Murph shrugs. “Same as you, right?”
Fuck. Am I that transparent? “I just wondered if he was going to put in some face time with his team.”
“Same,” Murph grumbles, handing me a fresh drink. “Does he think he’s too good for us? I already texted him my displeasure.”
Hell. I really need to apologize to Hale. “Thanks for the scotch,” I mutter, eager to get off the subject of Hale. Whenever his name comes up with the coaching staff, I can never figure out where to rest my gaze or my hands.
“Youboughtthe scotch,” he says cheerily. “Figured you might as well drink some.”
I sigh. Then I take another sip.
“So what are we gonna do about Hale?” Murph asks. “He played like a rookie tonight.”
My answer is cautious. “The trade is still raw. We have to appreciate that it’s been disruptive to his life and obviously his game.”
“He’d better figure it out fast,” Murph says with a sigh. “This happens in hockey, right? And Liana is a miracle worker. I’m sure she’s getting the family situated. Although the week between Christmas and New Year’s is a weird time to move.”
“That’s right,” I agree. “A weird time.” I don’t add that everything is more complicated when it’s Hale. Everything.
“What’s up, gentlemen?” Kapski asks, sidling over to us.
“Not Jethro Hale,” Murphy snorts. “He should be here with the team. You seen him?”
Kapski frowns. “Nope. He didn’t sign autographs with us after the Brooklyn game, either. Does he not get that he should show his face?” He pulls his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a few times, then lifts it to his ear.
I take another gulp of scotch. Isn’t there anything else we could be discussing? Another player? The shitty visitors’ dressing room in Trenton? Our golf handicaps?
“No pickup,” Kapski says. “The balls on that guy.”
I’m familiar with his balls, offers up my stupid brain.
“Welp.” I set my glass down. Somehow, it’s already close to empty. “I think I’m done for the night.” I tell Murph, “Cut the rest of the guys off in another half hour and make them go to bed. And be sure to get my credit card back.”
“Will do,” he says. “What’s left of it anyway.”
As I head for the elevator bank, I unpocket my phone and pull up the travel manifest. Hale is staying on the fourth floor, same as me.
On my way up in the elevator, I have a terrible thought. What if he picked up a woman? Maybe there’s a reason he’s too busy to come down to the bar.
My stomach bottoms out as I walk to room 407. Maybe this was a terrible idea.
When I pause at his door, I hear him talking on the other side. “I’m sorry this is so hard, Toby,” he says, sounding exhausted. “It’s not the scenario I would have chosen for us. But you can handle it. I know you can. It’s going to be okay.”
Oh hell. Talking his kid off a ledge isn’t a scenario I’d anticipated.
“Good night, buddy,” he says. “We’ll talk again tomorrow.” And then it’s quiet again.
I count to three and then knock. He won’t be happy to see me, but I need to do the right thing and apologize.
The door flies open. He must have been standing right on the other side. “Coach,” he says.
I give him a quick scan, noting he’s wearing nothing but low-slung sweatpants.
