Page 6 of The Last Guy On Earth
“De nada,” says Jethro carefully. And Clay laughs.
FOUR
Clay
It’s game day,and I have a routine that I never break: greet the players, check in with the training staff, review any injuries. Later, there’ll be a pregame video session followed by a coach’s meeting to finalize the starting lineup.
That’s how it’s supposed to go. But today’s routine has gone to hell. I can’t function. I drive home in a daze, ignoring all my messages. I stare into my refrigerator, having no memory of what I bought for lunch.
I used to cook for him. He liked that a lot.
God, what is wrong with me? I grab the deli package of smoked ham and slap together a sandwich. I need to pull myself together. There’s two games left before our brief Christmas break. And right after that…
I take a deep breath and try not to panic.
After a hasty meal, I drive into Denver and lock myself away in the small office I use at the arena. I sit down at the desk and pulla 4x6 card and a pen from the drawer. I write down the date andStarting Lineup.
But then I stall out, unable to finish a single lucid thought, because Jethro Hale and I are in the same zip code. And I’m suddenly twenty-four years old again, and heartbroken.
Fifteen years ago, I fell hard for him, and I thought he felt the same. But then he ripped my heart out and threw it away. A lot of time has passed, but this ache in my chest says I never really got over it.
Now I’m supposed to be hiscoach? If it weren’t so awful it would almost be funny. Whatever I did to piss off the universe, it must have been big.
There’s a quiet tap on the door.
“Yeah?” I say, knowing it’s my assistant Liana on the other side. I lift my chin as the door opens, trying to look calm.
Liana appears, looking impeccable as always. Her hair is wound into a soft knot. Her suit is Cougar blue, her shoes shiny. And she’s giving me one of her serious frowns. My assistant has the remarkable ability to say a lot with just one facial expression. Some of her serious frowns are thoughtful, some of them judgmental.
This one says,What the hell, Clay?
“Coach,” she says slowly. “Is something wrong?”
You have no idea. “No, why?”
Her frown shifts to reflect incredulity. “Murph has been trying to reach you for hours.”
“I had some things to take care of,” I lie, hoping she doesn’t ask what. “Anything I need to know?”
Her expression hardens, like she can’t believe I’d stoop so low as to blow off all my responsibilities and then pretend like it’s no big deal. And she’s right—this isn’t me. I always do what’s necessary for the team, no matter what.
“Jethro Hale has arrived at the arena. You need to introduce him.”
My stomach drops.
“And while we’re on the topic of Hale, we’re putting him up at the Four Seasons for a few days. But today I found him a rental in Rocky Bluffs that he can move into within the week.”
“Rocky Bluffs?” That’s the condo complex where I live. “Why there?”
Her frown returns in force. “Immediate availability of a three-bedroom, which he needs. And since I’ve been there to drop things off for you, I knew it had a playground. He has a kid.”
Akid? Afamily. Holy crap. He must be married, and somehow, I never heard about it. It’s not like I google him. But hockey is a small world.
Could this get any weirder? I’ll probably meet his wife at the next charity event. I’ll be standing there in my tux, a smile painted on my face, trying to forget how much her husband liked it when I used to get down on my knees…
“Coach?”
“Yeah?” I say, jerking back into the present.
