Page 85 of The Last Guy On Earth
“You seriously told travel you like the second floor, so we never end up in adjoining rooms?”
“Well, yeah.” I shrug. “Because if we did, I’d be knocking on your door again, looking for a loophole. I’d be dragging you over to the bed and tying you to the headboard.”
He swallows roughly, and his Adam’s apple bobs.
“Yeah, I know,” I say. “That would be a terrible idea, because you’d just run from me in the morning, and we’d start this whole pain loop over again, am I right?”
Those clear eyes edge away from me. “Probably.”
“Yeah, I thought so. But that brings me around to a very important point. For the love of God, don’t give Duckson any power over your headspace. He doesn’t deserve it. He’s just a smack talker. He doesn’t actually know we were once a thing. And now we’renota thing, no matter how many dirty dreams I have about you, or how often I wonder what it would be like to be your dishwasher in chief again. So. Why. Are. You. Worrying?”
He props his head in one hand. “You make a few good points. It’s just…” He trails off. “I don’t spend a lot of time second-guessing my job or the decisions I make in this building. But lately I spend a lot of time second-guessing my personal life.”
I study his frown, wishing I could kiss it away. I know my strengths, and I’m better in bed than I am at discussing the heavy shit. “Are you second-guessing your whole life because I showed up in it? Or is it because Newgate came out? Or is it because you’re almost forty, and you’re having a midlife crisis?”
“All of the above?” He eats another pretzel.
“So you’re having a difficult year. Aren’t we all.” I kick him under the table. “But screw Fuckson and all his stupid pictures. He played, what, three NHL games before he got bounced back to the minors?”
“Did he?” Clay asks distractedly.
“Yeah. But that’s my point—every guy in those photos left hockey a decade ago. They’re still dining out on their old war stories, because that’s all they’ve got. You have a big career anda team that could win you a championship ring. You can’t get all up in your head over Duckson, because, as I reminded you earlier, you gave me theworsthard time about reacting the same way to him fifteen years ago.”
The corner of Clay’s mouth tips up for the first time. “Fuck me, I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah. And secondly, if you don’t do the crime, you shouldn’t do the time. If you let him get to you, then my sacrifices here count for nothing.” I spread my arms apart and flex. Ridiculously. “This is what you’re missing. So there better be a good fucking reason.”
“God, will you stop?” He gives me an exasperated glance and swats across the table at me. “I get it. Point made.”
I do another ridiculous flex because the room’s sole window looks out on the running loop, where exactly nobody is standing. “You gonna calm down now?”
“Yes,” he says grudgingly.
I push back my chair and get up. “Good. I gotta go do some squats, so I can out-lift the youngsters who want me to retire. And also, so I can look good naked.”
Okay, maybe that last comment was a little over the top. But on my way out the door, Clay gives me a hungry look that makes it all worth it.
If I have to suffer, so does he.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Clay
We playMinnesota on March thirteenth, with Hale in the net. He gets his first shutout for Colorado, and the scoreboard reads 4-0 after the third period. The whole bench erupts with joy, because this win clinches our playoffs spot.
Marchthirteenth. It’s the earliest clinch date of my coaching career. That has to mean something.
Right?
Immediately after the game, the crotchety old team owner calls me to congratulate me, and I try to sound humble. “It was a group effort. We’re working hard, here.”
He clears his throat in my ear. “Great to see that our backup goaltender isn’t stinking it up anymore. At least against a crap team like Minnesota.”
“He’s doing well, Mr. Silbert,” I say mildly. “At this point I’m more worried about Volkov’s back and Wheeler’s knee.”And Pierre’s potential drug problem. “We’ll try to stay on top of it all.”
“See that you do,” he says.
We all celebrate in our own ways, I guess. Jethro shows up to drink NA beers at the hotel bar. Kapski passes outwoven bracelets to the whole organization that say,THIS IS A COUGARS YEAR.
