Breaking the Ice (11 page)

  
Fuck the Devils and their stupid, fucking Stanley Cup. I hope they lose.
Then I won’t have to see Avery Fucking Brooks ever again.

   I looked over at the TV just in time to see the final score.

   Ducks – 1. Devils – 0.

   For those keeping score at home, that makes
two
games the home team lost tonight.

Chapter Thirteen

   Game Seven of the finals was Saturday night.

   The bar was normally pretty busy on the weekends, but tonight, it was completely out of control. We typically only managed to draw this many people whenever there was a big-name band on the schedule.

   Or, I guess, a big game.

   We were a sports pub year-round, but a hockey bar first and foremost. The fact that our boys were currently starring in the show created an atmosphere of apocalyptic proportions.

   Every television set was on and tuned to NBC. Every stool was taken, every inch of floor space was occupied, and every glass was filled.

   Just the way I liked it. If the bar did business like this every weekend, I’d have an easier time keeping out of the red.

   I suppose our family was luckier than most, in that we actually were able to access the cash necessary to pay my father’s hospital bills. But it wiped out my parents’ small savings, and took almost every penny of the money I’d socked away from my cushy NHL days. At the age of twenty-three, after everything I’d worked for, I was back to Square One.

   Now here it was four years later, and I hadn’t yet advanced to Square Two.

   Mom was living off Dad’s life insurance, which was normally enough for her since the house had been paid off. But that didn’t mean my brothers and I didn’t slip her an extra bit of pocket money every now and again. They were supplementing her income way more than I was lately, because even though we didn’t really discuss it, everyone knew I didn’t have that much to give. Besides, I’d already paid more than my fair share. And because I’d done that, it freed my brothers up to get their lives started. They were all doing pretty well for themselves these days.

   Though I guess you wouldn’t be able to tell that from the state they were in tonight.

   I looked over to the hightop table where my brothers set up shop hours ago. They wanted the best spot in the house, so Wyatt got here early this afternoon to stake his claim, and had downed about a hundred beers since. Bash met him a couple hours later and Finn didn’t crawl in until a minute before face-off, but it looked as though they’d both made up for lost time. As evidenced by the sentinel of bottles crowding the table, I guessed they’d found a way to catch up to Wyatt.

   Bash—we rarely called him Sebastian—was the oldest. He was thirty-six, but don’t tell him I told you that. He liked to think he could still pass as a guy in his twenties, and none of us had the heart to burst his bubble. These days, he was a music teacher at a nearby high school, but back in ‘99, he was hauling lumber down at the docks while he worked on getting his teaching degree. Whenever one of us got pissed at him, “Al Bundy” was our preferred insult, as Bash used to be one hell of a football player back in his teen years, and we all knew he’d go back in time to his glory days if given the chance. It was kind of a jugular shot, though, so we tended to save it for only the most pressing circumstances.

   Fact is, he tried to milk every ounce of fame out of his football persona way longer than he should have, and wound up riding it right into the ground. It got embarrassing there for a little while, so I was glad he cut that out finally. And hell, the guy was pushing forty and he was in better shape than the lot of us. I didn’t go out of my way to piss him off too often. There was always the chance I could take him in a fight, but I wasn’t looking to test that theory.

   Finn was a decently successful stockbroker out in New York. He liked to think he was a real slick bastard, as evidenced by the fact that his nickname out there in the city was “The Shark.” If you ask me, I think he’s the one that came up with it, but seeing as how he didn’t expect any of us to call him that, I couldn’t give two shits what he went by when he wasn’t here.

   Finn had a model-hot girlfriend in New York… and another just-as-gorgeous girl right here in Norman. I didn’t know if they knew about each other and I didn’t
want
to know. It’s not like I had to see either of them all too often, so I just kept my mouth shut when I did. Chances were, neither of them would be around too long anyway;
The Shark
had an image to uphold. Case in point: The dude was wearing a suit. On a Saturday. I didn’t know who the hell he was trying to impress, but I couldn’t imagine anyone here was thinking he just came from the office.

   Rounding out the honor roll was Wyatt, whom everyone still referred to as “The Riot” even though his wild days were long over. He was making a pretty respectable living as manager of the sports complex one town over. The place was huge, with a full-size turf football field inside and another one outside, too, that doubled as a soccer field. Out back were three baseball diamonds with batting cages, and there was a driving range and mini-golf course adjacent to the domed hockey arena, where Wyatt and I used to spend practically every moment of our free time back in the day.

   He’d been working there ever since he was a snot-nosed teenager. He was a hockey player like me, only he never had any intentions of going pro. After my knee healed, he used to badger me about getting back on the ice, but after a while, he just gave up. He knew I wasn’t going back out there.

   I knew he found it strange, because our lives had practically revolved around sports. My brothers and I were raised to be athletes, cheering each other on, excelling in our chosen games.

   Me and Wyatt were the hockey players, and I didn’t think my brother got his fair share of the credit for being as good as he was, being that I was the one who turned pro and all. I knew he was still playing the town leagues, still sleepwalking out of bed for those three AM ice times, still playing his heart out.

   Finn was our baseball player, but he spent more of his energy making time with the ladies than working on his swing. Even still, he was a better-than-passable athlete.

   Even Bash, with all his talent, never took his game to the next level. He only did the college football thing for a single semester before dropping off the team. He’d followed some girl out to Michigan when he knocked her up, and that move put an end to his university run. She lost the baby; he lost his scholarship. And man, was my father
pissed
.

   After that, I think all their sports dreams were put onto me, and goddammit if it didn’t kill me that I let them all down.

   They’d all worked here at one time or another in their younger years, just like me. Unlike me, however, they’d grown up and moved on. I was essentially still slinging the drinks. Kind of fucked up to realize that the tables had turned. I don’t even know when it happened. I went from being the hero of the family to being its biggest disappointment.

   Just to be clear, I didn’t begrudge them their success. They’re my family, so of course I only wanted to see them accomplish great things, like they were already doing. I was actually proud that I was the one who was able to save us all those years ago, that I was able to step up, even if it led to the unenviable financial situation that I was in now. Any one of them would’ve done the same for me if I asked.

   I just never asked, is all.

   I headed over to their table and had to nudge some empties out of the way in order to deposit the full round of Buds. Rachel was normally pretty good at busing the hightops, but seeing as she had a few shots in her already, she was obviously less concerned with doing her job and more concerned about having a good time. She’d spent most of her night whooping it up with the rowdy group of hockey fans in the corner. On a night like this, I couldn’t very well play the overbearing boss when I had a few drinks in me myself. It was the Stanley Cup finals, for godsakes, and she knew damn well I’d be letting her get away with it tonight.

   Sebastian downed the last of his beer and grabbed for one of the new bottles. “To bringing home the motherfucking Cup!” he shouted at the top of his lungs. Everyone in the place went nuts, shouting back at him as he raised his beer and downed about half of it. I clinked mine against some nearby drinks then took a swig myself. Goddamn, it felt good to love this game again.

   Felix had put together a couple of six-foot subs, and Wyatt had about half of one crammed in his maw when he said, “Holy shit. Can you imagine they actually win? Zac, you gotta get us into that party.”

   “Let’s just see what happens, okay? No use talking about next week if we don’t get through tonight.”

   “Don’t be such a pessimist,” he said. At least I thought that’s what he said. It was hard to understand him when he was speaking through a mouthful of food.

   “I’m not,” I defended. “I’m just being realistic.”

   Finn shot a raised eyebrow in my direction. “
That
is half your problem.”

   “What the fuck is
that
supposed to mean?” I asked, shooting him a dirty look in the process.

   I caught the silent exchange between Finn and Bash, their eyes meeting in a brief accord. I was waiting for one of them to speak up, but neither one of them did. At least not to explain Finn’s comment.

   Bash ran his palms across his forehead, his fingers spiking into his hair. “Holy shit. I think I’m drunk already.”

   “I think you’re right, Chris Farley.” Wyatt gestured to Bash’s hair which was sticking straight out from his head.

   We were cracking up already, but when Bash broke into “Fat Guy in a Little Coat,” we absolutely lost our shit. Jesus. Growing up in a house with four boys was entertaining enough. But growing up in an
Irish
house with four boys was like living in a twenty-four-hour comedy club. No wonder my mother’s laugh lines were etched so deep.

   Finn pulled out a cigarette, enduring our groans of displeasure. I waved Rachel over to clear the table before my brother could use one of the empties for an ashtray. She grabbed him a replacement tray and gathered up the bottles, taking three trips before the table could be considered clean. She even delivered a fresh round—which was not her job—but I guess she figured she’d better step up her game before I gave her the ax.

   Not that I ever would.

   Maybe it wasn’t the best business practice, but when I hired someone, it normally meant that I was stuck with them for life. Felix and Alice came with the place, but my full-time guy Denny and my Sunday guy Scott were my own personal finds. My cocktail waitress Farrah pulled double-duty for me; she worked the restaurant during the week, then served drinks in the bar on the weekends. And Rachel… Actually, I don’t remember hiring Rachel. She was a tattooed-and-pierced little hellraiser who used to come in and drink pretty regularly. One day, she just up and started working here, and I eventually put her on the books.

   But every last one of my employees was loyal to me in their own way, and for that, they received my enduring gratitude. I watched how my father handled his workers for all those years, and I guess I picked up a thing or two. The most essential of which was to always let your employees know how much you valued their contribution to your business. “I couldn’t do this without you” went a long way, and more importantly, it was the truth. And when a person felt appreciated, they went above and beyond to try and please you, to pay that respect back. If they felt they were part of a team, then they had a vested interest in seeing that team win. That mentality held true whether the employee in question was a high-level executive at some Fortune 500 office building… or a degenerate working some two-bit bar.

   I swear, this place was like The Island of Misfit Toys. My employees were a mixed breed, to say the least.

   I couldn’t have put together a better crew if I tried.

Chapter Fourteen

   I woke up with a killer hangover, the likes of which I hadn’t experienced in many, many months. My drinking the night before was three parts celebration and one part drowning my sorrows. In either case, it was hard not to join in with such an elated crowd last night.

   The cheers were deafening at the final buzzer but that’s when the real drinking started. I tried to forget that I was the only person in that room who had any reason to feel apprehensive about their victory. And even then, that apprehension wasn’t enough for me to avoid getting lost in the moment. I forgot about the fact that I was merely an ex-player. I forgot about the fact that I’d been fired from the very team whose triumph I was toasting at that moment. I forgot about the consequences of having to see Avery again if they won. When it came right down to it, my boyhood idols—and onetime contemporaries—had just won their third championship inside of a decade. Do you have any idea how rare that is? It really was a spectacular victory.

   My thinking was fuzzy, and there was a buzzing on the edges of my brain. I shook myself awake and realized the buzzing was actually a ringing, and reached over to grab the phone off its cradle.

   I went to say hello, but it came out sounding more like, “Mrho?”

   “Heck of a game last night, huh.”

   Avery.

   I checked the clock on my nightstand, still half-asleep and wondering why she’d be calling at such an ungodly hour. Oh wait. It was after ten.

   “Yeah. Heckuva game.”

   “Is it awful that a small part of me was rooting against them?”

   In spite of my pounding head, I gave a chuckle. “No. I was doing the same thing. I’m glad they won, though.”

   “Me too,” she sighed.

   There was a pause in the exchange, our fight from the week before rolling around in both our minds. Neither one of us knew what to say about it. Thankfully, Avery launched in first. “Look. I’m really sorry about my outburst the other night. I said some not-so-nice things. Our fight never would have happened if I hadn’t come up to your apartment with such a chip on my shoulder.”

   It was big of her to accept responsibility, but it’s not as though I could let her take all the blame. “Yeah, me, too. I was being smug and conceited and I was doing everything I could to ruffle your feathers.”

   I thought I heard her smile on the other end of the line. No, seriously, I swear I could hear her grinning as she offered, “So… seeing as how we’ll be stuck with each other all week… can we call a truce?”

   “Yeah. Truce,” I snickered.

   “Do you mind if I stop in later? I have a vanload of hats and T-shirts to drop off. You do have somewhere we can start stockpiling all this stuff, right? Per our agreement in the contract?”

   “Yeah, sure. I can close off the pool room this week. We can just put everything in there. Per our agreement in the contract.”

   That made her giggle. “Are you mocking me, Zac?”

   “Just trying to keep everything on the up and up, Miss Brooks.”

   “Strictly business, you mean?”

   I took a deep breath. “Yeah. I don’t know. I think maybe it’s for the best, right?”

   There was a silent pause on her end, and I envisioned her twirling a lock of that auburn hair around her finger as she thought. “Yes. You’re probably right, Zac. We have a pretty hectic week ahead of us, and there’s no reason we can’t get through it in one piece. Keeping things on a more professional level might be the best way to ensure that that happens.”

   “Sounds good.”
If by good, I mean ‘like shit.’

   “See you later?”

   “See you later.”

   I rolled my sorry ass out of bed and started my morning routine. I took the cover off Magnum’s cage which had him immediately squawking and chattering away, the happy, time-to-start-the-day yammering in which he always indulged. “
Good morning! Good morning! Rise and shine!”

   I was glad for his company most of the time, even if he rarely shut the fuck up. But Magnum was part of a package deal. He came with the apartment. Besides, we’d known each other since I was five. He was one of the few constants in my life.

   I tossed a hunk of leftover Italian bread into the opened door of his cage and gave him a quick rub along his wings. I left the door open so he could escape if he so chose, and more often than not, he’d welcome the jail break. I normally let him free-roam around the apartment during the few hours I started my morning every day. So, it was as I was putting on a pot of coffee when I felt him nudging against my calf.

   “Hey buddy. You may need to steer clear today. I’m not as surefooted as I normally am, and I don’t want to see you get squished.”

   I must have sparked a memory, because Magnum started in with one his oldies, a rousing rendition of Bobby Darin’s “Splish Splash.”

  
In spite of my hangover, I found myself chuckling. “Yeah, buddy. You’re right. Let’s throw on some music.”

   I lifted him up onto my shoulder as I headed for the stereo and threw on a rock station. “Backyard” was the first song we heard, which was one hell of a way to start a day. The band that sings it used to play The Westlake back in the early nineties. They never forgot this place, though. Even after they became sort of famous, they’d still come back every now and again to play a night. One of the guys was a local, a cousin of my next door neighbors growing up. Bash and him used to jam together a little bit when they were teenagers.

   I wondered if he was still in touch with him? If so, I thought maybe I could give the guy a call, see if I could get Thunderjug to book a few nights to come back here and play. They always drew a huge crowd. The bar could use that kind of excitement around here again.

   I supposed it would be exciting around here soon enough.

   The party was scheduled for the following Saturday, and from the chatter last night, I guessed the whole town already knew. In a town this small, nothing stayed secret for very long.

   I put Magnum on his “tree” and hit the showers. The water helped to obliterate my headache, but I was definitely moving a little slower than usual.

   Stepping out of the shower, I swiped the steam from the mirror in order to shave my face, assessing the damage staring back at me. My skin was looking a little pale (but that could’ve been due to the fact that I didn’t spend my days lounging around in the sun), and my normally green eyes were surrounded with red. I didn’t think my odds were too hot that I’d find some Visine in the medicine cabinet. Now that it wasn’t covered in stubble, the scar on my chin was more pronounced; a souvenir from one wicked pissa of a game back in my BC days when I took a biscuit to the face. Kept all my teeth, at least. And I guessed my hair was looking okay.

   Decent hair, a clean-shaven jaw… and teeth. That was about as good as it was going to get.

   Sitting at my table with a bowl of French Toast Crunch, I attempted to slam down some breakfast. Magnum was perched on my shoulder, picking at the slices of apple next to my napkin when he wasn’t bopping along with the stereo. He was uncharacteristically quiet until there was a knocking at my door.

   “
Knock knock
!
Knick knack
!
Sharona
!” he screamed in my ear.

   What the hell? The only way to my apartment was through the bar, and that was locked up until we opened for business. Felix must’ve been on fire or something, because he didn’t normally bother me at home.

   I answered the door to find Avery standing there, which pretty much knocked the wind right out of my gut. She took one look at me with my bird on my shoulder and busted up laughing. “Arrrrrggggh, matey! Where’s your patch?”

   “What are you doing here?” I managed to ask without much difficulty. Thankfully, her playful tone paved the way for an easy reunion, because I’d been a little worried about having to see her again.

   “Helloooo. You get slammed into the wall one too many times? I just called to
tell
you I was coming over today.”

   “Yeah, but I thought you meant, like,
later
today.”

   “Sorry. I got anxious again.”

   “They have pills for that, you know.”

* * *

   Avery flipped the stopper and closed the door, locking it behind me as I carried in the last box from the van and plunked it on top of the bar. There were about a million more just like it stacked along two walls of my pool room, all the promotional stuff to give away at the event. I was going to have to go through them and put together a few care packages for my brothers as an apology. There was a good chance I wouldn’t be able to get them into the party, and I wasn’t looking forward to letting them down. I was thinking maybe some official NHL championship hats would serve as a peace offering.

   We’d been screwing around all morning, busting chops and trying to one-up each other with the amount of stuff we could carry. Such a simple task shouldn’t have been so entertaining, but it was.

   Avery let out with a heavy breath and then bemoaned, “Oh my God! It’s so hot out today! How are we supposed to focus on hockey when it’s practically summer?”

  
You’re telling me.

   I swiped an arm across my forehead, wiping away the moisture that had materialized during our busywork in the scorching sun. At this rate, I was going to need a second shower. I took a look at Avery, who was flushed and out of breath from our box-transporting ordeal, her hairline damp with sweat. She looked hot. Maybe she needed a shower, too. Maybe we could take one together.

   Apparently, I needed a cold one.

   I shook the image from my brain as I made my way behind the bar. “How ‘bout a drink? Water sound good?”

   “Water sounds
perfect
. Thank you.”

   The bar wasn’t set to open until twelve on Sundays, so I knew not to expect Scott for a few more minutes.

   Which was good, because it gave me a little more time to be alone with Avery.

   I’d have been grateful for the fact that she wasn’t wearing one of those damned skirts again today, but she’d opted for a pair of stretchy pants instead. The frigging things outlined the perfect proportions of her sweet little ass, and I couldn’t decide whether it was that or her legs that were causing me the greater agony.

   Both. Definitely both.

   Cut it out, Zac. Strictly professional, remember?

  
I grabbed us a couple bottles and took a seat on the stool next to hers. She cracked the cap and downed half her drink before letting out with a breathless, “Ahhh! Wow, I needed that.”

   I could use a bit of cooling down myself. I took a swig from my own drink, then rolled the bottle across my forehead, practically groaning with relief. When I opened my eyes, I saw Avery staring at me in a sidelong glance, her lips quirking in an almost imperceptible smirk.

   “What?” I asked.

   She shook her head and refocused her attentions on the bottle in her hands. “Nothing.”

   “What?” I asked again. “What’s that look?”

   “I said it was nothing.”

   “Ave, I know when there’s something going on in that overactive brain of yours. You were definitely thinking more than ‘nothing.’ C’mon, spill it.”

   She huffed out a laugh. “Noooo. No, I’m not going there. Drop it, Zac.”

   “No.”

   “No?”

   I gave out a sigh. “Look, Ave. I think today was a good turning point for us. I had fun working with you. You made
unloading boxes
fun. I know I said we should keep things strictly business, but… I’d like us to be friends again. And we can’t really do that when you’ve got this wall up between us. I know we didn’t really end things so great all those years ago, but—”

   “No. You’re right.
We
didn’t.”

   I was caught off guard by the tone of her voice. “What do you mean?”

   “You know exactly what I mean.
We
didn’t end things at all.
You
did. On that note, you can’t really end something that never actually started.”

   I took a big inhale. Apparently, it was time to straighten some shit out. “We doing this?”

   She was flipping the cap around her fingertips as she answered, “No.”

   That made me chuckle. “Look, Ave… I wasn’t exactly…
boyfriend
material
back then. I hope I never led you to believe otherwise.” That was a lie. The truth was, I was more than ready to stop all the running around. Back then, sex in mass quantity was as much a part of my life as breathing. One night with her, and suddenly, I could give it all up. I
wanted
to.

   “You didn’t. I mean, not at first. I saw the way you were with those girls.”

   “I was an ass.”