Chapter 5

5

JACK

Thankfully, only my father sits at the table in the dimly lit modern American restaurant. He and I have very little in common other than our love for cheeseburgers. I’ve never met one I don’t like.

As I take a seat opposite the old fox, he sips a scotch. I go for the gold, asking for a gallon of water because I need to hydrate. Also, saying something so ridiculous and pedestrian to a server at a swanky restaurant where every surface gleams, the liquid glows, and the lights glitter will annoy him.

“Did you catch the game?” I ask.

“The recap.”

“Then you saw the highlights.”

“Lowlights. Anyway, your time hanging around those puck bunnies, or whatever you call them, is over.”

I blink a few times. He’s right, but not for the reasons he thinks. I’m well aware that all the women who pursue me are after my money. Sometimes I feel like a drive-through ATM: show them a good time, buy them things, next! I learned to create boundaries and set clear expectations because I’m not looking for long-term love. We’d have a good time for a night, maybe a week. Then I lose their numbers. End of story.

Lately, it’s like I summoned a perfumed and hair-sprayed Hydra and can’t seem to shake it. Perhaps they’re replicating.

My father’s new wife is no different than the rest of the treasure-hunting females. “If I recall, Aston had a previous career as a fan girl.”

My father owns a football team and I’ve gleaned they met at an event for the Bucks, which I could not care less about … nor do I care about his relationship with the woman masquerading as my stepmother.

He forces a smile. “Speaking of, there’s the light of my life now.”

She breezes in, flouncing into my father’s lap and kissing him on his silver-stubbled cheek. He shifts her into the booth beside him. She gives him a puppy dog-eyed look and pouts a little.

Clearing his throat, he says, “Son, I believe an apology is in order.”

I’m not sure if it’s because I told her she’s not my mother or ordered she put on some clothing the last time I was at Dad’s. But my entire body internally convulses and gags.

Aston innocently bats her eyelashes at me. I was an only child, and this is what I imagine psychologists describe as sibling rivalry. She’s fighting for my father’s attention and, when all is said and done, his wealth.

“An apology? Sure. Aston, I’m sorry that you think that I don’t see right through you.”

“Jack,” my father warns.

I glare at them in turn. “The guard dog comes to your defense. Down, boy.”

“You will speak to me with respect or?—”

I say, “Then act like a man. ”

My father lowers his voice, “Is this about your mother?”

“If we’re going to discuss the topic of respect, how about respecting her memory?”

Palming her phone, Aston admires the top of her right hand—not the one with the giant golf ball of an engagement ring and the wedding band also encrusted with diamonds. A glint catches my eye and instead of going cold, heat rises through me like liquid magma burning through a volcano.

She flashes her hand. “I just got it resized, isn’t it lovely? It’s our first-month married anniversary gift.”

“That’s not the red diamond, is it?” I ask.

He flushes. “No. It’s a ruby.”

If my father dared give Aston the red diamond, Mom’s favorite of the gemstones in her collection, I would burn this place to the ground … right here. Right now.

Aston wraps herself around my father’s arm. “You said I could try it on soon, didn’t you, baby?”

“He’s old enough to be your father. Don’t call him baby. Though he is behaving like one,” I mutter.

My father’s fist pounds the table. “Jack. I thought our family could share a pleasant meal together. Discuss your career and future.”

I make a sound that’s somewhere between a gasp and a squawk. “Our family? Is she?—?”

Aston laughs. “No way am I having kids. If we want one of those things, we’ll adopt it or something. Oooh. Maybe a ferret.” She claps the tips of her hands together.

I can’t see my expression, but if I were to ask someone what it looks like, the best description would be grossly appalled.

All my life, I wanted siblings, but I wouldn’t trust Aston with a house plant. I haven’t thought much beyond next week, never mind the rest of my life, but I probably want children someday. However, the idea of Aston and my father spawning is revolting.

Dramatic, I know, but so is the turn things have taken.

The server arrives to take our order, but I stick with water. Aston asks for a steak she won’t eat and my father gets his gourmet cheeseburger.

He leans forward on the table and says, “Did your coach speak with you?”

“Yes. How’d you know about that?” He doesn’t need to answer because when you have as much money as Allain Bouchelle, you somehow know all things at all times. It’s disturbing.

He asks, “Are you going to finish the season or retire early?”

I look from him to Aston who busies herself with her phone.

Quite frankly, I haven’t given it much thought. The entire notion is on hold until I touch down on the island in a few hours.

My father says, “If I were you, I’d cut my losses.”

Just to be pesky, I ask, “What about you, Aston?”

Face aglow from her device, she looks up at me with wide eyes. “Uh, I don’t know. I’ve never had a job like that. But when I worked at the Clothing Carousel, I opted to get the twenty percent discount rather than pay into some kind of CIA, IRS, IRA plan—I can’t remember what it was called.”

I toss my father a sharp look as if to remind him that he did this to himself. If he’d found true love after losing Mom, I could’ve supported that, but Aston threw herself at him the moment she caught the scent of wealth and weaseled her way into his arms.

As harsh as this sounds, she doesn’t love him and he doesn’t love her. She makes him forget about mortality because she’s young and hot—by some standards. In exchange, he buys her things. The equation is that simple. I know this firsthand. I’m not proud to admit that I’ve been in similar situations, though the age gap didn’t span decades.

A pretty face can make me forget my woes, but then there’s the pretty woman that I’ll never forget.

My father says, “If you want my opinion, I say quit a winner.”

“What if I had another option?” I say, hinting at the Knights offer which is Plan Z. I started playing for the Storm and that’s how I intend to finish. It’s not because I’m stubborn or want to save face. Despite my dating scoreboard, I’m loyal to a fault—and I light the hockey lamp like none other. Well, until recently. Can’t seem to put enough pepper on the puck.

He snorts. “The Knights? They’re a straight-laced organization. They’d eat you alive.”

Historically speaking, the jab isn’t undeserved.

“You’re the one who’s been urging me to propose to Duchess Lucia. Where’s she from again?” I ask, so I make sure to avoid the country.

He grumbles.

She and I have never so much as gone out for coffee. I told Carlos not to put that on my calendar, so there won’t be an exchange of rings with foreign royalty. I joking call him Carlos of all Trades—my manager, assistant, and one of the few humans on the planet that I fully trust

The server brings our food and Aston steals some of my father’s truffle oil french fries before returning to her phone and letting her steak get cold.

“The Knights are a good team.” But not my team. Still, I intend to stoke the fire between my father and me until the blaze can be seen from space. Maybe it’s juvenile, but I’d rather have his attention than Aston take it with her greedy fingers.

It’s obvious he wants me to retire so he can leverage my position as his heir in whatever twisted business deals he runs.

While my father talks to me about the Sperry acquisition, Aston repeatedly peers up at me, giggles, and returns her attention to her brain-deadening device.

“Dare I ask what’s so amusing?”

“If you wanted to play for the Knights, you’d have to be serious.”

“Have you ever watched me play hockey? I take it very seriously.”

She wears a grin that makes me want to double check with my father’s lawyer, Stefan Smedley, that their prenuptial agreement is ironclad. Word in the social media-sphere is that she enjoys watching athletes more than a married woman should.

Aston clucks her tongue. “It’s just that a prerequisite for playing on the Knights is that you’re committed . To the game and a significant other. Your idea of a party isn’t the same as theirs. All the puck bunnies know that’s a no-fly zone.”

Perhaps I haven’t given her enough credit. She’s been listening.

My father adds, “For them, marriage and nights in with family are favored over partying on the town.”

“How do you know that?” I ask, but my glare sharpens as I belatedly realize he might have something to do with this abrupt attempt to coup me from the National Hockey League.

Wiping his mouth, he answers, “Word spreads fast, especially when it pertains to my son.”

I recall Remy calling me son , a first. Maybe he was just trying to lighten the blow of the bad news by endearing me to him. Or my father sees dollars flying out the window if I don’t tie the knot with the duchess—my reputation is at odds with that option, so perhaps he’s attempting to eliminate temptation and my career .

I’d like to punch something right now. But Aston is always on her phone, and the last thing I need for her is to post a video of me getting into a fight with the restaurant’s wall.

My father says, “You have a big opportunity with Bouchelle Luxury Properties.”

I almost don’t want to ask about my father’s involvement with my potential career status change because the truth will strip me down to the reality that everything the man does is about him winning.

Can I blame him? The coin doesn’t fall too far from the money tree because I never lose. Except lately with the Storm.

A plan forms in my mind. If the team managers, Remy, or whoever is trying to oust me, see that I’m the star player and am serious about the game as well as a relationship—like Aston suggested about the Knights—they’ll change their minds and decide to keep their most valuable player.

But right now, I’m out of here.

Without another word, I get up from the table, take Aston’s plate, complete with her untouched meal, and exit the restaurant.

I walk until the ritzy part of town is behind me. I reach a man wearing a raincoat even though it’s a clear night. His gaze is vacant until I sit down on the sidewalk next to him and pass him the plate.

He looks from it to me and back again.

“Go ahead. It’s a bit cold, but the best cut of ribeye in the city. Promise, you’ll enjoy it.”

He digs in while I remain there, sitting in silence, never before looking at the world from this vantage point—what people refer to as rock bottom. I’ve never been poor or wanted anything—other than my mother back.

When the guy moves onto the pile of potatoes, I say, “Sir, I have a question. You don’t have to answer, but if any advice comes to mind, I’d appreciate it if you shared.”

He looks at me like he’s not quite sure whether he’s hallucinating from perpetual hunger or I’m nuts.

“If you had to make a life-changing choice between sticking with what you know and venturing into the unknown, what would you do?”

He’s silent for a long moment, then in a hoarse voice, says, “I’d go home if I could. But since that’s not possible, I recommend prayer.”

The memory of saying a blessing over the secret menu meal I shared with Jasmin comes to mind the night we first officially met.

“Thank you,” he says as he polishes off the rest of the food.

“No, thank you, sir.” I start to walk away and then empty my wallet. “Get yourself a hotel for the night. Clean up and first thing in the morning, head over to Daley’s.”

“The fancy restaurant on Freemont Street?”

“If you want it, they’ll have a job waiting for you.” I’ll make a few calls. Ensure that it happens. “Work hard and you’ll be eating steak like that every night.”

The corner of his mouth quivers. “Thank you.”

I shake my head because I don’t know what I’m doing right now—this is well outside my usual wheelhouse. Ordinarily, post-game, I’d be at a club hooking up with a girl. I wouldn’t have had a serious conversation with my coach, suffered through twenty minutes of torture with my father and his child bride, or given a meal and all my pocket money to a homeless guy, but the last week shifted something inside me.

Made me want to live a little closer to what’s true and meaningful. I don’t know what that’ll look like after this weekend, but I’m ready to retreat and recover so I can find out.

So much for going out with a bang.