16. Grey

Grey

I missed Ellie the way I'd miss my right arm and both legs.

After a particularly brutal practice that left me extremely sore and uncommonly tired, I didn't drive straight home from the rink. Instead, I stopped to down a few drinks at a pub I sometimes frequented.

Okay. More than a few.

In catching the eyes of both bartenders, I suspected the inevitable. Sure enough, the bigger of the two, a young dude with a bald head covered in tats ambled toward me. His bared biceps also held multiple tats. Arms with enough muscle to take me down should I offer a fight.

In my current condition, that was.

"Okay, gramps," he said, his tone genial. "Keys."

I blinked owlishly, pretending I had no idea what he was talking about. "Why?"

"Don't make me the bad guy here. Keys."

"How'm I ‘s'pose to get home?"

"Taxi, Uber, Lyft, take your pick. I'll even get one here when you're ready to leave."

I sighed, put out, and dug in my pocket for my car keys. "Leave me m'house key."

"Which one is it?"

I pointed out the correct one, and he took it off the ring before slapping it down on the bar.

"Need another round?"

"Sure, as long as y'asked politely."

As he had my credit card number, I'd no need to think about paying my tab while inebriated. He returned with another tumbler of whiskey, set it on the tiny paper napkin. He ignored the sour glance I sent him and left me to serve another patron further down the bar. The place wasn't full, yet it contained enough folks to keep both bartenders fairly busy.

I lifted my tumbler to sip from it when a sharp slap on my back nearly spilled the contents over my chin, my shirt, and the polished bar.

"Grey, you old prick," Devon Chambers exclaimed cheerfully. "How's it hanging?"

Devon, who played defense for the Vipers, sat on the barstool to my right. Nearly as big as I was, he was about eight years younger than me with an odd mix of blond and gray hair. His pale gray eyes took in my bleary state, and his welcoming smile faded.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah. Just havin' a few."

The big bartender wandered back to take Devon's order. Devon nodded his greeting, and asked for a Bud. The tatted dude left to draw a bottle from the cooler, and returned, setting it in front of him.

"Plan to start a tab?" he asked.

"No." Devon pulled out a few bucks and pushed it across to him. "Keep the change."

Devon turned his attention to me then.

He eyed me again with growing concern. "Dude, you were a monster at practice tonight. What happened since?"

I shrugged and sipped my whiskey. "Dunno. Got too much on m'mind, I guess."

"Drowning your sorrows?"

"Can't. Lil fuckers swim better'n I do."

Devon laughed. "Come on. Tell me what's up."

I hesitated. Devon was no Steve. Steve adored his gossip and spread it faster than an old women's sewing circle. Devon, though, was steady, sharply intelligent, and if any rumors passed his mouth, I never heard of them. Among all the Vipers, coaches, and employees, I'd always liked Devon the best.

"I think I'm in love, man," I finally admitted.

"No shit?" Devon leaned his elbows on the bar, then took a pull from the bottle. "Is this a celebration, then?"

"She's twenty-two."

"Okaaay…" Devon drew the word out. "Big age difference, but no biggie. It's not like you're sweet on a fifteen-year-old."

I grimaced. "Gross, man. I ain't no ped."

"So what's the problem? She don't love you back?"

"She's Colton's ex."

Devon hissed through his teeth. "Ouch."

"Yeah."

He took a long thoughtful pull on his beer, then said, "If they're broken up, I still say there's no problem. She's free to do what she wants, yeah? Does she love you in return?"

"Dunno. We sorta agreed I'm too old for her."

"So instead of talking to her, you're sitting here drinking yourself under the table."

"I love 'er, man."

"Then talk to her, you dumb shit. Explore the possibilities. See how she feels. Lay it on the line. Grow a spine."

"And if the papers find out?" I eyed him sidelong through my blurry eyes. "I'm toast."

Devon shook his head. "How many more years do you have, bro? I mean, I don't want to shortchange you, but you're a year or two away from retirement. You won't be able to compete with the kids for much longer."

I nodded. "Owners plan to offer a new contract."

"Will you accept?"

"Dunno."

"No doubt about it," he went on, "you'd have a second career as a coach. Write your own ticket, go anywhere you want."

"‘Cept Toronto."

Devon laughed. "They'd take you in a heartbeat, bro. You're too good for them to hold a grudge."

I half shrugged, half nodded, too drunk at the moment to consider a new career. My mind wandered to Ellie. I thought blearily about what she was doing at that very moment. Sleeping, most likely. I pictured her perfect face as she dreamed, her dark hair with the goofy streak of purple tangled as it spread over her pillow.

I gulped my whiskey, coughed as it burned its way down my throat and into my belly. "Christ."

"You're gonna have one helluva hangover tomorrow," Devon observed. "Good thing it's Sunday. No practice."

I nodded, not really caring if we had practice tomorrow or not. All I wanted was Ellie, to see her again, to kiss her, to hold her in my arms. I didn't even need her naked in my bed. Her lovely cheek pressed against my chest, her arms around my waist, was good enough.

"You obviously can't drive," Devon commented.

I stared at my housekey still sitting on the bar where the big dude left it. "Nope. Took my fucking keys."

"As they should. Look, I'll drive you home. If you're ready to go."

"S'pose."

As though he'd heard our conversation, the bartender wandered over to say, "We don't open till two tomorrow. If you swear an oath you'll drive him, you can have his keys now."

"Don't worry," Devon assured him as I shakily stood with his hand under my arm, "he won't be driving tonight."

The bartender handed Devon my keys. "I'm watching you, man. If I see him getting behind the wheel, I'll sic cops on him faster than a possum eats a tick. Got it?"

"Yep."

Unable to control my legs, since they wanted to amble in opposite directions, I staggered against Devon. He held me upright, his effortless good nature halting him from making any snide comments. Past the pub's doors, the sharp Vermont winter wind cut into my exposed flesh as quickly as a razor blade. The cold set my teeth to chattering like castanets.

"Over here," Devon said, guiding me toward his jet-black Toyota Tundra. "You'll warm up quick enough."

His truck failed in that regard. Even as the heat blasted from the vents, I slumped against the door, shivering. Devon shot me concerned glances as he drove through the nearly deserted streets.

"No hurling, bro," he warned me. "You think you're gonna, give me warning so I can pull over."

"Not gonna hurl."

"Better not. I'm not cleaning up your mess, or living with the stink."

"Not hurling," I murmured, drifting to sleep.

I woke with a jolt as Devon stopped the truck in front of my house. I stared blankly at the unlit windows, recalling that Colton had moved out weeks ago. He currently couch surfed with anyone who'd take him in, but a few rumors had reached me. Colton's immature behavior and bitter complaints left him with few friends to leech off.

"C'mon, bro." Devon slipped his strong hand under my armpit. "Where's your key?"

Hoping I put it in my pocket and not left it on the bar, I feebly searched my pockets.

Devon snorted in exasperation and stuck his hand into my front jeans pocket. "Don't get excited. I'm not feeling you up."

"Oh, baby."

Retrieving my key, he led me, staggering, up to my front door. After unlocking and swinging it open, he assisted me inside. He flicked on a light switch, then dragged me to my couch. Dumping me on it, he shoved me onto my back before picking up my legs.

"Sober up," he said, pulling my boots off. "I'll come by tomorrow and give you a lift to get your car."

"Thanks, man. ‘Preciate it."

"You owe me."

"Yup."

Drifting to sleep again, I vaguely felt him cover me with a blanket. He said something else, but what it was I'd no idea. It may have been Good night or see you tomorrow. Either way, I never heard him leave my house.

***

I woke once in the darkness to make a staggering run to the kitchen. No way could I make it to the bathroom down the hall. Reaching the sink a fraction of a second before I barfed a volcanic mixture of whiskey and bile, I coughed and gagged, retching again and again until my belly surrendered all its contents.

Then I hurled a few more times for good measure.

Panting, I rinsed my mouth, and ran water through the sink to wash my puke away. Devon was far from wrong about the hangover. My head throbbed as though I'd received a second concussion. My stomach ached from vomiting, and all my muscles trembled with a violence I was helpless to stop.

Reaching the sofa, I laid back down, and tried to wrap sleep around me. No such luck though. Vertigo swept me into its embrace, making me think I'd hurl again. I heard a distant moan slip through my shut teeth. I felt sorry for myself.

Shit, what a loser you are.

"I'm never drinking again," I muttered.

I wondered if I lied.

I suppose it was a promise I didn't mean to keep. Would not keep. Like the promises to God under dire circumstances.

If you let me survive this, I swear I'll go to church twice a day, God.

I wouldn't go that far, but a long break from the whiskey bottle might certainly be in order.

I only dozed a bit through the rest of the night, coming fully awake at around eight. My sore muscles had stiffened, and I groaned as I sat up. Holding my head in my hands, I pondered a shower. Or the hair of the dog. Or both.

"Shower first." I stood, my stomach roiling in protest.

My head thudded as though a herd of wild horses galloped through it, but I discovered I could walk in a fairly straight line. I reached the hallway entrance when I heard a faint ding. Puzzled for a moment, I wondered what had made that sound.

Shit. It's my cell.

I found my phone still in my pocket. Pulling it out, I glanced at the screen, half thinking Devon had texted to tell me he was on his way to pick me up. No. It wasn't Devon who shot me a text.

Ellie had.

I read her brief and succinct message.

The strength went out of my knees.

I read it twice more, shocked disbelief forcing the wild horses in my head to halt. My hangover forgotten, I couldn't think of a single thing to text her in reply. What do I say? What could I say?

"Holy shit."

I read her message yet again.

I'm pregnant.