He shrugged. “I’ve learned to let it go. Don’t obsess about it, man. It’ll eat you up inside.”
I wanted to lunge at him. No opponent ever pissed me off as much as an ambivalent teammate.
“Are you fucking serious?” I demanded. “We don’t get paid millions of dollars to let it go; we get paid to win. To not look like a bunch of fucking amateurs thinking about video games instead of our piss poor performance.”
“Jesus, dude, someone needs to slip some Midol in your coffee tomorrow.” He flipped me off and walked away.
I shook my head and continued toward my Range Rover. As soon as I was in my driver’s seat, I placed an order for food and started the drive toward the restaurant.
Being captain of this team was shaking my confidence. In Minnesota, I was known as a tough but fair captain. I never asked anything of my teammates that I didn’t also expect of myself. But I hadn’t been in the arena the day of the explosion. I didn’t have to live with the aftermath of what happened to the Coyotes every day. What business did I have telling the guys who had survived what I expected of them?
Hell, just getting back on the ice after something like that was a major accomplishment, winning and losing aside.
I tipped the kid at the Chinese place extra to make up for my shitty attitude, relieved when I pulled into the parking place under my apartment and got on the elevator. I didn’t usually drink much, but tonight was definitely a good night for a glass of bourbon after dinner.
After finishing every bite of the food, I changed into shorts and a T-shirt, poured a drink, and went out the French doors that opened onto my stone patio. I had an outdoor couch, a table, and two chairs out here, but I only used the couch. I sat down and put my drink on the end table next to the couch, breathing in the mountain air I’d missed while on the road.
A sniffling sound and movement made me turn to the patio next to mine, where Elle was trying to flee inside her apartment. Apparently I’d ruined her solitude.
Even in my horrible mood, I couldn’t let a crying woman slip away without saying something to her.
“Hey,” I said, standing up. “You okay?”
“No.” She choked out the word. “I’m awful, which probably makes your night. Break out the confetti.”
Her jab landed, making me feel like an asshole for giving her such a hard time.
“You want a free shot?” I asked gently. “Lob one at me and I won’t say anything back.”
“No,” she said, her voice nasally and exhausted. “I can’t focus my energy on how horrible you are right now.”
A spark of her fire was still there, even though she was upset, and damn if I didn’t like that about her.
“I could send you a picture of my playoff beard from a few years ago,” I offered. “It looked like…well, my teammates called me Crotch Face.”
In the glow of the strands of lights hanging over her patio, I saw her smile slightly. “I can see that. You are rather vaginal.”
I laughed harder than I had in a while. Vaginal. That was a new one.
I disliked her, but she looked so vulnerable and beautiful that something else flared in my chest, wanting her to stay.
“Come on, Elle, what’s wrong? Did a house fall on your sister?”
She kept smiling but said nothing. I couldn’t look away from her tear-stained cheeks, feeling a strong pull to walk over and gently swipe them dry with my thumbs. Still standing in front of her door, she looked like she was considering whether or not to walk inside.
“How about a one-night truce?” I suggested. “Just tonight, we can be friends. Tomorrow, we can go back to being enemies.”
“Enemies?” She gave me a look. “That’s a little dramatic, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “Maybe. My team is 0–3, so I’m feeling dramatic. And cranky.”
“Maybe my misfortune can cheer you up,” she said sarcastically.
“I’m not that kind of person.” My gaze travelled down her legs to her feet. “How’s your toe?”
“It’s a lighter shade of purple than it was.”
I shook my head, walking over to pick up my glass and sip my bourbon. “I really am sorry about that.”
“I know you didn’t do it on purpose, Crotch Face.”
Laughing, I gestured at the empty wine glass in her hand. “Go fill that up and come tell me what’s on your mind.”
She glanced at the glass and then back at me. The few seconds of silence that passed felt like longer.
“Okay,” she finally said.
As soon as she closed the door behind her, I blew a breath into my hand, trying to gauge it. I smelled bourbon, which seemed okay. Not that she’d be close enough to get a whiff.
Why had I told her the Crotch Face thing? She’d probably think about it every time we saw each other now. Who cared, though? She hated hockey, which meant there could never be anything between us.
My teammates would flip their shit if they even knew I was talking to her. Her columns, in opposition to the city helping fund and acquire land for a new arena with taxpayer money, were the number one roadblock Mila was encountering on the project.
But when Elle stepped outside, her glass filled halfway with red wine and her hair pulled into a ponytail, I couldn’t bring myself to argue with her about anything.
“What’s got you down tonight?” I asked as she sat down in a chair at the table.
We were looking directly at each other, but there was about ten feet of distance between us. That was probably best. I didn’t need to be impulsively putting the moves on my neighbor.
“It’s my brother,” she said softly.
I ignored my relief that it wasn’t her boyfriend. She probably had one, though. She was the type of woman who liked having a picture-perfect man who never stood up to her. Poor dude probably got one blow job a year, on his birthday.
“I’d do anything for him, but…” She shook her head. “I’ve been trying to save him from himself for a while now, and it’s not working.”
She took a sip of her wine, and I realized I didn’t see Eleanor Lawrence, the uptight columnist with a chip on her shoulder. Instead, I saw Elle, my gorgeous neighbor with a great sense of humor and a sexy laugh.
“How old is he?” I asked. “Does he still have some growing up to do?”
“He’s twenty-six. And I’m…” Her eyes filled with tears. “I’m afraid he won’t see twenty-seven if he doesn’t make some big changes.”
I once again fought the urge to wipe away her tears. As different as we were, I understood her love for her brother. My only family was my mom and my grandpa, but there was nothing I wouldn’t do for them.
“Is he in some kind of trouble?” I asked.
“Multiple kinds.” She took a longer sip of her wine, looking out at the faint outline of the mountain range in the distance. “Do you ever stress about things you can’t change?”
I scoffed. How could she see straight through me? Stressing about every aspect of my team was my full-time job these days.
“I have trouble accepting that there’s anything I can’t change,” I admitted wryly.
“Superman complex?”