Page 6 of The Do-Over Girl
“Rejuvenation isn’t in the budget.”
Looking around the windowless office at the filthy, worn tile floors, the chipped paint on the cement walls, and the old metal desk and shelving, I turn to him. “I’ll foot the bill. This place is a shit hole. If we want sponsors to take our program seriously, we need to make this place presentable if not state-of-the-art.”
“You serious? You realize that’ll cost upwards of a couple hundred Gs—”
“You realize I made serious bank playing in the NHL, right? I have plenty of cash. Let’s call a contractor today and get a real quote. Let’s make this happen.”
“Maybe you can donate the whole five million for the fund, and we can be done with it.”
I can’t tell if he’s being a wiseass or testing me. “Is that all it would take?”
He shakes his head and swipes a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, no. We need the investment of a lot of people, the entire community, to be viable long-term. We’ll be doing outreach to all our alums, and we’ll have to have it set up on an ongoing basis to keep us going. We’re hoping Kali can help us generate enough initial interest to get the ball rolling.”
I nod. “That’s what I thought. I hear she’s a big-name New York publicist. How did you get her to quit her job and come back here?” I’ve been dying to know, but I didn’t ask. Didn’t want to appear too interested. Because I’m not. Just curious.
His gaze shifts away. “So, this is your office—your working office. You have another one in the main building near mine.”
“I can work in the other building while this building is being freshened up.”
“Won’t be much time before the guys start skating. In fact, I have someone I want you to meet.”
He takes me down the hall to the locker room, and I take in a deep shuddering breath from yesteryear and could swear time flew back seventeen years. “You sure we haven’t entered some kind of time wormhole that transported us back to our senior year?”
He grins. “Don’t you love when some things don’t change?”
“I don’t know about that, Rink. You remember how that year ended, right?”
“Yeah, with you signing a big fat NHL contract and heading off to the glamour coast, never to be seen again.”
“I came back. That one time.” I remember being disappointed Kali wasn’t there.
“Right. For the unveiling of the monument to your achievements—the NHL star and biggest celebrity ever to come out of Andrews Point.”
“Now, you’re exaggerating—there was a famous actor from the fifties, wasn’t there?”
He shrugs.
The locker room door opens, and a kid outfitted in skates and sweats saunters in, then stops short. “Holy shit. You’re—”
“That’s right,” Archie grins. “Nash Lewis, in the flesh. Close your mouth and shake his hand, kid.”
I put out my hand, and he shakes it. “And you are?”
“This is Dylan Zappola,” Archie says, “our current star hockey player going into his senior year. He’s looking to take your place and make a run for the NHL.”
Dylan frowns. “Not yet, Mr. Rinkowski. I have to book a ride through college first.”
“You’ll do it. Wait ’til you see this kid on skates, Nash.”
I smile. “Looking forward to it. Starting tomorrow. Three p.m., as soon as the bell rings to let school out.”
The kid grins, and I grin back, hoping Archie isn’t exaggerating. Dylan appears to have the right mix of humility and confidence if the swagger on his way out is any indication.
* * *
By the timewe finish the tour of the facility and determine that the ice and Zamboni are the only things in the arena that have been kept up, I have a killer list of improvements that are needed, starting in the locker rooms, the stands, and the entire exterior of the building.
When we get back, the school is empty; no cars in the lot except Nikki’s and Archie’s trucks. I check the time, and it’s almost four.
