Page 4 of Roughing
Wisely, I decided to keep my worries to myself. Now wasn’t the time. I’d win Carla over, and then I’d discuss Gordon with her.
ChapterTwo
FORGET ABOUT HOCKEY
~~Briggs~~
Being bored sucked.
In a few hours, I’d meet with my head coach and the GM to discuss my future with the Portland Icehawks. My two-week suspension ended tomorrow, but playing for this team or any team again wasn’t a guarantee.
I’d been skating on thin ice with the team since day one. Two fateful weeks ago had been the last straw. I’d ruined the team owner’s charity gala by punching one of the guests because he’d harassed my—
I hesitated, not certain what to call Michella. She wasn’t a girlfriend or even a friend, but I felt an obligation to protect her and keep her safe, even if she didn’t appreciate my protection.
I had some choices to make. Grovel, beg forgiveness and hope to keep my position on the team. Or continue to be the disruptive ass I’d been all season and suffer the consequences.
The worst part was that I wasn’t sure I cared enough to grovel.
Up until the Icehawks had chosen me in the expansion draft, hockey had been the only thing I had to live for. Once I’d been sentenced to playing for this loser, dead-end team, I’d lost hockey. Now there was nothing left.
Well, not exactly nothing.
There was Michella, not that she shared my sentiment. Sure, she liked the sex. Fuck, who wouldn’t? In bed, we were simpatico. Wild, unfettered creatures with hunger for each other so ferocious our enthusiastic fucking drove me out of my mind.
No other woman came close to this obsessive craving clawing at my gut whenever Michella was in close proximity and sometimes when she wasn’t.
She, on the other hand, enjoyed the sex but didn’t want anything else to do with me.
After the gala, she’d told me to go to hell and never come around her again, punctuating her demands with impressively colorful language. For the last two weeks, I’d abided by her request even though it killed me to do so. Having her live in the same building made that even harder. I’d found the bargain apartment for her, but what she didn’t know was that I was secretly paying half her rent. If she found out, she wouldn’t be happy, but I didn’t intend for her to find out. Reasonable rentals in Portland were hard to come by, and I could afford to help her out whether she knew it or not.
Michella was one more reason why I had to get out of this fucking town and off this fucking team. I might get my wish in a few hours, but not the way I wanted it.
I considered my options once again. Stripping away all the bullshit, including my resentment for being stuck on this team, was I prepared to walk away from hockey for good?
Where would I go? What would I do? I had money, loads of it. I’d never need to work again, but laziness wasn’t in my DNA. I couldn’t imagine spending the rest of my life on some beach or, as I’d spent these past few weeks, lying around on the couch, bored to tears. A bored Briggs had a tendency to find trouble, and I’d found enough lately.
The seconds crept by painfully, slower than the last minute of a game when my old team was ahead by one and hoping like hell the other team didn’t tie it before the horn sounded.
I showered, shaved, and dressed in semi-casual slacks with a nice button-down shirt. Management needed to know I took this meeting seriously.
I scratched my chin and considered my options, which were few. I didn’t want to be kicked off this team. I told myself I didn’t care, but that was fucking bullshit. I wanted to play hockey, even if I had to skate for the worst team in the league. Bad hockey was better than no hockey.
I downed another cup of strong black coffee, noting I’d managed to kill another thirteen minutes. Finally, I couldn’t stomach the waiting any longer.
The elevator in this old building needed work. Every time I got in it, I expected to be stuck between floors. So far, that hadn’t happened. I should get a better place, but that didn’t fit in with my plans. I’d purposely taken this apartment because the slumlord owner had been willing to rent month to month. I was within a mile of the practice facility, close enough to walk when I felt like it and not feel guilty for driving when I didn’t. The building was older, consisting of condo units that were either lived in by their owners or rented out as mine was. Unlike the brand-spanking-new structures springing up all over this section of town, my building had character too expensive to put into newer ones. It might be outdated and could use more stringent maintenance, but the place was adequate for a temporary residence. A great view of the river was an added bonus.
The elevator ground to a stop like a beater car on its dying breath. I gladly stepped into the lobby. At one time, this place had been a grand hotel. As a piece of Portland history, the lobby reflected the building’s roots. I found it the best thing about this building, if not a little rustic, with old beams in the high ceiling and an impressive stone fireplace. At one end was a coffee shop. I grabbed my morning cup of coffee and turned toward the exit. The tenant parking was in a parking garage across the street.
“Mr. Biggs!”
I froze at the sound of a child’s voice, wondered if I could pretend I hadn’t heard and keep walking.
“Biggs!” shouted the voice again.
With a resigned sigh, I turned slowly. The little girl I knew only as Remi stared straight at me. As usual, she sat on one of the old lobby couches with her books spread out on the coffee table in front of her.
“It’s Briggs,” I corrected her as I did every day.
