Regan returns a light laugh. “Same speech I gave to Lance after we got the call I had PNH. He was really upset and had a game. We had a heart-to-heart before he left the apartment. While not word for word, it was the same gist.”
“Did he follow your advice?” I ask.
“He tried. Didn’t turn out so well. One of the worst games he’d ever played.”
I laugh and Regan joins in, both a little lost in our memories about a man who’d been an amazing professional athlete, and yet had loved his sister so much it reduced him to a bumbling idiot on ice.
“I’ll try,” I promise. “It’s good advice.”
“That’s all you can do. Now… get your head in the game. I’ll be cheering you on.”
That feeling comes back. The one I experienced yesterday when we got married. Warmth and security. Regan will be cheering me on, and while she’s my wife in name only, the fact she’s doing it because it’s me means something.
I’m just not quite sure what.CHAPTER 6ReganIt’s almost midnight by the time I hear Dax’s car pull into the driveway. He’d insisted I park my car in the single garage when we’d arrived on Sunday. It’s stayed there minus a quick trip to the grocery store this morning. I figure I’ve got plenty of time to find my way around the Scottsdale/Phoenix area since I’m not going anywhere soon.
Dax had texted me after the game to tell me that he was headed to see Tacker with the rest of the team, since he’d been admitted. I’d informed him I was waiting on an Uber to take me home, so I’d see him later.
I was tired and should have gone to bed when I got here, but I was too worried about Dax. He’d played horribly tonight. But then again, so had the entire team. There’d been a buzz all around me where I’d sat in the arena, many people wondering why Tacker was on the “injured” list. I’d known—minor details, of course—but I never said a word. I just watched and yelled and screamed at the game, but in the end, I walked out of the arena with all the other disappointed fans. We’d lost.
Dax’s key is in the lock. I stand from the couch where I’d been sitting, placing my half-empty cup of tea on the coffee table. He steps in looking exhausted. Despite that, he’s still amazingly gorgeous in the dark blue suit he’d left in today.
He blinks in surprise when he notices me. “What are you doing up?”
“I waited up for you. Wanted to see how Tacker was doing.”
Dax tosses his game duffel on a chair with a shake of his head. After he shuts the door, he turns the lock. “No clue. He refused to see anyone at the hospital.”
My brow furrows in confusion as I know a little about team camaraderie. “But why?”
Dax pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes a moment before letting out a frustrated sigh. When he looks back at me, he says, “Tacker was drunk. He deliberately drove his truck into a concrete barricade.”
“What?” I gasp, dismayed at the way Dax’s shoulders droop with fatigue. “Wait a minute… sit on the couch and let me get you some tea. It will relax you.”
I get a naughty grin in return. He shakes his head as he moves over to the butler’s pantry that sits in a cubby between the living room and kitchen. “This is going to take liquor, not tea. Want a drink?”
“Sure,” I reply as I sit on the couch, nestling into the corner with my legs crossed Indian-style. Dax grabs a clear decanter of a dark liquid—presumably a bourbon—and grabs two glasses. He sits them on the table and while he shrugs out of his suit jacket and removes his tie, I take the liberty of pouring us each two fingers.
After he plops down on the other end of the couch and loosens the top two buttons of his dress shirt, I pass the glass to him. Giving me a wan smile, he clinks it against the edge of my glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” I say, taking a tiny sip that immediately warms me. I’m not a big drinker, but I actually like a slow-sipping drink like straight bourbon or scotch.
“I know you’re pretty up on the hockey world, but how much do you know about Tacker’s background?” he asks.
It’s true, I know my hockey. When Lance got drafted, I was so incredibly happy and proud I immersed myself in it. I knew not only the deep stats on his team, but also on the Vipers’ biggest rivals. I was aware of a dangerous amount about many of the other teams, including the league’s leading players. Obviously, I was a Vipers fan first and foremost because of Lance, but wherever Dax played, that was my second favorite team. As such, I knew about Tacker’s history since he was their best player.