“Oh,excuse me,” she said as she rose. She was tiny. Did she even reach his chin?She held out her hand and flashed him a megawatt smile that lit up her wholeface. “How are you?”
“I’vebeen worse.” Beckett took her hand, his own nearly swallowing it whole, andshook. She had a surprisingly strong grip.
“CoachLeBrun should be back shortly.” She looked a little twitchy.
Realizationgrabbed him by the lapels and shook him hard.
Theshrink.
Nicesetup, Coach. Annoyed,Beckett plopped into the other chair and decided to have some fun. “You knowwho I am.”
She sattoo; her smile dimmed a few watts. “Well, yes.”
“BeckettAlexander Woodford Miller. The Third. I play defense for the Blizzard.”
“I knewall that, but I didn’t know there were three of you.”
“Yeah,which is at least two too many. Don’t you need a notepad or something?”
Shefrowned. “I’ve got one, but I don’t need it right now.”
“So,Doc, you’re here to encourage me to pour out my feelings.” Hestopped, covered his heart and belted out a tired chorus. “Whoa, whoa …”Nailed it.
Herbody went a bit rigid, and she slid a little deeper into her seat. Away fromhim.
“Youwant me to tell you the whole sordid story of my life,” Beckett drawled,“about my journey down the dark path of destruction filled with booze, drugs,and women. Not in that order. They’re nasty habits, addictive habits, andthey’ve led me to do bad things with absolute strangers whose names and facesare a blur. Take two nights ago, for instance. I leave the rink after a game,and, like most nights, gorgeous women are lined up by the exit. They remind meof neon signs flashing, ‘Pick me! Pick me!’ I didn’t know any of them, and itwas tough to choose—they’re all fucking hot. Anyway, I showed greatrestraint and narrowed it down to a pair.” He paused to shrug. “They get medrunk, take me to their place, coke me up, and fuck my brains out. What’s a guyto do?”
Then hebroke into a few refrains from a favorite old Glenn Frey song, “TheAll-Nighter,” followed by, “Yeow! That’s what I’m talkin’ about!”
Sheblinked like a green-eyed owl.
“Itried to resist, I really did,” he continued with shameful seriousness, “but Icouldn’t help myself. But it’s not my fault. When I was six, I saw Patcheschewed up in the hay baler, and I’ve been trying to recover ever since.” Heleaned forward. She looked as though she might climb over the back of herchair. “Is there any way I can be cured, Doc?”
Sheblinked more rapidly.
“Somethingstuck in your eye, Doc?” He’d rattled her. Good! He kept going.
“Iexpect you’re really here to talk about the girl in Minneapolis who ended up inthe hospital after a night of tequila, cocaine, and sex—see a patternhere?—because she had some sort of heart defect, and the damn thing went southon her. And it never should have because she was fucking twenty-two years old.How does that happen, for Christ’s sake? Oh, and it turns out she was about toget married. And she was pregnant.”
Hischest compressed, and he pulled in a breath, then another. “Not mine. I’d onlymet her that night.”
Thedoctor stared at him with a stupefied expression.
“Butyou know what?” he resumed with mock sadness. “No matter how much booze, drugs,or women I have, I can’t get the picture of my poor little puppy out of my head.”Shaking his head, he let out a phony sniffle.
“Oh.”
“Seriously?I’m sitting here, pouring my guts out, and that’s all you’ve got? ‘Oh’? Howmany years of education did it take to learn that nugget?”
“How awful?”she ventured, completely flummoxed. And then her eyes flew to somewhere abovehis head.
“Miller,”came Coach’s voice behind him, “I see you’ve met my real estate broker, PaigePaulson.”
Beckettglanced over his shoulder at Coach, whose hands held two cups of coffee andwhose face held pure exasperation. Coach wasn’t joking; Coach never joked.Beckett looked at Paige Paulson. Her face was colored the shade of thedamn pink polka dots he couldn’t forget. They danced in his mind throughout hiswaking hours, haunting him.
Paige—hadn’the known someone by that name?—interrupted his thoughts.
“Haveyou thought of writing a book, Mr. Miller? You have some great material. I’drecommend staying away from women who, well, you know. Your brains appear to bein short supply as it is.” She shrugged a delicate shoulder.
Beckettstood and yanked his hand through his hair. “I, uh, yeah.” He blew out a breathand let out a wry laugh. “Touché, Ms. Paulson. I apologize. I thought you werea shrink. I’m usually not such an ass.”
“Yeah,you are, Miller.”
Thanks,Coach.
“I’msure he’s not,” Ms. Paulson piped up. “How else could Mr. Miller get the sortof attention he claims to get? He obviously has some charm. Of course, Iwouldn’t really know.” She smiled sweetly. “I sure hope the part about Patcheswasn’t true.”
JesusH. Fucking Christ, Beckett, could you be a bigger asshole?
“Thepuppy part was made up. You, uh, called for me, Coach?”
“Gillaspiewants to meet with you and me, here, in an hour. So do me a favor and take yourmagnetic personality somewhere else while I talk to my guest.”
“Sure.Yeah.” He gave Paige a sidelong glance. “Ms. Paulson, the pleasure, I’m sure,was all mine.”
“I’msure it was. Nice voice, by the way.”
Heslinked through the door, closing it behind him. Paige? Paulson?
.~ * * * ~.
Paige recovered her breath when the thunderstorm namedBeckett Miller thumped out of the office. Had she really just said those thingsto him? She couldn’t have inflicted any damage on that pumped-up ego,the jerk. Wow! Some people get better with age. Others, not so much.
Martyclosed the door. “Sorry, Paige. Miller’s going through a rough patch right now,though it doesn’t excuse his behavior. If I’d seen him walking this way, Iwould have headed him off.” He gave her a coffee and a contrite smile.
Paigesmiled back, every movement deliberate. Tell him or not? She made up hermind.
“Ispend my days with contractors, so don’t worry about it.” Although most ofthem show a certain amount of decorum and aren’t so … graphic about theirconquests.
“I wishyou had been the shrink. Miller needs one, though he won’t admitit—especially to himself.” Marty sank into the chair behind his desk, his darkbrows bunched over thoughtful brown eyes. Fortyish, with
