Tom had scrubbed a hand over his face and blown out a hugebreath. “It could take years. Until they have a solid grasp on what May’sfuture holds, they can’t put a number to it. But you can bet your balls it’llbe a big number.”
“I fucked May up, Tom. If I had it to do over, I’d skateaway, but what’s done is done, and I need to make it right. Helping her helpsmake it right.”
“Jesus, please tell me you haven’t told her that.”
“She doesn’t know who I am.”
Tom had cackled—an incredulous, you-are-so-screwed cackle.“Fuck me, this just gets better and better.” He’d given T.J. a pointed look.“I’ll take your case if for no other reason than I want a front-row seat tothis fucking disaster. I’ll sell tickets and make a fortune. I’d tell you tostop seeing her, but I’m pretty damn sure you won’t listen, so if you insist onbeing stupid, at least don’t talk about May, the lawsuit, or hockey. Make sure shedoesn’t talk to you about May. Make sure you’re not being recorded. And letyour financial advisor keep managing your money because she’s been doing a damnfine job sheltering it for you. Hiring her was the smartest decision you’vemade. In fact, I might hire her.”
T.J. had left the attorney’s office with a mixture of reliefand abject fear.
This shit was real.
May might never play again, and the fault lay squarely onT.J.’s shoulders. It had thumped him in the heart, where he didn’t like beingthumped.
That he’d let his temper rule him with disastrousconsequences had been making its way into his consciousness like a splinterworking its way out of a finger pad. Slow, festering, painful. And God, whilehe hated like hell to admit it, the power to stop it had been in his hands.If he’d done the right thing instead of his job, he’d have takenheat, but May would still be playing right now—and enjoying life with Natalie.
His phone buzzed with a text, giving his heart a lift. Shechanged her mind.
But this message wasn’t from Natalie. It was from Serena. Uh-oh.Worse than Serena possibly stalking him was Serena telling him Duffy Shanstrom was trying to reach him.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Long minutes passed while he stood in place, his mindreeling. What does he want? I’m not giving him a damn thing. His fingerhovered over the screen. What if something’s wrong? No, he’ll just try tomanipulate the hell out of me. Maybe he’s heard from Mom.
Shit.
Sucking in a deep breath, he hit the number Serenaforwarded.
Muscles instinctively clenched at the sound of a familiar,gruff voice barking out a “yeah” on the other end.
“Duffy.” T.J. was gratified his voice held up, even anddeadpan, instead of the telltale breaking squeak that would’ve broadcast hisweakness. It had been years since he’d spoken to his father, but he wasinstantly back in quivering kid mode, arrows of fear slicing through him. Heswiped his fingers across his suddenly sweaty forehead, reminding himself hisold man couldn’t touch him. Not anymore.
Duffy cackled. “Well, hell. The bigshothockey player finally graces his old man with a fucking minute of hisprecious time.”
T.J.’s hatred for the son of a bitch surged, liquefying hisfright and turning it to spine-fusing steel. “Yeah, it’s great to talk to youtoo. What do you want?”
“Nothin’. Saw you got traded afterthe beauty punch you landed on that candy-ass. A chip off the old block.” Thishe said with a prideful tone T.J. had never heard growing up.
T.J.’s stomach curdled, then bottomed out with the thoughthe carried the same DNA and couldn’t do a damn thing to change it. “Soeveryone’s okay?”
“How the fuck would I know? No one talks to me. Your sisterdoesn’t give a shit about me. You don’t give a shit about me. Your mombetrayed us all. I thought my kids at least would show a little appreciation,but no. Ingrates.” He spat the last word.
T.J. pinched the bridge of his nose. “Why were you trying toreach me?”
“Well, my disability’s check’s just not enough, and I figureyou owe me. It was thanks to me you got into hock—”
Stomach muscles buckling tight, T.J. pinched harder. “Weboth know you did squat, Duffy. Unless you count the times you messed me up sobad I nearly got dropped because I could hardly fucking play.”
“I was toughening you up, boy,” Duffy growled. “And lookwhere it got you. Maybe you’d rather be Princess Pansy-Ass playing with yoursparkly paints.”
As a kid, T.J. had loved to paint as much as he’d lovedhockey, but he’d had to hide his small stash or suffer the wrath of Duffy.
“I don’t have time for this, Duffy.” Youworthless piece of shit.
“And this is my thanks for giving you my best?” He cursed astring bluer than a Colorado sky, most of which T.J. didn’t hear.
“Duffy, do us both a favor. Don’t call me again.” T.J. hungup.
He inhaled and released several long, steadying breaths,waiting for his hands to stop shaking so he could block the number. Normally,he’d take his spiky energy to the ice and channel it into bone-rattling hits.Like his dad, but controlled. Sanctioned. But there was no practice today, nooutlet.
His eye caught on a bottle of Jameson, light bouncing offthe glass, beckoning him. Just like booze beckoned his dad. Chip off the oldblock. Shit.
“What do you say we get hammered, boy?” he asked Ford, whosat attentively on his haunches. “Yeah, I know it’s only 3:47, but it’scocktail time somewhere.”
He poured a three-finger shot and tossed it back, letting itburn away the sour taste on its way to his belly. And poured another.“Definitely getting hammered.” Ford, who’d been seated by his side the entiretime, gave a little yip. “I know. It’s not the answer, yada,yada.” Muscles and nerves began uncoiling.
T.J. ruffled the pup’s ears, which surprisingly soothed him.“Look at you, being all obedient dog.” Ford gazed at him with those crossed,adoring eyes he’d favored Natalie with. “Yeah, you are a good dog.Natalie’s right, but don’t tell her I said so. Women like to lord it over you.Just sayin’. That’s my tip for the day. You’rewelcome.”
Ford’s floppy ears straightened, seemingly upon hearing hername.
“Ha! You recognize her name? Can’t blame
