“Ignore them, but don’t erase them. Let everything go tovoicemail and fill up your inbox. You’ll be provided a different phone and anew number. Be judicious when you give it out.” Pederson gave him a pointedlook.
Shit! He’d fallen asleep and woken up in a spy movie. “I’ve been judicious.”
Pederson primly cleared his throat.
MacNeal raised sympathetic brows.“You can’t play, but you’ll practice and keep up your training. Spend the extratime on your hobbies or with your girl. She’ll probably appreciate having youaround.”
Hobbies?Yeah, T.J. and his paints could get reacquainted, except he’d had nodesire to touch them in a decade—and that wasn’t about to change. As for hisgirl, he didn’t wantmore Julia time, and certainly not at the expense of playing. Hockey was hislife. All he cared about. He’d paid the price with his blood and sweat, overand over, and had no interest in taking a break for anything—or anyone.
“It’s tough on everyone, what with the playoff race sotight,” MacNeal continued. “Your team needs what youbring, but your fuckup takes all that away.”
Pow! A pop to the gut.T.J.’s ability to speak abandoned him as three sets of accusing eyes stared athim. He clenched the armchair in gritty silence as he ran through the peopleresponsible for his butt being parked here right now. Coach. Coach’s assistant.Monahan. May.
“Look, at six-four, you’re a big, bruising body out there,” MacNeal droned on, “and sometimes that’s hard to control.We get it. But to the league, you’re a repeat offender, no matter your intentwhen you hit May. Have no doubt, there will be alawsuit, which is why you need to keep your trap shut. Don’t give them moreammo.”
T.J. shook his head to loosen his tongue. “Is there any newsabout May’s condition?”
On a noisy exhale, MacNeal said,“He’s in a drug-induced coma. As soon as it’s safe, he’ll be moved to CraigHospital in Denver. His brother’s a doctor there, and his family all live nearby, including his daughter and ex-wife. He’llhave lots of support.”
Adrug-induced coma? Bile rose in T.J.’s constricting throat,and he swallowed hard to keep it down.
MacNeal folded his arms on the desk.“Craig’s one of the best.”
“Good,” T.J. croaked.
The GM nodded. “That’s it, T.J. You can go.”
That’sit? T.J. bit back the words he wanted so badly to let loose atCoach—he didn’t deserve to shoulder this one alone. Coach needed to step up. This is your fault, fucker!
T.J. shot him a hard look, but Coach’s eyes were unmoving,unblinking, trained elsewhere.
In that moment, the full impact of what was happening hitT.J. square in his chest. He was being set up to takethe entire brunt of this cluster-fuck. Sure, he’d delivered the hit, but he’donly been the messenger. And right now that messenger was shipping water andsinking like the Titanic, caught alone in a whirlpool of fury and disgust whilesharks circled him.
Muttering his thanks—for what, he wasn’t sure—T.J. closedthe door behind him and trudged to the locker room. Several teammates werejoking when he walked in but stopped as soon as they spotted him, pretending tobusy themselves with their equipment. The cold shoulder fromhis own guys. Whatthe hell? He gathered his gear and left the building.
Not ready to head home, he drove the streets of San Joseaimlessly. In a rougher part of town, he pulled into a parking lot and strodeinto a grungy, near-empty bar. Eleven in the morning, and only a few hard-cores. A TV hung from the ceiling, tuned to some sportschannel. He took a stool and looked up when he heard his name.
“T.J. Shanstrom refuses to makeany public statements. Is that how an innocent man behaves?”
Outrage swept over him in a heated wave. Shit, when hadsomeone gotten through to him to ask for a public statement? Never!
The sportscaster was buddying with some other talking head who declared, “Well, this isn’t the first time T.J. Shanstrom’s been in trouble. He seems to invite it, and now’she’s going to ground and showing his true colors.”
“Hey!” T.J. called to a grizzled bartender. “Mind turningthat down and getting me a boilermaker?”
Without a word, the bartender hit the remote, and thepundits were silenced. Shoulders hunched, T.J. glanced around the dim bar. Noone recognized him. Hell, no one cared. Which was perfect. The boilermakerappeared and quickly disappeared, going down real smooth. He ordered another.And another. And another.
A text chimed. Julia’s face smiled on his screen. How did the meeting go?
T.J.: Notgood.
Julia: Howare you doing?
T.J.: Fine,after a few more boilermakers.
Julia: Whereare you?
The alcohol had taken hold, mercifully numbing parts of hisbrain he wanted to ignore. He texted her his location, then ordered a beerminus the shot. Time to take it down a notch. Before he’d finished his brew andasked for the next, Julia appeared, hands on her hips and a frown on her fairfeatures.
“Oh boy. I’m in trouble now.” He raised his empty pint glassto his new friends gathered at the bar—everyone was your friend when you boughtrounds—but they weren’t looking at him. They were gaping at Julia. He couldn’tblame them.
Julia was one the most flawless women T.J. had ever seen,sober or otherwise. With long blond hair and blue eyes, she was slim and had agreat rack. If he were honest—which was easy given all the booze in hissystem—her tits were by far her most appealing asset.They were what had reeled him in the first time he met her seven months ago—orwas it eight?
A high-priced lawyer, Julia was gorgeous. Fun. Demandingonly inbed. She made her own dough and didn’t look at him as though he were herpersonal Swiss bank account—a plus since his suspension now meant zero dollarson his own paycheck.
Though he kept his home life apart from hers, things werecomfortable. Enough sex to keep him happy, but nothing tooclose. Just the way he liked it. Sometimes he caught a whiff of herwanting something more serious, and that worried him. From past experience,this was the turning point that forced him to extricate himself fromrelationships. He wasn’t going down Commitment Highway ever again. He’d onlyever
