Hip Check (New York Blades) (34 page)

47

Fuck you, Esa
thought, as Rory walked out of the bar. His friend was getting on his nerves anyway, being boring and sanctimonious. What he wanted was fun.
F
.
U
.
N
. Christ only knew the last time he’d had any of
that
.

He glanced around the bar at the girls. Many of them were beautiful. All he had to do was pick one, walk up to her, and start talking. Women loved accents. They’d ask him if he was from Russia. When he told them Finland, they’d look a little confused. Finland? He was amazed by how little Americans knew about the rest of the world. I play for the New York Blades, he’d say modestly. That’s when they’d get that look in their eyes, the one that said, “A professional athlete? Wow.” It was amazing, how it took just that one little fact to impress them. He’d offer to buy them a drink. If they were with a girlfriend, he’d politely offer to buy her a drink, too, but it wasn’t his job to tell the friend to get lost, at least not verbally. In his experience, the friend always got lost eventually, and he always got what he wanted. Tonight wasn’t going to be any different.

He got up, a rush of blood to his head. He held the lip of the table, just for a split second, to steady himself. Rory was a fucking idiot; he was nowhere near drunk. He was halfway down the road to
really
happy. He smiled to himself, but as quickly as the happiness came it was snatched from his body, leaving him feeling bitter. He deserved a night like this. Since August, his life had been one crisis after another after another. That’s life in Reality Land, a voice sniggered in his ear. Screw Reality Land.

He carefully assessed the room. A jolt. Michelle? He blinked several times before logic kicked in: Michelle was home watching Nell. But the woman he’d focused on looked like her: small, with short brunette hair and a spunky smile. She was talking to another woman, a tall rangy blonde who held no appeal for him at all.

He took a steadying breath, then made his way over to their table.

“Hi,” he said, smiling at the brunette. “I’m Esa.”

Her eyes slid warily to her friend’s before replying. “I’m Eve.”

“Nice to meet you, Eve.” He regarded her friend. “I’m Esa.”

“Devon.”

“Interesting name.”

“So’s yours,” remarked Devon dryly.

Esa redirected his attention at the brunette. “I’m from Finland.”

Eve looked impressed, the way Esa knew she would be. “Really? I’ve never met anyone from Finland before!”

“I take it you’re a student at NYU?”

“Yeah, a junior. I’m majoring in economics.”

“I play for the New York Blades.”

“Wow,” Eve said. Devon was doing a very nice impersonation of one of the statues on Easter Island.

“I was wondering: can I buy you ladies some drinks?”

“It’s really, really flattering that you want to do that,” said Eve, her smile genuine, “but I don’t think it’s a very good idea: my boyfriend will be back in a minute.”

“I’m sorry.”

Esa realized he had to be very drunk, because he usually didn’t care if a woman had a boyfriend or not. He knew his way around that obstacle. But standing here now, feeling no pain as the room waved at him, it dawned on him that he didn’t want to be
that guy
, the drunken asshole who hits on women with boyfriends.

“It was nice meeting you, though,” said Eve.

Esa smiled at her. “You, too.”

He took his time moving to the bar. One more, he thought. Then he’d go. He ordered another shot, drinking it and turning away just in time to see Easter Island Devon pointing him out to some guy with his jeans hanging off his ass and a Bon Iver T-shirt on. Esa smirked. Asshole may as well have “Super Sensitive Wimp” spelled out in neon lights over his head.

He watched as Eve put a hand on the guy’s wrist as if to still him. Smart girl. He turned back to the bar. That’s when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Esa turned. He sighed; it was the Super Sensitive Wimp.

“Help you with something?” Esa said.

“I hear you were hitting on my girlfriend.”

Esa longed to tell him it was hard to take him seriously when he had a tattoo of Batman on his forearm, but he didn’t. Instead, he smiled apologetically at the douchebag. “Yeah, sorry about that. I didn’t know she had a boyfriend when I went over to the table.”

“Yeah, well, she does, asshole.”

“Glad we established that,” said Esa, beginning to turn back to the bar. That’s when the guy shoved his shoulder.

Esa felt an eerie calmness come over him. “What’s your fucking problem, man?”

“I’m not done with you.”

The calmness intensified. “Do yourself a favor, okay? Turn around and go back to your girlfriend right now, and I’ll forget you shoved me.”

People were watching now, their phones out, poised and waiting for a fight. Esa felt pity for Batman as he tried to play tough guy to the crowd. It was totally pathetic.

“I don’t think you heard me,” said Batman, his lips drawing back from his teeth in what he probably thought was a snarl.

Esa sighed heavily. “You don’t want to do this. Trust me.”

The calmness had extended beyond the boundaries of his body, and had possessed the bar. There was a growing sense of anticipation; Esa heard his name being whispered. So, some people did know who he was. Normally, that would be a good thing. Right now, it wasn’t, especially if this asshole didn’t walk away soon.

“You’re drunk off your ass,” Batman continued, taunting him. “You couldn’t throw a decent punch if you tried.”

“You’re right,” said Esa, holding up his palms in surrender rather than curling them into fists. “So what’s the point? Go back to your fucking table.”

Batman glared. “I said I wasn’t done with you.”

“Say what you have to say, and
then
go back to your fucking table.”

“I want you to apologize to my girlfriend.”

“I already did. Once is enough.”

“Do it again.” Batman looked around at the crowd again, eager for approval. No one responded.

“You hear me, you Swedish asshole?”

“I’m Finnish,” said Esa, sounding blasé. “And by the way, go fuck yourself.”

Batman aimed for his face, but even in his drunken state, Esa easily sidestepped it. He was a hockey player and ducking punches while on skates was part of his DNA. Doing it on solid ground, in street shoes, was easy. Esa grabbed his attacker by the neck of his T-shirt and shoved him. “Fuck off before you get hurt. I’m not joking.”

Batman nodded curtly, and started pushing his way back through the disappointed crowd toward his table. Then he changed his mind and rushed Esa, throwing another punch. Esa stepped inside the punch, as his father and every coach he’d had since he was ten years old taught him. Before the missed punch finished whizzing by his head, Esa instinctively snapped a right fist to the guy’s face. He should have left with Rory.

48

“I knew you
were an asshole, Saari, but I didn’t know you were stupid to boot.”

Lou Capesi looked disgusted as he pushed the Sunday morning edition of the
New York Sentinel
across his desk to Esa. Esa had assumed he’d be able to sleep off his brain shredding hangover and feel okay by early afternoon when Michelle got back from taking Nell to the Museum of Natural History, a place his niece never tired of. But he knew he was screwed when the phone rang at ten a.m. and it was Lou, demanding Esa come into the office.

Esa massaged his temples. “I can imagine what it says.”

“Read it,” Lou demanded. “Out loud.”

Esa glared at him as he snapped up the paper. “‘New York Blades star winger Esa Saari spent two hours in police custody after a dangerous scuffle in a Greenwich Village bar that police said was fueled by alcohol. He was released on two thousand dollars bail into the custody of fellow Blade Rory Brady.’” He shoved the paper back across the desk at Lou. “There. Happy?”

“Don’t you dare get surly with me, you prick! You’re not the one who’s going to have to clean up this mess—I am! ‘Dangerous scuffle’?”

Esa frowned. “That’s an exaggeration.”

“Oh, well, that’s a comfort,” Lou said sarcastically. He pulled open a desk drawer, emerging with a fistful of mini candy bars that he tossed on the desk, peeling the wrapping on one of them faster than a monkey attacks a banana, and shoving it in his mouth. “Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” he garbled. “This is exactly the kind of shit that drives the league insane! They’ve had a bee in their bonnet for years about fighting on the ice hurting hockey’s image! This is
really
gonna frost their asses.”

Esa cradled his head in his hands. “I’m sorry,” he said miserably.

“That doesn’t cut it.”

Esa lifted his head. “What the hell else do you want me to say?”

“Whatever I tell you to, at the press conference I’m setting up for you later today.”

“That goes without saying.” Esa winced; Lou’s deep, booming voice was making the throbbing in his head worse. “Could you lower your voice a little?”

“No, I cannot lower my voice a little!” Lou screamed, getting red in the face. His hands shook as he unwrapped another candy bar that he appeared to swallow whole. “This isn’t a joke!”

“I know that!” Esa shouted. “You think I’m proud of losing control? You think I’m proud that my way of dealing with the uncertainty about my future was to get shit faced? I’m not!”

“Yeah, that’s really gonna help your case.”

Esa actually struggled to his own defense. “Gimme a break, Lou. What about years back when there was that story about all the Blades snorting coke from the Stanley Cup? Did it affect the contract negotiations for any of them? What about when a bunch of them took the Cup to a topless bar? If you ask me, that’s worse than getting into a bar fight!”

“That’s irrelevant! Those things happened before people could take pictures with their phones!”

“But that’s a good thing!” Esa reasoned. “Because when videos of the fight go up on YouTube today, if they aren’t already up, people will see that the little prick taunted me and swung at me first! I repeatedly warned him to stop, and he wouldn’t. What was I supposed to do?
Take it?
”

“True,” Lou muttered. “But the
cops
were called! That says something.”

Esa’s fingers returned to his temples. “Well, I can’t undo it.”

“No kidding, you schmuck. I just hope you’re prepared for the shit storm that’s coming your way for the next few days: articles about how hockey players are violent on and off the ice; articles about athletes and booze and drugs; articles about overpaid jocks. You’re in for it.”

“I figured,” said Esa, his eyes feeling like they were being pushed out of their sockets with forks.

Lou sighed. “Look, I’ll do what I can. But don’t pull anything like this again. I know you’re on edge about Kidco and the contract and all that, but you really don’t need to worry, okay? Unless they’re dumb as a bag of fucking hammers, or you manage to massively suck in every game between now and the end of the season, which is doubtful, you’ll be offered a new contract, okay?”

“Okay,” Esa replied, not feeling in the least bit comforted. In fact, he felt so miserable he helped himself to one of the candy bars on the desk.

“Has Nell seen you yet?” Lou asked. “You look like shit.”

Esa felt shame roll through him. “She’s at the Museum of Natural History with Michelle.”

“Does Michelle know?”

“I don’t think so. She was asleep when Rory and I got back to the apartment. I’m sure she’ll know by the time they get back.”

“Good luck with that.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“Hey, take it like a man. If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime. She might just be the nanny, but you’re the kid’s guardian, and she has a right to be angry. She’s not supposed to be the only adult under that roof.”

“She’s not just the nanny,” Esa said to himself quietly.

Lou leaned forward. “You’re mumbling. What?”

“Nothing.” Esa tried rubbing his forehead, but it only seemed to make it worse.

“I’m setting up the press conference for four. That okay with you?”

“It’s fine.”

“Be there half an hour early. And don’t forget to wear a jacket and a tie.”

“I’m not an idiot!” Esa said angrily.

“Yeah?” questioned Lou, shaking the paper at him. “Well, you sure as hell could have fooled me.”

* * *

“Uncle Esa! You
look terrible!”

Michelle glared at Esa as she and Nell walked in the apartment and she watched Nell’s excitement while telling him all about the special exhibit they’d seen at the Museum morph into alarm. Michelle knew what had happened because someone had left a copy of the
Sentinel
in the back of the cab. She was furious. She’d had a sneaking suspicion he might be hungover when she woke to a note on the kitchen table that morning saying he had a headache. But this? A drunken fistfight in a bar?

Esa crouched so he was eye level with Nell. “I’m okay. I just had a very late night and I didn’t sleep well.” He wouldn’t look at Michelle. She wasn’t surprised: he had to know there was a look of disgust waiting for him.

“Are you sure?” Nell asked.

“Yup.”

“Okay.” Nell’s sunniness returned. “When are you going to come with me to the museum, though?”

Esa smiled. “Soon.”

Nell took his hand. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

Nell started leading Esa by the hand into the kitchen, stopping at the halfway point to look back over her shoulder at Michelle. “Come have cocoa with us, Michelle!”

“I can’t right now, honey. I have to catch up on some e-mails.”

“But it’ll be fun.”

“Seriously, Nell, I have a lot of friends I owe e-mails to.”

Nell looked disappointed. “Okay.”

Michelle went to her room and flipped open her laptop, settling down on her bed to write. Nell’s unflagging desire for the three of them to come together again continued to break her heart. Even though she knew they both loved her, that wasn’t enough, and Michelle worried it never would be. Nell still watched both of them closely for any sign that might signal a reversion to romantic status. Even though the “It’s complicated” answer hadn’t appeased her, at least she’d stopped asking Michelle about it.

She was half an hour into answering e-mail when she heard a tiny knock at her bedroom door. She smiled to herself; Nell, wanting to bake cookies. “Come in.”

The door opened. It was not Nell wanting to bake cookies.

Michelle froze. “Oh.”

Esa stood in the doorway. “Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

“Sure.” Michelle frowned worriedly. “Where’s Nell?”

“On her computer. I guess you inspired her.”

“Oh.” She thought about the last time he was in her room, and flushed. Right here, on this bed, against that desk . . . God. She hoped the heat in her face didn’t betray what she was thinking.

Esa didn’t move. “If you’d feel more comfortable talking in the living room . . .”

Michelle considered this. “No, it’s okay,” she said stiffly. “Just—keep the door open.”

“Of course.”

What an idiotic thing to say, she thought. As if he was going to attack her.

She was glad he had the good sense to pull up her desk chair, not perch on the edge of her bed.

“I’m sorry about what happened last night,” he said. “I embarrassed myself, and it was a thoughtless thing to do when I’m responsible for a child. I promise you it won’t happen again.”

“Okay.” Michelle went back to her e-mail. If he thought she was going to go into some kind of lengthy discussion with him, he was wrong.

“That’s it?” His voice was bewildered. “That’s all you have to say?”

Michelle lifted her eyes to his. “What did you expect me to say?”

“Truthfully? I thought you’d tear me a new asshole.”

“It’s obvious how I feel, isn’t it?”

“Usually you fire at me with both barrels.”

“I don’t have the energy. Although I do have to say, I’m surprised: I never thought you’d risk messing up that handsome face of yours.”

Esa grimaced. “I deserved that.”

“You deserve more than that.”

“I hated lying to Nell.”

Michelle refused to acknowledge the pain in his eyes. “You should.”

Esa ran his fingers through his hair. “I have to go back to Met Gar at three thirty for a press conference.”

“Understandable.”

“Michelle, would you just let me have it?” Esa said tersely. “There’s already enough tension between us without adding this to the mix.”

“That tension is different.”

“Still.”

Michelle closed her laptop and put it on the bed beside her. “You want me to tell you I’m pissed? Yeah, I’m pissed. I feel like you completely dropped the ball as an adult, and I feel like it was taking advantage of me as a nanny, and as someone who loves Nell. If Nell had a different nanny, you would never have gotten that shit faced. Never.”

Esa’s eyes darted away. “True.”

“What if this jerk had hurt you?” Michelle hadn’t realized how much the thought upset her until now. “What would I tell Nell? God forbid she finds out about this as it is. This is possibly the stupidest, most selfish thing you’ve done since I started working for you.”

“It won’t happen again.”

“You’re goddamn right it won’t.” Michelle paused, waiting for her anger to abate. “Look,” she said, letting feelings of sympathy momentarily catch the better of her. “I understand what you’re going through—”

“No, you don’t,” Esa snapped.

Michelle threw him the best ball shriveling look she could manage. “Don’t you dare snap at me.”

Esa stared out the window. “I’m sorry.”

“As I was saying,” Michelle continued pointedly, “what’s going on with you and the Kidco brass isn’t an excuse for you to revert to bad behavior.”

“I understand that, believe me,” Esa said ruefully, his gaze still fixed on the window. “And like I said, I’m sorry.”

“Good.”

“I miss you,” he said softly.

“Trying to lure me into bed? Sympathy fuck?”

Esa slowly turned his head to look at her. “I’m not like that anymore. You and Nell changed me.”

“Yeah, well, whatever,” Michelle said brusquely. “You said what you had to say, now go. And yes, I forgive you. But if you pull anything like this again—”

“I said I won’t.”

Michelle laughed incredulously, because he actually had the stones to sound irritated.

Esa stood and walked to the bedroom door. “I appreciate your understanding. I appreciate everything.”

Michelle frowned harshly. “Don’t. Just don’t.”

Esa nodded, closing the door behind him.

Michelle closed her eyes. She wanted to cry. She was tired and she felt used, but it was more than that: it was the frustration of missing Esa, too. But she refused to go back to that place, not when she’d made so much headway, or so she thought. He had no right to say that to me, she thought to herself angrily. Just because his head isn’t screwed on straight right now doesn’t mean he gets a free pass to mess with mine. If she needed to, she’d make sure he knew that in no uncertain terms, even if it meant driving the point home repeatedly. Forgiveness was one thing; losing your footing was quite another.