Page 113 of Brooklynaire

“That sure sucked for the bossman,” Castro says as we reach the corner. “Wouldn’t want the whole world knowing my ex dumped me for a meathead likePalacio.”

“People say he’s adick,” Heidi Jo chimesin.

“Bec, did you know her?” Silasasks.

We wait to cross Atlantic Avenue, and I consider the question. “A little. Spoke to her on the phone a couple times a day. Saw her once or twice a week. But just small talk, you know? Shocked the hell out of me when they brokeup.”

“You’re a pretty good judge of character,” Castro says. “You likedher?”

“Nope,” I say immediately. “But I can’t even saywhy.”

Heidi Jo smirks, and I give her a look ofwarning.

“Nate’s prolly hitting the whiskey tonight,” Castro says. “Bet he won’t turn up at the bar, though. Not after that bullshit. Everyone knows how much he hates Dallas; now we knowwhy.”

My heart sinks. “Because Dallas issmug,” I argue. “If Nate wanted revenge on a guy, you really think buying a team is an efficient strategy? He’d probably just make the guy’s phone run at a quarter the normal speed, or write a script that gave him zits in every photo on theinternet.”

My three friends burst outlaughing.

But I wasn’t joking. And I can’t stand the idea of Nate brooding in his empty house alone. “You know, I think I’m too wiped for The Tavern. I’ll see you guyslater?”

“Want us to walk you home?” Castro asks, always thegentleman.

“Nope, I’m good!” I say cheerily. I back away from them slowly.Nothing to seehere.

Heidi Jo chuckles. “Get somerest.” Shewinks.

I turn and jog down Atlantic, toward thePromenade.

27

Nate

June 10, Brooklyn

My den isdark as I enter the room. But the moment I walk in, soft lighting switcheson.

“Hullo, Master Nate,” Bingley says. “Would you like thetelevision?”

“God, no.” Given the press conference debacle, I may never watch again. “Pour me a Scotch, wouldyou?”

“Sorry, sir. I have not the talent which some people possess. That is beyond mycapabilities.”

“I know, Bingley. Just wondered what you’d say.” Just another night in singlesville, joking with a bot. Party on. Good thing there’s a hidden bar in the corner of this room. I open a walnut cabinet and take out a glass and a bottle of Macallan 18. I pour myself two fingers of Scotch and kick off myshoes.

Then I sit down and take a sip. It burns goingdown.

I shouldn’t care what’s written about me in some rag of a newspaper. Whether we win the Cup or not, the hockey team is a labor of love. People said I couldn’t turn the franchise around. And yet I did exactly that with good management and great coaching. And I did it in two shortyears.

They were floundering before I bought the team. And now they’re not. Theend.

But the article stings. Juliet left me for an athlete, and I don’t want people to read that andlaugh.

My phone rings in my pocket—my mother’s ringtone. I ignore it. She’ll say nice things to me, but I don’t want to hear them. But she starts texting meanyway.

What just happened? Do you think this is Juliet’swork?

I doubt it, but my mother never likedher.