Page 32 of Clear Shot (Lauderdale Knights #9)

Aiden

I can’t remember the last time I got drunk on a game day, but I’m down on Fort Lauderdale beach tying one on at the Elbo Room before noon.

I lied to coach about having an emergency so he let me out of the morning skate, and I’m sitting here staring out at the ocean, fucking up my life even more than it already is.

Depression and alcohol aren’t a good mix, but I don’t care.

My life is a full-on clusterfuck, and I deserve a little self-medicating care.

My body knows what to do on the ice in my sleep so I’ll muddle through tonight’s game.

The problem will be tomorrow.

And every day after that, walking through the halls of my now very empty house.

I don’t know what I did to deserve the current shit show that’s my life, but I should have known better than to trust a woman. Any woman. Even my teammate’s sweet, gorgeous sister. Especially considering the circumstances of our marriage.

I absolutely let my dick do my thinking for me when I made that decision.

Now all I can hope for is that she doesn’t walk away with a million dollars of my money.

Fuck.

I really am a dumbass when it comes to women.

There’s a reason I stayed single after my divorce. Not even a girlfriend or a regular hookup. One and done. Always.

Until Hana.

I married her, got her the visa she desperately wanted, bought her a house, promised her the world—all while she fucked some other guy.

How did we get from there to here?

None of it makes sense.

I suck down a shot of tequila and let it burn its way down my throat.

Not only do I stand to lose a lot of money, chances are I’m going to have to ask for a trade. There’s no way I can keep playing on a team with Johan.

And that pisses me off because I love this team.

I have friends, a family of sorts, people I can count on.

Thanks to Hana, I’m going to lose it all.

Serves me right for allowing myself to fall for a pretty face.

Dumbass.

I motion to the bartender to bring me another.

“Dude, it’s Aiden Barbeau!” I hear the words and steel myself.

I hoped I wouldn’t run into fans here at the beach on a weekday, but no such luck.

I don’t look up, merely shoot back another shot.

“Drinking on a game day—right on!” The guy sits next to me with a big grin.

“I’d like to be alone,” I say quietly. “Going through some family stuff.”

“Oh, shit. You okay? I’m sorry, man. Family stuff is the worst. My sister just found out she has breast cancer so the whole family has been up in arms. Going to chemo with her, a meal train…” He continues to babble but I just tune him out.

“You still gonna play tonight?” he asks when I don’t engage.

“Just leave it alone,” I mutter.

“But the team needs you!”

Yeah, the team I’m probably not going to be on much longer.

“You want another?” The bartender asks me.

I nod.

“Dude, you’re not going to be worth shit on the ice if you keep it up,” the fan says, a little censure creeping into his voice.

“And you’re not my fucking coach,” I snap, starting to lose my patience.

“Whoa, dude, chillax. I’m just a concerned fan.”

“I don’t need your concern.”

“Then maybe your coach needs to know where you spend your time before a game.” He pulls out his phone, and I mentally groan.

I really don’t need this shit.

Not today.

“Put it away,” I growl.

“Ha! Now you’re worried.” He points the phone in my direction, and I know this isn’t going to end well.

“I’m asking nicely,” I say, finally looking at him.

“Guess who’s drinking at the Elbo Room at 12:30 on a game day?” The guy is talking into the phone.

God fucking dammit.

“Dude, I’m asking for some privacy.”

“He’s already had at least three shots of tequila and?—”

Before I realize what I’m doing, I knock the phone out of his hand and send it flying. Then I get up and crunch the heel of my boot into it.

“What the fuck?!” The guy stands up and he’s a lot bigger than I am.

Shit.

My day is about to go from bad to worse.

But I’m all in for a fight.

I don’t even care if I spend the night in jail.

It might be a welcome respite from my life.

And help in my quest to get traded.

So I don’t hesitate—and take the first swing.

For whatever reason, fate is smiling on me.

Not only is the guy a punk who goes down like a rock, the bartender knows Jordan, of all people. Before I can really wrap my head around the fight, the crowd who surrounds us—with their phone cameras pointed right at me—and the paramedics who show up, Jordan is there.

He gives the guy money—at least a thousand dollars from what I gathered—and pays my bar tab.

Somehow, he does damage control saying something about a death in the family and to please give me a break.

The next thing I know I’m in his convertible Mustang, wind blowing through my hair as he drives me away from the beach.

And for at least twenty minutes, neither of us say a word.

I’m both grateful and pissed off.

At him, at Hana, and mostly at myself.

Everything happening is my own damn fault.

The ever-present black cloud that’s been following me since my teens reared its ugly head today. This always happens. I know better than to get too comfortable with happiness—it never lasts. Not for me anyway.

“You going to tell me what the fuck that was about?” Jordan says as we head west.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To the arena,” he replies. “You have a lot of explaining to do. I did my best to minimize the fallout, but you know those videos are probably already on social media. You’ll need to talk to Coach and the PR team.”

Great.

“And you know he’s going to bench you.”

I totally deserve it.

“You also owe me fifteen hundred bucks for that guy’s phone.”

“I’m good for it.”

“Dude, what the fuck were you thinking? What’s going on?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Yeah, it kind of does.”

“Hana and I broke up.” I might as well get it over with. There’s no way to pretend we’re still together.

“Oh, fuck. What happened?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Did you cheat?”

“Not me.”

He pauses. “Wait—are you saying she did?” He bursts out laughing, which pisses me off all over again.

“If you’re going to be a dick, just drop me off at home.”

“Come on, you can’t be serious.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I don’t think you’re going to have a choice.”

“I’ll explain to Coach that my marriage is over and I need a couple of days to figure some shit out. But I don’t owe anyone the details.”

“I just saved your sorry ass and I don’t deserve an explanation?”

“Nope.”

“You really believe she cheated?”

Yes and no.

It’s hard to believe but the proof is in that positive pregnancy test.

“I can’t…” My voice turns bitter. “I’m not ready to talk about it. I will—I do owe you for today—but right now I’m too fucking raw.”

“All right.” He gives in gracefully, and it occurs to me he’s one of the friends I’m going to lose in all of this. Not because he’ll take sides, but these friendships are difficult to maintain once you’re traded.

“I’m going to ask for a trade,” I say.

“What?!” He swerves before turning to stare at me.

“I can’t be on a team with Johan, and he has a family. It’s easier for me to be the one to go.”

“But he didn’t do anything and, assuming I’m reading between the lines correctly, neither did you.”

“You know things are never that simple. She’s his sister.

He’s going to side with her no matter what.

And I get that. He’s supposed to—that’s what family does.

Look, I got myself into this mess, and these are the consequences of my actions.

I should have known better but no point in crying over spilled milk. ”

“This is bullshit,” he mutters. “And women suck.”

He’s had his own issues with women. His first girlfriend after he joined the league almost cost him his place on the team. He wound up in the minors for two years and has had to bust his ass to get back to the Knights. So I know he understands better than most.

“Yeah, they do.”

“What can I do, man?”

“You’ve already gone above and beyond. I owe you. For real.”

“Nah. You don’t owe me. That’s what brothers do.”

Brothers .

My real brother would probably just set me on fire to keep me warm so it means a lot to hear those words.

And now I need to get traded.

Fuck. Me.