Chapter 78 A Nice Shiner
a nice shiner
Cal
Game two of our pre-season is a harsh, ultra-physical, back-and-forth with a lot of shots on goal, but only one score by Boris in the third period. A win is a win, and I feel good about the fact that I let nothing get by.
In the locker room, I get tons of slaps on the back, guys telling me what a killer I am at goal. After about the tenth compliment, I feel compelled to respond to all the praise. “This is why I get paid the big bucks—”
Dante Castellano gets in my face, his finger nearly poking me in the eye as he growls, “You arrogant prick.”
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I realized I’d fucked up with my social commentary. Again. Wrong thing to say at the wrong time to the wrong people. Happens frequently.
I raise an eyebrow in response to Castellano’s hostility and move to turn away from him, but he steps into my space again and says, “One of these days, you’re going to end up with a broken arm or a concussion and you’re gonna fuckin’ deserve that shit.”
“Oh, I recognize you, Dan. You’re the schoolyard bully who threatened to beat me up when he realized I was smarter than him.”
Defenseman Tyler snickers over by his locker, but Dan is not laughing. “Yes, I realize you think you’re better and smarter than all of us here. Go take that shit to college. We don’t need it here.”
“That’s literally the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.” I roll my eyes. “Being better and smarter is literally the job. You need to stop being such an entitled little bitch. Go work on your goalkeeping skills and maybe you’d land a first-string deal.”
“You came in and stole my first-string deal.”
“I didn’t steal anything. I was told to come here, so I came. It’s not my fault they didn’t bump you up, man.” He pushes me against the locker, and I shove him right back. “Get out of my face, dude. I’m serious.”
“Or what?” he taunts, a weird smile on his face. “You’re gonna beat me up?”
“Why would I beat you up? I’ve got no issue with you. You’re the one all up in my face, because your fragile ego got hurt. I thought we were past this.”
“Stop mocking me,” he says, slamming me against the locker again. “You arrogant fucking prick.”
“Literally not mocking you.” I look out to see who’s going to have my back. Evan steps toward me, ready to grab Dante. Tyler and Georg seem to be lining up to help, as well.
“Castellano,” Evan warns.
I push him away, hoping the tone of our captain and a sharp shove will get him to come to his senses, but it only pisses him off and he throws a punch. It lands at the side of my nose with a crack and my vision goes white for a second.
I’m not a big fighter, but damn. I grab Castellano and put him in a headlock.
He battles to get loose, but I train every day, and my guess is that he does not, so he’s got nothing on me for brute strength.
I disable him long enough for Tyler and Evan to grab him, dragging him toward the door and out into the hallway.
Tyler comes back almost immediately to check on me. “You all right, man? That’s gonna be a nice shiner. Hope it doesn’t block your view from goal.”
“Go see the team doc,” Georg says, peering at me. Then he grins and says, “I’m channeling Kazmeirowicz. Pretend I’m the team captain now.”
I shake my head and wander off, finding a facility person outside who ushers me toward the medical office, where I get checked for concussion and have a bag of ice thrown at me.
I sit with it on my face for a while, and when I get back, the locker room is empty.
I sit in the quiet and just breathe. I know I’m a good player, a great one, even.
It makes sense that this goon would be upset about not getting the chance to move up, but I find it hard to believe he’s even worth the payroll he’s on now.
I might have to talk to the coaching staff about him.
Physical violence toward a teammate isn’t totally out of the realm of possibility.
I mean, it’s a physical sport, but usually, it’s not tolerated.
When I get back to my hotel room, my mind is still buzzing about the tussle with Castellano. I order room service and flop on the bed, flipping on the television to try to get my mind on something else.
Billie texts me just as my food arrives.
Billie: Good win tonight. You’re a beast.
Cal: You watched?
Billie: God help me, I did.
Cal: Was it a sacrifice for you?
Billie: Surprisingly, no.
Cal: LOL
Billie: Whatcha doin’?
Cal: Eating room service and overthinking a locker room brawl.
Billie: Brawl?
Cal: Well, more like me getting punched in the eye.
Billie: Yikes.
Cal: Second-string goalie has issues.
Cal: Should I still come to your dad’s party tomorrow?
Cal: Black eyes probably aren’t black tie material.
Billie: No, it’ll make you look tough and intimidating.
Cal: I’m pretty sure nothing makes me look tough or intimidating.
Billie: LMAO
Billie: Well, a black eye will. And it’s probably kinda hot. Send me a pic?
Cal: Scandalous
Cal: *sends pic*
Cal: Your parents will think I’m a brute.
Billie: Meh, you’re a hockey player. Goes with the territory.
Billie: Plus, you’re my fake boyfriend, so you don’t actually have to care what they think.
Cal: True, true.
We text and flirt for about an hour before I hit the post-game wall and need to sleep. I get all the party details and tell her I’ll see her tomorrow night. I go to bed smiling, thinking about how she watched the game tonight.
Billie Hirsch watched the game to see me play.
This morning I am summoned to the hotel conference rooms to have a meeting with Castellano, the entire coaching staff, and Evan Kazmeirowicz.
“Castellano got in his face and wouldn’t back down. He had to be restrained by several players after he struck Cal in the face,” Evan explains.
“And what did you do then?” Coach Brown asks me.
“I put him in a headlock until our captain and Lockhardt could get him off.”
“Okay, well, you need to dial back the cocky attitude, Lefleur. It’s not doing much for you in assimilating with this team. Work on that.”
“Duly noted, Coach.”
I take my lecture from coaching about being cocky, but otherwise, it’s Castellano who gets the load of the beating. They suspend him for two games, which doesn’t mean squat since he never plays anyway. But then they really level him by saying they won’t renew his contract at the end of the season.
Castellano faces the room and announces, “This is all a load of bullshit,” before storming off, the last thing out of his mouth is that he’s calling his agent.
Evan breaks the pointed silence. “His agent is terrible.”
“He’s terrible,” I reply.
“He’s just disappointed.”
“He should be. In himself. There’s a reason he doesn’t get to play and a reason the team brought me here. I can’t do shit about the fact that he’s not good enough. And I tried to be nice to him. I tried to tell him to work on his game so he could be ready.”
“Some people want to sit around and be angry about their lots in life.” Evan stands and says, “Got anything planned for your night off in the big city?”
“I’m going to a birthday party with a friend.”
“Cool.”
There’s an awkward silence, then, and Evan looks at his phone, then his watch. “All right, mate, I’ve got to head out.”
“Yeah, okay. See you.”
It felt like forever until it was time to go to Billie’s parents’ house; the day passing slowly after the drama-charged meeting with Castellano this morning. But I’ve decided I’m done giving that loser another thought as I get ready to go play the role of Billie’s fake boyfriend.
I choose a deep royal-blue suit with a sharp white shirt and a black tie. One thing I can say for Emily is she knows fashion and always picked out beautiful suits for me when I was in Montreal.
Billie’s family lives in one of those stereotypical Malibu houses—the ones high on the rocks, overlooking the sea with vast windows that glow vibrantly in the waning light.
I make my way up an incline of a driveway to the door, where someone asks my name, checks it off a list, and beckons me inside.
I wander in through a vast entryway. The house has an open floor plan, with a sunken living room on one side and a vast kitchen and dining area on the other. It’s all ultra-modern and tasteful. Beautiful, though I have a hard time imagining Billie growing up here.
“Hey, you!” her familiar voice calls. I snap to attention and find her heading my way in a lacy, indigo-blue gown that shows off her luscious body.
My cock jumps. I’ve come to really appreciate Billie’s understated style, but tonight, she looks like a celebrity. She makes me feel slightly tongue-tied.
As she approaches, she leans in and kisses me on the mouth. I’m sure it’s for show but I welcome it wholeheartedly. I put my arm around her, at the small of her back, and return the affection.
She pulls away with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “What a welcome.”
I huff a laugh. “You look amazing.”
She blushes and reaches out to touch my face, where a black eye has indeed bloomed. “Nice shiner.”
“Annoying.”
“No, I think it’s badass,” she assures me. “Come on, let’s go meet the parents.”
She takes my arm, and we wander through a maze of people, some of whom recognize me and ask if I got the black eye during the game. I say yes because I don’t want to talk with strangers about our team drama.
We near a very regal-looking couple, and I can guess that they are Billie’s parents just from the family resemblance. Her father has dark, wavy hair and Billie’s eyes. Her mother’s hair is a lighter shade, but she has Billie’s prominent nose and lips.
“You must be the boyfriend we never knew about,” her mother says. There’s a tone, for sure, and her side-eye to Billie says the rest. “I’m Ditta Hirsch.”
Ditta Hirsch is a movie producer. A big name that even I recognize. I had no idea.
“I’ve heard of you,” I say, shaking her hand. “Calum Lefleur.”
“And I’m David Hirsch. The dad.”
I shake David’s hand. “Happy birthday, sir.”
“Thanks. Nice shut-out last night.”
“Oh, you saw it?”
“Watched it with my little girl. Didn’t see the part where you got clocked in the eye, though.”
I cringe. “Well, that was an unplanned mishap. It does happen.”
“I’m sure it does in your line of work. How do you like Las Vegas?”
“I didn’t want to come, quite honestly”—I look at Billie—“but I’m finding more reasons to like it every day, though.”
“Good man. Well, the Crush sure have bought up all the good real estate these past couple of years. Think they’re on the way to becoming a legacy team? Hockey’s own Silver State Warriors?”
I shrug. “They do have a powerful first line. Second string is short, in my opinion, so the legacy really depends on everyone staying healthy and second string getting up to par.”
“Kazmeirowicz going to play much longer?”
I shrug. “I don’t see why not. He’s still effective.”
We continue with the hockey talk for a while, until a tall, Hollywood heartthrob-looking guy comes up and barrels into David for a hug.
“Kit, my boy! Nice of you to show up fashionably late.”
“It’s what I do,” the guy says. He turns and looks at me. “And you are?”
My eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. This is Kit Hirsch, the actor. Like, the really huge and famous A-list actor. Emily drools over him every time he’s on screen.
“I’m Cal.”
“Your sister’s hockey player boyfriend,” David adds.
“You’re banging my sister?” Kit levels me with a stare I’m not sure is hostile or teasing.
I cringe again. “We’re just getting to know each other.”
David clips Kit on the back of the head. “You’re cut off until you can act like a gentleman, son.”
“Sorry, I’s just messing with ya,” Kit says, grinning at me. “Happy birthday, Pops.”
As they get into a conversation about casting for some movie, Billie and her mother move in my direction. Ditta Hirsch is eagle-eyed, looking me up and down, and not kindly.
“So, how long have you been seeing my daughter?” Her voice is heavy with the same tone she gave me before.
“Not long. We met through her work.”
“Ugh,” her mother groans, rolling her eyes. “Her pittance of a job in that glorified schoolhouse? Wasting her talent if you ask me.”
“She is very talented,” I counter. “And great with the kids.”
“She’s been groomed for the spotlight. That’s where I want her.”
“Yes, yes, Mother,” Billie says. “We all know you’re disappointed that only one of your children has skyrocketed into worldwide celebrity. If you’ll excuse us, I want to introduce Cal to some of my friends.”
Billie grabs my arm, and we head away from her family, making a beeline for the bar. While we wait, I can’t help asking, “Why didn’t you tell me your family was…”
“Was what?”
“Super famous?”
She shrugs. “I’m not about that life. I don’t use their names or status to get things. My band hates me for it, but whatever.”
We get our drinks, head outside to the stairs, and go down them to the long boardwalk that leads to the beach. There’s a bench just at the sand, and we sit, sipping our drinks in silence, with only the ocean sounds filtering up from the shoreline.
“That was a lot,” I say after a moment of quiet reflection.
“It’s always extra like that, all the time. I’m sorry. You did great, though.”
“Who were you hiding from, that you needed a fake boyfriend?”
“Oh, my mom. She’s always trying to set me up with someone’s actor son or singer son or producer son.”
I nod. “Got it.”
“My dad liked you.”
“He was nice.”
“The most normal of the bunch,” she says wistfully. “I do love my dad.”
“Not your mom?”
“It’s complicated. She had me in show business before I could walk. When I decided I didn’t want it, she couldn’t let it go.”
“I get that. My parents had other plans for me, too.”
“You want to walk on the beach?”
“Sure.”
We slip off our shoes and leave our glasses on the bench. She holds my hand as we walk, the sound of the waves calming in comparison to the frenetic energy of the party up the hill.
As we get to a deserted part of the beach, we stop and look out at the water. Well, Billie looks at the water. I look at her profile.
“I know this is a fake relationship, for the purposes of annoying your mother, but I do want you to know I find you genuinely attractive.”
She turns, a soft and kind of shy smile on her face. “I find you genuinely attractive, too.”
“There’s the work at the center with the kids, you know? Like, we keep tipping over the line because there’s something going on between us, but I don’t know where things should go from here, Billie.”
She nods, licking her bottom lip in a way that distinctly does not make things easier. “I wonder…” She sighs. “I wonder if we could have a sexual relationship and still be professional for work at the center?”
I lean in, ready to kiss her. “I can compartmentalize.”
“Is that so, Mr. Lefleur?”
“Indeed, Ms. Hirsch. Compartmentalizing is my specialty,” I whisper against her lips, this time fully intending to kiss her properly.