Chapter 31
The next Monday Nick parked by his apartment building and threaded his grocery bags down his arms. What was the point of having biceps if you weren’t going to use them? He was on the second stair when he realized someone was standing outside his door, and he was on the third stair when he placed her. That gruesome woman Alyssa worked for. Had worked for. She looked like she’d stepped out of a Hieronymus Bosch painting. There was a cameraman behind her.
“Can I help you?” he said, going up the stairs and sticking his key in the lock, but not opening the door.
“I’m Stacey Treblor. I own Stacey’s Interiors,” she said. “I never got an answer to my calls or texts, so I just popped by to take a look at the place. I’m sure Alyssa told you we’re featuring it in our next marketing campaign—congratulations!”
“Yeah, no.”
She went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’ll just see what we’re working with now if it isn’t tidy, but if the place is in good shape, we can go ahead and get some basic footage. I’ll want to bring in some flowers later and maybe some food to stage it.”
“Not interested.” Nick nodded to the cameraman and turned the key but didn’t open the door.
“The thing is, Mr. Sorensen,” Stacey said, her voice chilled, “you signed a contract that gives us the right to do this.”
He sighed and turned to her, the bags draped down his arms. “Will the ad generate enough revenue to overcome the cost of litigation?” He was betting he had deeper pockets, but he wasn’t sure. He probably made more a year, but she’d been around a lot longer.
She cocked her head. “You’ll lose. A contract is a contract. And if you sue us, it will bring even more publicity to my business.” She smiled.
Well, shit. That was probably true.
“How are you going to get in, since I’m never going to let you?”
“I’ll sue your ass off,” she said. “And then I’m going to make a series of ads of your place. The harder you make it to get in, the more ads I’m going to run.” She tapped a navy-blue fake fingernail on his chest and turned to go.
“Game on,” he called, then pushed the door open and dropped the bags. He hadn’t planned to hold them quite that long. He locked the door, then stepped to the window to watch her go. She looked up as she pulled away and gave him a wave that didn’t engage her wrist. An old girlfriend had shown him that move once and explained it was how the queen waved so she wouldn’t tire her wrist out greeting peasants. He’d thought the queen should get her ass to the gym more often. That was just embarrassing.
Nick thought about things while he put the cold food away. The freezer still had the remains of the ice cream he’d bought when Alyssa had been over, painting. They’d had such a good time that night. And again at her place. This woman was funny and smart and knew things about art. This was a woman he could talk to. And then he’d asked her out, and she’d turned him down.
She’d also left him with ice cream in his freezer, which was a temptation he didn’t need. He wasn’t a guy who drowned his sorrows with sweets. But he could chop the hell out of some carrots. He got a cutting board out and slam-sliced until he figured the downstairs neighbors were calling the police.
When he had his refrigerator containers refilled with ready-to-eat vegetables, he drove to his therapist’s office. Dr. Williams was waiting for him and ushered him right in, laying a hand on his forearm.
“Nick. I read about the engine fire. How are you?” She looked at him closely.
He shrugged. “I’m okay.” She tapped her fingers together in an “I don’t believe you” gesture. “You know what I was thinking when we were going down? This time, I mean?”
“No,” she said softly.
“I thought about my parents and how much this would suck for them—if I died after all that effort to patch me back together. But then I thought about Sammy.” He hesitated. “He was my best friend for years. We knew each other from hockey camp even before we were in the AHL.”
“He’s the one you avoid talking about,” she said. “You change the subject whenever he comes up.”
“Um. Yeah. So anyway, I was thinking maybe I was about to see Sammy. And at the last minute, I buckled my seat belt anyway.”
Dr. Williams clasped her hands and pressed them against her mouth. Her eyes were wet. “That’s progress, Nick.” She reached behind her, to her desk, and picked up a piece of paper. “I read the article about it. The reporter talked about what happened on the plane, how you calmed everyone. How you calmed him.” She picked up a pair of reading glasses. “This ending! His final paragraph is a single line: ‘One more thing: the Detroit Red Wheels are brave and handsome.’”
Nick smiled. “Yeah, he did a good job.” He tapped his fingers on the armrest of the chair.
“I want to hear more about Sammy,” she said.
“I want to tell you about the Richard Riot.”
She sighed.
“No, this is gonna be good,” he said, leaning forward. “Oh, and I was thinking next week we should meet at the public rink. You need to learn to skate.”
Her eyebrows shot up again. “Would you be comfortable talking about your life at a public rink?”
He hesitated. “Well, no. So it would be good for that reason too.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to learn to skate.”
He sighed loudly. “You need to take some chances. Try new things.” No reason he couldn’t parrot that shit back.
She cleared her throat and redirected the conversation. “What do you have coming up?”
“Los Angeles comes in on Tuesday, then St. Louis …” He caught her expression. “You mean me personally?” She nodded and her dreads rocked. “Um.” Crap. What was going on? He needed something that sounded emotionally healthy. “Hey, I’m going to a party! Devin’s hosting the team and a few random friends.”
“Sounds like a big gathering.”
He shrugged. “Probably not everybody will go. It may not be as big as the Richard Riot.” There. He was back on track.
Three hours later he had retained an attorney—Dr. Williams’s brother-in-law, who came highly recommended; scanned the design agency’s contract and emailed it to the attorney’s office; and gone in to the rink to take some laps in a pair of skates he was breaking in. His thoughts went around with his feet: Alyssa had dug her fingers into his shoulders. Alyssa had licked the outside of his ear. Alyssa had refused to go out with him.
The situation was confusing and irritating, but at least his apartment was finished, and he wouldn’t have to see her again.