36. Zane
36
ZANE
Davis appears out of nowhere, clutching shot glasses between each of his fingers. “This round is on me, gentlemen.”
We stopped being “gentlemen” sometime between Davis jumping on the bar to sing LeAnn Rimes and Nathan and Reeves snapping a table in half while arm wrestling.
For the first couple hours tonight, I was blocking more shots than Cole did all night in the goal. I waved off every free drink that came my way. My teammates know I don’t drink much, but only a few people know I’m completely sober. I’ve gotten good at “staying on the trolley,” as Owen would say.
Then I caught a glimpse of black hair bobbing through the crowd.
I was out of my seat before I even knew what was happening, tracking this woman through the bar. I followed her all the way to the door of the women’s restroom before Cole grabbed me by the arm and asked me what I was doing.
Instead of answering, I snatched the drink out of his hand and tossed it back.
To clear my head, I thought. One drink and I’ll be done.
Now, I pluck shot number who-the-fuck-knows from Davis’s hand and I don’t bother pretending it’s going to be my last. It won’t be. My last drink will be the one that finally shuts off my brain. It’ll be the one that makes me forget my own name—and, more importantly, anything to do with dark-haired nannies.
Davis cheers as I toss the liquor back. “Fuck yeah! It’s good to see you loosen up, man. You deserve it. You were great out there tonight. Back to your old self.”
I’m my old self right now .
I slam that thought behind the comfortable haze of alcohol and clap Davis on the shoulder. “I have to piss.”
I wobble as I stand and make it all of five steps before I run into Reeves and Jemma. Really, Jemma runs into me. Reeves has his wife bent back over a rickety table, kissing her in a way that is only ever a lead-in to fucking. Her other leg is hooked over his hip and they're a zipper and a thrust away from giving everyone a show we never asked for.
Reeves assisted two of Carson's goals tonight. He played well and now, he's here. With his wife. Celebrating.
While Mira is waiting for me to get home so she can meet up with her fucking date.
Right on cue, my phone vibrates. Like each of the other thirty times it’s rang tonight, I ignore it and turn back towards the bar for another drink.
Jace is standing behind me, a half-full beer in his hand. “The bar is gonna ban us for life if we break another table.”
“No, they won’t. You already put your credit card down for the first one.”
He shrugs, but doesn’t deny it. Jace can’t help but do the right thing. Something breaks? He’s going to fix it.
I wonder what that must be like.
“Are we going to tell Reeves he's about to make his wife indecent or do we let him have his fun?” he ponders.
“Let him have fun,” I mumble. “Someone should.”
I take another step and stumble. Jace catches my shoulder. “You okay, man?”
That old, familiar shame bubbles up, but I ignore it and make my way to the bar. “I thought married couples were supposed to be sexless. Isn't that what happens once you have a kid?” I conveniently choose to ignore the fact that I've got Aiden and yet I still have plenty of energy left over to think about what—and where and when and how—I want to give to Mira. “Your entire life becomes about taking care of your kid.”
“It's not that simple. Think of it like… You and your wife become a team against your kid. But the goal isn't to destroy them—it's to make sure they brush their teeth, eat something green every day, and go out into public with all of their clothes on.”
I snort. “Sounds like you’re really shooting for the stars.”
“You have no idea,” he laughs. “Gallagher tried to wear only his pajama shirt and his Mario Bros underwear to the park a few days ago. Rachelle had to bribe him with fruit snacks to get him into pants.”
Jace is the one who has no idea. He doesn’t know about Aiden, and I’m not going to tell him. I’m too drunk to have that kind of heart-to-heart right now.
“Speaking of, where is Rachelle? Shouldn’t you two be making out on a table, too?”
“She and her sister took Gallagher to the game and then went back home for a movie night. Going out with the team sounded like more fun than listening to them cry over The Notebook for the dozenth time.” He takes a long drink. “What about you? Was Mira at the game tonight?”
“Nah. Didn’t invite her.”
“Why not? It looked like you had fun at the party.”
“Because she’s not my fuckin’ girlfriend,” I snap.
Jace frowns, but Davis pops his head between us. His cheeks are burning red and his eyes are glazed. “Beer chugging relay. Right here, right now. Rookies versus veterans.”
“No way,” Jace says, waving Davis off like a fly. “I’m free tonight, but my kid will still be awake at seven tomorrow morning.”
“I wasn’t asking you, old man.” Davis turns to me. “Don’t let me down, Whitaker. We need you!”
Jace leans forward, looking from Davis to me. “What are you talking about? Zane doesn’t even?—”
“I’m in.” I push away from the bar before Jace can grab me and join the line forming on the back wall.
“A pint glass for everyone,” Davis proclaims, doling out the beer. “You know the rules: no drinking until the man in front of you has finished the last drop and placed his glass on the table. Last team to finish runs sprints at practice. Are we clear?”
Everyone closes in, teammates and fans alike. Phones are out and people are snapping photos and taking videos. All I can do is stare down at the drink in front of me, waiting for my turn.
It’s just a drink. It’s not like I’m using again.
This is fine.
This is fine.
This is fine.
A blur of motion off to my left. Davis finishes his drink and slams it down. Nathan is a few seconds behind him, slamming his empty pint glass down. Cole next. When he finishes his drink, I don’t hesitate. I unhinge my jaw and down the entire glass in a few swallows.
It burns going down in a way it absolutely shouldn’t.
I slam my glass down before the fourth man for the rookies has even taken a drink. Crowd goes berserk. Same way they did when I scored tonight.
This is what I’m good at.
Davis jabs a finger in every rookie’s face, handing out sprints like he’s fucking Oprah. “You get a sprint! You get a sprint!”
I manage my first smile in hours—until someone grabs me by the collar and slams me back into the wall. “What the fu?—?”
“You’re drinking ?” Jace hisses, his top lip curled back. “I knew something was wrong with you.”
I shove him off of me, staggering forward a few steps. “Nothing is wrong with me.”
“You’re drunk, Zane. You’re supposed to be sober. Does Owen know you’re here?”
It’s like the little voice in my head turned into a six-foot-three pain in my ass. Just hearing Jace accuse me of being drunk sends my BAC through the roof. All at once, I feel every bit as hammered as I am.
“Owen isn’t my keeper. I’m a grown man. I can make my own choices.”
“Not when you’re not being yourself.”
I fling my arms wide. “This is me! I am being myself!”
“What do you think Coach is going to do when he finds out? Do you think he’s going to hand you a captain’s C after he sees that video of you chugging a beer with the fucking rookies?” Jace drags a furious hand through his hair.
“I don’t need Coach to hand me anything,” I snarl in the general direction of where the three or four Jaces are swimming in my vision. “I take what’s mine. I don’t sit back and let other people date what belongs to me.”
Jace shakes his head in disgust. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“I know more than you.” I jab a finger in his chest. “You don’t know anything. I haven’t told you anything. ”
I don’t know how it happens, but we’re suddenly in the middle of the bar, drifting towards the door. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”
“You aren’t my dad,” I snort. “Actually, shit, maybe I wish you were my dad. Then you wouldn’t be talking to me right now.”
“Be nice to the person whose backseat you’re about to throw up in.”
Decent point. My insides are making a convincing argument for why they should be on my outside. Bile is crawling up my throat with every step.
“You’ve been drinking, too,” I argue stupidly. “You can’t drive.”
“Which is why Rachelle is on her way to pick us both up, asshole.”
“I’m fine. I’m not even dru—” My entire world turns sideways. My feet are off the ground and I’m flailing, waiting to hit the ground. But I don’t. Because Jace has me balanced on his shoulder and is heading for the exit. “The fuck’re you doin’...”
“It’s time to go, Whitaker.”
I pound on his back, which is surprisingly hard when there are two of him. I keep landing glancing blows to his ribs. “Put me the fuck down, Cannon!”
When we make it to the door, I manage to find some traction with the door frame. I press the soles of my shoes against the trim and lock my knees.
Jace curses under his breath and lowers me to my feet. My land legs left the chat sometime between shots two and three, so I wobble like Bambi. The only reason I don’t fall sideways is because Jace snatches me by the front of my shirt and gets in my face.
“My wife left in the middle of Allie and Noah kissing in the rain so she could drive out here and pick our drunk asses up,” he snarls. “She’s out there in pajamas, and we are not going to keep her waiting because you have a few more ideas about how to fuck your own life up.”
I feel sick. Jace has someone. He has a wife waiting for him in the car. Someone to pick him up when he’s drunk. Someone to take care of him when he needs it.
I don’t know why, but it pisses me off.
“What in the hell are you doing here with me, then? Go out there and be with her,” I slur. I grab his shoulder and try to swim past him back into the bar, but the entire building keeps rocking back and forth. It’s hard to tell where the bar even is.
He pins a hand into my chest, pushing me into the wall. “I said you’ve had enough, Whitaker. Get the fuck outside. Now!”
I rear back and swing at him, but Jace isn’t as drunk as I am. He grabs my arm and uses my momentum to heave me back over his shoulder.
“I forgot what an asshole you are when you drink,” he mutters to himself.
“Put me down!”
Jace just hauls me through the door and into the night.