15. August
15
M y meeting with Eddie went smoothly yesterday. Not due to any work I’d done late—and I mean late after I dropped off Harper at her car Tuesday night—but because I’d bull-shitted my way through the entire thing.
Eddie was either desperate for me to work on his account, or he wasn’t as smart as I’d thought.
I ran a hand across my face. This was not how I operated. This morning alone, I lost thirty grand for an account. Thirty grand I needed to make back before they noticed.
My mood was dreadful, and that was saying a lot.
I hit my assistant’s line. “Debbie, I need you to block my calendar for the rest of the day to 'do not disturb'.”
“Yes, sir,” she replied promptly.
Unfortunately, there was no one who could set the do not disturb button in my head. Harper had taken up permanent residence in there, and there was no shaking it off. Having her in my bed, spending the day with her without a care in the world. It felt selfless and selfish all at once.
In the grand scheme of things, I could deal with her in my head. As long as she didn’t end up living in my heart. Hell, as long as I didn’t end up in hers.
I had to do something about this. And soon.
How the hell was I going to tell her who I was without her slapping me in the face? Not that I couldn’t take a hit, I’d taken plenty for my useless twin over the last two weeks, but this one would hurt.
Giving up on work, I stood and grabbed my duffle bag. I needed a workout to relieve the tension.
An hour of weightlifting and pushups did nothing. I was back in my office, still dwelling over what I was doing with Harper—convinced it was far worse than what my brother had done to her years ago.
He was inconsiderate and careless. My deceit was deliberate and calculating.
My betrayal couldn’t be attributed to stupidity. It was intentional and there was no way I should have taken her bed.
Debbie rang and I ignored it. Any other day, I’d have answered just to tell her off. But today, I was too angry and spared her my wrath, hoping it was an oversight and she wouldn’t call again.
The damn phone rang again.
I answered before I could stop myself. “Debb,” I seethed. But it wasn’t her name I was saying in my head. It was Troy’s, Eddie’s—hell, even Harper's—all the people responsible for me being out of my mind with stress.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Hartman, I have your mother on line one again.”
“Again?”
“I told her you weren’t taking calls earlier, and she called back.”
I sighed. “Put her through.”
Usually Debb would say something like ‘sure thing’ or ‘putting her through now’ but when my mother’s voice came on a second later, I knew I’d pushed it too far with my assistant today.
“Working hard?”
“Always, Mom,” I said dryly.
“Okay, well, you got to tell me what you want next weekend.”
“Next weekend?”
“Didn’t you talk to Troy? You boys are coming over next weekend. Your dad and I are going to the game next Friday after his suspension, of course, and then you all will come spend the weekend.”
Mom hadn’t done too well with empty nest syndrome when we moved out and insisted on occasional weekends at their house on the beach in Staten Island. It wasn’t far, but between the two bridges and traffic at all hours of the day, it took forever to get to and there was nothing pleasant about those beaches—except for maybe the sunsets.
“Mom, it’s not a good week for me. Could we maybe do…I don’t know, Christmas?” I chuckled, only half kidding.
She sighed. “I won’t take that personally. I know how important your job is.”
But not as important as Troy’s , I wanted to say. Since they often seemed to arrange these family weekends as it fit his schedule.
“But it’s going to be too cold at the beach house after Thanksgiving and…”
“Mom?” It wasn’t like her to trail off, so I knew something else was up. That and it was already starting to get cold at the beach house.
“Your father wants you both here. He said he wasn’t taking no for an answer.”
Dad. Why would he insist?
“If I come, I’ll just end up working. I can’t spare any time, Mom.”
“We’ll give you your privacy. After dinner, we won’t rope you into a movie night.”
“Great,” I grumbled. But it was gnawing at me about our father. “Why does he want to see us?”
“I don’t know. He’s been watching Troy’s games and now he wants to go to one in person, so I’m assuming it’s got something to do with that stunt he pulled last week with the sign an’ all.”
This isn’t good .
“Troy’s problems shouldn’t be mine, Mom.”
“They never were honey. Alright, well don’t work too hard, it’s not good for you, you sound super stressed.”
I took a deep breath. “Thanks. I’ll see you next week.” I was fidgety the rest of the afternoon. It wasn’t like me. I was the one who was calm and collected—had my shit together. Not the one freaking over Dad's sudden interest in coming to a game and then back home with them.
At five o’clock, I gave in and dialed Troy.
“Let me guess, Mom called you.”
“Are you playing next week?”
“Do I have a choice?” His bitter tone answered.
“It’s kind of your job,” I snapped.
“What’s up with you?”
Where do I fucking start? “Been busy at work.”
“What else is new?”
“Troy, I’ve been covering for you for weeks. Now I have to catch up on what I actually do for a living. Which come to think of it, if my calculations are correct, you owe me approximately thirty-six thousand dollars of your annual salary."
He chuckled. “How ‘bout I pay that fine, and we’ll call it even.”
“This isn’t funny, Troy. Do you have any idea why Dad wants us next weekend?”
“He’s probably pissed about the suspension," he says like we're talking about a speeding ticket.
“What does that have to do with me?” I growled.
“You were the one who did it,” he reminded me like I was the idiot.
“He doesn’t fucking know that,” I shouted angrily. Spelling things out for him shouldn't have come as a surprise.
“Right,” Troy sighed.
I released a breath. “What’d Ryan say?” Part of me wanted to know. Part of me—as hard as I fought against getting back on the ice for him—waited for him to tell me that the team needed me.
The player in me silently hoping for it.
“He needed to know when I was coming back, though by the sound of it, he didn’t seem like he’s in any rush for it.”
“And what, you’re going to blame me for that now?”
“No. He said if I showed up to the game Monday and played the way I did on opening night, he and Simon would need to tell Coach about the switch because of how it’s affecting the team.”
“Sounds about right,” I mumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that this isn’t just about you and your problems, Troy. Your team and the fans are counting on you.”
“Sounds like they’re counting on you. ” I heard the resentment in his voice. I didn’t have to know what that meant. He was only in his second year. This could ruin him.
“What are they talking?”
“My guess? They’ll cut me and send me down to an AHL team,” he answered.
Minors. Shit.
Neither of us said a word for a minute, then I finally asked. “You alright, man?”
Troy released a heavy breath. “They said that they’ll keep this between us if…if you play enough games to get us to number one in the league.”
“How many games is that?” I asked, surprised I didn’t shut him down instantly.
“We’re not too far off. Four, maybe five games. I’m suspended until Monday, so it might just be three if we win one before then.”
I didn’t respond. I looked down at the stacks of accounts in front of me that needed all of my focus. But it was tempting as hell to get back on the ice.
“It’s only a few weeks, August. I’ll be ready to go back by then.”
“I don’t know Troy.” It wasn’t a lot to commit to, but not being given a choice was tough.
“Wait, you’re considering it?”
“Maybe.”
His sigh of relief eased my tension in a way that reconstituted my purpose. “Come on bro, I need this. I came through last year, didn’t I? All by myself.”
“Yeah,” I said absently. “What are we going to do about Dad? He’s coming to the one next Friday. I think he might be suspicious.”
“I’ll come next week, and we’ll switch places after the game and meet them outside.”
That actually wasn’t a terrible idea.
“They won’t know the difference. Not at that distance anyway,” he went on.
That was true. Not only that but there was only a very slight difference between Troy and me that even my parents sometimes missed. Like me, Troy had a dimple on his left cheek, but it wasn’t as deep as mine.
“Fine—one condition. You’re not sitting at home and drinking your life away. If I go to the games, you start going to practice. Each one. Because I’m not.”
“What about you?”
“I’m not the one who needs it,” I barked and hung up.