through for the past few games. “Dude always asks the dumbest questions.”
“That’s why he got tossed from the Rangers’ locker room last year.” Kenny winced as he worked his jaw. A bruise was forming where he’d been caught by a high stick in the dying seconds. “Man, this blows chunks. I thought for sure the ice tilted our way when you got the equalizer.”
“Yeah.” J.B. leaned his head back against the tiles and let the water stream over his face. He swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat.
The three friends finished their showers in silence, each lost in his own miserable thoughts. By the time they walked back into the locker room, the media vultures had departed to cover the Cup celebrations.
While the players dressed, their equipment was packed away and loaded onto a cart for the journey home. The next time they saw their gear would be in a couple of days, when they cleared out their lockers at the Cats’ arena. The final act of the season.
J.B. pulled on his suit jacket. First he had to get through tonight. Because they were playing in Denver, it was still only 9:00 p.m.
“Ten minutes before the bus leaves,” one of the trainers called out. “You miss it, you walk back to the hotel.”
The good-natured heckling he got was subdued.
Mad Dog hefted his duffel bag over his shoulder. “What’s the plan now?”
“Tru told me about this rock club downtown that’s supposed to be real sweet.” Kenny ran a comb through his wet hair. “Great food and hot babes. You with me?”
“Hell, yeah. What about you, Larocque?”
Part of him wanted to hole up in his hotel room with a bottle of Jack. The other part preferred to drown his sorrows in the company of a sexy woman rather than his long-time roommate, Rick “Ice Man” Kasanski.
“Count me in.”
A few hours later he wondered if he’d made a mistake. His head throbbed from the loud music, his stomach roiled from the fiery nachos and tequila shots, and his entire body felt like it had gone the distance with a heavyweight boxer.
Kenny and Mad Dog were busy with a couple of hockey groupies in town for the game. Hailey, the blonde J.B. had been chatting with, wanted to dance, but he knew if he stepped into that mass of sweaty, gyrating bodies, he’d either pass out or puke. Or both. Kasanski was looking better by the minute.
“Sorry, Hailey. Another time. I’m beat. I’m gonna cut out of here.”
“Stay a little longer. Please.” She trailed a finger down his chest.
“I can’t. I’m dead on my feet.” He smiled wearily. “But I’ll take a rain check. Next time I’m in Denver with a free night, I’ll look you up.”
J.B. turned to let his friends know he was bugging out.
That was his first mistake. His second was underestimating how unsteady his legs were.
Hailey tugged his arm. As J.B. pulled himself free, he felt his feet slide out from under him and went down hard, smacking the back of his head on the floor.
Unfortunately, as he fell, J.B. caught Hailey with his arm and knocked her backward.
All hell broke loose.
“Oh, my God. That jerk hit Hailey,” a woman yelled.
“You drunk ass,” shouted another.
J.B. tried to check if Hailey was all right but couldn’t see her through the gathering crowd. “I didn’t mean to hit her,” he tried to explain but no one was listening.
A male voice joined the rising wave of female outrage. “We’ll show you how we treat bullies in this town.”
“Bastard,” someone else swore.
J.B. felt the kick but didn’t see it coming. Curling his body to protect himself brought on a wave of nausea. He should get up, get out of there, but he was so woozy he could hardly move.
After that, everything was hazy. J.B. was vaguely aware of Kenny and Mad Dog pulling people off him, dragging him to his feet and out of the club, and shoving him into a cab. They managed to get him back to his room before the nachos and tequila made a violent reappearance in the bathroom.
At some point they must have put him to bed because, when he awoke the following morning, he was facedown on the bed, still fully clothed. His mouth tasted like he’d spent the night licking his hockey gloves.
“Coffee, ibuprofen, juice and dry toast,” Kenny said.
J.B. groaned and gingerly rolled over.
“Do you want the good news or the bad?” Mad Dog’s quiet words triggered memories of what had happened the night before.
J.B. swallowed the pills, then drained the juice before answering. “I’m in a crapload of trouble. History has pretty much repeated itself, only this time no one can bail me out.”
Back in his rookie season J.B. had got into a predicament in a nightclub that could have ended his career before it got going. Not only had his teammates rescued him, but Bad Boy had taken the blame in the media. It had been a rude wake-up call and J.B. had steered clear of situations that could go belly-up ever since.
Until last night.
“Yeah. And the story is all over social media,” Kenny added helpfully.
Damn it! “Coach Macarty will love that. Not.”
“He’s taking it better than expected, but he doesn’t want to see your face until this has died down.”
“How am I supposed to avoid him? We’re taking the same plane back to Jersey.”
Mad Dog looked uncomfortable. “He’s arranged for you to fly home separately so you can keep a low profile. I volunteered to go with you.”
“Thanks, man.”
“Coach is also delaying your end-of-season interview for a week,” Kenny said. “He reckons he’ll have cooled down by then.”
Not only did J.B. feel like crap he also had the indignity of having to sneak out of Denver like a crook on the lam. Plus, he’d blown his reputation to hell—once again. “And the good news is?”
“Instead of going home,” Mad Dog said. “I thought it’d be better to get out of the country altogether and hang out for a few days someplace where they don’t follow hockey.”
“Where’s that? The Sahara Desert?”
“Funny.” His friend slapped a piece of paper on the bedside cabinet. “Antigua. The Golden Sands Resort. All inclusive. Adults only. A two-bedroom, beachfront bungalow.”
J.B. frowned. “Isn’t that the place we’re heading to in a couple of weeks for our vacation?”
“Ding, ding! Give the man a prize. I got hold of
