Rachel Gibson - Nothing But Trouble

The fifth book in the Chinooks Hockey Team series, 2010

Just because a man was lucky to be alive, didnt mean he mean he had to be happy about it.

Last night, your hockey team won the Stanley Cup without you, how do you feel about that?

Former NHL superstar and all-around badass Mark Bressler looked beyond the bank of microphones and wall of cameras to the dozen or so reporters filling the media room inside the Key Arena. Hed played for Seattle the past eight years, been the captain for the last six years. Hed worked for most of his life to hold the Stanley Cup over his head and feel the cold silver in his hands. Hed lived and breathed hockey since hed laced up his first pair of skates. Hed left his blood on the ice and broken more bones than he could recall. Professional hockey was all he knew. All that he was, but last night his team won without him. Hed watched from his living room as the rotten bastards skated around with his cup. How in the hell did everyone think he felt? Of course I wish I could have been there with the boys, but Im thrilled for them. One-hundred-percent thrilled.

After your accident six months ago, the man sitting next to you was hired to fill your shoes, a reporter said, referring to the veteran hockey player, Ty Savage, whod replaced Mark as the Chinooks captain. At the time, it was a controversial decision. What were your thoughts when you heard that Savage would take over?

It was no secret that he and Savage didnt like each other. The last time Mark remembered being this close to the man, hed faced off with him during the regular season. Hed called Savage an overrated prima donna asshole. Savage had called him a second-rate wannabe pussy. Just another day at the office. I was in a coma when Savage was signed. I dont believe I had thoughts about anything. At least none that I recall.

What are your thoughts now?

That Savage is an overrated prima donna asshole. That management put together a winning team. All the guys worked hard and did what they had to do to bring the cup to Seattle. Heading into the playoffs we were fifty-eight and twenty-four. I dont have to tell you that those are impressive numbers. He paused and carefully thought out his next sentence. It goes without saying that the Chinooks were fortunate that Savage was available and open to the trade. He wasnt about to say he was grateful or the team was lucky.

The overrated prima donna asshole next to him laughed, and Mark almost liked the guy. Almost.

The reporters turned their attention to Ty. As they asked about Savages sudden announcement to retire the night before and his plans for the future, Mark looked down at his hand on the table before him. Hed removed the splint for the press conference, but his right middle finger was as stiff as the stainless-steel rods and pins fusing it into a permanent fuck-you.

Appropriate, that.

The reporters asked questions of the other Chinooks seated at the long press table before the questions turned back to Mark. Bressler, are you planning a comeback? a reporter asked.

Mark glanced up and smiled as if the question didnt poke at his deepest wound. He looked into the mans face and reminded himself that Jim was an okay guy-for a reporter-and hed always been fair. For that reason, Mark didnt hold up his right hand and show his contempt. The docs tell me no. Although he didnt need doctors to confirm what hed known the moment hed opened his eyes in the ICU. The accident that had broken half the bones in his body had shattered his life. A comeback was out of the question. Even if hed been twenty-eight instead of thirty-eight.

General manager Darby Hogue stepped forward. There will always be a place in the Chinooks organization for Mark.

As what? He couldnt even drive the Zamboni. Not that it mattered. If Mark couldnt play hockey, he didnt want to be anywhere near the ice.

The questions turned to last nights game, and he settled back in his chair. He wrapped his good hand around the top of the cane resting against his thigh and brushed the smooth walnut handle with his thumb. On a good day, Mark hated press conferences. This wasnt a good day but he was here, in the belly of the Key Arena, because he didnt want to look like a poor sport. Like a jerk who couldnt handle seeing his team win the most coveted prize in hockey without him. Too, the owner of the team, Faith Duffy, had called him that morning and asked him to come. It was hard to say no to the woman who still paid the bills.

For the next half hour, Mark answered questions and even managed to chuckle at a few lame jokes. He waited until the last reporter filed out of the room before he tightened his grasp around his cane and pushed himself to his feet. Savage moved a chair out of his way, and Mark muttered his thanks. He even managed to sound sincere as he put one foot in front of the other and headed across the room. He picked up his usual methodical pace and made it as far as the door before the first twinge settled in his right hip. He hadnt taken any medication that morning. He hadnt wanted anything to dull his senses; as a result there was nothing in his system to take the edge off the pain.

His teammates slapped him on the back and told him that it was great to see him. They might have meant it. He didnt care. He had to get out of there before he stumbled. Or worse, fell on his ass.

Its good to see you. Forward Daniel Holstrom caught up with him in the hall.

His thigh started to cramp and sweat broke out on his forehead. You too. Hed spent the past six years on the front line with Daniel. Hed initiated Daniel his rookie season. The last thing he wanted was to collapse in front of the Stromster or anyone else.

Some of us are headed to Floyds. Join us.

Another time.

Well probably go out tonight. Ill call you.

Of course they were going out. Theyd won the cup the night before. I have plans, he lied. But Ill meet up with you soon.

Daniel stopped. Im going to hold you to that, he called after Mark.

Mark nodded and took a deep breath. God, just let him get to the car before his body gave out.

He was beginning to think God was actually listening until a short woman with dark hair caught up with him at the exit.

Mr. Bressler, she began, keeping pace with him. Im Bo from the PR de-partment.

His senses might be dulled by the pain, but he knew who she was. The guys on the team called her the Mini Pit Bull, Mini Pit for short, and for good reason.

Id like to speak with you. Do you have a few moments?

No. He kept walking. One foot in front of the other. With his bad hand, he reached out for the door. Bo pushed it open for him, and he could have kissed Mini Pit. Instead he mumbled a thanks.

Human resources is sending a new home care worker to your house. Shes stopping by today.

What did a home health care worker have to do with PR?

I think youll like this one, Bo continued as she followed him outside.

A June breeze cooled the sweat on Marks brow, but the fresh air did noth-ing to relieve the pounding in his head and the aches in his body. A black Lincoln waited for him at the curb, and his pace slowed.

I personally recommended her.

The driver got out and opened the back passenger door. Mark eased himself inside and clenched his jaw against the pain knotting his leg.

If you could give her a chance, Id appreciate it, Bo called out as the driver shut the door and returned to the front of the car.

Mark reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a bottle of painkillers. He popped the top, dumped six into his mouth, and chewed. Like a shot of Jose Cuervo, Vicodin straight up was an acquired taste.