The Lush and the Angel (New Hampshire Bears Book 10) Read online

  Copyright 2018 © Gone Writing Publishing, LLC

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  All Rights Reserved

  Dedication:

  Thank you, Erin for letting me use your name

  Thank you, Scott Darling for opening your life to the world.

  New Hampshire Bears’ Roster

  Coach: Taden Long

  Forwards:

  15 – Hamilton Baer*

  56 – Alden Brockman

  11 – Ladd Hanes

  28 – Edgar Hopp

  81 – Zerrick Justice

  88 – Finlay Mackey

  67 – Gage McLoyd

  16 – Vance Pemberton

  53 – Jarvis Richter

  72 – Remington Rosin

  65 – Kyson Wick

  86 – Bas Zorn

  Defensemen:

  6 – Cabel Dirks

  4 – Keaton Jaco

  32 – Walker Lange

  2 – Dag Limon

  5 – Ivan Rodin

  7 – O’Dell Tillman

  57 – Shade Wooten

  Goalies:

  50 – Teo Elgin

  33 – Nathan Paxton

  * - means Captain

  Dear Scott Darling,

  You have no clue who I am and that’s okay. However, you are someone special to me. No, not in the sense of ‘I’m stalking you’. Although, I do follow your Twitter and Instagram religiously. Nonetheless, you are special to me.

  You see I’m a diehard Blackhawks fan, who knows the roster inside and out. I didn’t know your name very well until you popped into Rockford in 2014. Instantly, I fell in love with you because of your bright smile and dominance in the net. Let’s clarify the word love. I love you as a hockey player not the other love. I’m old enough to be your mother or a much older sister. *wink*

  Then I learned about your past. The bouncing from team to team and your alcoholism. My respect for you grew exponentially. Finally, you landed on the big bench in Chicago right behind Crow. We all enjoyed watching you grow into an even more outstanding player and even better role model.

  I never had the pleasure of meeting you in person, which saddens me since you’re now in North Carolina. However, you’ve impacted my life deeply. I truly believe you are a top-notch player and role model. You are someone the young and the old can relate to and strive to be. You have fought many obstacles and achieved so much.

  Scott Darling, thank you for being brave and telling your story to the world. You are my favorite player! Even though you left Chicago, I will continue to support you and follow your career. You’re destined for great things.

  This story is dedicated to you!

  Your fan,

  Mary

  Chapter One

  Bas

  I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the wall. All the lights are off in the apartment, only the glow from the outside lights illuminates my place. Tipping back the bottle of vodka slowly, alcohol burns my throat. The liquid is almost gone, but my memories haven’t left yet. The knock on the door. The words of the policemen. The cries of Gram. Pain still stabs my heart. The worthlessness I feel is what my soul is made of.

  “Go away!” I yell at the empty room before darkness overtakes me.

  I crawl to the bathroom because I can’t stand. The room is spinning on a new axis. Reaching the toilet, I let my head hang. He’s always there for me. I can count on him, compared to anyone else. People here say they’re my friends, but it’s a lie. They are only teammates or acquaintances.

  After I toss my stomach contents into my best friend, I lay on the cool tile floor. My body is raging hot and keeping my eyes open is a challenge.

  The darkness pulls me in again.

  During the time I was passed out, I managed to move back against the wall and vomited all over myself—again. It seems to be something I do often lately. My mouth is drier than the desert, and my tongue is the sand. I know I’m done throwing up, for the moment, and I try to pull myself up into a standing position. It’s much harder than you would think. The wall holds me up as I lean heavily against it.

  The living room is a sea full of empty bottles. It appears I’ve thrown up on the floor—again. I don’t even remember. I make my way to the fridge, but I know there isn’t anything in there except a bottle of mustard. I groan.

  “I’m hungry.” I slam the door shut with all my might. I search the cupboards, but they’re bare. I lift the kitchen blind and the sun is beginning to rise. She’ll be awake. I swing my door open and go across the hall.

  Knocking on her door I say her name, “Erin.”

  It takes her a minute to get there. Her red hair is a mess, but her blue eyes are bright. As always.

  “What, Bas?” She glares at me.

  “I have food.” I can feel myself swaying. It causes me to tightly hold the doorframe.

  “You have food?” She tilts her head in confusion.

  “No.” I shake my head. “I have no food.”

  She sighs. “Fine. Come in. If you vomit in here again, you won’t like me.”

  I nod and carefully step into her place. It always smells likes flowers when I come over here. Everything is super clean, in its own place. I take a seat on the stool next to her kitchen island. Watching her move around her kitchen, I think about the first time I met her.

  I had just moved into the building. Cabel had let me live with him when I first moved to Manchester, but I felt it was time to be on my own. It was my first place, alone. Even though I’ve always been alone. Erin had greeted me by bringing over a cupcake and welcomed me to the building. Soon after we began to hang out more and more. It was just sex for me, but soon she became a good friend. Then she saw my drinking in full force, and she told me she only wanted to be friends. That was almost a year ago.

  She doesn’t know I love her.

  “Here.” She sets down a cup of coffee in front of me. Going back to the stove she cracks some eggs open into a hot pan. “Have you slept?”

  “Sort of.” I mumble taking a drink of the hot nectar of the Gods.

  “You smell like you died in a dump. Vomit is on your shirt.”

  I glance down and see what she’s talking about. “I meant to change.” Did I? Probably not.

  “You’re lying. You don’t change or shower unless someone is coming over.” She calls me out.

  “It’s hard okay.”

  Erin spins around and raises one eyebrow at me. “Showering? Showering is hard?”

  “You don’t understand.” I roar,
standing up, knocking over the coffee. “I have a lot of stress.”

  “Get out.” Calmly she sets the spatula down. “I’m not doing this, Bas. Get out.” She orders, pointing at the door, still in an even tone. “It’s too early for your fucking shit. Get out.”

  “Fine.” I push the coffee cup away, letting it slide off the counter and shatter on the floor. “Oopps.” I sneer as I walk away and slam her door.

  I’m an asshole.

  It’s true and the main reason why I don’t have any friends anymore. I used to have a good life. My brothers and I were close. Just like triplets should be—best friends. Then, like everything else, I pushed them away. I know I killed our parents and I can’t bear to see the pain in their eyes.

  I search the bottles strewn about my apartment floor to find any that may have a remaining drop in it. Sadly, none do.

  Knock. Knock.

  I pull the door open to see Erin standing there with a furious look on her face.

  “You’re an ass. You owe me a coffee cup.” She shoves a plate full of food into my hands. “Don’t choke on it, jerkface.” She spins around and goes back to her apartment, shutting the door.

  I sigh closing the door. I sit on the couch and using only my fingers, I dig into the delicious food. Erin is truly the best cook.

  With my stomach full, I drop the plate on the floor and stretch out on the couch. I need sleep before facing the real world.

  I wait outside for Cabel to pick me up. He has been keeping a close eye on me, and I need to play this off the right way. I’ve been lying long enough about my drinking—which isn’t bad—I can continue to do it. It’s not as bad as they say anyway. Only a bottle or so a day, but I can still do everything I need to do. I’m the best at hockey. At least, I thought until I came to the New Hampshire Bears. Being drafted into the PHL had been a dream come true, but now I feel as if I’m out of my league. These men are much better than me.

  Just something else to add to my list of failures. First, being a horrible son. Second, being the world’s worst grandson and brother. Third, the most terrible man on the planet to women. Fourth, a failed PHL player. I’m certain more will be added as I move on throughout life, but I don’t care anymore. I’m going to collect my check until there’s none to get and then figure out my life after this chapter is over.

  Beep. Beep.

  I look up to see Cabel’s large Hummer in front of me. I nod to myself telling me to get my stories straight in my head and clasp my hands tightly around the bag. I hope I’m not noticeably shaking since I’ve not had a drink since late last night. I know I have a few mini bottles in my bag, but those are the only ones I keep for emergencies. Although, I may have to use one today.

  “What’s up, Pops?” I jump into his vehicle. Pops, Cabel’s nickname, is the oldest member on the team. Currently, he’s the oldest player in the entire league and has played the most seasons. He’s still a rock star, but at thirty-eight, his body is starting to wear out. Even he’s admitted it. I’m not sure how much longer he’ll be playing. When he leaves, just like everyone else does in my life, I know he won’t talk to me anymore.

  “Not much. How did you sleep?”

  “Great.” I lie.

  “Have you eaten?”

  “Sure did.” Thanks to Erin’s mad cooking skills.

  “Have you been drinking?”

  “No way,” I quickly say, hoping I don’t smell like alcohol. I’m sure I don’t because I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and put on clean clothes.

  “Bas, you’re fucking lying.” Cabel growls pulling away from the curb. “It’s like a cloud hanging over your head.”

  I drop my head. I thought I had all my bases covered. Guess I’m wrong.

  “Have you made an appointment with Caryn Hammons?”

  This again. Apparently, this Caryn lady is supposed to be the top therapist or something and everyone wants me to see her. Maybe not everyone, but at least Cabel. He’s been shoving her card in my face every single time I see him.

  “Not yet.”

  “When?” He pushes the issue as he continues driving toward the arena.

  “Today.” I sigh hoping he’ll drop the subject.

  “I’ll call for you.” Cabel counters.

  “No.” I shout louder than I mean to. “I can handle it myself.” Anger begins to bubble up. He’s being nosy again, and it’s pissing me off.

  “Bas, I’m trying to help you out.”

  “I don’t need your help.” I snap at him. “I’m fucking fine. Just stop worrying about me.”

  Cabel’s brown eyes turn to me briefly. “You’re my friend—”

  “Again, I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

  He nods keeping his eyes on the road. The drive continues in silence to the arena.

  Last season had been horrible for us. Losing in game seven was like a bullet and a knife to the soul. We have to do better. I have to do better. I can see Coach Long kicking me straight to the balls and out the door like the scum I am.

  “You better get your ass in line, Bas. This training camp is going to be a fight to the end for everyone, including me.” Cabel turns off his Hummer and sits there. “I know you’re having issues, and I’m your friend. This means, I’m here to help, but you have to talk to me.”

  I scoff. “I’m tired of talking. There’s nothing wrong with me, but everyone else thinks there is. Let me say this one last time…I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re lying.” He uses his dad voice on me. “You need help and I want to help you.”

  “Shut the fuck up.” I shout, jumping out of the Hummer and jerking my bag over my shoulder. “My father’s dead and I sure as fuck don’t need another.” I slam the door as hard as I can and make my way to the arena. I don’t care if I hurt Cabel’s feelings. I’m being serious about his actions toward me. Why can’t everyone just understand I want to be left alone? Is it too hard for someone to comprehend?

  When I reach the locker room, I’ve not prepared myself for the staring. Nathan Paxton, Vance Pemberton, and Alden Brockman follow me with their eyes as I toss my bag onto the bench and unzip it.

  “How’s it hanging, Bas?” Alden sits in the stall next to me.

  “Fine.” It seems to be the only word I know anymore.

  “Baylor asked when you were going to come over for dinner?”

  I roll my eyes. No one asked me to come over for dinner. They’re all watching me as if I’m some mass murderer ready to be let loose on the town. “I’m sure your pregnant girlfriend doesn’t want to slave over a stove to have me come over and eat it all up.” I jerk my t-shirt off.

  “She’d love it.”

  “I’m busy,” I mutter hoping he’d drop it.

  “Then come over to my place tonight.” Vance sits on the other side of me.

  What the fuck? “I’m busy,” I say more firmly. His face drops, making me feel like an ass. “I’m just going to be busy. Thanks though.” I begin to unzip my pants but halt when Coach Long yells my name.

  “Oliver wants to see you. Now.”

  Fuck. I sigh staring up at the ceiling. This isn’t what I need right now. Oliver Matthews is the owner of the Bears and a real bull to deal with.

  “Now, Bas.” Coach barks and my legs move on their own. I try to put my shirt back on as I walk out of the locker room and toward the elevators.

  I’m having a conversation in my head about what’s about to go down in his office. I have to play this off. Wait…what am I saying? There’s nothing wrong with me. Everyone else thinks there is something but there’s not. That’s what I’ll tell him. It’s the truth, right? It is.

  I see Nova Long standing outside Oliver’s office door. Nova dates our backup goalie, Teo Elgin, and is the mother of their daughter, Klara. She and Coach Long’s daughter, Janan Long-Baer, who is married to our Captain Hamilton Baer, are Oliver’s goddaughters.

  “Hey, Bas.” She smiles.

  I always thought Nova was a beautiful female, but there was never an
attraction other than sisterly. “Hey.”

  She continues to smile. “He just wants to talk to you for a few.” She tries to sound encouraging, but it’s not helping me. “You can go in.”

  I nod and try to hide my shaking hands. I know it’s because I’m nervous. I push the door open and there he sits. He reminds of what a dictator would look like. Oversized beer belly, balding hair, stern look, and always glares. The only time I see him happy is when his goddaughters are around.

  “Bas, take a seat.” He points over to his couch along the back wall.

  My shaking knees take me over and I’m thankful to sit. He stares…well…glares at me for several seconds before standing up from his oversized black leather chair.

  “Thirsty?”

  Is this a trick? “No, I’m fine.”

  “Sure. Water? Coffee?”

  Oh, right. “No thanks.” I try to find a comfortable position on the couch, but it feels as if I’m sitting on sharp, uneven rocks.

  “Okay.” He strolls over to me as if there’s not a care in the world and takes a place at the other end of the white, microfiber couch. “How was your offseason?”

  “Fine.” I try to search for another word to add. “I mean…great. I worked out with Nathan a lot. Oh, and Cabel.” Both statements are true.

  “Do I look like I was born last night, Zorn?” He frowns. Mr. Matthews definitely wasn’t born last night. He’s pushing sixty.

  “No, sir.”

  “Drop the sir shit as well. Give it to me straight, Son.”

  My throat closes up and I forget how to breathe. “What do you mean?”

  “Bas.” He growls out my name. “What the fuck is going on with all this drinking?”

  I shrug giving myself a second to formulate a sentence. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s nothing?” He repeats. “Why don’t you elaborate on what nothing means?” He laces his fingers together, resting them on top of his rounded belly. “Go on.”