Because it really was Sophie’s last chance.
And I refused to let someone else die on my watch.
Chapter Two
Joachim
“The ceiling is yellow,” I pointed out for the fourth time.
That little aspect of the home I was looking at didn’t seem to bother the realtor as much as it did me. Who would paint a tidy little home right across the street from Wigwam Pond in such atrocious colors? The pond had been a big selling point and had drawn me to the listing. I liked being by water of any kind, the sea preferably, but the prices for homes on the waterfront had made my eyeballs pop. Of course, my condo on the beach down in Florida had been crazy expensive, but it had been part of a lifestyle that was not my reality anymore. Extravagance led to excess, which led to abusing booze, which led to… well, looking at a home in a small Boston suburb that had a sunflower-yellow ceiling.
“Nothing that some paint can’t cover up,” Madeline, the chipper Realtor—was there any other kind?—brightly announced, then led me from the living room to the kitchen where, thank God, the ceiling was white. “This room was recently redone and has all new modern appliances. Mrs. Lafgrain will love cooking you those big meals when you come home from your hockey games all sweaty and revved up.”
“Löfgren,” I politely corrected the tiny blond with the appreciative gaze. “Like a loaf of bread and a smile. Loaf. Grin. And there is no missus.”
Her pale eyes lit up. “Oh, well what a shame.” She sidled closer, pushing me back into a corner as if she was on a mission to back check me. She was way worse than an offensive rush heading for the net.
I smiled down at her, then asked to see the rest of the three bedroom, two bath home. It was a rather nice place. Built in the fifties, it still had some of the charm of the era, even with the upgrades. Shame they’d not seen the need to upgrade that damn yellow ceiling. The tour lasted about forty minutes, and by the time it was over, Madeline was hanging off every word I said, as well as simply hanging off me. Women tended to like to look at me. As did men. I liked looking at both. It was when they got past my looks and discovered what a wreck I was that they tended to shuffle off without a word. Not that I blamed them. I came with steamers full of baggage.
As Madeline held onto my arm and flirted, I circled the home a final time, checking out the chain link fencing. Maybe I could get a dog now. New team, new town, new home, new life. Might as well add a new dog to the mix.
“So, what do we think?” Madeline asked, leaning in to make sure that I noticed that she had unbuttoned the top button of her prim white blouse. She had the hint of lovely breasts, but I just wasn’t interested in hooking up with anyone. I’d learned a lot in my most recent stint in rehab, prime being that Joachim had to fix Joachim before Joachim could be with another person. And I was trying my best to glue the bits of myself back together. It was a lonely task, but I was used to loneliness.
“I think that if they’re willing to come down in price, I’ll take it.” I named a figure I’d be willing to pay and she pouted, her freshly touched-up red lips puckering.
“Hmmm.”
“It will cost me three thousand to get the living room ceiling presentable.”
She nodded, then leaned in to press those lovely breasts more tightly into my arm. In the past, I’d have rolled this eager blond right in the kids’ beds in that charming little home and not thought twice about it. Probably, we’d have had a few bottles of wine from that new fridge in the kitchen first. There was usually always booze first. And second. And third. Sex went with addiction and fame. Not that I was famous here, but down in the Sunshine State, everyone knew my name. Mostly from my time playing hockey, but many from the “incidents” that occurred during that time.
“Let me give them a call and see what they say.” She winked. I smiled down at her with all my charm, which was considerable according to my past lovers. I’d bedded numerous people in my thirty-three years. Yes, I had a pleasing face and a nice body. It was what was inside my skull that was a gin-soaked work in progress.
“You do that. I’ll cross the street to look at the pond again.” I patted her hand, then peeled her fingers away from my sleeve. I’d had to pull on a sweater this morning because the temperature on my patio had been below sixty. I shuddered to think of what it’d be like here in winter. I hated the snow and cold, which was why I had been thrilled to play in Florida for so long. Crossing the road, I entered the park area, the smell of pond water rich on the dry air. Not wanting to make the realtor search for me, I stayed within view of my new home and watched a man fishing from the shore. Now that I could enjoy. I’d loved taking deep-sea fishing trips with my old teammates over the summer. I never went back to Switzerland when the season was over. There was nothing there for me. My parents had both died within the past ten years, first my mother and then my father. I had no siblings and only one cousin, Elias, who still lived in Zermatt. His disgust with my addiction and bisexuality had ended any warm feelings that might’ve been there from childhood. Family was a thing I’d always yearned for but had slowly been stripped away from me.
And why is that, Joachim?
Well, Dr. Jane, probably because I drink to excess, then make poor choices.
Very good, Joachim. We must own our addictions before we can move past them.
“Oh, here you are!” I looked over my shoulder to see Madeline scurrying to me, her boobs close to bouncing out of her push-up bra. “They said they’d take your offer. You did say it was cash, correct?”
“That’s correct.” Everything that I’d owned in Tampa Bay, right down to my Porsche, had been liquidated when I’d been sold to Boston—who had to have been insane to offer me a cool million a year when all I was worth was a bag of soggy jockstraps, according to the press in Florida. Sadly, they weren’t far off. But I was sober and had something to prove to the NHL and myself. This little house with the fenced-in yard just a short train ride from the barn felt like a good place to rebuild my life. Again.
“Well let’s go back to my office and—” Her cell chirruped. “Well damn, it’s my husband.” She gave me a guilty look that made me smile to myself. “He’ll meet us at my office. He’s a Rebels fan and wants to meet you.”
I sniggered inside, then led the lovely lady back to her car. My rental sat in the driveway behind her blue Cadillac. I gave the little house a fond look, then slid behind the wheel of my Buick. My new life started here, and this time, I would not fuck it up. A man only got so many second chances.
It felt odd to be sitting in a coffee shop surrounded by my new teammates after just two days on the team. The team had their own back room, and we pulled two brightly painted tables together upon our arrival. Now we were sipping lattes and frappés while we were shoving baked goods into our faces and talking about the upcoming season. Down in Tampa, the team had met up in a bar after practices. Oh, the good times I’d had. I’d start the day off with a mimosa or a simple screwdriver—it was orange juice so that counted as breakfast—and things would go downhill from there. Bean Town Brews seemed a much safer choice for a man who was still looking for a nearby AA meeting to attend.