Here was the man—the hockey star—I’d looked up to my whole life.
I’d wanted nothing more than to be Wes Hunter when I grew up.
And now, as I watched my hero pilfering through dirty, stinking garbage—I felt sick.
“Wes, stop.”
He didn’t even look up.
I tried to swallow, but my throat was too dry. “Wes!” I hollered, my voice cracking.
It didn’t even phase him.
“Christ,” I muttered before I finally gave up and walked up to him. “Let’s go, old man. Come on.” I reached down to pick him up. My hand slid under his armpit. When I started pulling him up, off the cold cement—I was greeted with a fist directly to my cheek.
“Goddamn it.” I dropped his arm and touched my face. “Sonofabitch.” I could feel it throb into the middle of my brain. I shook it off and tried again. “Get up, let’s go!” I said more forcefully. This time I wasn’t nice about it. I yanked him up to his feet.
Once again, he tried to nail me. This time, I was ready, and I managed to duck out of the way. “Would you quit it? Christ’s sake, you’re making me fuckin’ mad. Get back in the house before someone calls the cops on your old ass.”
He tried to pull out of my grip, but I was younger and stronger.
And not drunk as a fucking skunk.
I walked him through the garage door and back into the house. Then I let him go.
Wes turned on me, looking ready for a fight. “This is my house! Move outta my way, boy!”
He tried to get past me. It really wasn’t much of a competition, though. I shoved him back. “She flushed your crap. I watched her do it,” I lied through my teeth. I had no idea what Lexi did with his junk.
“Fuck me,” he mumbled, then turned and appeared to give up.
For now.
My brain was racing with what exactly to do next.
Shovel up his mess on the driveway?
Or see what he was doing now?
I sighed, shut the garage door for now, and followed Wes into the house.
I found him sitting on the couch. He held up his lighter and lit his smoke.
I turned off the blaring music, then sat down on the other couch.
“I was listening to that,” Wes said as he puffed away. A harsh skunk smell infiltrated the air.
“Look, I know it’s your house and everything, but can you go outside with that shit? Some of us still have careers ahead of us.”
He chuckled, inhaled slowly and blew it out. “Yeah, one smoke is definitely going to kill the last five minutes you have left in your,” he inhaled and held it, “career, Son.”
Asshole.
“I’ve got more than five minutes left, Wes,” I shot back at him and waved the cloud of smoke away from my face.
“Doesn’t look like it from where I’m standing.”
I turned on the TV and shot him a look. “I’ll get back on my feet soon enough. I just hit a rough patch, that’s all.”