” he said again.
“I’m getting nuisance calls. Make them stop.”
He didn’t appear surprised. “I’ll see what I can do about that.”
“Good, because it’s harassment.”
“Look at it more as initiation.”
Uh-huh. “There was a dead mouse outside my door last night.”
He took a swig of his beer. “It could have crawled there by itself.”
Sure. “I want an interview with Luc Martineau.”
“You’re not the only one. Luc is a very private guy.”
“Ask him.”
“I’m not the best person to ask him. He doesn’t like me.”
She raised her lemon drop to her lips. Luc didn’t like her either. “Why?”
“He knows I advised against trading for him. I was fairly adamant about it.”
That was a surprise. “Why?”
“Well, it’s old news, but he was injured when he was with Detroit. I’m not convinced a player his age can come back from major ACT surgery on both knees. At one time Martineau was good, maybe one of the best, but eleven million a year is a lot to gamble on a thirty-two-year-old man with bad knees. We traded a first-round draft pick, a heavy-hitting defender, and a pair of bookend wings. That left us weak on the right side. I’m not sure Martineau was worth it.”
“He’s having a good season,” she pointed out.
“So far. What happens if he’s reinjured? You can’t build a team around one player.”
Jane didn’t know a lot about hockey, and she wondered if Darby was right. Had the team been built around their elite goalie? And did Luc, who appeared so cool and calm, feel the tremendous pressure of what was expected of him?
It took a frantic call from Mrs. Jackson for Luc to learn that Marie hadn’t been to school since Luc had left Seattle. Mrs. Jackson told him she’d dropped Marie off every morning, and Marie had walked into the building. What he also discovered was that she’d then gone straight out the back.
When he’d asked Marie where she’d been spending her time, she’d answered, “The mall.” When he’d asked her why, she’d said, “Everyone at that school hates me. I don’t have any friends. They’re all stupid.”
“Come on, now,” he’d said, “you’ll make friends and then everything will be okay.”
She’d started to cry, and like always, he felt bad and totally inadequate. “I miss my mom. I want to go home.”
After he’d hung up with Marie and Mrs. Jackson, he’d called his personal manager, Howie Stiller. When Luc returned home Tuesday night, several brochures from private schools would be waiting for him in a FedEx mailer.
Now the music from the piano drifted to where Luc sat in the corner of the lobby bar. He lifted a bottle of Molson’s to his mouth and took a long drink. For Marie, going home wasn’t an option. Her home was with him now, but she obviously didn’t like living with him.
He set the bottle on the table and relaxed in the wing chair. He had to talk to Marie about boarding school, and he hadn’t a clue how she’d respond. He wasn’t certain she’d like the idea or see the logic and benefit in it. He just hoped she didn’t gel hysterical.
The day of her mother’s funeral, she’d been beyond hysterical, and Luc hadn’t known what to do for her. He’d hugged her awkwardly and told her he’d always take care of her. And he would. He would see that she always had everything she needed, but he was a piss-poor substitute for her mother.
How had his life become so complicated? He rubbed his face with his hands, and when he lowered them, he saw Jane Alcott walking toward him. It was probably too much to hope that she’d walk on by.
“Waiting for a friend?” she asked as she came to stand beside the chair opposite him.
He had been, but he’d just called and canceled. After his conversation with Marie, he wasn’t in the mood for one-on-one time. He was thinking that he might catch up with some of his teammates at a sports bar downtown. He reached for the bottle and looked at her over the top as he took a swig. He watched her watching him, and he wondered if she was assuming-wrongly-that because he’d been addicted to pain medication he was just as naturally an alcoholic. In his case, one didn’t have anything to do with the other.
“Nope. Just sitting here alone,” he answered as he lowered the bottle. Something was different about her tonight. Despite the dark clothing, she looked softer, less uptight. Kind of cute. Her hair, usually held back in a controlled ponytail, fell in a tangle of unruly curls to her shoulder. Her green eyes were kind of dewy like wet leaves, and her bottom lip appeared fuller and the corners of her mouth were turned up.