Page 105 of Lucky Puck

“You may be right, Axton.”

He nods and gathers up his bags to head out.

Jett stands. “About time I returned to the old homestead.”

“I hope I haven’t gotten you in trouble with your wife.” I’m serious because he should be at home with her and their new baby right now.

“No. She knows what’s going on, and let’s just say she’s a diehard romantic and rooting for you. And Brooks.”

“Why she ever married a nasty S.O.B. like you, I’ll never know.” We all laugh at that, even Heidi, who just met him.

“Means there’s hope for all of us, kid.”

I haven’t been called kid in a while, but it doesn’t strike a nerve the way it used to when the season started. I barely tolerated being called a rookie then. Now it doesn’t even register a blip, and I wonder what I was so gassed about.

“Time for me to go too,” Heidi stands and shrugs into her coat. I walk them all to the door. “This was very productive,” she says as she leaves. “But you have a lot of phone calls to make, Mr. Holden.”

Sitting down at my kitchen island with a cup of coffee, the brand Brooks made for me, I start making calls. I start with Kara, then call my parents and brothers. My family gives me a level of understanding and comfort I’m not sure I deserve, but that I swear to repay. I promise my parents I’ll do a better job of keeping in touch and visiting with them.

The next calls I make are to the list of people I’m inviting to the meeting on Wednesday. The first name on the list is the toughest one: Coach Logan. I take a breath and go for it.

“Coach Logan, sorry for interrupting your Sunday evening at home.”

He cough-laughs. “You know I tried calling a half a dozen times and left messages?”

“Yes. I owe you an explanation about recent events.”

“You do.”

I tell him the short version of the story, minimizing Sabien and Brooks' roles.

“I’d like you to come to a meeting of stakeholders to discuss the handling of the public fallout if you’re free Wednesday evening. It won’t take long.”

“That’s interesting. I’ll be there. Who else⁠—”

“Stubichuk will be there, among others. Also Coach Nash if he’s interested.”

“I’m fairly certain he’ll be interested.”

“Thank you for listening, Coach.”

“Sure. Next time we have a private conversation, I expect you to do the listening.”

Those parting words send a small quake through me, but I withstand it well enough to continue my calls until I’m finished with the list, leaving me with one last call to make.

It’s almost ten o’clock. I’m wired because I refilled my mug with Brooks coffee halfway through the list. I glance at the bottle of Courvoisier; I consider adding a jolt into my coffee. But I close my eyes and tell myself to man up. I need to deal with this, the scariest call of all, without the benefit of liquid courage. I need to gather whatever bravery or bravado I have inside and jump off this ledge on my own, and trust that I’ll land on my feet no matter what.

I pick up my phone and tap on the icon for Brooks.

She answers almost immediately.

“Hello, Brooks. You’ve been waiting for my call.”

She snorts. “You said you’d call, and it’s after ten.”

“I had a few calls to make, and I saved the best for last.” I listen to her short laugh, to hear the emotion, to listen for amusement, pleasure, or sadness, and I decide it’s all there. “How are you?”

“Let’s see, I’ve been catching up on current events, and there seems to be a big kerfuffle about some so-called fake marriage caper all over trad media and social media. I’ve also had numerous requests for podcast appearances, and Jett’s line is ringing off the hook with sponsorship offers from several large jewelers, including Long’s and Gucci. I only know this because his wife called me. She seemed kind of excited and thought I’d be pleased, too.”