“Wow,” she says.
“I know,” I grunt.
“That’s hideous.”
“I guess you get what you pay for. It was only eleven large.”
“Eleven…dollars?” she asks, her voice climbing in pitch. “Please say that’s what you meant.”
“Nah. Eleven thousand. We’re in the tackiest city ever built.”
“Oh my God,” Charli gasps. “What a waste of—” The sentence ends abruptly. “Shit. The ring isn’t the real problem, is it?”
“No,” I say quietly.
“Did we really…?” She looks up at me in horror.
“Yeah.”
“Oh my God.”
“Yeah.”
“OH MY GOD.” Her face flushes red, and her mouth flops open. “What have we done?”
Now I’m feeling the same panic that she is. I can’t believe I got drunk and got… Urgh. Even thinking the “m” word makes me feel a little queasy. Charli clearly agrees. She’s clutching the wall with one hand and her chest in the other. It’s actually possible that the toughest girl I have ever met is about to fall into a dead faint. I brace myself to catch her.
Then, from the other room, my blood-sugar monitoring app starts pinging away to remind me to eat. The shrill sound seems to snap Charli out of her stupor. “Drake, order some room service before you crash.”
“I’ll eat granola bars. We’ve got to get out of here. Take your shower. I’m fine.” I grab her by the shoulders and ease her toward the giant walk-in shower. “Go on.”
She turns to give me one more dazed look before I head out of the bathroom. “You do know you’re naked, right?”
“I’m aware. Just enjoy the view. You saw it last night already.”
The door closes behind me.
“And we are legally married for fuck’s sake!” I call out. There—I said it. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. I’ll have to say it again to my lawyer on the way home to New York. Might as well practice.
I cross to my bag and pull out a granola bar and a bottle of fruit juice that will lift my blood sugar until I can have regular food. My system is probably haywire from the alcohol. Because I’m not usually a drinker, I don’t have the tolerance for alcohol that other people have. If I had to guess, four or five drinks was all it took to accidentally get married.
A few gulps later, I’ve downed the juice. I’m just ripping the wrapper off the granola bar when my phone rings. I edge closer to it, wondering what else could go wrong.
Had anyone witnessed last night’s fiasco? And if so, why didn’t any of those assholes stop us? Maybe the whole team is laughing at me right now. God, are there photos?
But the caller is only Doc Herberts. I pick up the phone. “I’m fine! I’m eating. Are my numbers really that ugly?”
“Well, I’ve seen worse. But a couple of the guys said you’d been drinking. And then you missed the jet.”
“I… what? We’re meeting in the lobby at eight! It’s a quarter to, at least.”
He chuckles uncomfortably. “You’re an hour off, Neil. The meet-up was at seven. Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I missed the jet?” I whisper.
“Seems so, son. Better stop teasing Anton about that time he missed the jet.”
Anton. Oh, shit. “I’ll never live this down. I’ll never live any of this down.”
I’d fucked up my personal life. But I’d screwed myself with the team, too?
“Take a breath. I’ll let Hugh know that you’re on your way back to New York as fast as possible. Call the travel office. They’ll find you a flight.”
“Right,” I whisper. “Thanks for calling to check up on me.”
“My pleasure,” he says. “You always take good care of yourself and your diabetes. It’s admirable.”
That isn’t really the word I’d use to describe myself right now, but I thank him again and hang up the phone.
Now I’ve got another problem to solve. Luckily, this one is easy. It’s time for some Drake-family-style damage control. I hit another button on my phone and order up a private jet. Vegas is one of our larger markets. “I need it fueled up and ready to go in an hour,” I tell the customer service agent. “No excuses.”
Man, I am really embodying the role of Rich Asshole right now. That’s something I try never to do.
But hockey is my whole life. I can’t screw up the one thing that goes well for me. Even if I have to act like a rich prick, I’ll do it in order to make it to practice this afternoon.
“Yessir, Mr. Drake. Whatever you need.”
“Thank you.” I hang up.
This is a terrible day already, and it isn’t even eight o’clock.
THREE
WAFFLES ON THE PRIVATE JET
Neil
An hour later we cross the tarmac to board a Drake jet. I motion for Charli to climb the airstairs ahead of me and then scoop her suitcase out of her hand as she passes me.
I get a frown for my trouble. Charli frowns a lot, actually. I’ve noticed she isn’t comfortable getting help from anyone.
But carrying a woman’s luggage is just the way I was raised. My father didn’t spend a lot of time with me, but his lessons stuck, and that man believed in chivalry. So I am going to carry a lady’s bag up a set of stairs if I can.
At the doorway to the jet, I’m met by an air hostess. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Drake. I’m Marsha. The pilot has informed me that we’ll be cleared to push back momentarily. May I take your bags?”
“I’ll stash them, Marsha.” I open the baggage closet and do the deed, while Charli stands beside me wringing her hands.
“Is this a plane? Or a suite at the Ritz?”
I glance around the jet’s interior. It’s been a year or so since I’ve boarded one of our aircraft. Private jets are bad for the environment. And yet that’s how my family makes their billions. “I think we call this design the Plaza.”
She snorts. “So I was close?”
“Yep.” There’s a lot of cognac-colored leather and dark wood paneling. This is a small plane, so there are two studded leather seats, each one twice the width of a normal airplane seat. They face a marble-topped table. Everything is bolted to the floor, including the plush Persian-style rug underfoot. Because Safety First.
After takeoff, the table will be set with crystal and china. “The design is a little much, right? But at least it’s going to get me back to New York in time for practice.”
Charli looks unconvinced. “Are you sure leaving Vegas was the right decision?” she asks. “Shouldn’t we have tried to straighten this out at the county clerk’s office?”
“In a perfect world, yes. But if I miss practice, I’ll be fined.”
“Do you even hear yourself?” she demands. “The fine probably costs less than this flight.”
Charli is a smart girl, and unfortunately, she’s right. “But it’s the principle of the thing. Do you want to be late to practice?”
Slowly, she shakes her head.