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Eve shook her head. “He’s never made time for a girl in his life. Nothing has ever been more important than hockey, except me, of course, and our mom. He’s got tunnel vision about his future. The only thing that has ever made him wobble from that is the dad stuff.”
“Your dad?” I prodded.
She nodded. “I’ve never really cared about finding him. We don’t have a dad. Simple. But Asher…I think he’s always wanted to know what kind of man he came from. Since abandoning a pregnant woman is so far from what Ash would do, he can’t wrap his head around it.”
“You don’t know anything about him?”
“Nothing. Asher’s tried a whole bunch of times but has never had the resources. He needs a professional, I think, especially since our mom refuses to help.”
“A professional? Sounds expensive,” I murmured, my mind racing. Of course. Why hadn’t I thought of this before?
Of course. This should have been my first strategy in winning our little game. It was a well-known fact that Daddy Martino was a mystery, even to his kids. Eve had never seemed bothered about finding out who her dad was, but it seemed like her brother felt differently. Here it was. A solid, tangible reason why the money I offered Asher could be more useful than him dicking around and refusing to help me. I had already looked up PIs the night before, including one who my dad had used in the past. I had a call scheduled for later today. Maybe if I got the ball rolling, then Asher would feel obligated to help me, once he found out.
Maybe…I could still pull this off. Win the game, and have a date for my dad’s dinner.
It was worth a shot.
Asher
After a glorious start to the week, the rest slid downhill, starting with being called into Coach’s office to be reamed out about leaving Winter tied to the damn goal after the game. I had no idea how Coach had heard about it, but he was pissed. I’d have to figure out who apart from Eve had seen Winter like that and dig his eyes out with a spoon later.
“This is the kind of distraction you can’t afford, Asher, not to mention who you’ve chosen to mess around with. Winter DeLaurie? Seriously? Her father is one of the biggest donors at HHU.”
“Winter started it?—”
Coach Eric cut me off. “I don’t want to hear it. You sound like a middle-schooler right now. You can’t afford to fuck up. You’re already not playing when you need to be jelling with the team. When do you think the NHL recruits? It’s not senior year, I’ll tell you that. You need to get your head together. You, more than anyone else on the team, need to be noticed. You’ve already put yourself behind with the transfer.”
“Yes, Coach,” I muttered through gritted teeth.
Damn Winter and her games. Damn the fact that I couldn’t seem to stay away, despite knowing that playing with her was dangerous.
Later that day in art class was nude drawing, and a pain-in-the-ass assignment. Art was my one indulgent class. Today, staring at a nude female form felt flat and unexciting after the feeling of wrestling Winter’s fully clothed body to my bed earlier and forcing my lips to hers. If that didn’t make me fucked up, I didn’t know what did.
“This month, we are focusing on what I like to call true beauty. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, it is subjective. I want to see what is truly beautiful to all of you. You have a week to show me initial sketches.” Professor Dupont, a renowned local artist and one hell of a teacher, had given out his assignment and ended class, leaving me just enough time to grab some food before heading to work.
After getting fired from The Dunes, I was lucky to get a bartending shift at the local biker bar out on the highway. Marcus’s brother was patched up, and he’d put in a good word for me. They didn’t care about bullshit like if I’d turned twenty-one or was paying taxes. They gave me cash under the table, and that was good enough for now. I just needed a flexible gig so I could train as much as I needed to.
I was certainly training as often as I could, but it felt like a slow death to be excluded from play. I only had a few months to go, but it felt like an endless sentence to sit on the bench.
The bar was quiet tonight, with MC members playing pool with their old ladies, and some others sitting at the bar, shooting the shit with each other. Country songs played on the jukebox, and couples swayed to the music. On nights like tonight, The Clutch felt like where dreams went to die. There was a melancholic feeling that shrouded the place, and I tried my best not to let it get to me. The Clutch, with its stale beer and popcorn smell, sticky floors, and neon signs, was just a reminder of what I didn’t want to let happen to my life. A life of menial jobs, always hustling to get the next meal on the table. I wanted more than that, and I wanted to provide a better life for my mom. She’d worked too long and hard for me and Eve only to end up with a failure as a son. Of course, I was pretty sure Beckett was eyeing up the “best son” position in the Martino family, and I’d be damned if I was letting him have it.
After an hour or so, Marcus’ brother, Cole, strolled in, his guys in tow. Cole had been a member of the MC for a few years, ever since their father had gone to jail. Marcus never talked much about his family. I didn’t know Cole all that well, but I knew he wasn’t someone I wanted to cross.
“Martino. They treating you all right here?” Cole asked as I grabbed his drink.
He was a big dude, hockey defenseman big, but something told me Cole wasn’t overly interested in team sports.
“Sure. Thanks for the hookup.” I slid a beer bottle across the counter to him.
He nodded. “Yeah, well, Marcus’ friends are my friends. He doing okay?”
I nodded. “As close to normal as he can be.”
Cole chuckled. “And that isn’t that close.”
The bell above the door jangled, and I glanced up at the same time as Cole to see who had come into the bar.
Motherfucker.
