The Penalty Box by Deirdre Martin Read Free Book Online Page B

“It’s been too long. How may I help you?”
    â€œI’m here to meet Doug Burton and Chick Perry for lunch.”
    â€œBoth men have already arrived. I’ll show you to the table.”
    Paul dutifully followed Kenneth through the dining room. Though there appeared to be some businessmen present, the large, sunny room was filled mainly with well-heeled women of different ages in various stages of eating disorders. He scoured the room for his own mother, surprised to find her absent. Whenever someone in the family couldn’t locate her, the joke had always been “Check the DCC.” Didsbury Country Club, tennis, and various social committees: That was his mother’s life.
    Kenneth led him outside to the covered patio overlooking the rolling green hills of a Robert Trent Jones-designed golf course. Paul had never “gotten” golf, despite his father’s occasional encouragement. Where was the rush? The danger? The blood ? He knew lots of hockey players played golf to relax, but he wasn’t one of them.
    â€œPaul.” Doug Burton rose with a warm smile for the boy he’d once called “Baby Gretzky.” Paul would have recognized him anywhere: same granite features pocked with small scars, same scary brush cut, though it was now gray. “Good to see you.”
    â€œGood to see you, too, Coach Burton.”
    â€œPlease, call me Doug.”
    Paul paused, waiting for Chick Perry to struggle out of his chair. A hugely overweight man with a florid face and unruly eyebrows, he nonetheless still managed to project an air of quiet superiority, not surprising considering how much money he was worth. Clasping Paul’s forearm, he shook it so hard Paul wondered if he was hoping some change might drop out of his sleeve. “Paul.” Shake shake shake. “So wonderful”— hacking cough, wheeze, shake —“to see you.”
    â€œYou, too, Mr. Perry,” Paul replied carefully, worried for the older man’s health. The exertion it had taken him to get out of the chair had been so substantial Paul was afraid the reverse action of sitting back down might be the catalyst for a coronary.
    â€œPlease.” He hurled himself back down into his chair, gasping. “None of this ‘Mr. Perry’ crap. From now on it’s Chick.”
    â€œChick,” Paul repeated, taking his seat. “How is Chandler?”
    â€œHe’s a big-shot lawyer in Chicago now, with a little boy and a wife with an ass so big you could land the space shuttle on it.”
    Paul stifled a snort. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.
    â€œTell him I say hello,” said Paul politely.
    â€œI will, I will.” Chick reached for his water glass, chugging down the contents.
    â€œDrink?” Coach Burton offered.
    Paul briefly considered the offer, applying the “hair of the dog” theory to his hangover. One or two beers might make him feel more human. Then again, suppose it didn’t work? He was still feeling like he’d been dragged behind a chariot, and there was no way he wanted to risk feeling even worse. “Water’s fine for me,” he said, helping himself to a glass from the large, sweating pitcher in the middle of the table.
    Chick pulled a silk handkerchief from his pocket, running it over his gleaming face before turning to Paul. “I just want to say, on behalf of Doug and myself, how sorry we are about what happened to you.”
    Paul stiffened. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.”
    â€œTo be a successful professional athlete, and then be forced to retire in your prime.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a tragedy.”
    Don’t forget the part about my longtime girlfriend dumping me because I was no longer a hockey star. That was really special.
    â€œYour father said you’ve done a real nice job with Cuffy’s,” Chick continued.
    â€œI have. Stop by sometime.