Rich Man

You could pretty much cut the tension between Milan and I with a knife the size of Shamu. That is, assuming you’re strong enough to do it. Our eyes met once during pregame and even then, I could tell he was furious. However, it was in a suppressed way that I knew was reserved only for me because his teammate interactions were nothing close to hostile. As a matter of fact, he grinned and interacted with the boys as if nothing was wrong.

Well, didn’t see that coming.

What paranoid me more than this failed prediction was the attachment Patrice’s eyes had on mine. He was curious and wary, obviously deep in thought. After missing a few practice passes to get him to move around and take some shots on Timmy, Matt elbowed him. They exchanged words, but it was plain to see that he was holding onto those thoughts of his. They didn’t appear to be all that great for me, too.

For every moment I caught Milan looking my way, he crushed someone against the boards and left them wondering what number they were. For every time he skated by my section and glanced up at me before the drop of the puck, he nearly ended someone’s life against the glass. Each and every time, I stared at him and breathlessly came to realization that maybe that hit was meant as a knock against me. In truth, even though my mind told me not to give a shit, it still hurt.

In my contemplative trance, I missed a key shot in the game. A loud tink—the sound of hundred-mile-an-hour rubber slamming against the cross bar elicited a mass of boos from the surrounding fans. Patrice pumped his fist in triumph and whirled around to face his flying teammates, all of whom couldn’t be happier. Soon thereafter our eyes locked and I could feel a certain intensity rattle the cage of my mind. Mind you, this lasted no more than a split second. Hell, he could have looked at me on accident, but the moment he realized who he was seeing; his eyes narrowed and gave me an almost unhealthy dose of knowing.

From then on, I could consider myself paranoid.

“Awesome game you guys,” I congratulated simply as men began filing out of the locker room. Blake approached first, which to me was a minor relief. Had Patrice or Milan been in his shoes, I would have been stuck with him—alone for the moment.

He strutted up with his signature crooked grin and gave me a light sideways hug. A mischievous glint sparkled particularly in his eyes when the other two females finally got down to our area off to the side. The moment Milan, Patrice, and Matt joined us, his impish stare only worsened. “So, I got invited by some of the hometown boys to hit the streets. You guys up for clubbing or what?”

Aw, shit. I hate clubs.

The entire crowd around me seemed to shoot their hands to the roof together, all for the idea. “Ray, you in?”

I grinned wildly—well, as wildly as I could get it anyway, and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I could use some movement.”

Avery, Patrice and I volunteered ourselves as designated drivers, which basically meant that we didn’t have to drink or do anything stupid if the opportunity arose. According to one ecstatic Matt Hunwick, a chance to act like a complete and utter jackass would definitely arise. Wonderful.

Sipping a coke, I watched couples join the bump and grind of the blaring dance floor. People watch was really all I did, but there was really nothing to watch. They were all the same stories, repeated and repeated until they almost worsened my headache with slight frustration. My head was throbbing and the temperature of the building was beyond over heated, which was really no surprise. The body heat in that “upscale” building was probably almost enough to set it on fire.

With the inability to hear my own thoughts a noteworthy aspect of the atmosphere, I felt almost naked. On top of that, my head was pounding to the beat of the bass flooding my ears. Plugging them wouldn’t even make it stop. I finally began cringing; holding something cool to my head, but it was to no avail. I was beginning to sweat an oddly dry-feeling sweat, one that I knew existed all over my body, but that I couldn’t simply wipe away. Vision blurred, pulse pounding, I grasped my forehead and closed my eyes.

“Hey, Ray… Ray? Ray! Are you alright?”

That voice. Shit, my head-this fucking music-

Patrice stood at the foot of the booth. He dropped his drink, spilling it all over the table and into the seat across from me. “Roark, come on, snap out of it… What’s wrong, Ray?” he growled, forcing my vision to his. My vision was beginning to scare me, blanking in and out of blurred and even more blurry. The back of his hand connected to my forehead gently. He even held the back of my neck to steady my tilting head straight. “Shit, you’ve got a fever.” With his words, I could feel his arms slip under the backs of my knees. “Come on, I’m getting you out of here.”I could hardly form words. “Hold onto me the best you can, okay?”

“Wh-What about… Everybody else?” I fumbled with my words, but I was now pressed flush against him and close enough to his ear that he’d be able to hear me. I was lifted from the booth without what felt like the slightest hassle. He moved steadily through the crowd and I’m pretty sure someone helped to make room for him, too, because I heard someone ask if they needed to call an ambulance.

And that terrified me.

My cover would be completely blown.

He can’t know my name.

“No, no, she’ll be fine. Just really bad cabin fever,” he reassured, hand rubbing my side the best it could while carrying me. “You’re going to be alright, Ray… Breathe,” he mumbled now, practically kicking the back door to the place open. We emerged in a well lit alley-way with the parking lot in direct sight. “I’m taking you back to the hotel. You need to lie down,” he whispered in an almost fatherly way. However, there was a certain degree of concern in his voice that broke his authority and intrigued me all the more.

Throughout the entire car ride back, I found it nearly impossible to form legitimate questions. Really, the only thing that came to mind was, “Thank you.”

He glanced at me from his fixated glare at the road and shrugged. “You would have gotten me out of there.”

“Well I wouldn’t have carried you,” I whispered back, hand clasped against my forehead. The migraine that was coming on nearly had me biting a hole through my bottom lip. By the time I had drawn blood, Patrice had tossed his car keys to the valet and run around to my side to help me out of the car. At that point, my pride forced me to walk to the room, but it helped that his arm was fastened securely around me for support without the intention of letting go. It was funny to me that he would keep this up, all the while hiding that I was leaning against him with a sort of bittersweet smile for all of the surrounding guests in the lobby and elevator. It was almost as if he knew how much I despised leaning on him or anyone for that matter.

I was able to unlock my door and slip inside, but not without him following me in. “I’ll be fine, I swear,” I protested his presence, but to no avail.

My half collapse on the nearest bed caught his attention and elicited a small chuckle from his throat. He soon followed me, only he crawled onto the bed, body over mine, and slipped his hand swiftly down the front pocket of my jeans to retrieve my room key. It was sticking half way out of the pocket, anyway. As sad as it was, all I could do was cringe at the movement of the bed and its influence on the beating rhythm of my head. It was far too much for me to handle; the combination of Patrice and a migraine.

“I’ll be right back. Don’t try to move. Please, I’m serious,” he whispered, conscious of the state of my head, and slipped out of the room with intent to sprint.

Upon his return, I had kicked out of my shoes and managed to change into a pair of green pajama shorts. I left my blue v-neck Hollister t-shirt as it was and sipped water the best I could. He handed me two aspirins and gingerly sat on the bed beside me, intently studying my every move. Patrice hardly moved at all from there; not until I had finished my glass of water minutes later and attempted to lay myself down. With his help, I managed to lay flat without making my head worse.

“Close your eyes,” he commanded subtly and leaned over to shut off the only light in the room. When I eyed him with caution, he shot me a reassuring, neutral stare. “I won’t bite, God. Just close your eyes, alright?”

For the first time in a very long time, I found myself taking an order I was reluctant to follow. Almost half an hour passed. It was obvious that I thought I was asleep when his fingers slowly glided over the top of my head, over my hair. He hesitantly repeated the soothing gesture until I turned into him, finally mentally clear enough to think and function, but too tired to really care. I listened as Patrice yawned and leaned down to continue petting my head at an easier angle and slipped into unconsciousness.

-

A weight sat on my face, light and warm. Eyes closed, I couldn’t place it, but when I opened my eyes to find Patrice sound asleep beside me, I realized that his hand was cupping my cheek. A strand of my hair sat under his fingers as well as my reddening skin. He probably fell asleep stroking my hair last night… I couldn’t even add a smart-ass word to the thought. I was too busy contemplating why he’d even do such a thing for me; not after what I had put him through. It made no sense.

My hand glided over his and gently lifted it from my cheek as to allow me room to lean up and peer over him. Neither of my roommates was back yet and honestly, I didn’t mind at all. Having them walk in on cute fest in my bed was far from ideal.

“Holy shit,” he whispered, blinking his wide eyes hard. “Nothing happened, I swe-“

“I know,” I whispered in reply, still holding onto his hand. He didn’t seem to really mind as I gave his hand a soft squeeze. “You were my hero last night. I’d say thanks, but that might be the understatement of the year.”

Silence.

“You know, you didn’t have to do that.”

He cracked an extremely small smile. “Yeah, I know. I just saw you look like you were about to pass out and kind of freaked. Sorry if I was totally awkward or anything.”

“News flash, Patrice, you’d make a great emergency response person. You were cooler than cool… And the head petting thing, that was really sweet.”

I swore that his face turned a small tinge pink, but through his growing facial hair, I could have been seeing wrong. His hand broke free of mine and gingerly dragged his fingers up the side of my face. After tucking a disheveled strand of hair behind my ear, he continued the stroking action. My body seemed to melt to putty, but I really didn’t mind. For some reason I felt completely comfortable, totally at ease-

“Milan told me about what happened with you guys the other day. Said to tell you if I got to you first that he’ll be fine.”

My eyes snapped open.

“You really care about us enough to try and change him? We’ve all been too scared to really give it a shot. Doesn’t help that we don’t really know how… Never knew what to say or do…”

I inhaled under the weight of his calloused fingers so skillfully dancing over my skin and replied, “You gotta understand that right now you guys are the only family I have. So yeah, I care a lot about the mob and I know so much stress has happened and I don’t want you guys to fight. I know what I did was nothing short of fucked up, but it was for the best...”

“Can’t say I approve, but I have to hand it to you. You changed him for the better… I-Uh-You were just messing with his head, right?” he asked this in a particularly small voice, fingers ceasing and eyes fixating themselves on mine.

“Yeah, of course. There’s no use in trying to change any of you guys,” I replied simply, clenching my stomach. Guilt washed over me as I mentally continued. As far as you know, you’re all perfectly dandy the way you are. Too bad that everybody’s just wearing another mask. I happened to get him to take his off.

Yet something in his defiant, childlike eyes told me that he believed otherwise.