Free Murphy's Law by Lisa Marie Rice Page A

between were all the fun words describing possible consequences if he were allowed to continue playing—secondary concussion, cranial nerve damage, possible permanent neurological damage, possible cognitive deficits, biochemical changes at the cellular level.
    And there it was. What Nick had tried to drink himself into a stupor to forget. Twelve years of his life down the drain because of an overenthusiastic adversary and a few moments of blackout.
    “Oh, Nick,” Lou breathed. She put her hand on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Nick, I’m so sorry.”
    “Yeah, well…” Nick shrugged, trying not to think about the rest of his life. “Had to retire sometime.” He tried on a smile. “Just didn’t think it would be this soon.”
    Lou was looking at him and he knew she was reading every emotion he had. She’d always been able to do that. Just like their mother. “You know, Nick, maybe this accident is…is a blessing in disguise.”
    Nick blinked. “Say what?”
    “Oh, Nick, just think of it. How long do you think you could have gone on? You’re thirty-two years old. You could have played for what? Another seven, eight years? Ten tops? And then what? You’d be forty and a has-been. A rich has-been,” she added wryly. “But it would be too late to do much of anything else. You’re young enough now to start putting that brain of yours to use.” She knocked affectionately on his head. “I know you have one in there. You had one before you started playing hockey.”
    “No jock jokes,” Nick warned.
    “No jock jokes.” Lou smiled happily. “I’m going to delete my jock joke file. Now you can move on to the next thing.”
    Yeah. Whatever that was.
    “Life after hockey.” Nick shook his head. He didn’t want to admit it, but he felt better now that he’d told somebody. He even managed a smile. “Is there?”
    “Oh, Nick.” Lou scooted over and picked up his hand. He’d broken each and every finger. Some twice. He’d also broken his collarbone three times, his arm and his nose. That hadn’t been such a bad thing—Lou said it saved him from pretty-boy looks. But everything else… “One of these days you were going to kill yourself. And for what? Wouldn’t you like a real life? A real job? And a real woman, instead of those silicone hockey bunnies with room-temperature I.Q.s you date?
    “Ouch.” Nick slouched lower in the couch. “I haven’t seen her in two months.” His love life was not something he wanted to get into right now.
    “What you really need is a smart, nice woman,” Lou swept on relentlessly. “Someone who cares for you as a person, not someone who’s blinded by your fame or money. Someone like—like Faith. She’s smart and nice and funny and pretty in her own quiet way. And the way she looks at you—” If Lou hadn’t been holding Nick’s hand, she wouldn’t have felt him jolt. “What?”
    “Nothing.” Nick withdrew his hand and rubbed it across the back of his neck.
    Shit. Of course Lou was right. Faith was exactly what he needed. He’d had her and he’d fucked it up. He shouldn’t even be thinking this because he’d always suspected Lou could read his mind.
    “Say,” he said brightly. He stood up, staggering slightly and steadied himself with a hand on the back of the sofa. “You want something to drink? I don’t think I have anything alcoholic left, not even shaving lotion, but there might be—”
    Lou’s watched him carefully. “Nick? Nick ?” She raised her voice as he gimped as fast as he could into the kitchen. He had some Advil in there and maybe the microwave would mess with his thoughts so Lou couldn’t read them.
    She got up and followed him.
    “Nick, did anything happen between you and Faith? Because she was acting funny yesterday when I mentioned your name…Nick, get your head out of that refrigerator!”
    Nick straightened and gave a bright smile. “What was that? Here, I found a beer for you. It was under the lettuce.”
    Exasperated, Lou took