Lucky Bounce: Game On, Part 2 by Jennifer Lazaris

4

Holly shoved her phone into her pocket with a huff and glared at the clock on the wall of the Lucky Bounce office. It was already twenty minutes past the meeting time her boss, Lyla, had scheduled.

She'd borrowed Penn's car because Eli had already gone to practice, and she had an hour to get the vehicle back before Penn needed it for work.

It was so typical of Lyla to make her wait. The woman didn't care about anyone but herself.

And no way was Holly going to tell Lyla that her apartment had burned down. She didn't want her boss to know she was staying with Eli, because she would find a way to leverage the information.

Calling Lyla her boss was probably a bit of an overstatement, but it was the closest description that fit. As a freelance gossip writer, she got paid by the news items she turned in to Lyla. And she also signed her paychecks, so...

Technically, Lyla’s official title should be “Bitch in Charge.” Because that's what she was—a bitch on wheels.

Holly glanced at the gigantic clock on the wall again, then stifled a sigh. Lyla was probably sitting in her office, playing some dumb game on her blinged out cell phone or posting selfies on social media.

She tapped her foot and turned her attention to the receptionist, Landon, who was hard at work filing her nails.

"How much longer is she going to be, Landon?"

The receptionist tossed her long, blonde hair behind her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. "How should I know? She's busy. She'll see you when she sees you."

"Give her a buzz and remind her I'm out here, would you?"

Landon glanced back down at her nails. "No. You'll just have to wait."

Holly rolled her eyes. "I've been waiting. Unless she has someone else in there, there's no reason I should still be out here."

"You know, Holly, I love what you've done with your hair. The purple streaks are so cute. Personally, I think the rainbow colors you had before were a bit too much. This is much better suited to your coloring."

Right, because she dyed her hair just to impress this bitch. When she'd gotten the rainbow streaks, Landon had been the first one to compliment her on them. She was even more fake than Lyla, and that was saying something.

"You should go for some bright colors yourself, Landon," Holly told the receptionist. "Shake things up a little."

It might detract from the horrible spray tan she had going on. With so many good spray tan businesses around the city, there was no excuse for it.

"Oh please, I'd never get fake colors in my hair. It's so unnatural looking." Landon gave her a thin-lipped smile. "You don't run in the same circles as I do, Holly. I have an image to protect. Social events to attend with important people. Showing up with purple hair? It just wouldn't do. I prefer to look as natural as possible."

"Natural. Right," Holly replied. She with the bleached blonde hair and the orange juice-colored spray tan was going on about looking natural.

What a world.

Landon's phone buzzed, and she looked down at the screen. "Lyla's ready for you."

Finally. One more minute with this woman, and she was going to lose her shit. Trading Landon for Lyla wasn't exactly a win, but the faster this meeting was over with, the better.

Holly stifled a laugh as she entered Lyla's office. It looked like a pink cotton candy explosion on the inside: pink walls, curtains, and even a pink computer sat on the desk. The only thing not pink was the zebra patterned throw rugs scattered around the office.

The color pink always reminded her of Mandi, her college roommate. She had been obsessed with it.

Lyla slowly swung her chair around, resembling a villain in a bad TV movie. If she'd have steepled her perfectly manicured fingers, Holly would have fallen over laughing.

"Please take a seat." Lyla nodded toward a pink fur-covered chair.

Holly plopped down onto it and crossed her legs. "What's up, Lyla?"

"I have something I want to discuss with you today. A very important assignment has cropped up."

"Ah. The one that has me following defenseman Eli Donnelley around for thirty days, then writing a feature about him?"

Lyla's face fell, and Holly bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She'd robbed Lyla of that news bomb, and it felt mighty fine.

"How do you know about the feature?" Her boss brushed a long strand of blonde hair away from her face.

"Eli told me."

"I seriously doubt that."

Holly shrugged. She sure as hell wasn't going to tell Lyla she'd traded him a kiss in exchange for the information. That wasn't anyone's business.

"Anyway, I'm sure you realize that it's a huge deal for the blog to get this kind of opportunity. It will be our first player-approved feature, and it adds a lot of legitimacy to the Lucky Bounce. You'll be happy to know that I've selected you to be the one to write it."

"Eli said he requested me specifically."

Normally, she wouldn't bait her boss like this, but there was literally nothing that she could do to Lyla that would get her kicked off this story.

"Yes, and I agreed," Lyla said with an air of finality. "Of course, I assured him that I would be much better equipped to cover the story, but for some godforsaken reason, he wants you to do it." A nasty smile bloomed on Lyla's face. "Something I should know, Holly? I find it very curious that he'd choose you over me."

Oh, this bitch.

"No idea," Holly said, doing her best to sound bored. Women like Lyla got off on putting other people down, and she wasn't going to give her any more ammunition to fire off another shot.

"Here's how this will work, Holly. You'll spend the next thirty days with Eli and gather all your info. I want reports at the end of every week about what you've learned. If I find your information is not up to snuff, I'll send you questions, and you'll submit them to him."

Of course she'd find a way to micro-manage the project.

"Fine," Holly muttered.

"You know, you're the best club-spotter we have at the blog, Holly. I'd hate to lose you." Lyla tapped at her keyboard, then turned the laptop around.

On the screen was Holly’s résumé, dated seven days ago, with a cover letter showing her interest in a full-time writing position at a small local paper.

Heat crawled up her neck as she stared at the résumé. The idea that someone at that paper told Lyla that one of her gossip reporters was looking for a job...

"I'm friends with every magazine and newspaper editor in the city, Holly," Lyla said, her voice cold. "It's going to be hard for you to find a new position without a good recommendation for me, don't you think?"

"Everyone tests the waters to see what's out there occasionally. It's natural.”

"Mmm." Lyla narrowed her eyes and studied her intently. "Anyway, we all know about Eli's reputation when it comes to women. And our blog thrives on that reputation. But he seems fond of you, Holly. Quite fond. In fact, he demanded an excellent paycheck for you for this assignment."

Lyla leaned forward in her chair. "What I don't understand is why he'd be so nice to someone who has made a career out of reporting all of his off-ice activities. Because a lot of the things that you've written about the Las Vegas Kingsnakes haven't exactly been flattering. You were the one who gave a few of them the ‘Player's Club’ nickname."

"I don't know what to tell you. He knows I work for the blog. My best friend is dating West Keller, their starting goaltender, so we see each other around. But other than that..." Holly shrugged.

The look on Lyla's face told her she didn't believe her, and Holly made a mental note to watch her back. Lyla was dying to date a hockey player, and she was seriously pissed Eli hadn't chosen her to do the feature.

"I'm sure you'll have every chance to become good friends now. Especially with thirty days to hang out together." She leaned back in her chair and gestured toward the door. "That's all. You can go."

Holly stood up from her chair but didn't speak. She wasn't going to tell Lyla to have a great day or thank her for the opportunity to write the feature. They'd both know that was total bullshit.

As she turned to walk out of the office, Lyla tapped her desk with her long nails.

"Oh, and Holly?"

She glanced over her shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Fuck this up, and you're fired."

Holly bit down on her tongue to keep herself from snapping back, then closed the door behind her. As she exited the office, she passed Landon's desk without a word. It's not like Landon had noticed her leave, anyway. She was too busy staring at her cell phone.

Once outside the office, she glanced over at the elevator that led to the parking garage. Though it was nice enough inside, it was slow as hell and the size of a small closet. That didn't play well with her claustrophobia. The stairs would have to do.

But when she tried to take the first step, she couldn't lift her foot.

Panic seized her as she stared down at her legs.

"What the fuck?" She grabbed the handrail and tried again with the other leg, but she was too weak.

Her stomach clenched with anxiety as she sank down onto the stairs. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before.

Stress could do some fucked up things to the body, that much she knew. She'd just lost her home in a fire and had to deal with her miserable bitch of a boss. And moving into Eli's house was another thing altogether. Not to mention the current state of their relationship.

Holly swallowed and ran her hands down over her thighs.

Yeah. It had to be stress. It was a lot to handle, and if you added her financial situation on top of everything else, she had a lot of legitimate reasons to be stressed.

She sat in the stairwell for ten minutes, taking deep breaths and trying to think positive thoughts before standing and turning to face the stairs.

"Work, legs," she whispered. "Fucking work."

To her relief, everything seemed to be back to normal as she lifted her leg onto the first step. She climbed the stairs slowly, not wanting to push her luck.

Once she got to the car, she sank down in the driver's seat and closed her eyes.

Managing her stress was going to have to become a priority in her life, because she never wanted to go through that again.

* * *

Eli swung his SUV into his mother's driveway and stared at the front door, a knot of dread forming in his stomach.

Lately, it happened every single time he visited her. He'd sit in the car for a few minutes, mentally preparing himself for whatever situation might arise when he walked through the front door.

He loved her so much. Hell, she was the only family he had, and knowing that he probably didn’t have a lot of time left with her wrecked him. Seeing her deteriorate before his eyes was fucking brutal.

The sooner he went in, the sooner he could leave. The thought wracked him with guilt, but he also couldn't deny it was the truth.

He wasn't emotionally weak. He'd handled some rough shit over the course of his life.

But this? It destroyed his soul.

Sighing, he climbed from the car and slammed the door. His mother's next-door neighbor waved at him from her front porch. He lifted his hand in greeting, then locked the vehicle and trudged up the sidewalk with a heavy heart.

This was never going to get easier, no matter how much he tried to psych himself up beforehand. It wasn't a hockey game. No amount of will, mental hype, or positive attitude would change the outcome.

He unlocked the front door and peeked his head in. His mom's daytime nurse, Irena, stood in the hallway.

"Hello, Eli." She motioned for him to come inside.

He stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him. "Hey, Irena. How's she doing today?"

"Eli, we need to have a talk." A crease formed between Irena's brows, and she ran a hand through her thick, gray hair. "The sooner, the better."

He rubbed his forehead. "That good, eh?"

"She's been waiting for you. Impatiently, I might add. Just spend some time with her. We can talk later."

"Sorry I'm late. I got here as soon as I could after practice ended." He shoved his keys into the pocket of his cargo shorts. "It was a long day."

"I know. I explained to her that you were at practice, but she didn't understand. Today, she can't comprehend that you are a professional hockey player. She kept talking about how she couldn't wait for 'little Eli' to come home and have his snack of cookies and milk."

He dragged his hands down over his face. "Jesus Christ."

Irena gave him a gentle push towards the kitchen. "Come find me after your visit, okay?"

"I will."

He took a deep breath and headed toward the kitchen. The floors creaked underneath his feet, and the familiar sound gave him comfort. It was like being a little kid again. He knew this house inside and out.

The amount of money he'd paid to move it from New York to Las Vegas had been staggering.

It had also been worth it. He hadn't wanted his mother upset about having to leave her home or all her things to come to Vegas. And there was no way he could handle having her live so far away when she needed help.

He pushed open the beige swinging door and found his mother sitting at the table, crying. Jesus, she looked as if she'd aged fifteen years since last week.

It broke his goddamn heart.

"Don't cry, Mom. I'm here now," he said softly, kneeling down in front of her.

His mother lifted her head and wiped her eyes. "Eli! Where have you been? I've been waiting for so long. The cookies are ready."

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting." He gave her a soft hug. She looked so fragile; he worried she'd break if he held her too tight. "Practice ran late."

"Look!" She gestured to three trays of chocolate chip cookies on the counter. "Eat as many as you want."

Eli pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood. "These look amazing, Mom." He swiped one of them off the tray and took a big bite. "And they're still warm, just the way I like them."

His mother went over to the fridge and pulled out the milk while Eli took a glass down from the cupboard. She handed him the carton.

"Once you finish your breakfast, get your hockey bag together and put it in the car, honey. I don't want you to be late for practice. Did you finish all of your homework last night?"

Eli paused mid bite, his stomach sinking. The cookies must be triggering old memories. When he was a kid, she'd fix them breakfast, then take him to hockey practice. She'd have milk and cookies waiting for him when he got home.

It was all still there in the recesses of her mind, but jumbled up.

"Do you want to hang out in the living room and watch some television, Mom?"

"Okay. You pick what you want, and I'll watch with you. Bring your cookies and milk." She got up and walked toward the living room, and Eli grabbed another cookie before following her down the hallway.

He took a seat on the couch, and she handed him the remote as she settled down into her easy chair.

"Pick something good," she told him.

He flicked through the channels, settling on a game show he knew she'd always enjoyed. After a few minutes of comfortable silence, she began to cry in earnest.

"Hey," he said gently, stroking her arm. "What's going on, Mom? Why the tears?"

He wasn't overly alarmed, because he knew she was prone to emotional outbursts. Her nurses had advised him to be calm and nurturing when it happened.

"Your father hasn't been home in days." She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. "I'm so worried."

Eli stifled a sigh. Lately, things always circled around to his stepfather not being home whenever he spoke to her.

"Don't worry. He's okay, but he won't be home for a while."

"But where is he, Eli?"

"Away on business. He's fine."

Lying to her sucked, but it was a lie for a good cause. Why upset her when she wouldn't remember any of this ten minutes from now?

"He works too hard," she said with a sigh. "He's always working late."

Ethan Donnelley had always been selfish, but when he left his mother after her Alzheimer's diagnosis, he'd become an irredeemable asshole. How could anyone leave their spouse when they were in crisis?

He hadn't spoken to the man in years, but it was no great loss. They'd never gotten along anyway. Ethan had hated stepping into a fatherly role, and he'd been cruel at the best of times.

If there was a way to erase him from his mother's memory forever, he'd jump at the chance.

Halfway through the next show, his mother turned toward him and sucked in a deep breath. Her green eyes widened as she stared at him, a terrified expression on her face.

"Mom! Mom, what's wrong?" He knelt next to her chair. "Talk to me."

"Get away from me!" She shrank away from him when he tried to touch her arm. "Get away!"

"Mom—"

His mother screamed, and Irena came running.

"Get away from me! Leave me alone!"

"Mrs. Donnelley, what's the matter?" Irena asked gently.

Fear and sadness stole through him as his mother stared up at him with frightened eyes. He'd come to terms with the pain he felt when she didn't recognize him, which happened a lot these days. But this was the first time in her entire Alzheimer's journey that she'd been scared of him.

"She's afraid of me," he told Irena.

His eyes grew watery at the nurse's sympathetic expression, and he blinked quickly, fighting back tears.

Fuck, he couldn't cry. He hadn't cried since he was a kid, and starting now, in front of her when she was so scared, was a bad idea.

"Mom, it's Eli." He fought to keep his voice even. "I'm your son. You asked me to visit you today.”

"That's impossible! I've never given birth. How could you be my son? I don't have a son! I wasn't able to have children."

Eli sat back on his heels and spotted a picture of the two of them taken at one of his games a few years ago. He picked the frame up and held it out to her.

"You wouldn't have a photo of me in your house if you didn't know me, right? You adopted me when I was a little kid."

His mother took the frame from him and stared at it for a little while.

"This is such a nice picture of us, Elijah. One of my favorites." Her face relaxed, and she settled back in her chair. She handed him the picture. "Put it back for me, would you?"

Irena slipped from the room as he placed the photo on the coffee table. He sank back down onto the couch and stared at the television.

What must it be like for her, living in her mind 24/7? He was already exhausted and emotionally drained, and he’d barely been here an hour.

Ten minutes later, she was fast asleep. Relief flooded him, quickly followed by shame. The guilt he felt lately was becoming unbearable.

He trekked back out into the kitchen and swiped another cookie before settling into one of the soft-backed chairs.

Irena took a seat across from him at the table. "I'm so sorry, Eli."

"I'm a shit son because I was relieved when she fell asleep. Relieved, Irena." He took a bite of the cookie and shook his head. "Fuck."

"It's a lot to handle. And frankly, she needs more care than Jessie and I can give her. I know you don't want to hear that, but it's the truth."

"How can I move her out of her home? I moved it here from New York so she would feel comfortable in her own space. I didn't bring her out here to stick her in a goddamned nursing home."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Eli. There's a wonderful facility not far from here with a large, round-the-clock staff. She's too isolated here, and it's not helping. She socializes with you, me, and Jessie. That's it. Lately, when we try to take her outside, she gets confused and agitated, and it's too much for us to handle alone."

Eli dragged his hands through his hair. "I'm sorry, Irena. I just want the best for her."

"I know you do, but this isn't it anymore." She placed her hand on his arm. "I know you have a lot on your plate right now with the playoffs coming up, but don't wait too much longer to consider this. If you want the best thing for her, the facility is the answer, Eli. I promise.”

He inclined his head. "Yeah. I hear you."

"Good." She slapped her hands down on her thighs, then stood. "Are you taking some of these cookies home?"

"No. I ate way more than I should have already."

Irena picked one up and took a bite. "More for me and Jessie, I suppose."

He got up and pulled out his car keys. "I'm gonna take off. Call if you need me for anything."

"Will do. Hang in there, Eli."

"I'm trying."

He paused in the archway of the living room on his way out. His mother was still fast asleep in her chair. Bending down, he brushed a kiss against her forehead and fought back another wave of emotion.

If he could, he'd trade everything he had—his career, his fame, and his fortune—so she could have her memory back.

The irony of it was that if it were possible, she would never let him do it. All she'd ever wanted was for him to be happy and play hockey.

She'd taken care of him through hard times and had made tough decisions. Now it was his turn to do the same.

Even if it hurt like hell.