Mitchell's Power Play

Who is She?

MITCHELL

It was well after two in the morning by the time I arrived home. We'd played in Philadelphia and since it's not very far from New York City, we'd taken the team bus. Everything was normal and proceeding according to plan, including Larsson and Bryce's discussion of old gangster movies.

We'd left on time and I was dozing on and off until we came upon an accident on the New Jersey Turnpike which involved a couple of tractor-trailers. It seemed to be more of a property damage type of incident as both drivers stood outside and were busy yelling at each other, but more than half of the roadway was blocked by the trailers. Traffic was moving at a crawl pace and it ended up delaying us for a couple of hours.

"Ugh," Nash groaned next to me.

I didn't bother responding because what was there to say? It sucked that we were going to get home later than planned but it sucked even more for those tractor trailer drivers.

By the time the bus dropped us off, I'd fallen asleep with my head up against the window, where my hot breath had made fogged up the cold windshield. Nash took pity on me and shook my shoulder to wake me up. Compared to the ways we used to wake each other in college, where we tried to come up with the most creative ways to scare the shit out of each other, that one was lame, and appreciated.

I followed Nash off the bus, and said good night to the rest of the team. Half of them appeared to be half asleep just like me. Nash was anxious to get home to Kennedy so his driver was already waiting for us when we stepped off the bus. They'd drop me off first like they always did. The streets of Manhattan were relatively empty and traffic moved quickly that late at night. It only took a few minutes to get to my place.

I thanked Nash for the ride as I stumbled out onto the sidewalk. I moved slowly like I was intoxicated and tried to overcompensate.

"You sure you are alright, man?" Nash called from the open rear window. "You took a couple of hard hits again tonight."

I took hard hits at every game, that was just part of being a defensive player in the UAHL, but there may be some truth to what Nash was asking. I was hurting, although I wasn't sure it was just physical pain.

"Takes more than a few bumps to keep me down," I joked but kept my eyes deliberately away from Nash, knowing he'd be able to tell that not everything was okay regardless if he was worried about Kennedy or not, and he was. He didn't need more things to worry about.

"See ya!" I yelled and raised my hand in a goodbye gesture.

It was quiet in the apartment when I opened the front door. Jackson's long coat hung next to his big North Face jacket on the coat rack by the door, so I knew he was home. I hung my own coat next to his and took off my shoes, and haphazardly pushed them to the side. I was too tired to care. There was no way my normal routine would be happening.

The light was on in the kitchen and I wondered if it was to welcome me home, or because he forgot to shut it off. Based on the way things were between us I figured he forgot. I walked into the kitchen to turn it off, and noticed that there were dirty dishes in the sink that Jackson hadn't bothered to put in the dishwasher. More on a reflex than anything else I turned the faucet on to rinse the dishes and proceeded to load the dishwasher. There were dirty plates and silverware for two.

Jackson had had someone over for some kind of rice dish from the look at the residue on the plates, and most likely a woman. That was confirmed when I got to the wine glasses and the red lipstick stain...

I paused with the dishwasher door open and the red-stained wine glass in my hand. There had been a woman here. Even though I didn't want to, my mind immediately pictured Jackson and Sammy having dinner together, here in my apartment. She'd been acting like she was too busy to go out with me, but maybe that was just because she didn't want anything more with me. Maybe she wanted Jackson...