“Yep-exactly like Mom used to make. But do me a favor-next year ask me to bring a side dish.”

“Sure thing,” she said, giving him a curious look. “What happened to my husband?”

“Alessandra had a toxic leak. It’s funny; I remember when you were pregnant. Sal said he would never change a diaper.”

“True, and for the first months it was all I could do to get him to change her. But recently, he jumps at the chance to change every diaper. It seems like every waking moment he’s playing with her or just staring at her.” She stopped for a moment, then looked Riley in the eyes. “You’re Sal’s closest friend on the team. Have you seen anything different about him lately?”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’d say he seems edgier than usual. He says it’s because of the pressure at the end of the season, but I think it has to be more than that. One moment he’s wonderful, and the next moment he bites my head off about something; then the next moment he’s staring off into space.” Megan paused and looked down. When she looked back up at him, there were tears in her eyes. “Would you… would you tell me if he was having an affair?”

“After I got through beating him to a pulp, yeah, I’d tell you-or at least I’d make sure that he told you. But I don’t think you have to worry about that. I would be truly shocked if he were messing around on you, Meg. I’ve seen the same stuff you have, but I see it all around the locker room. Everyone is on edge.”

“You don’t seem to be.”

“Well, that’s because I’m an extreme introvert who suppresses my feelings of angst until they reach a boiling point, finally finding a violent outlet on the playing field.”

“Impressive. You’ve been talking to the sports psychologist,” Megan said with a relieved laugh.

“Watching Dr. Phil, actually. Seriously, I’ll talk with Sal today and try to find out what’s going on.”

“Thanks, Riley.” She gave him another hug as Ricci came in with Alessandra.

“What’s-a happening-a here? Are you a-messing with-a my girl?”

Riley laughed. “Sal, for being Italian, you have the worst fake Italian accent in the world. You sound like a junior high production of The Godfather.”

“Well, let’s-a sitta at the table. Or am I-a gonna hafta make-a you an offer you can’t-a refuse?” They all laughed as they sat, including Alessandra, who had no clue what was being said but apparently knew that her daddy was the funniest man in the world.

Thursday, December 25

CTD North Central Division Headquarters

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Scott Ross saw it as soon as he walked into Jim Hicks’s office. Sitting on Hicks’s desk was a case of Yoo-hoo.

“Merry Christmas,” Hicks said.

“Jim, I’m touched.”

“Now don’t go all sappy on me. I was getting tired of all your complaining, and… well, I appreciate all the hard work you’ve put in over the past few days. Let’s leave it at that.”

“Not even a Christmas hug to go with it?”

Hicks glared at Scott.

“Well, thank you anyways. And, just so you know that I didn’t forget about you this yuletide season…” Scott reached into his coat and pulled out a magazine with a little red bow stuck on its front cover.

Hicks took it from him. “Wow, Guns & Ammo. Exactly what I’ve always wanted.”

“Take a look. It’s the January issue!”

Hicks couldn’t help but smile. “Scott, you’re like the son I’m glad I never had.”

“Thanks, Pop. So, I’m assuming by your being here that you have no pressing family obligations.”

Hicks shook his head. “No, I stopped having family obligations three years ago when my second wife divorced me.”

“How’d that happen?” Scott asked as he cracked open his first Yoo-hoo bottle of the day. He offered one to Hicks, who quickly declined with a grimace on his face.

“Listen, Scott, I appreciate your feigned interest and all, but I’m not really into talking about myself.”

“Believe me, I understand. But I was thinking, you know, it being Christmas and all. What the heck. We could even do it quid pro quo-you know, like in Silence of the Lambs. ‘A census taker once tried to test me. I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti,’” Scott said in his best Anthony Hopkins impersonation, finishing with the skin-crawling slurping sound.

Hicks thought for a moment, then said, “Why not? Okay, I’ve told you about my divorces. Quid pro quo. Where’s your family? Why aren’t you with Mom and Dad?”

“First of all, ‘told you about my divorces’ is a little strong for what you’ve said thus far. But if it will make you feel better, I guess I can launch first. My parents were addicts. Coke, horse, meth-you name it, they took it. There was this one Christmas when I was eight-my parents sent me into a house to score some chiva for them. I heard yelling and screaming as I walked up. I tried to turn around, but my parents wouldn’t let me back in the car without the dope. So I went back and knocked. No one answered the door. I walked in, and the smell in the house nearly bowled me over. It wasn’t until years later when I was with AFSOC that I recognized what that smell was. It was death, hanging big-time in that house.

“So anyway, I look around and see this big nasty-looking guy, hair in a ponytail and all tatted up-I can still see him like he was right in this room. He was standing over his old lady. She was pretty bloodied up by this time. This guy sees me, and before I have a chance to tell him why I’m there, he crosses the room and plants his fist right on my cheek. He knocked out a tooth. I’m lucky he didn’t break my jaw. Then he grabs a handful of my hair and a handful of my pants, carries me to the open door, and literally tosses me out onto the sidewalk and slams the door behind him.

“So I’m all scraped up and bleeding. I go crying and limping up to my parents’ car. My dad rolls down the window and asks if I got the chiva. When I tried to explain what had happened, he flies out of the car, smacks the other side of my jaw, grabs the money from my hand, and drives off with my mom. I walked two and a half miles to get home that day. Needless to say, Santa forgot to leave anything under the tree that year.” Scott downed the rest of his Yoo-hoo and chucked the empty a little harder than he intended into the stainless steel waste can.

“Are your folks still alive?”

“I don’t know, and I can’t say as I care. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hate them. I probably should, but I can’t. They were addicted. Nothing was more important than feeding the monkey. That’s why I rarely drink, and I don’t smoke or do anything like that. I’ve seen what the monkey can do, and I don’t want any part of it.”

They were both quiet for a few minutes.

Finally, Scott broke the silence. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever told anyone that story before.”

“So, how’d you come from that home to what you are today? A lot of folks would have used that as an excuse for wasting their lives and living off the government.”

“It was one man who did it-one man who changed my life. And believe it or not, he was a librarian-Mr. Pinkerton. Funny, after all these years I still don’t know his first name. He saw something in me-potential, he said. He took the time to let me know that just because my parents were trash, I didn’t have to be. He helped me believe in myself. He helped me get through school and then directed me toward the air force after I botched college. Without him stepping in, I hate to think where I’d be now.”

“You still in contact with him?”

“Nah, he died when I was in Afghanistan. I couldn’t even go to his funeral. When I heard he was gone, that was one of the hardest days of my life… So, buddy, quid pro quo. Let’s hear about you.”

Hicks reached into his desk and pulled out a tumbler and a small bottle of Jack Daniel’s Gentleman Jack. He tilted the bottle toward Scott, who waved it off. After pouring himself two fingers, Hicks began. “My story’s not pretty either, but for a different reason. You took something screwed up and made it good. I took something good and screwed it up-royally… You sure you want to hear about this?”