"Welcome back Venturi! Mind in gear, I hope? Ready for some serious training?"
Derek took a deep breath and hoped he looked better than he felt. He needed to be here this morning because his career depended on it, but the reality was he was far from ready to be under the pressure he knew was coming. He had been out of it for nearly a week and both the team and the media were screaming for a piece of him. He felt he had nothing to give.
"Gonna try, Coach."
"Try not. Do. Or fail." The Coach misquoted in a bad attempt at a Yoda impression. Derek grimaced and made his way to his area in the locker room.
It was more than three days since Casey had left and he had heard nothing from her. He had tried every one of the numbers he had ever had for her and she was answering none of them. He had yet to contact Nora because he didn't want to admit he had upset her. Even at thirty one, his step-mother would still kick butt if she knew he had hurt his step-sister this badly. Derek was sure there would be little of him left if Nora ever found out about the past he shared with Casey. His only consolation was he wouldn't go down alone.
He had been early to the training session. None of the rest of the team had made it to the rink yet, that much had been evident from the lack of expensive cars in the parking lot and by the poor collection of paps at the gate. He had run the gauntlet as he left his house, but it was fairly quiet as he turned into the player's parking lot. Just a few flashes and he noted with grim amusement that the couple of pressmen who were there hurriedly pulled out cells as soon as the opportunity for decent photo shots had passed. He made a mental note to be early more often.
Coverage of his split from Chloe was still big news, but it was more for the fact he was back on the eligible bachelor list rather than because there was anything of a story. Chloe, he wasn't surprised to see when he could be bothered to switch on the TV, was appearing on cable show after cable show airing her point of view. In reply to all the crap she spouted, the interviewers were forced to read a solitary statement from Derek's management.
"Derek Venturi regrets that he is unable to provide interviews in response to his "wife's" story as due to the fact that bigamy is still illegal in Canada, he does not have a wife."
Derek had congratulated Tim on that one: nice, concise and to the point. It went a long way to explaining how Derek felt about Chloe.
He didn't.
The other players started to file into the room just as he finished changing and the long round of back-slapping and commiserations began. Derek took all of it in uncharacteristically quietly nodding at banal comments which meant nothing to either the speaker or the recipient. It was all water under the bridge.
As they were called to begin the training, he stood up with some effort and followed the others. The lethargy of the past few days was still there and he wondered how he was going to function on the ice.
The answer was he didn't. Three hours later, and with the "understanding" words of his team mates and less understanding words of his coach still ringing in his ears, he stormed out of the practice, threw himself into his car and drove home, not even noticing the cameras or reporters for a change.
Back at home he took himself off to the gym to try and work out his frustration at his lack of skill on the weights and other cold hard metal gym equipment. He told himself that it was a good job he was alone right now. The angry fog which surrounded him made him blind to telling the difference between what was warm and breathing and that which was cold and static.
Eventually, he gave up knowing that it was useless to try and work out of his system what he could not work out of his system. He hoped time would heal.
Things didn't improve.
"Your form is abysmal Venturi. I've made allowances for…recent events, but you need to seriously pull your game out of the crapper or your career is toast, man."
"Yes Coach." Derek knew the older man was telling the truth. He was as sick with himself as anyone else was.
It had been five weeks since the revelations that had ripped his world apart – or rather the careful façade he had built up over the past two years. Five weeks since the revelations of Chloe's past.
Since then he had been visited by just about every single person he had ever met in his life and listened to the same condolences repeated ad nauseum. He was past caring. Chloe had tried to resurrect their relationship but she was now getting the message that it was over. He hadn't spoken to her since that phone conversation he had endured at the dinner table with Casey, but there had been emails from her (initially ignored and then replied to by his lawyers), texts (always deleted) and strangely at one point flowers. Derek didn't understand that approach, and whatever it had aimed to achieve, he had had his housekeeper, Rita, gather the arrangements up and take them to the geriatric wards of a local community hospital to be seen by people who appreciated them.
Because Derek did not.
The press were not letting up on the relationship or the "Chloe replacement" angle. He knew Casey was getting hounded because there had been talk of a scuffle at some publicity event she had attended. Part of him was relieved because at least he knew she was still alive. There had been no other sign from her, and certainly no communication.
Occasionally, if he was feeling really masochistic he would google "Derek Venturi and Casey McDonald". It never failed to amaze him how they manage to drag out photos of him and his step-sister. They implied they were recent images of them attending high profile events but they were all before she was famous, and when fame was still new to him.
Sometimes he smiled at the pictures, remembering some of the things said behind the scenes or liking the outfits she was wearing or smirking at an accompanying prank which he had pulled. A couple of times, he anonymously ordered prints of the pictures from the relevant newspaper's archive.
He hadn't heard from Casey in a month. He had tried phoning, emailing but everything was met with a blank wall. The phone had been disconnected, the email address disabled. Even Nora wouldn't give him a contact for her.
"Casey is a bit upset at the moment, Derek. I've agreed to give her some space. I suggest you do too. You of all people should know what it feels like to go through a personal crisis."
"I do Nora. It's just…please? I really need to talk to her."
"No you don't. Casey is upset and talking to you will make it worse. Leave her alone."
And he was forced to do just that.
The trouble was, he really regretted what he had said. He hadn't meant it at all. It had been a stupid comment in the heat of the moment.
And she had gone.
It wasn't just Derek's performance on the ice which had deteriorated. It was his temper too. Prior to his breakdown, it had been rare for Derek to be reprimanded for dirty play on the ice. He could count on one hand the number of times he had been fined for his behaviour. Just recently, he was getting into trouble every game and he had been warned by the referees and the coach that it was only a matter of time before he faced serious disciplinary action.
He left that meeting feeling lower than ever. He knew they were right. He knew it was his fault, but he couldn't stop the build up of anger when the opposition and sometimes even his own team started in on the Betty Crocker jokes or asking for his cook's phone number.
Fortunately, no one on the team seemed to have made the connection between this Casey and the girl from his early career. He had been part of another team when it had been Casey accompanying him to press events. Innocent though their association had been, like most of the girls who accompanied rising sports stars, her name and face had soon been forgotten.
So for the sake of his career and the team's image, Derek was placed on leave for a month. The official story was that he had picked up an injury at his last outing – which was sort of true, but it didn't take a month to heal a black eye.
Coach made it clear that at the end of that month if things hadn't changed Derek needn't bother to come back.
The door to the bar opened letting in the bright sunshine for a moment and then cutting it off again as the door slammed shut. Derek didn't look up. It was quiet enough that he heard the footsteps on the wooden floor, and he knew who it was who had entered, but he didn't acknowledge their presence.
"What can I get ya?" The barman asked the newcomer.
"Peroni. In the bottle." The familiar voice said, unusually serious. "And a large water for this jerk."
Derek glanced up. "Nice." He said, grimly shaking his head at his father.
"You're a mess, son." George Venturi stated. "The only reason you haven't got half of the nation's press in here right now is because the only people who'd recognise you are your mother, me and maybe Casey."
Derek flinched at her name. "Do you think we could possibly have a conversation that doesn't involve her name?"
George chuckled. "Knowing you, probably not."
His son sighed. "Have you heard from her?"
His father nodded. "She's in Europe on a book tour." He sipped his beer. "You'd better thank your lucky stars for that. If she could see you right now you'd be dragged back to your house by the ridiculously long hair you've manage to grow there."
"I doubt it. She's not talking to me."
"So what's new? There's always something you've done to pee her off. How long was it last time? Two years? It's only been a month."
"This is different." Derek stated. He picked up his empty whiskey glass and tipped it to one side looking for extra drops. When he found none, he sighed and picked up the large glass of water the barman had placed in front of him. He took a mouthful and winced.
"This time it's for good." Derek finished.
George paused and eyed his eldest child. "What did you do?"
"I hurt her. It was accidental – a slip of the tongue and I want more than anything to take it back."
"So why don't you?"
"Because I can't get hold of her. But also because I think that even the fact that I unconsciously made the comment is enough to make her severe all ties, Dad."
There was a significant pause.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"Why do I get the feeling there's a whole lot of stuff neither of you are telling me?"
Derek shrugged but didn't reply.
"Derek? The state you're in right now…it hasn't got anything to do with Chloe has it?"
"Nope. Chloe going was a relief."
"This is all Casey?"
"Always has been."
George picked up the beer and swigged it again. "Wanna talk about it?"
Derek snorted. "Dad. You know sometimes there are things you learn you later wish you'd stuck your fingers in your ears for? Well, that would be one of those things. Save yourself the bleeding ears."
"I can listen. I'm getting good at it. Yesterday, I sat and listened to Ed on the phone for two hours trying to convince himself and me that his wife isn't having an affair. And it was me who went and picked up Lizzie from that trailer park in Utah last year when her boyfriend decided he wanted join the cult. (I have to say that might possibly have been the longest most depressing return road trip of my life.) All in all, I'm just waiting for Marti to call me to say that her lesbian lover is refusing to let her have IVF for a baby."
Derek's eyes bugged out of his head. "Marti's what?"
George put a hand up. "Relax. I'm joking. To the best of my knowledge Marti is working her way through the male population of NYU and has no intention of having a baby any time soon."
"What do you mean "working her way through the male population"?" Derek's voice sounded ominous.
His father laughed. "I love you son, you're more protective than me! I just meant she's behaving like most normal college girls away from home. And we both know you gave her a long lecture before she left. But, your concern for your sisters does you credit."
"Please tell me you aren't lumping Casey in there." Derek requested bitterly.
George narrowed his eyes as ideas began to form in his head.
"You know, I think you're right. Maybe listening to this would make my ears bleed."
Derek tilted his head and the water glass in his hand letting the latter clink against George's beer bottle.
"Here's to the fucked up world of the McDonald-Venturis!" He said dramatically. "Abandon hope all ye who enter here."