Chapter One - Ollie

Ollie

My life could never get better than this.

Oliver Lance thought quietly to himself as he glanced around the VIP section of the club. He had a voluptuous blonde girl under one arm and a petite brunette under the other. He didn't really know either of them, since he had met them just five minutes before at the bar. But that really didn't bother him. Because in addition to the two beauties, he was surrounded by friends and fans, drinking expensive champagne and smoking expensive cigars. He felt like a god; powerful and loved by all.

“This is what it's all about,” he said out loud, though wasn't speaking directly to anyone.

“Hey, Ollie, how about another shot?”

His buddy, Joseph, shouted from the other side of the VIP section. He poured two shots of expensive tequila into glasses and handed one to Oliver.

“Sure, why not?” Oliver said, gladly accepting the glass.

“Cheers, bro,” Joseph said. “Here's to a career full of winning seasons.”

“Cheers,” Oliver echoed the sentiment and then drank down the clear liquor. “To winning everything professional football could throw at us this season!”

This was his night and he was living it up, sparing no expense. The tab was likely over two grand already, but he hadn't really been keeping much track. He didn't care. There was no need to. Between endorsements and his salary, he was making more money just sitting there than he could possibly spend. And it felt amazing.

The girls on either side of Oliver couldn't get their hands off of him. The blonde clamored over his lap and wrapped her arms over his shoulders. It made the brunette jealous and he heard as she whispered “bitch” underneath her breath. It only made him smile. He loved getting fought over by two beautiful women. He figured that it could never get old.

“Ladies, be nice,” he said, with a smirk. “There's plenty of me to go around.”

“It's not often we get to meet the star quarterback, though,” Blondie said. “An offensive lineman or a kicker, sure. But not the star quarterback. This is a very special night.”

“Yeah, well, I'd like to order another bottle of champagne,” Oliver said, carefully lifting the blonde off of his lap and setting her to the side. “And you just insulted my team by saying that.”

She bit her lip and looked down at the floor.

“I'm just giving you a hard time,” Oliver said. “Ease up. You'll learn that I like to joke around a lot.”

Her smile returned and Oliver poured the two girls a glass of champagne each. Then he called for the waitress, who approached quickly.

“Three more bottles of Dom,” he said, as he pulled a wad of hundreds out of his front pocket. “And another bottle of Patron.”

Oliver handed her a handful of the bills, without even bothering to count.

“Keep the change,” was all he said.

A stray fan pushed past security. He was wearing a blue and white jersey with Oliver's number on it. He clamored over the velvet rope that separated the VIP section from the rest of the club. He knocked a few drinks over as he made his way toward Oliver.

What in the hell is this guy doing? Oliver asked himself.

“Lance,” the guy said, clearly inebriated. “Oliver Lance. You're my hero. Please sign my jersey. Please.”

Three security guys approached the man and grabbed his arms. They began to pull him away.

“Hold up,” Oliver said. “He just wants an autograph.”

Oliver stood up and quickly signed the back of the man's jersey, before motioning for security to finish what they had started.

“Thank you so much, Ollie,” the stranger said, as security pulled him back into the crowded club. “You just made my entire week!”

Oliver chuckled to himself, shaking his head. It happened every time he went anywhere. It didn't matter if he was at the grocery store, in line at the bank or just trying to walk his dog around the park. Inevitably, there would be a point when someone would come out of nowhere and run toward him, begging for his attention.

Typically, they'd want something as simple as an autograph. But he'd get other offers, too. It wasn't uncommon for a pretty girl to approach him and offer her bed up, which he was known to accept on occasion. He was living the kind of life most guys would only ever dream of and there was nothing in this world that was going to put an end to that. At least, not if Oliver had any say in it.

The booze was really kicking in now. He didn't know how many bottles of champagne they'd gone through, but it was a lot. His best friends were all drunk, at least from what he could tell. But they all seemed to be having a great time, which is what really mattered most to him. He'd spend a million dollars tonight if it meant that he and his team would have memories for a lifetime.

“Hey, Sean, why do you not have a drink in your hand?” Oliver looked toward his best receiver, who hadn't dropped the football once in three full seasons. He was Oliver's good friend and colleague, and the high respect he held for him was completely mutual.

“I'm not drinking tonight, Ollie, I told you that,” Sean said, with a shrug. “Last time we went out I drank way too much and it took me two days to feel normal again.”

“When was that?” Oliver asked.

“Last week,” Sean said, as he clenched his jaw and placed his hand on his belly. “My stomach still doesn't feel right. I can't keep up with you, man. I need rest. I'm old.”

Oliver let out a deep belly laugh. “You're a year older than me, Sean. You're thirty-three, man. It's not like you're eighty.”

“If I keep going out with you on a regular basis, I'm going to look like I'm eighty soon,” Sean said, with a smile.

“We'll see about that.”

The waitress came back with the new bottles of champagne and opened them in front of everyone. Oliver watched as she poured the drinks and she saw him staring. As soon as she was done, she batted her eyes at him and licked her lips.

Maybe I should take that girl home tonight, he thought. Big breasts, black hair, blue eyes and a tight ass. That might be the one.

Oliver smiled back at the waitress.

“Come over here,” he said, motioning her to sit by him.

He scooted over, opening a space between him and Blondie.

“You're an ass,” Blondie said, rolling her eyes.

“I love you, too,” Oliver responded, without taking his eyes off of the waitress.

“What can I get you now, Oliver?” the waitress asked, taking a seat between him and Blondie.

“Your phone number would be a good start,” he said. “Or maybe you could just come back to my place, since I think we both know where this relationship is headed.”

“Relationship?” she asked, while raising an eyebrow.

“Come on, there's no point in beating around the bush here,” he said, wrapping an arm around her.

She chuckled and pushed her hair over her ear. He had her and he knew it. He could feel it. Some would have called it over-confidence, but Oliver just knew when a girl was into him. This waitress was no exception.

“I don't get off for another couple of hours,” she said, looking at him with sultry eyes. “But if you're still here, we can talk.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Oliver said. “Not sure if I'll still be here, but find me if I am.”

Then he pulled her close and kissed her, which she didn't resist at all. Their lips touched for a few seconds, before Oliver broke the kiss. She looked bewildered, but wore a large smile, as she got up and went back to doing her job. Her actual job. Because kissing Oliver was not what she was getting paid to be there for.

The night continued like this. Oliver drank and flirted heavily with every girl he thought was pretty. The more liquor that entered his blood stream, the more he felt like celebrating.

An hour passed, maybe two. He couldn't be sure. But at some point, the club became a spinning mess of lights and sounds. He'd lost complete track of how many drinks he had had. The conversations with fans and friends were on autopilot and he wasn't even sure what he was talking about any more.

He plopped down on the seat next to Sean. “Hey, you said you weren't drinking right? I think I need to head back. That tequila is not sitting well right now.”

“You're ready to go home?” Sean asked. “But what about that waitress I saw you talking with? She's a dime. You can't let that go.”

“The waitress? Yeah, she gorgeous, but it's whatever,” Oliver said, his words slurring a little at the end and the taste of liquor covering his tongue with each outward breath. “There's plenty of fish in the sea. And I'm a fucking shark. I don't care about one cute little goldfish. It's more important right now for me to lay in my bed and try to get the room to stop spinning.”

“Alright, man, whatever you say,” Sean said, standing up from the couch. “Let's get out of here then.”

Blondie and the Brunette tugged on Oliver's arms as he tried to leave the VIP.

“Wait, baby, can't we go with you?” they asked.

Oliver turned around and smiled. “Of course.”

They both grabbed their purses and got up, with excitement written all across their faces.

“Really?” Blondie asked.

“No, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “You two have a good night. I hear there's a defenseman for another team running around here somewhere. Maybe he'll take you home?”

The girls pouted out their lower lip, clearly saddened by Oliver's denial. Girls that wanted Oliver for his fame and money were a dime a dozen, though. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the attention, because he did. It was just that, right now, he really needed to get home, and these women didn't matter to him.

Those girls couldn't have cared less about how hard he worked to get what he had in life. All they wanted was a piece of Oliver Lance so that they could talk about that “one crazy night in the club”. He'd done it before, sure. But not tonight. Not after countless shots and glasses of champagne. His king- sized bed in his mansion was the only thing that really sounded appealing in that moment.

“You ready, Ollie?” Sean asked.

Oliver turned back around and nodded. “Yeah, let's go.”

VIP security made an opening for them to exit. “Do you guys need to be escorted out? The club is a lot busier than it was when you first got here and everyone has been drinking.”

“We'll be fine,” Sean answered. “Thanks, though.”

Oliver followed Sean through the crowd. A few girls screams in excitement and ran toward him, but Ollie shrugged them off. His focus was keeping his stomach from emptying its contents onto the floor and that was about the only thing he could think about. From the VIP section to the front door of the club felt like a million mile march. He got asked by at least five people for an autograph and had two girls lift up their shirts to expose their breasts to him. Being king was pretty nice, but Ollie wished he hadn't drank so much that he couldn't enjoy it.

He was glad when they got outside to the cold air. Late February's winter grip felt good against his skin, and helped him feel less like the world was spinning out of control under his feet. The valet ran and got Oliver's black Bentley, pulling up to the curb within minutes. Sean took the keys and got into the driver's seat, while Oliver slid into the passenger. The noise of the hollering fans faded into the distance as he closed the door.

“You aren't going to puke, are you?” Sean asked, putting the car in drive and pulling away from the curb.

“I'd never throw up in my own car,” Oliver said, not even sure if he was telling the truth. “Now if we were in your car, it may be a possibility.”

“Very funny.” Sean punched Oliver in his upper arm.

“Hey now, that's my money arm,” Oliver said, rubbing the spot that Sean had just hit. “Without that, we won't be going to nice clubs any more and getting bottles all night. You better treat it nice.”

“I still can't believe you didn't want to take that waitress home,” Sean said. “Man, if she were looking at me like she was at you, I'd be all over it.”

“That's what you don't understand, Sean. Sometimes the fun part is just knowing that she would go home with me. I don't always have to act on it to get the pleasure from it. You know what I mean?”

“I actually have no fucking clue what you're talking about,” he said, with a chuckle. “You've gone from throwing thousands of dollars around at a club and having women all over you, to getting all philosophical.”

“Whatever, man, you'll understand when you get older,” Oliver said, his eyes half closed.

“I'm older than you, Ollie. You need to learn to respect your elders,” Sean said, hitting Oliver's shoulder once again with a closed fist.

As the two made their way down the main street in the center of town, they passed by a number of loud clubs. The sound of the music would increase as they got near and then fade out as they passed. It created a dizzying Doppler effect that certainly wasn't helping Oliver's nausea. He closed his eyes completely and focused on his breathing. As much as he hated to admit it, he definitely couldn't party like he used to. There would be no way he'd be going home at this hour if he were still twenty two.

The blood-curdling roar of screeching tires filled the air. He heard Sean yell something and opened his eyes, just in time to look over to his right. A car's headlights were pointed straight at them. He knew immediately that the car wasn't going to be able to stop before impacting his door. The vehicle was going too fast. The headlights got brighter as they neared their final destination. Time slowed down, enough for Oliver's life to flash in front of his eyes. He thought about his brother and his mom and his football team.

I'm going to die, he thought. God, no. Not now. Not right when everything is going so perfectly.

He squinted and turned away as the car t-boned the side of them. The sound of exploding glass and crumpling metal filled his eardrums as his world turned dark.

It was his last memory of that evening.