“Um, Papa,” she said, her voice soft. “I just came to see if you were up for lunch.”
“Absolutely.” Mr. Mac nodded toward us. “Give us five minutes, and then I’ll meet you down on the concourse.”
Without a word, she slipped out, and Mr. Mac’s sighed. “My pride and joy, that one. I’ve got eleven grandkids, but Luce—she’s something special. That girl loves me with all of her heart, and I love her the same.”
I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my chest. My parents had never felt that way about me, and I didn’t even know my grandparents. What must it be like to have that kind of love?
Mr. Mac leaned forward, his expression turning serious. “I won’t say much about the knee because I don’t want to have to report it to Doc. You’re a big boy. You can figure out for yourself whether you can play or not. But,” he paused, “and here’s why Ryder probably brought you here. I need to tell you this: There’s life after hockey. It might not feel like it now, but it’s out there, waiting for you. You love this game, but you might find something else you love even more. Don’t be afraid of what comes next.”
He stood, giving me a soft clap on the back. “Now, get yourself down to the weight room with the rest of the guys. I’ve got a beautiful woman waiting for me.”
Ryder was quiet as we made our way through the arena, but that was nothing new for him. Finally, I broke the silence. “Can you imagine ever loving anything more than this?” I asked, gesturing toward the ice as it came into view. “That feeling when we’re out there…” I shook my head. “There’s nothing like it.”
Ryder’s next words hit me like a splash of cold water. “I’m retiring at the end of this season.”
“You can’t be serious,” I said, disbelieving.
“I am,” he said, his voice steady. “Hockey gave me a lot. It brought me to you, and eventually to Sydney. But I’m reaching the point where one bad injury could have lifelong effects. We’re not eighteen anymore, just looking for any excuse to be on the ice. We’ve done it, made a career out of this. How many of our old teammates would have given anything to do that? And here we are. The two of us.” He paused, eyes locked on the ice. “When we were playing peewee, could you have imagined this for us?”
No. I wouldn’t have dared dream it. We weren’t in the NHL, but we were professional hockey players, and that was something most people could only fantasize about. “It’s been one hell of a ride, bro,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder.
It was hard to picture hockey without Ryder by my side, but even harder to imagine leaving the game myself, even if it felt like the game had already left me behind.
It was latewhen I pulled up outside the grocery store, the unfamiliarity of the place hitting me right away. Rowan usually handled all the shopping for us—and the cooking too, for that matter.
But here I was, recipe pulled up on my phone, determination forcing me forward despite the protest from my knee. Tonight, Iwas going to make Frankie dinner. I had to. It wasn’t just about feeding her; it was about showing her how I felt. She knew I liked her, sure, but this… this was so much more than that.
It felt an awful lot like anotherLword.
One I’d never said to a woman before. Not that Sydney counted.
I pulled up the list on my phone and grabbed a cart.How hard could this be?In college, Ryder did all the shopping, and I just paid for it. That was our deal. Before that, my parents had a cook who stocked the kitchen like a well-oiled machine, just what a teenage athlete needed.
Standing beneath the harsh fluorescent lights in a crowded aisle, panic slowly crept in. The chicken pot pie recipe didn’t seem that complicated, but what if I messed it up? What if Frankie saw right through me, realizing that I was just a manchild who’d relied on his friends and trust fund too much?
I could do this.
Shopping was easy.
Pride swelled in my chest as I ticked off items from the list—chicken, vegetables, a bottle of expensive red wine.
Please, God, let her like red.
My stomach churned as knots formed in my gut. My palms were slick on the cart’s handle. I could feel my nerves humming beneath my skin.
And then, I saw him.
Asshole.
Everything inside me snapped, my anxiety dissolving into a fiery rage.
Travis was standing there, frowning down at his phone. A basket hung from one arm, and he wore a crisp navy suit that screamedtoo good for this place. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been standing there, watching him, before his gaze finally lifted. Hiseyes widened as he recognized me, then narrowed with that all-too-familiar smugness.
Against every instinct telling me to walk away, I trudged toward him, forcing my words out with deliberate calm. “Lovely day we’re having,” I said, glancing into his basket. Wine, of course—multiple bottles. “Having a party? My invite must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”
His eyes flicked over me, sizing me up like I was some kind of challenge. Taller by about six inches, broader across the shoulders—I knew I had the physical edge on him.
“Little rich boy doing his own shopping?” he sneered.
