I think of my pristine apartment. The flannel shirt I almost packed away.
“I’ve spent my whole life feeling like a guest,” I say. “Different teams, different billet families, different apartments that are all the same. I know how to pack my bags in ten minutes and move on. Low-maintenance.”
I suck in a deep, grounding breath. “I’m tired of packing my bags,” I say. “You told me I belong on this team. I believe you. I’d rather be a backup in Seattle than a starter anywhere else.”
Carson watches me for a long beat, like he’s looking for a sign that I’m making an emotional decision I’ll regret later. I don’t give him one. “We’re building something here,” I add, keeping my voice firm. “I want to be here when we win.”
Slowly, the tension in Carson’s shoulders drops. He lets out a long breath and smiles, his dark eyes lighting up with something that looks like relief. He looks ten years younger.
“I’m very glad to hear that, Tanner,” he says. He takes the Minnesota folder and drops it into his bottom desk drawer before sliding it shut with a decisivethud. “I didn’t want to lose you. We believe you’re the future of this team. I brought it to you because I wanted to make sure you believe in the Sasquatch too.”
The knot of tension in my chest finally begins to loosen.
“I really do,” I say, believing it.
Carson stands up and rounds the desk. He extends a hand. It doesn’t feel like a regular, perfunctory handshake between a boss and an employee. It feels like a promise, an agreement between two people who want the same thing.
“Good,” he says, gripping my hand firmly. “You do belong here. I’m so glad you know that.” He smiles. “Now, go home and get some sleep. You’ve got practice in the morning.”
“I will.”
I turn to walk out of his office, but before I get there, I turn back to him. “Thank you, Carson. This—feeling like I belong here—it, um, it means a lot to me.”
He nods, returning my smile. “I know, Tanner. I’m glad you’re here, on a personal level as well as professional.”
The hallway is just as quiet as it was before, but the air feels different. Lighter.
I push through the doors and step out into the cool Seattle rain. I take a deep breath, tasting the damp air.
Step one is done.
I look toward the parking lot, half expecting to see Louis’s truck, but the lot is empty except for my car and Carson’s.
I unlock my car, the beep echoing in the empty lot. I’m not a guest anymore. I’m home. And I’m going to fight for it.
Chapter 21
Louis
The emptiness of my condo makes it seem like the walls are closing in on me. Rain lashes against the floor-to-ceiling windows, distorting the lights of the city below as I pace back and forth across the floor, wearing a divot into the hardwood. My shoulder’s aching, dull but relentless, but that pain is nothing compared to what’s going on in my head. And my heart. And the worst thing is that I did it to myself.
I stop in front of Cookie’s terrarium. He’s lounging on his basking rock, his head tilted and one reptilian eye fixed on me. He looks bored and, as usual, kinda judgy.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I snap. Jesus, things must be bad if I’m snapping at my little bearded buddy.
Cookie doesn’t move though. He stares at me like he knows what I did, and he’s dying to tell me I’m an idiot.
Go be great, kid.
That’s what I said. Like I’m some kind of martyr, I sent Tanner Sinclair off to Minnesota to be the star he deserves to be, because there’s not enough room for both of us in Seattle.
I check my phone for the fiftieth time in the last ten minutes. It’s almost 10:00 p.m.
Maybe Tanner’s already packing. Or maybe he’s on with his agent, going over last-minute details before the paperwork gets finalized, probably first thing in the morning.
And there are no take-backs in the NHL. Once those papers are signed, he’s gone.
I rotate my shoulder. It’s still stiff, but the range of motion is there. The surgery worked; I’m healing. In a few weeks, I’ll be the starting goaltender for the Seattle Sasquatch again.
