When he left here, he was going straight to practice, and when he got to the facility, he sent me a text message to tell me that he loves me. But that was hours ago. I’m really starting to worry. When he asked me if I trust him and I told him I do, I wasn’t lying; I do trust Happy, more than I thought I’d ever trust anyone other than my father. It’s Chris Garret who I don’t trust. Not one bit. And this silence is deafening; I can’t shake the feeling that something is seriously wrong.
I glance across the office floor to where Millie sits, happily tapping away at her keyboard, bopping her head to whatever music she’s listening to through her Beats. Clicking from my emails to the Teams messenger app, I open my chat with Millie and type a new message.
Me: Have you heard from Logan?
From my periphery, I see Millie’s head turn in my direction,but I pretend not to notice. It’s quiet hour; every day after lunch, the office goes quiet in an attempt to regroup for the remainder of the day. And after Happy’s unexpected appearance this morning, I’ve already caused enough of a scene in front of my colleagues for today. The last thing I need to be doing right now is interrupting quiet hour.
Millie: Yeah. He’s at home. Napping. Lucky asshole.
I frown, picking up my phone to check it in case I might’ve missed the shudder of a notification. But there’s nothing. I heave a sigh.
Millie: Is everything okay?
Glancing across at my friend, I meet her eyes to find her looking at me with a worried expression. We went to have lunch down in the square earlier, and I decided to tell her the truth about my affair. Millie is my best friend. And since her boyfriend knows, I decided it was only fair to finally tell her. When she found out it was Chris, she was so shocked she fell right off her chair and onto the pavement. A suited man sitting at the next table over abandoned his Chipotle to rush over and help her back up, worried she was having a medical emergency.
Millie thought I’d been having an affair with a player, and when I asked who and she said Rusty, I shoved her so hard she almost fell straight back off her chair again.
Me: I haven’t heard from Happy.
Millie’s eyes flare as she reads the message, chewing on her bottom lip while she seems to contemplate a response.
Millie: Maybe he’s getting some PT?
Me: Maybe…
Millie: Want me to ask Loges?
I’m about to tell her not to worry when quiet hour isinterrupted by a lanky, plaid shirt wearing hurricane tearing down the stairs in a flurry of excitement and panic, pulling me and everyone else from their work.
“Holy shit!” Patrick rushes directly toward me, which isn’t a good sign, a piece of freshly printed paper flailing in his hand. “Did you know??”
“Know… what?” I ask reluctantly, nerves swirling low in my belly.
“Hot off the press,” Patrick says, clearing his throat as he reads off the paper in his hands. “New York Thunder GM, Chris Garret, resigns effective immediately citing personal reasons.” His gaze shoots to me, widening expectantly. “Please tell me you have all the details.”
I throw a sideways glance at Millie to see her mouth agape, and I look back up at Patrick, quickly shaking my head. “No… I-I had no idea…”
“The news desk is preparing a breaking broadcast,” Patrick says, giddy with excitement as he checks his phone, shaking his head to himself. “I never liked that jerk.”
Standing, I grab my purse and my phone, every limb trembling. “Um, I’m gonna go—” I point in the direction of the elevators.
“Oh, yeah!” Patrick encourages my early exit. “Call me if you find anything out.”
“Sure,” I lie.
“I’ll call you,” Millie says as I hurry past her desk.
I nod, continuing, practically punching the call button for the elevator while scrolling through my phone and dialing Happy to find out what the hell has happened in the last three hours and exactly who knows what.
There are swarms of reporters waiting on the sidewalk outside the Thunder’s practice facility, security working hard to try tokeep everyone in check. It’s a big deal when someone at Chris Garret’s level resigns effective immediately, and citingpersonal reasonsas to why only makes matters worse because it doesn’t take a degree in investigative journalism to read between the lines.
Happy didn’t answer my phone call, but he did text me to tell me he was stuck at the facility. So, of course, I came straight here from the office to find out what the hell has gone on, my nerves at an all-time high as I think the absolute worst. I know he told me that hockey is just a game and that he’d choose me and Lucky if ever forced to choose between the two, but playing hockey is more than just the game; it’s a brotherhood, an extended family, a home away from home. And I know this because it’s why my father dedicated his whole life to it. Without hockey, Happy will survive, but I know it’ll hurt having it taken away so suddenly, whether he wants to admit it or not.
Today’s security guard, Mel, lets me in, nodding curtly at me as I enter.
“Do you know where my father is?” I ask, hopefully.
“I haven’t seen him, but it’s been a madhouse here this afternoon.” He shrugs, huffing a breath. “I have no idea. Sorry, ma’am.”
