“Interesting is overrated,” he mutters. “Trust me on that. You’re better off playing the field.”
“But for how long?” I counter. “I’ve been doing that for a long time now.”
“I don’t have a timeline for you but I’m older than you and I have no plans to settle down any time soon.”
“But you were ready. You had a serious girlfriend before you moved here, didn’t you?”
His face tightens but then he shrugs. “Pseudo-serious. Then her ex came back and she dropped me without looking back. So that’s my plan—no strings, just fun and hockey.”
For the first time in my life, that’s not what I want.
At some point, I’m going to have to think about why.
Not today, though. The party is in full swing, someone has put music on, and the back yard is packed.
“We should mingle,” I say after a moment.
This conversation is too heavy for our current location.
We walk around and start talking to people, meeting wives, girlfriends, and many of the team’s support staff. I keep looking for Jayne but she’s disappeared, and though I really want to text her, I figure it’s better if I don’t. What’s the point? I need to stay out of trouble and make the coming season the best of my career.
I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself but it’s time to shake things up professionally. I need to focus on my career, despite this unfamiliar sense of both loneliness and being adrift. I know part of it is that I’ve moved to a place where I don’t know anyone and this is the first time I’ve lived this far from my sister, but it’s more than that.
Damn therapy must be working.
“This house is lit,” Simon says, joining us at one point. “I mean, this isn’t a McMansion—it’s a freakin’ castle.”
“You’re not kidding,” I reply. “It’s even nicer than West’s house, and I thought his place was insane.”
“This probably cost two or three times what I paid,” West says, looking around. “And I had a buttload of equity.”
“Didn’t Coach come from college hockey?” Felix asks, joining our conversation. “They make this much money?”
“I don’t think so,” West says, “but to be fair, I never really thought about the salaries of college coaches.”
“It’s like he’s the team owner instead of the head coach,” I muse.
“I feel like it’s overkill.” A young guy on the team, Ashton Knight, has been listening quietly and now speaks up. He’s a twenty-two-year-old rookie, just out of college, and his older brother owns the Lauderdale Knights. There’s been a lot of talk about him because of it but I’m not one to jump to conclusions. I find it’s better to judge people on my personal experiences with them, not rumors or gossip.
“In what way?” I ask.
“My brother is literally a billionaire,” he says quietly. “And this place is reminiscent of his house. Lots of columns and marble and gold and crystal. He made money both in hockey and in business.”
“How’s it going, boys?” Coach Morrison joins us and we all smile innocently.
“Admiring your house,” West says. “It’s really nice.”
“This is the dream,” Coach says proudly, motioning around with one arm. “The culmination of everything I’ve worked for. It’s fucking awesome.”
He’s not even a little bit humble.
“Maybe I should give up hockey and start coaching at the college level,” I quip, chuckling.
Coach narrows his gaze at me. “Do you know how long it took, and how many dues I paid, to get where I am? This didn’t come quickly or easily.”
“No offense, Coach,” I say, back pedaling slightly. “It’s just a really nice house.”
“You really are living the dream,” West interjects smoothly. “Big, beautiful house, gorgeous family, and coaching in the big leagues—what more could anyone want?”
