“Not sure we’re going there,” Everly said, and quickly transitioned into a request for Molly’s artichoke and spinach dip recipe.
Later I’d asked what she meant by it.
“Well, we’re not serious, are we? The sex is phenomenal, and we have a great time, but kids? I don’t see it.”
“At all? Or just with me?”
“Oh, Jason, you’re a hoot!”
A hoot. Not that it was the first time I’d heard that or something that put me in a certain box as “unserious.” Dumb jock. Brainless athlete. Too many pucks to the head. Usually, my four million a year and I were fine with that.
Everly had tried to smooth it over, telling me that she wasn’t ready, but there was no shining up that turd. I was thirty-six years old and hankering to start a family. Everly was there, right place, right time, so why not? But she didn’t feel the same way. Now she was with Ryan Coughlan, a player with the LA Quake, and rumor had it—if you believed that Hot Goss rag—they were as loved up as could be.
I cast a glance at the swing set. Part of me hoped that maybe I still had a shot at a family of my own. Why else would I tell the realtor to offer fifty grand above the asking price? I could just as easily have installed one of those death traps myself anywhere. Yet, as soon as I saw it, I took it as a sign.
Hockey players were superstitious like that.
Theo studied his beer bottle’s label, then looked up. “You didn’t even tell her you were planning this move back home.”
True. “Maybe deep down I sensed it wasn’t meant to be.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll have women climbing you like a tree before you know it. You excited to start the season?”
“It’s barely the middle of July.”
He raised an eyebrow of your point?
“Yeah, can’t wait,” I said with a grin, glad to be off the topic of Everly. Most guys loved the off-season, especially when they had families to spend it with. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed the break, the time to heal and recharge, but I was a Fall guy. As soon as the weather cooled and the leaves started to change, I was in my element because hockey season was here.
Fifteen years gone, and I had yet to grab the brass ring. But every October, I started afresh with the hockey player’s mantra: Maybe this year. I was itching to get in there and prove my mettle.
I took another sip. “You any closer to making a decision?”
Everyone wanted to know: would the great Theo Kershaw grace us with one more year? He had hoped to go out on a high last season, but they’d lost the Finals in a heartbreaker in Game 7. He had played one season with his eldest, Hatch, and I suspected he might be ready to call time.
“I hate the idea of missing our shot, J.”
“But you’re tired.”
He expelled a weary sigh. “I am. I haven’t told anyone yet, not even Elle, and there’s always a chance I’ll have a change of heart. But I’m ninety-five percent certain I won’t be on the roster next season.”
My heart heaved. We had faced off against each other on opposing teams, had even skated together during two All-Star games. Playing on the same side when it counted would have been awesome, but I couldn’t begrudge him this decision. He wanted to spend more time with his wife, watch Tilly grow up, and enjoy his grandmother’s twilight years (not that Aurora was going anywhere. That dame would outlast us all).
“Would have loved to do this with you, brother. But I’ll take all the advice you can give me.”
Theo snorted. “Oh yeah? You stopped wanting my advice the minute you hit NCAA.”
“Yeah, but now you’re an elder statesman. Old as fuck and twice as wise.”
Theo sputtered a mouthful of beer. “You little shit.”
My grin did its best to paper over the crack in my heart. The years were getting away from us and I wondered if all those things I wanted were still within reach.
Or if I deserved them at all.
Chapter Two
Franky
