He started his nightly bathing ritual at my mention of real estate, signaling our conversation was over.
I groaned, letting my head drop back and closing my eyes.
I should have been calling Zane to tell him I’d suffered a moment of insanity when I’d said yes to his idea. My agent was going to freak out when I told her.
As the star center of the highest-grossing sports and media franchise, getting back on the ice should have been my only focus, not taking on twenty-three new charges who were looking to me for guidance that I had no idea how to give.
But I didn’t want to let Zane down either. He had a lot resting on his shoulders to prove the Hammerheads’ brass hadchosen the right person as their head coach. Despite improving the team’s wins and postseason results over the past two years, I knew that Zane’s future with the franchise depended on their continued success.
How could I sit on my ass at home knowing that I could potentially help him with his career?
Not to mention, you need to figure out a fucking Plan B if your shoulder doesn’t improve.
My gut filled with lead at the thought of not being able to play professional hockey again.
From the moment I learned to skate at our local arena in Niagara, I hadn’t wanted to do anything else. I’d been lucky enough to have two supportive parents who juggled all the obscenely early practices for more than a decade, not to mention the sacrifices they’d made to be able to pay for my equipment and everything else. Plus, I had a genius for a brother who’d pretended to be interested in hockey games just to be supportive.
I’d been willing to sacrifice nearly anything to get to where I was now. Nothing made me happier than skating onto fresh ice and the anticipation of those final few seconds before the puck dropped.
As I reminisced, my shoulder twinged in pain, reminding me of the potential nerve damage my latest MRI might reveal. As if I didn’t think about my injury every waking moment.
Could I find something other than hockey to be equally as passionate about if the doctors told me I couldn’t play anymore? I hoped I didn’t have to find out.
Hell, maybe Zane was right. I needed this gig to get out of my own damn head.
three
CADEN
Kait: It’s going to be great, Cadey. You’ll see. You deserve to get away from your dad’s bullshit after taking on more than your share all these years. You’ll meet some new people and make money at the same time.
Before I could reply, a second text came through.
Kait: I suggest setting up a Swiss bank account and funneling at least a quarter of your salary into it. Tell your dad it’s “taxes” due to your higher income bracket. He’s stupid enough to believe it.
Caden: Um. Have you met me? What part of me sitting in front of my computer for hours at a time suggested I wanted to go out and meet new people? Also, must we with the second-grade nickname?
Kait: Well, I’ll be coming down for a nursing conference in a few months. I’ll be the kind, loyal best friend you’ve always known and loved, and bring your prized wall-less desktop computer so you don’t have to miss all those 0s and 1s and premature farsightedness from the computer screen. And yes, we must with the nickname because it’s still funny.
The pang I felt at not being able to transport my hand-built desktop on the bus was another thing that sucked about moving to Lakeside. It had taken me years to scrape together enough money to buy parts for the refurbished system.
I was willing to let all of Kait’s teasing go if she brought me my computer.
Caden: That would be great. Thank you.
Kait: Tell me, do you dream in binary code instead of pictures? Never mind, you probably do. Keep your chin up or *insert an appropriate hockey phrase of encouragement here*. Love you!
Caden: Yeah right, thanks. Love you too.
Despite the fact that she lived to give me a hard time, I was beyond lucky to have Kait Rousseau as my best friend since elementary school. We’d been inseparable since second grade, when I’d stopped some shithead kid from giving her a hard time on the playground. But that had been the first and last time I’d had to stand up for Kait. Shit, the past ten years she’d fought forme—against my dad and my own self-doubt—more times than I could count.
“She’s expecting too much from me,” I muttered to myself as I got off the bus in Lakeside. I’d left my rust-bucket of a car in Kait’s capable hands so she could get to and from her nursing college program. She also planned to check in on Mom every so often, which would be a big help. Hopefully, my car made it through another winter.
With my dad out of work since my last year of high school, the entirety of my income had gone to paying bills for the tiny post-war style house where my parents had lived my whole life.
If 70K was the offer Dad got, thinking he was a big shot acting as my “agent,” just imagine what a professional could have done.
The rogue thought drifted through my mind. I shook my head, trying to dispel any additional bullshit that would just make giving up my real dreams even harder.
