EVERETT
Itake the long way home in the hope it helps to clear my head. But it doesn’t. All I can see is that black and white fuzzy screen with a little baby in the middle.
I always thought that one day I might find a woman I could stand to spend more than one night with and maybe start a family. But it was a thought for the future. I’ve still got loads of time for those sorts of things. Right now, my only focus is hockey. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted. I’m damn good at my job, but I’m always very aware that it could be stolen from me at any moment. One wrong intercept, one slam into the boards, one lapse in judgment, and it could all come crashing down around my feet. I’ve seen it happen to teammates all my life. What’s to say I’m not next?
But while I’m fit and healthy, hockey is it. I don’t have time for anything else.
I see the other guys in relationships and with families. I see how they spend their days battling to be the player the team demands and the husband and father their family needs. I can’t imagine trying to balance both.
But have I had that choice taken away from me?
The sun is setting by the time I pull up in my parking spot in my underground garage and head toward my new apartment. Parker and Linc chose it for me while I was packing up my life in Seattle. It’s great. Loads of space, modern. The perfect bachelor pad. It doesn’t feel like home, though. Being here is like being in any of the hotels we stay in while we’re on the road.
I’m more than ready to lock myself away and try to put the events of today out of my mind, as if that’s going to be possible, but the second I turn the corner toward my front door, that plan goes up in smoke.
“Ah, so you are still alive,” Casey quips. Beside her stands Freya, our goalie’s girl.
“So it would seem,” I mutter as I march straight up to them, happy that they jump apart so I can get to my door. “Did you want something?”
There’s a moment of silence that makes me nervous, and the second I’ve opened my door, I turn back to look at them.
“A-are you okay?” Casey stutters. I’ve known Casey almost all of my life. She’s been my sister’s best friend since they were in diapers. But while we’ve spent plenty of time together, both on and off the ice over the years, we’ve never really been friends.
“Am I okay?” I repeat, confused by her sudden concern.
“Yeah.”
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Because you single-handedly lost the Stanley Cup. Because you let your friends and teammates, hell, the entire city, down. Because you’re a disappointment and your trade is probably being discussed at this very moment. Perfect timing to move across the country when you’re about to become a father.
“We…um…”
“Just spit it out, Watson,” I bark.
“Can we come in?” Freya asks, speaking for the first time.
I sigh but turn into my apartment, allowing them to follow.
“We’ve been trying to contact you,” Casey says as I march into my kitchen and pull a bottle of water from the fridge.
I don’t offer them one, letting them know that I don’t want them here.
“You found me. Well done. Now, if you could get to the point, that would be fantastic.”
“Nothing like feeling welcome,” Casey deadpans.
“We met someone in the restroom at the arena before the last game,” Freya says. “She…she was really upset, told us something.”
I study them as they stand nervously in my kitchen.
They know.
“Then you played like?—”
“An asshole,” Casey interrupts.
“Y-yeah,” Freya agrees before glancing at her.
