“You said the place would be ready this week.”
“We need another week, Mr. Fields. I promise, you’ll have keys in hand by the end of next week.”
I scrub a hand down my face. It’s the last thing I wanted to hear, but I don’t have a whole lot of options. “Thanks for the update.”
Ending the call, I chuck my phone into my bag and head back to my locker.
“Everything okay?” Marcus asks, dropping down to sit next to me. His dark hair is wet, fresh from the shower after practice.
“Just another delay on my condo.”
I was hoping to be moved in before the season started, but it got pushed back because of a delay. Something small that wouldn’t take long to fix, I was told. Had I known it would take this long, I would’ve found something else. But getting traded so close to the Knights’ season ending last year, I figured I’d be fine.
I was planning on going home to Denver anyway.
Now, I’m still in a less-than-stellar hotel trying to make things work.
“Shit, really?”
I nod, grabbing my water bottle and taking a swig. “Yup.”
“You’re more than welcome to come and stay in my spare room.”
I quirk a brow at him. “I’m surprised you could say that with a straight face.”
Marcus winces. “Just trying to do my captainly duties.”
“I appreciate it.” I clap him on the shoulder. “But the last thing you need is a teammate crashing with you and your kids. I’ll be okay.”
“You’ll tell me if you’re not?”
I nod. “Promise.”
“Good. Now, what do you say to a drink? My mom has the girls, so I don’t have to be home for another hour or two.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“How are you adjusting to Nashville?”
It’s hard to hear Marcus over the live music blasting throughout The Sin Bin. Even though we’re off the more popular Broadway, aspiring musicians will play any set they can find. The low drone of voices does little to cover up the woman singing about what I’m guessing is an ex.
A hockey bar is no exception.
The lights are low in here with old, tin beer signs slapped up haphazardly on the walls. Photos of past Knights teams hang next to them. Neon lights glow as people all dressed up pass by, ignoring this small haunt.
Just the way I like it.
At my age, I couldn’t care less about what’s popular. I’d rather be able to sit down and have a drink without being hit on.
Because it’s only a matter of time before someone spots me or Marcus in this grungy Nashville bar.
“It’s been an adjustment,” I tell him honestly. “I thought I’d have more time before the season ended, but then I was back home in Denver and?—”
“And now you’re here in a hotel that isn’t quite cutting it?”
“Got it in one.” I sip on my beer, only having one tonight. “I guess I assumed it’d be easier.”
“Nah. I’ve never been traded, but it can’t be easy. New team. New town. New home. I couldn’t do it. I think I’d retire if they tried to trade me.”
