Prologue
Devin
Five years ago
Iwalk toward the barn eager to steal a little solitude for a few minutes. The day has been a whirlwind. I’m happy—and I’m happy that everyone who loves me is happy for me and here to show it. Everyone wants to talk to me, shake my hand, hug me or—in the case of all the local girls—flirt with me. I guess signing a seven-million-dollar contract and winning the Stanley Cup in the same year will do that. I’m grateful for the attention—from all of them—but it’s exhausting. Especially the girls, which I know sounds crazy. I swear to God every girl in Silver Bay showed up to this barbecue—even ones who never gave me the time of day in high school. Seven of them have already given me their phone numbers and four more have subtly offered to “show me a good time” while I’m home this summer. I really wasn’t interested in that, which Jordan loved to point out made me insane.
I was only twenty-one and most normal guys my age weren’t looking for serious relationships yet. But I wasn’t a normal guy. I was a guy who had worked with insane focus to reach all my goals since I was a toddler—and I always reached them. I wanted to be in the NHL, and I was drafted in the first round. I wanted to win a Stanley Cup, and I won one. I wanted abig contract, and this week I signed one with the Brooklyn Barons. I got what I wanted—and now I wanted a serious relationship. Something with hope of a future—like a family of my own. It was weird, maybe, but I loved my large, tight-knit family, and being away from all of them for nine months of the year, I realized how badly I wanted one of my own. The way I saw it was my parents married in their early twenties and they were still madly in love. I could have that too if I worked hard enough at finding the right person to have it with.
As I reach the barn door I realize it’s half open. As I slide inside, I hear a giggle. I know it’s Callie. After years of her family mixing with mine for holidays and meals and everything else, I know her laugh as well as I know my mom’s or Jordan’s.
It’s still bright outside but in the barn the light is so low it seems like dusk. Still, I find her form quickly—she’s up against the wall in the far corner of the barn near the apple-red vintage tractor my dad uses during farming season. I take a few more steps and realize she isn’t up against the wall, she’s up against Owen Kaminski, one of my buddies from my junior hockey team. He’s a big guy, almost as tall as me but much heavier, and he’s all over her like a fat kid on the last piece of cake.
I clear my throat loudly. He jumps and turns. When he sees me, he looks instantly guilty. I give him a stern look and then give Callie a disappointed one. As Owen starts to walk away, she rolls her eyes.
“See you back at the party,” I say to Owen firmly.
“See ya there.” He nods and disappears, closing the door behind him.
Callie doesn’t move from her position leaning against the far wall. Annoyed, she has her arms crossed over her chest.
“Are you drunk?” I can’t help but wonder aloud.
“I tried to sneak a beer—twice,” Callie explains unhappily. “Both times Wyatt caught me and took them away. He said if it happens again, he’s going to lock me in Cole’s room until the party is over.”
I laugh and walk toward her. “Thank God for you Caplan girls. You make it a lot easier for us boys.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, with you sneaking alcohol—and boys,” I tell her and raise my eyebrows judgmentally, “and Jessie running away, my dad is probably more grateful than ever he has boys.”
“Jessie didn’t run away,” Callie replies in a sad but stern voice. “We know exactly where she is. She’s just…never coming back. Thanks to Jordan.”
I don’t say anything to that because there is nothing to say. I was in Brooklyn when most of the drama unfolded between my younger brother and her older sister and I still don’t have all the details. No one seems to want to talk about it. Jordan is miserable this summer—his first summer back from playing hockey in Quebec—and Jessie isn’t coming back to Silver Bay for the summer. Rumor has it she’ll never come back here again.
I get back to the subject at hand. “Kaminski, Callie? Really?”
She shrugs and smiles a little self-consciously. It’s a rare moment to catch Callie Caplan insecure about something and it makes her more pretty than she normally is—which is very.
“He’s had a crush on me for years,” she tells me and shrugs again, letting her arms fall to her sides. “And he has no hope of being a professional hockey player now. Just a regular boob like the rest of us.”
“Is that a requirement for you?” I question as she pushes off the wall and walks closer to the tractor. “That they’re hockey failures? What are you, some kind of consolation prize?”
“Ha. Ha,” she says sarcastically before she climbs the giant piece of machinery. She doesn’t sit but leans forward, hands on the steering wheel as she stands in front of the seat. “I just wouldn’t want to deal with the drama of dating a pro hockey player. All the away games, and cheating, and puck bunnies, and egos.”
I laugh and decide to climb up on the tractor with her. It’s weird to have to look up at her. “It’s not nearly as salacious as you think.”
She gives me a disbelieving stare and swipes my half-empty beer bottle from my hand, taking a swig. “Okay,” I admit. “Itcanbe like that…but it doesn’t have to be like that. I’m not like that.”
I slip past her and drop down into the driver’s seat. She turns to face me and sits on the engine casing. She’s essentially straddling the engine, her bare legs dangling on either side. Her sundress is bunched up around the top of her thighs. She looks like a naughty girl from a country music video. It’s beyond hot.
“You’ve never banged a puck bunny? Not once in the two years you’ve been pro?” Callie asks me skeptically.
“Every girl I’ve slept with, I’ve gone on actual dates with. No random hookups,” I explain with a shrug. “I want something real. Something that leads to something more than sex.”
“Oh my God, you’re such a chick.”
I smile lightly at that. “And you’re such a dude.”
